MARINER II
by Jason A. Miller (C) 1998
Chapter 3: Son of a Preacher Man
Barek slid open the main door of the converted barn
that now housed the Tool 'n Die. It was warmer inside. He
shook off his leather jacket -- fall came early to New England --
and hung it up on a peg inside the door. Sure, he could have
just tossed it on his workbench, but order and procedure had to
be followed, even when working in a garage.
He checked his reflection in a tiny mirror he'd hung over
one of the workbenches. Well-coifed black hair stared back
at him. He had small sideburns, as was the current style, now
that all the kids were talking about Luke Priestley and Jason
Perry and the like.
He spent the next five minutes practicing his best
sneers in the mirror. He imagined Callie was on the other
side of the mirror, growing ever more suspicious, and that
renewed his determination. But you wouldn't know anything
about that now, would you... young James.
He moved from his sneers to his scowls, just like
they'd taught him. Home is where I hang my helmet, and you're
standing in my living room!
When he was done practicing his scowls, he adjusted
the collar of his deep blue denim work shirt, to reveal more
the black long-sleeved T-shirt beneath. Together with the
black jeans, and the sneer and the scowl, this new outfit was
indeed one of the best things about his sudden assignment to
Swans Crossing.
He reached for his communicator radio, and glanced
around to make sure that the kids weren't within earshot.
* * * * * * * *
The road to success was a long and hard one, Neil
Atwater's dad had always told him, and for an eminent chemist,
the road was even longer and harder. But should you ever come
to a break in the road, all you have to do is pave your way with
books, and you'll get across that break with no trouble at all.
Neil rearranged the twenty-five books that were all
open and spread out in front of him. A seven-year-old in the
library, already reading Mister Wizard books before the rest of
his class had even graduated from Weekly Reader, he'd seen the
high school students studying around him, and automatically
associated "hard study" with "piles of book and papers spread
importantly around you in a messy semicircle". Well, twenty-
five books ought to do the trick -- but the answer probably
wasn't even in there.
Face it, Atwater, he sighed to himself. You're outgrowing
this library at an alarming rate.
Gradually he became aware that Owen Fowler was seated
across the table from him, and he perked up. Owen would have
the answer!
Well, not the scientific answer. Not the answer to
the thermodynamics equation. But he'd provide a temporary
distraction, and Neil found that a half-hour break from the
books every four hours only served to concentrate the alpha
waves in the right direction.
"H-how long have you been sitting here?" he asked.
Owen leaned back and stretched his legs out against
the tabletop. "Only all morning, dude!"
"W-What?" Neil blinked. Surely he'd have noticed
earlier -- the hideous clash that was Owen's bright mustard
T-shirt under a brown vest certainly would've broken up
his line of site hours ago.
"Joke, man!"
"Oh. Ha ha!" he said, mocking laughter.
"Well, now that you're here, let's bust this place
and get some breakfast."
"But I already ate!"
"Not with me you didn't, so c'mon, let's get outta here!"
By the time they arrived at Swans, the joint was bustling
with dozens of high school students. They had trouble finding
a seat and it took Jazz nearly five minutes to serve their order
(big, fat, ice cream sundaes -- brain food!) once she'd taken it.
Neil and Owen both grimaced in mock disgust, and Owen tapped his
watch once she'd finally emerged from the kitchen.
"You're running late, Jazz! You better watch it before
you lose your best customers!"
"Yeah yeah yeah, and check it out, you better watch yourself
before you lose this ice cream straight down the back of your
shirt!"
"Oh! Please!" Owen countered, practicing his best manly
leer. Well, that was something Billy Gunn would have done, and
evidently it must have worked, because Jazz immediately locked
her hands around his neck and pretended to throttle him. Man,
you couldn't cut the attraction she felt for him, with a chainsaw!
Oh wait, speaking of attraction and chainsaws... "Hey
Jazz, have you seen Sandy this morning? I think I sort of lost
track of her at the record store."
Jazz pointed to the bar. Sandy was sitting with
who appeared to be Glory and Nancy, although all their backs
were turned. Owen started to get up, but Jazz shoved him back
into his seat and winked. "SANDY!" she shouted, with amazing
lung volume. Sandy jumped and spun around. Owen beckoned
her over wildly, and she crossed the floor to his table,
Glory and Nancy in her wake.
"Owen!"
"Sandy!"'
