Gone With An Ancient (Ancient Atlantis Book 1) Page 2

  That’s right, I’ve been unceremoniously fired. I give up years of my life, to come back home, to take a job literally where I used to hang out after school, and this is what they do to me! They fire me. Because of “budget cuts.” Look, I can read between the lines. It has to be something more than just ‘first in, first out.’ It has to be. I’m not worthless. I know that. Don’t I?

  Sharon texted me about drinks tonight, but I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea. I know I shouldn’t be alone tonight, but…Sharon has a hard time keeping her liquor to an appropriate level, and besides, I don’t think I want to get that wasted anyway.

  I tried to text Cecil today. No answer. Figures right? My luck being what it is, that even my sorta on-off fling person doesn’t want to text back. Maybe I should have told him what happened today, guilted him into texting me back. Do I want to be that person though? Should I be that person? I dunno. It’s all too much today. This week. Last week. It’s all too much sometimes.

  What now Diary? [Err. Journal. I’m trying here.] What should I do? What’s left now? No job, no family, no nothing. Nothing at all. Might as well jump off a cliff, and let it all go…

  NO.

  NO.

  I can’t think like that. No. Stop it Juniper. Just imagine what Dad would think…Goddamnit. Ya know what he would say? He wouldn’t say anything, because he’d be too damn busy drinking himself into early retirement and an early grave.

  I dunno if that was disrespecting his memory or not. Does it really matter anymore? What was that saying…something about how we all die twice, the first time is our physical death, and the second is the last time someone says our name. I will probably be the only one to say his name out loud. Forget it. I really have to stop with this line of thought. Leave the past buried, where it belongs. At least until Mom dies too, althought I doubt I'll even know or hear about it.

  Maybe I should go see Cecil tonight? Just to see if he’s in? Make sure he’s ok? Maybe spend the night if he’s not feeling well? Or if he is feeling well? The last time I saw him, a few nights ago, it was…amazing. Except for the morning after. I have to figure out a more dignified exit than stuffing my underwear in my bag and rushing out into the cold. Melancholy memories, that’s for sure.

  Gah I’m hopeless. I’ll pack a toothbrush. Just in case. Ya know? Maybe I’ll see if the old woman was right?

  Till later,

  J.

  Jalopy Tavern

  Sharon parked the car outside the tavern, its lights reflecting in the windshield and bringing a sort of calm over Juniper.

  “Everything is going to be alright,” Juniper said out loud, as she bundled her coat around her, preparing for the cold outside.

  “Just keep telling yourself that, and you’ll get through these next couple of months,” said Sharon, her high pitched voice shaking as the car cooled down to the outside temperature.

  “Months?” said Juniper incredulously.

  “I definitely meant weeks. Definitely weeks. Maybe even days.”

  Juniper quickly got out of the car and hobbled to the tavern’s door, easing her way past the ice and the snow. Sharon wasn’t so lucky and slipped as soon as she stepped out of the car and fell on her butt. “You ok?” asked Juniper, wanting to leave her friend and head into the warmth.

  “Leave me! I’m not fit to continue with you!” said Sharon, smiling. She got up and followed Juniper.

  Juniper opened the tavern doors and proceeded inside, instantly greeted by the stale tobacco, split beer, and odd body odor of the inside of her favorite bar. Growing up with her father, these smells, this place, was more home than the house was.

  “Juniper! Sharon!” yelled the bartender, Rick. Rick was suave, built, clean shaven, and most importantly: single. Juniper had tried to flirt with him, but it was clear that Rick wasn’t interested in the befuddled librarian types, with their not always kept hair, and calm demeanors. No, Rick was more into Sharon, and her wild, properly kept, traditionally beautiful look. More than once Sharon had pretended to be too drunk to drive home and spent a nice night with Rick, finding out just what he looked like underneath his tight muscle shirts and skinny jeans.

  Sharon and Juniper sat down at the bar. “Juniper lost her job,” started Sharon. Juniper blushed, but before she could pitch in something nice about herself, Sharon continued, “We’re going to need 3 shots each of bourbon, whatever is on the rail, followed by two boilermakers. Got it?”

