Iron Of The Sky (eBook)

Ryan Downey (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2019 | 1. Auflage
124 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-5439-8833-8 (ISBN)

Infos

Dance with him as he romances the earth and the moon, the sun and the stars. Each woman as enchanting, perplexing, wonderful and terrifying as any celestial being. He never had it so good as when he was young and in love and now that she's getting married, he'll do just about anything to find it once more. Sitting alone on a Saturday night watching TV and ignoring the woman upstairs, a knock at the door reveals that his first and possibly only true love is getting married. The whirlwind of romances that ensue bring heartache and excitement, but would any bring the closure he so longed for while gazing on a star filled sky...

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Romance and excitement. Confusion and deceit. Apathy and anxiety. Worship and desperation. Loss and remorse. Follow him as he makes his way through the cosmos finding women who each bring new perspective, as well as different aspects of love. On a Saturday night as any other, he sits alone by choice, watching the Saturday Night Movie of the Week. Then comes the knock at the door. That sobering rap that brings him back down to earth and reminds him of what could have been. His best friend and first true love is getting married and surely nothing will ever be the same. "e;I'll always love you"e; he reminds himself against a bustling city skyline, "e;just like I promised I'd do."e; Too far to hear his lament, she walks home, out of his life and into another's. Dating would provoke the greatest challenge of all as he sets off to find and reclaim a love as intoxicating as she. A trip to a museum to see mummified remains. A drunken dance on a harbor's dock. A dinner made with every consideration and care for the Pretty Girl who took casual Friday just a bit too far. No woman the same and yet all strangely familiar. One may love and see the other as their moon. If that's true than would she not be cold and desolate? Two-faced? Then she's your stars, perhaps. Scattered and distant? Your sun. Exposure and you're burned? The old cliches won't know what to do with themselves as Iron Of The Sky grips the reader on every page, turning any preconceived notions of modern dating upside down. And begging the question if true love really does still exist in an ever-expanding and seemingly endless universe.

Textauszug

PART I

Knocking Up

The woman upstairs didn’t stir. The knock at the door didn’t wake her. Neither did the doorbell. He was wide-awake in his recliner. The recliner no one else could sit in. The one directly in front of the television, obscuring some of the other views in the room. The knock only confused him. The neighbors would occasionally let him know when the TV got too loud. It was Saturday Night At The Movies and Channel 6 was playing Raiders, which meant the volume was cranked. Every crack of the whip was so sharp, it felt like old Indy was using it to swat flies off his ear lobes.

Thumb pressed firmly on the down arrow, the volume returned to a level that made each thwack of punch landed on Nazi face far less exhilarating as he anxiously awaited further indignant raps. When none came he began the slow crawl to what, at least he would deem, reasonable level. Until the ding-dong. Clear now that he had a visitor he glanced up the stairs to spy any signs of life and finding none ran to descend the staircase leading to the front door as to avoid another awakening ring. He held his breath all the way down.

First door open, visitor revealed, sigh of relief exhaled. He hadn’t seen her in several weeks. Maybe closer to a month or two. Far too long regardless, a good hug and kiss of cheek would bring them back. As she began to ask him how he was doing, blaring cop sirens resounded. She made a scared face that always made him laugh. “They finally found you?” she implored and he laughed even harder. “Don’t worry, I have a disguise,” he assured and put a finger mustache to his upper lip. Her laugh was drowned out by the ever-growing intensity, then thanks to the Doppler Effect, they had to wait even longer after it passed. The cops caused the woman upstairs, Gillian, 26, hot, no last name given or warranted, to stir, but sleep maintained. He had by now forgotten all about her. The small talk didn’t last for even if she hadn’t showed up to his house in the middle of the night, he would be able to quickly discern that she had something to tell him.

“Alright, out with it,” he commanded. “What say you who arouses me from my slumber at this ungodly hour?” Her distraction by lightning bug, Phontinus Pyralis, broke. “You weren’t sleeping, shut up.” He was defeated. “Well,” she began collecting her thoughts. “I think I finally realized what bothers me so much about people who believe in astrology.” Smiling, the struggle to not say anything began for him. “Oh?” He could allow himself one little word. “It isn’t that it’s completely arbitrary. Which it is.” That modifier lit his eyes. Big as a weather balloon, if his pride continued swelling exponentially, he would bust. Always so reluctant to follow his lead, even when she knew he was… onto something. The iconoclast had trashed the pseudo-religion so many years ago and she had only ever half agreed with him.

“It’s not how horoscopes are vague and interchangeable.” He had heard people quote him, to him, many times over the years without the quoter quite knowing it was he they were reciting. But never so satisfyingly. “Or how the stars in the Zodiacs are nowhere near one another thus making the very idea moronic.”

A laugh escaped. Surely she had practiced in the mirror before leaving the house. Which reminded him. “Say, where is uh-.“ “Oh, I wasn’t going to wake him for this.” He hadn’t seen her without him in some time. Then, with no beat missed, “It’s that it clearly illustrates how painfully un-self-aware people are. They’re so oblivious. Most people already believe themselves to be generally good people. Which they’re not.” He could cry. “The hypocrisy compounds when on top of that they add exaggerated qualities of traits that they either possess minimally or not at all.”