"You ditched me!" they wailed at each other simultaneously.
Then they paused, awkwardly. So Owen reached under the table
and dragged out his schoolbag.
"Look," he said. "I brought a frisbee. Let's go outside!"'
"But Owen," she wailed, "I'm still mad at you!"
"Great," he beamed at her. "You can throw at my head."
There was nothing quite like having girls so firmly under
his thumb, Owen decided.
* * * * * * * *
Their first kiss had been late at night, in a moon-lit
clearing at the Walker Estate. They'd held hands that summer
night, unable to take their eyes off of each other. Nervous,
giggly conversation had preceded the big moment.
"Strange cloud formations?"
"The mating habits of a nudibranch?
And other quick comments he couldn't even remember now.
It was funny, wasn't it, how all those comments really pertained
to the two of them, to the way their relationship had developed
ever since they'd met at the Tool 'n Die (and had subsequently
started throwing engine parts at each other, of course). And
all those false starts, near misses.
Jimmy's pulse had shot up and his heart and leaped into
his mouth, was the only way he could describe the few moments
Before. It was the same description he'd read in dozens of
books all through junior high, but it really was true. What
else other than the heart could account for that huge lump
in his throat? It was as if the kiss was lodged in his throat,
growing ever bigger, and that lump could only ever go away
by kissing a girl. And if the kiss didn't come, the lump
would reluctantly sink back into the esophagus, the stomach
(the duodenum, chimed in the part of his brain that
still remembered eighth grade biology).
As for the pulse -- well, that had leaped up as soon
as he'd told her, "Walker Woman, if anything ever bothers you,
share it." Or the words were similar to that, anyway. The
sense of what he said had been lost from the moment the words
left his (painfully un-kissed) lips. He knew it was risky even
as he said it -- what if she didn't care? What if she thought
he had a crush on her, and couldn't return the feeling? What
if she got annoyed with him, and left?
Only she hadn't. Their hands had remained together.
Her palm was warm and sweaty in his hand. Their palms weren't
*quite* joined up perfectly, and her fingers felt slightly
off-kilter in his. Both their hands would grow sore if they
didn't adjust their grip soon.
Only they kept their hands exactly as they were, imperfectly
joined and immobile. To move, even slightly, would break
the cement-like sweat, break the bond, ruin the moment.
And he was thinking far too much about their hands.
Cause look at the moonlight. It's actually playing on her
hair, her red, red hair. I thought that only happened on
television! He could see her face clearly, and she was grinning,
grinning at him.
He realized he was grinning too.
Grin, grin, grin. That's all they ever seemed to do
around each other, when they weren't fighting.
But now he'd just made a serious, important pledge to
her. And here was her response.
Their faces drew closer. It wasn't a case of him
initiating, or her initiating. It was just happening, as it
had done before, at the Tool 'n Die, and on Glory's porch.
And then their lips met.
* * * * * * * *
He'd dreamed this moment so many times in the past
year or so, since such dreams had awakened in him. It
had only been Callie once, the night after they first met. In
that dream, they'd been facing each other, and surrounded by
his parents and her parents (or those strange, faceless,
anonymous dream-beings who seemed to conveniently double
as her parents, who he'd not even met at the time). And they'd
kissed, and he'd immediately woken up, crying, crying *badly*,
the entire package of tears pressing into his eyes, begging
for escape, like steam out of a piston.
The dream kisses weren't real, though. He'd never had
one in real life before. Consequently the dream kisses were
fake, wrong -- it had always felt like he was kissing some cold,
inanimate object, like a wall, or a remote control. And then
once he'd awakened to a near-mouthful of damp, saliva-moistened
pillow.
It was as if his dream self just couldn't imagine
what lips really felt like.
* * * * * * * *
And then he *knew*. Callie's lips were warm, slightly
moist. She kissed his upper lip; he kissed her lower lip.
Absorbed, stunned, out of breath, he focused almost obsessively
on that lower lip, afraid that if he let go, or that if he breathed
wrong, she'd let go, and dwindle down into a pillow. Or even
nothing.
Then, there was a rustling noise from the bushes,
and they'd parted, neither completely back down to the level of
reality yet (He'd have to ask Saja about that).
They broke apart, and had never kissed again.