  “I see who’s in charge tonight, ladies. You got it,” said Rick. Tonight, he wore shorts, even with the cold weather outside, and Sharon leaned far over the bar to catch a glimpse of his toned and muscular calves. She ran her hand through her hair to fluff it a little bit and purposefully drew a few strands over her face.

  “I see you’re not planning on helping me out tonight,” said Juniper with a sigh.

  “What?! I wouldn’t just get you all drunk and just leave you. That’s totally not my style.”

  But even as Rick brought over the first three rounds of shots, Juniper remembered the past few times that she had gotten drunk with Sharon. Each time, Sharon had gotten a suitor and left her outside the bar. And each time after the first night of sitting outside for three hours, waiting for sobriety to return, Juniper had never had too much to drink.

  But, as with all things, Juniper’s mind drifted to the events of the day and the stresses of tomorrow, and the uncertainty of whatever she thought she could have with Cecil. The shots in front of her looked so inviting, the alcohol a warm embrace not only from the cold outside but from the cold of her problems.

  Sharon held up a shot. “Ready? Three straight.” Juniper grabbed hers and looked Sharon straight in the eye. With a nod, they each drank the first one. It was the quickly followed by the second, after a quick grimace from each of them. Then, the third. They ended up coughing and laughing for a few minutes as the booze made its way down.

  Seeing a break in the action, Rick brought over the boilermakers, setting a shot and a beer next to each of them. Sharon proceeded to quickly dunk her shot into the beer while Juniper poured hers in. With a quick nod, and a chink of the mugs, down went the fourth drink.

  “What’s next ladies?” asked Rick, tousling his hair in Sharon’s direction. Sharon immediately noticed and gave him a less than subtle wink.

  Sharon looked at Juniper and grinned. “Two manhattans. We’re gonna be classy now.” They both burst out laughing as Rick went to go make the next round of drinks.

  “Thanks for paying for tonight.”

  “No problem,” said Sharon. She crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap and stared expectantly at Juniper. “So, tell me. What’s next?”

  Juniper wasn’t expecting that question. She moved uncomfortably in her seat for a moment before answering. “I suppose, I go internet job hunting. Maybe someone needs a librarian, or an archivist, or something. Anything. Maybe I’ll apply to be a secretary?”

  Sharon sighed, “No. I meant with Cecil, you silly goose.” As Sharon would get drunker Juniper noticed that her vocabulary would increasingly become more middle aged and motherly.

  “I don’t know. I want to see him.”

  “Do you? Do you really? You think he’s really into you?”

  “I hope so, I hope it’s not just random sex for him. I don’t think it is for me.” Juniper hated that question, and each time Sharon had asked it she tried her best not be insulted by it. It was a stupid question and she hoped it wasn’t a less than subtle put-down.

  Rick returned with their cocktails, putting a large cocktail glass in front of each of them. He gave an elaborate bow, and returned to the bar.

  “Well, you’re not seeing him tonight,” revealed Sharon, smiling and taking a gulp of her cocktail. She twisted her lips in a grimace. “I think he could have done better with that one.”

  “Want to return it?”

  “Nah. Booze is booze.”

  Juniper sampled hers. “Why can’t I see him tonight, exactly?”

&
nbsp; “Because we’re hanging out tonight!”

  Juniper sat back in her chair and stared at Sharon for a moment, trying to remember when they met and how exactly they became friends. There weren’t many similarities between them, but in the small town of Kurlington, even a few similarities equaled a friendship, and they had the added benefit of at least sort of knowing each other back in high school.

  Juniper had moved back to town shortly after college, mostly for her father, but because somewhere deep down she had missed home. Had she made the right choice? She still wondered that.

  “So you saw Cecil a few nights ago, how did that go?” asked Sharon.

  “Fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  “I’m going to head to the bathroom,” said Juniper. “Try not to drop your pants right here and start with Rick, ok?” she said with a wink. Sharon laughed and waved her away.