And there it was. His mouth agape. She gave him the answer he’d always looked for but never reached. The joy and pride almost distracted him from the fact that he knew that wasn’t it. “Very good,” he said in a calm hesitant voice. Then he waited until her face fell a bit. “And.”

“And I’m getting married.” “There it is,” he exclaimed putting her into a bear hug. The elongation of embrace served purpose twofold. Time was needed to suppress tears fighting for freedom. And, like him, she didn’t seem to want to let go. She had no tears to hide. Hers escaped on the walk over.

The release brought a mutual gaze that said all there was to be said between them. Both fluent in unspoken conversation.

A few cars drove by, one of the drivers honking thinking he was funny. A couple walking their dog, a golden retriever, forced him to take a step forward and while normally he would jump at the chance to make a furry friend, he let Gaia pass by unpetted. Before offering sincere congratulations, his gaze turned if ever briefly, to the sky. Searching for a recognizable cluster of stars, something tangible and familiar. Finding none, he turned back to her so as not to let the moment grow awkward. He had missed his chance and found himself lost in the city lights with nothing to hold onto, but a few sweet memories and the heart of a love lost so very long ago.

Familiar Landscapes

There was no wine for dinner. She grabbed her cloth shopping bag with the tropical fish and sea turtles on it and bolted out the back door. Passing down the narrow alley between her neighbors’ houses. She could hear the clunky old mower had finally started up. Standing on tipped toes with hands keeping balance on top rail of the chained link fence she strained to see the mower at work. No such luck. If there was anything to be seen, she was the one to catch it. The girl with glasses far too big for her face gave up and scurried down the alley hopping puddles and dodging trashcans.

They were heavy, those glasses, and the bounce in her step would often jostle them loose, prompting a quick finger push to reset. The warm spring air felt good on her sensitive skin and she did her best to not let the rebirth of flora upset her allergies.

The elderly gentleman who ran the local liquor store welcomed her as always with an inviting smile. In the neighborhood forever, he was one of those guys who knew everyone. “What do you say, Miss? His glasses rested firmly on his nose as he checked inventory and as she fixed hers. “Having company tonight, Charlie,” she beckoned from the aisle of whites. “The Chesters?” He even knew their friends. “No, they’re out of town. Early vacation. The Ripleys.” “Ah,” he nodded and went back to his checklist. She huffed as she lifted a large bottle of Sauvignon Blanc by means of scrawny arm before heading to the aisle of reds. Then, upon choosing a Cab that hailed from the same vineyard, made her way to the counter.

“Will that be all, sweetheart?” he asked ringing her up quickly. “Yes, Charlie,” she said with a smile. She was very fond of his nickname for her. He put the bottles in her bag from home and she paid cash, of course.

Her walk home was narrated by cicadas making their return. She thought of sweet, old Charlie and how she wasn’t even sure if that was his first name. She didn’t know his full name and whenever he introduced himself he’d always add “like the horse,” then make a silly face. An introduction that incited an immediate liking to him.

Terror struck and thoughts of Charlie vanished. In an instant she found herself running on the street where she lived. She was cleverly illusive though, heading down side streets, she knew to head in the general direction rather than lead them straight there. “Look who bought us booze,” was the last thing she heard before her feet were taking her faster than she thought she could go. The bottles kept clanking against one another and a second fear arose thinking they may break. Pulling them up and wrapping them tight, she pressed them firm against her undeveloped chest and for once was glad she didn’t have boobs. Managing to get a hand free, she took her glasses off. For the most part she knew the layout of the terrain and even though she was blind as a bat without them, she was dead in the water if they fell off and got lost again. The lucky rabbit was gaining ground as obnoxious taunts like “stupid bitch” were becoming progressively distant. An odd insult as she was neither.

Cutting through Mrs. Hobbs backyard, she burst through a gate, ripping her shirt, but taking her straight to a gravel road that ran between houses. Fast as she could, she spun, ducking behind the O’Reillys’ garden shed and buried herself behind a wheel barrow. There she stayed until the stampede of trampling hooves faded and she caught her breath. “Shit.” Those jerkoffs cost her one of her favorite shirts. The one with pink butterflies she had bought herself at the mall with babysitting money. With her glasses back on, she followed the gravel road to the main street and made her way home.

Going through the back door to the kitchen she placed the bottles on the table and put the bag back on top of the fridge. She reexamined the damage done to butterflies and deliberated if it was salvageable. Removing the wine key from the drawer next to the sink she opened both red and white. It had been offered to her many times, but she had always declined. She poured halfway to the top of a red solo cup and cheersed herself. To a most daring escape. As the Sauvé...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 5.10.2019
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Lyrik / Dramatik ► Dramatik / Theater
• ISBN-10: 1-5439-8833-4 / 1543988334
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5439-8833-8 / 9781543988338