* * * * * * * *
He had been 13, watching a television program. Some really
bad movie aired on a cut-rate cable station. His entire life
was engine repair and baseball, though not necessarily in that
order. The Red Sox were in first place (this could be the
year!), and he spent at least an hour a day after school in
the Tool 'n Die watching Mr. Wellman at work. He was too young
to get his working papers, of course, but that didn't stop him
from learning, from even helping out once in a while.
There was no indication for him that, when he turned
on the TV that night, some huge force deep within him would be
awakened, that he'd never be the same again. Boston 7,
Minnesota 2, Roger Clemens whipping the World Series-bound Twins.
And on that cut-rate cable station, a young raven-haired
girl (probably 12 or so) stood on some stage, probably a
school show or something, and she started singing "On Top
of Old Smokey". A corny scene, to be sure -- he normally
didn't even like characters singing in movies. They didn't
sing in real life, did they?
But this was different. This girl up on the screen
wasn't just singing something about meatballs, she was singing
right at him.
"She's beautiful," he'd said, not even aware that he'd
meant to speak. And then he started crying, crying out of
loneliness, crying heavily and bitterly because Roger Clemens
and Wade Boggs and Chiltons' repair manuals would never again
be enough, now that women were in his life. He was so alone,
all, all alone, and needed this anonymous girl on television
to rush into his life, and sing for him. Just for him, only to
him.
Callie rode into town a year later, and even though
there had been Sophia and Nancy in the meantime (almost
a connection, maddeningly close, but nothing as pure as he'd
shared that night with the young singer on television), Callie
was The One.
* * * * * * * *
James Clayton
Ms. Arnold
English 9
9/10/92
PAGE FROM MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY: THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE
All the best moments in my life have to do with
my girlfriend. My girlfriend and I first got together
this summer. I met her at work earlier this summer. She
started working in the same store that I do. But our
relationship took some time to develop. It was the big
conversation we had after our first kiss that really
made this the strong lively relationship it is now.
First, we kissed while out on a date one night.
We were watching the moon and the clouds and we
suddenly started kissing. It was the first time for
each of us. However the kiss only lasted a few seconds
and shortly after that we both went home. But all night
long I thought about the kiss and thought about it some
more, trying to analyze it and wonder how to do it better next
time.
Then, a few days later, my girlfriend and I
finally talked about our big moment. I went to her
house and we just talked about ourselves. She told me
all about her worries and her fears. She is afraid of the
dark. She is afraid of being alone. She doesn't have
a mother. Finally, I told her that she could rely on
me for anything. She started crying, and then we kissed again.
It is common while talking about teenagers to
focus on lust and romance. But there is so much more to it
than that with my girlfriend and me. We really need each
other. We made the perfect team as well as the perfect couple.
Jimmy deleted the entire file from his computer with
a sigh. He wasn't even brave enough to write out his girlfriend's
name on paper yet! This was obviously no good.
Besides. The conversation after the kiss had never
taken place. They'd simply never talked about it again.
And they'd never kissed again.
So he started again with a new file and instead wrote
a five-paragraph composition about Game Five of the 1986
American League Championship Series. Dave Henderson was a more
true-life hero to the piece than Callie was at the moment.
Besides, Dave Henderson had actually hit that home run off of
Donnie Moore (who'd later killed himself, Jimmy remembered with
a frown) to tie up the game, where the Angels had been just one
strike away from victory. The Sox had ended up in the World
Series that year!
But Callie had never said she'd really needed him.
* * * * * * * * *
Saja's bike pulled up to the docks, backfiring rather
dramatically. He cut the ignition. J.T. and Jimmy pulled
up a few seconds afterwards. He noticed that Jimmy seemed
unusually lost in thought -- his face was almost ashen. J.T.
however looked as lively as usual.
"Look!" J.T. exclaimed. "It's the TARDIS, it's back!
Saja, you were right!"
Saja merely grinned. He'd known, he'd actually known!
Maybe his powers really were increasing.
"Of course, my friend. I sensed the Doctor's arrival
from far away."
"But the submarine's not here," growled Jimmy. "It's
gone. Look."
He was right. Saja turned away from the TARDIS
to look at the water. The submarine wasn't bobbing in its
usual place up and down on the pier.
It really had gone, and that meant that Callie had
gone with it.
* * * * * * * *
So his instructions were clear. The Ultimate Leader
was coming to Swans Crossing in a matter of days, and all had
to be ready for his arrival. Barek stowed his communications
in a drawer in the workbench, and locked it. Whistling
Dusty Springfield to himself, he left the store, leaving
the door unlocked just in case his two smitten employees should
decide to work later in the afternoon.