  Juniper weaved her way through the crowd. She wished that one of the guys would notice her, maybe so that she wouldn’t have to think about Cecil, and maybe so that she could feel wanted. Getting fired was an awful feeling, she concluded. It exacerbated everything.

  Entering a dive bar bathroom at any time is a precarious situation, but on this evening it was in even worse shape. She detected at least four different smells emanating from the two stalls and two sinks in front of her. She hadn’t really needed to go to the bathroom, but after seeing Sharon wink to Rick, she felt that it was her only option other than puking all over Sharon’s already ostentatious clothing.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. 26 years old and she could already see the wrinkles around her eyes, and the slight droop to her facial skin. Four years until the big 30, she thought. Two years until the high school reunion. And where was she, but in the same dive bar bathroom she had vomited in a thousand times, usually alone, with no one to hold her hair back. Not that she had wanted someone to. It was really hard to look nice while vomiting, she mused.

  While staring at something that resembled the early stages of a late in life pimple, she noticed one of the stalls behind her opening. “Dear, you ain’t gonna get any better looking, pimple or no pimple,” said a familiar voice. The door opened all the way and out walked the same old wizened lady from the other morning.

  Juniper turned around quickly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Getting a drink, what’re you doing here?” The old lady went to wash her hands.

  “I got fired today,” she heard herself say. She wasn’t sure why she was revealing that information in a bar bathroom to a lady who had surreptitiously tried to foretell her future.

  “Well, some things are meant to be.” The old lady dried her hands and touched Juniper lightly on the shoulder, as if to extoll more useful advice. Instead, her eyes once again turned milky white. “Your journey begins soon. Be ready. Do not hesitate,” the old lady said in a drone like voice. As suddenly as she had started, her eyes flashed back to pale green, and she walked out of the bathroom without another word.

  “Who the hell is that?” wondered Juniper out loud, thoroughly confused by the day’s events. She looked at herself in the mirror again, washed her hands just to be safe, and quickly exited the bathroom.

  She wound her way back through the crowds again, and found her jacket and bag on the chair where she’d left them. Sharon, however, was nowhere to be found. Juniper looked around the bar, hoping to see her or Rick somewhere. This had happened before, she remembered, a couple of months back when Sharon had left with some guy without telling her. Juniper remembered waiting for her for two hours before leaving. However weird today had been, Juniper knew she was not waiting two hours again for a friend who now ranked dead last on her list of ‘Good Friends To Keep Forever.’ Sharon had that quality, always either first or last.

  Juniper went up to the bar and saw that it was now staffed by Hogan, Rick’s usual replacement. She leaned in, “they leave?” Hogan nodded, causing Juniper to curse under her breath. She grabbed her bag and coat and proceeded to the door.

  The cold air outside rushed into her face, and in that moment she realized that she was drunk. And Sharon’s car was gone. “Fuck today,” she said out loud. What was left to do? Walk home in the ever deepening snow?

  She stood there for a minute, the snow continuing to fall on her shoulders. She decided that instead of walking home, which was over five miles away, she was going to walk to Cecil’s which was only two miles away. He would take her in. Someone had to be nice to her, after all. She pulled a knit hat and scarf out of her bag and proceeded to crunch through the snow.

  Cecil

  The snow had found its way into her shoes. She didn’t know how, and thinking about it as her ears slowly froze under the not-so-well-knit hat, made her wonder if maybe she should have put more effort into having good friends. Dwelling on past decisions wasn’t going to get the snow out of her shoes, but with each crunching footstep, her toes getting more numb, she looked forward to the day that she wouldn’t just be tread on by others and perhaps people would be considerate of how she felt. Maybe even what she wanted. She'd have to figure out what she wanted first, though.

  As she turned from Bowling Street onto Lorimar Lane, her drunk mind slowly tried to figure out if going to see Cecil tonight was even a good idea. But, her house was farther away from his, so perhaps it was the only idea, since her cellphone was dead and she might just freeze to death in the Maine winter.