He walked down the alley, and across the courtyard
to Swans Soda shop. A bunch of school kids were tossing
a frisbee around the grass. He found a bench near the shop,
and sat down, watching them at play.
Barek's dad had been a man of the cloth, and had
never wanted this kind of life for him. But Barek had shown
certain aptitudes in school from a very young age, and his
current employers had approached him on his sixteenth birthday.
Those somber men in suits had shown him certain things pertaining
to his destiny, and he hadn't gone back to his father's home since
then.
Of course, now he had responsibilities. Secrets to keep,
a double life to lead. And a cover to maintain. Callie and
the ninja-boy had their suspicions, but in the end, they couldn't
prove anything. Even Young James knew *something*, but not the big
picture.
J.T. and Neil, of course, didn't have the slightest clue
as to what he was doing. They did know about his bald, black-clad
friends, and they knew about the bug planted in their room. But
they didn't know Barek's role. All he'd have to do for the next
week is keep Callie and Saja apart from J.T. and Neil, and wait
for the Ultimate Leader to arrive. Then things would start to happen.
A frisbee landed in his lap, and he looked up in disgust.
The Fowler boy stood nervously in front of him. Neil hovered in
the background, not really paying attention.
"Um, Mr. Barek?" Owen said.
Barek looked up and sneered. Then he remembered that Owen
wasn't part of his assignment, and wasn't intruding like Callie
was, so he'd better start feigning politeness.
"Hey. Video man. How ya doin'!" he said.
Owen smiled, and pushed his glasses back up on his nose.
"Hey, doin' great! Thanks for asking!"
"How's the video coming along? Do you have anything new
to show me?"
"A-Actually, yeah! Sandy Swan and I shot some new
footage last night. We're working on a second video, you know."
"No, I was not aware of that," Barek said. "Why don't
you run it by the shop tonight after closing? I'll take a look."
"More ice cream?"
"Of course!" Barek said with a cheeriness he didn't really
feel. Neil wasn't even paying attention to the conversation anymore --
he and Nancy were talking about something.
The frisbee game resumed. Barek continued to sit and
watch. Neil was so young, so energetic. It was a shame that
the events of the next week were going to have to happen to him.
But Barek always did what he could.
* * * * * * * *
The younger "baldie" crouched under the rickety wooden
steps leading up to the harbormaster's office. He stuck out
like a sore thumb. Indeed, with his shaved head, he actually
looked not entirely unlike a thumb.
Roz and Chris stood in plain sight further down the docks.
The three boys from the soda shop (Jimmy, Saja, and J.T.) paced
up and down Captain Walker's empty pier. Under the stairs,
the baldie whispered urgently into a pocket-sized communicator.
Roz and Chris nodded at each other.
* * * * * * * *
They'd knocked on the police box door, but there was
no answer. They guessed that the Doctor and his friends had
all boarded the submarine, and then left for.. wherever.
"Well," said J.T., "I'm going to get back to Glory
and the others. Then I've got an English essay to write,
and it's due tomorrow."
"But what about the Doctor?" said Saja.
"There's more to life than science fiction," J.T. said.
"He's missing and he's mysterious, but he and the submarine
will be back in their own good time, and we have other things
to get on with."
Jimmy knelt down. "He's right, Saja. Callie will be
back. We know that."
Saja still looked worried. "But Captain Walker likes
to vanish for long periods of time, remember?"
"Callie wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," said
J.T.
"Maybe she didn't have a choice," Saja insisted.
"Callie always has a choice," said Jimmy, and then he
got on his bike and drove away.
"Gone. In a Jimmy-shaped cloud of dust," said J.T.
"So I'm gonna take off too."
"Ah well," said Saja, when he was left alone. "An
empty pier is like a Zen riddle. When is a dock not a dock?
When it's a Doctor!"
The baldie climbed out from under the steps and
hurried away. Unseen, Roz and Chris walked after him.
TO BE CONTINUED
Let us hear from you!
***If you have any comments, questions, suggestions, etc. for Jason, send
them to him at JMILLER6@uoft02.utoledo.edu
Text file Source (historic): geocities.com/hollywood/hills/2262/fanfic
geocities.com/hollywood/hills/2262geocities.com/hollywood/hills
geocities.com/hollywood
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