  She crunched slowly through the deepening snow, the tips of her hair already frozen, her hands jammed into her pockets. She passed each of the houses, most newer than Cecil’s, but none with their lights on.

  She had known Cecil, in passing, for a long time. He had always lived in the big old house at the end of the lane, in an almost timeless manner. The lane was flanked on both sides by trees, alternating between evergreen and spring flowering specimens. She had taken this walk, this drive, on many an occasion, marveling at the colors that were ever present. Cecil knew each of his neighbors by name, and had often mentioned how he’d enjoyed seeing the kids grow up and move out, but Juniper had never asked how old Cecil actually was. Even though he knew everyone, he kept to himself for the most part, shut inside his massive old house. Filled with dark wood and his calm, beautiful, and incredibly nice demeanor.

  If she wore a watch, she was sure it’d be well past three in the morning. What if he has a girl over? Her mind raced over the possibilities, and how she would have to react. She would have to remain calm, act as sober as possible, and most importantly, just ask to borrow Cecil’s car and drive herself home. They weren’t in a relationship, that was never discussed, and neither had ever talked about the other people in her life. But there was some connectionm, she was sure of it.

  She nearly laughed at the thought of someone else being in her life. When she wasn’t at work, with Cecil or Sharon, she was holed up at home with a choice book. It would be Cecil who would have someone else. But she hated to think about it.

  Lorimar Lane curved drastically upward, as it ran along the coast, starting out near the waves and ending up high above them, with Cecil’s house at the top. It was technically only two miles from the bar, but as Juniper’s calves screamed out in pain she started to regret this walk. But seeing as it was so close, she could make out the lights that were still on in his house, she couldn’t justify turning back now.

  Finally, with her legs burning and her lungs aching, she made it to his doorstep and his extra-large oak front doors. She stared at them for a moment. The light that shone through the beveled glass came from a lamp in the main floor’s hallway. It wasn’t clear who was in the house. Perhaps she didn’t want to know, she thought.

  A cold blast of air and snow made her rethink her hesitation and knocked on the door, followed by a ring of the doorbell. She waited for a few minutes and tried again, hoping that he was home, or that he would come to the door.

  She heard movement inside the house, a bounding down the stairs, the door opened, and thankfully n
ot to a strange woman, but Cecil Montenegro. His wavy brown hair was tussled in its usual way, he wore a tight fitting white shirt that showed off the curvatures of his muscles and his lean and fit abdomen. With the door came the usual smell of the house’s old wood and his always odd but delighting smell of salt and leather. She loved it all and she wasn’t afraid to admit that to herself. She loved his house and she had come to love him, and in that moment, with sobriety returning along with the awfulness of the day, she hoped that he wouldn’t reject her now.

  “Evening,” he said, his low dulcet tones matching his small quirky smile. His lips were smoother than any guy she had known, and he always swore he never actually took care of them. Her eyes lingered on them for a moment. She considered just lunging for them and a deep kiss.

  “Hey,” she squeaked, instead.

  “You look fuckin’ frozen to death.”

  “I think I’m gonna lose a toe, honestly.”

  “Come on inside, it’s already warm, but I think we can get a fire going.”

  He pulled her inside, and as she started removing her hat, and then her scarf, he started helping her with her jacket, which slowly became him unbuttoning her shirt. “I thought you wanted to get a fire going,” she muttered.

  “I’m standing by what I said,” he whispered back. “Forget the cliche,” he added quickly. She laughed then, the first true laugh of the day as he stripped her down to her brassiere and she pulled his shirt off.

  He grabbed her, pulling her close, and kissed her. His smooth lips met her frozen ones, his warm chest to her chilled, and he tried to give her his warmth. His hands found their way to her back and tenderly undid her brassiere, which she tossed lightly aside. He knelt down and stripped her down, letting his rough hands find their way down her thighs, kissing her lightly as he slid her underwear off. He didn’t know if she was wet from the rain, or from the anticipation of coming over. He stood back up, admiring her buxom chest, the room’s sparse light shining off her pale skin.