One Life

(Before you start reading I'd like you to know that this is a first draft of the story, all written in one go, so please don't mind any mistakes I may have made.

Enjoy!(i hope)

-claudiu)

When you are a kid, time seems to pass so fast, everything is exciting. Everything is descovering something new. You sometimes remember things that feel like they happened yesterday, but if you really think about it, they were weeks, or even months ago. Just after Christmas passes, and you already miss the vacantion, you are longing for the summer, when you would be free of school, and you could stay up late, because the sun would also stay up late, and you would have road trips with your mom and dad, visiting grandpa and grandma, the summer seems sooo far away.

      But it always comes. And it always comes faster than you could imagine. It also passes faster than you could imagine too. When you say three months, it feels like a very long time, but then they pass, and it always feels like a week or so. But then you start to count your memories. You remember all the things you did since summer started. That time you went to play hide and seek with your friends, or that time that new girl came in the neighbourhood, to stay with their parents for a few days, and she’d look for other kids their age to play with. And how you’d stay up late thinking about her face, and her long blonde hair, and her crystal blue eyes. And her pretty lips. But you didn’t wanna kiss her because kissing was stupid and liking girls was stupid and girls were stupid and the boys would laugh if they knew you liked her. Which you didn’t. Cos that was stupid. But then she’d leave and maybe you’d miss her for a day, but then you’d forget. Just another short chapter in this book called “Summer”.

     Then school would start, and you would meet all of your friends, not just the friends that lived two or three streets away. Friends you forgot about, because three months is such a long time. But then school would become boring again. Everyday going to school, everyday doing homework, too little time for playing. Good thing for the weekend – you saviour. During the weekend you could stay up late again. And you wouldn’t have to wake up early. And you wouldn’t have to go to school, even though you discovered that you actually liked literature, and Mr. Bradley wasn’t so bad after all, if you actually did your homework right.

     And then Christmas would come again. And Christmas always felt special. And you’d meet all these people your parents say are family, but you only see them once or twice a year – at best – and then you forget them until the next time you see them. And they’d make you sing carols, which you liked at first, but it really got old after singing it for the fifth time in the same day. And you would get gifts, and that would make you the happiest person on earth. But then Christmas would pass, and with it – the vacation. And you would wait for summer all over again.

     After a few of those cycles you find yourself becoming different. You would grow taller a lot faster. And hair would start growing all over your body. Even on your face. You could even have a mostache, like the one your father used to have when you were younger. But your dad doesn’t have a mostache anymore, he has a full beard. And that’s the one you’d really like to have. And all of a sudden, liking girls didn’t feel as “stupid” anymore. And they boys wouldn’t laugh anymore if they saw you talking to a girl, they’d be impressed. You find yourself liking other things now. You don’t like the music you used to like a few years ago, now you like Metallica, and Guns ‘n’ Roses. And once when you were hanging out, one of the boys in the group would bring a pack of cigarettes that he stole from his father, and he would give each of you one, to try. And he’d teach you how to smoke, because he already knew, his older brother taught him. And you would go ahead and try, and when you first inhaled that smoke into your lungs you felt like something exploded in you, and left you with a bitter taste, and a hell of a lot of coughing. But you carried on, because hey, the others did it. But you knew you couldn’t smoke as much as some of them, because your parents didn’t smoke, and you couldn’t buy them on your own, therefore you couldn’t be as cool as some of them.

     It was at around the same time that curse words made their way into your vocabulary. You’ve known those words for quite a while, but you couldn’t bring yourself to use them, because you knew they were bad words. And your parents never used them. At least not in front of you. But now you felt pressured. How could you not? How could  you not use them when all of your friends around you would use them? The words were novel to them, and they’d take turns telling them, and then they’d laugh. Laugh and smoke. And some of the brave ones even shouted them. But you always felt kinda wrong. But you carried on. Then your parents found out that you smoke but you didn’t care because no one your age listens to their parents anymore, and your mother would start to cry, and your father would eventually get tired of trying to talk to you and he would raise his voice, but you would simply go to your room. And you’d feel bad about your mother crying, but there’s nothing you could do about it, I mean they’re your friends, and you’re not gonna simply get rid of them.

     And then some time would pass and you’d get used to all these things, but this time passed a bit slower than it did when you were a kid, you feel like. And eventually all of you and your friends would get a girlfriend. And the size of your group would double, but all of it would still feel normal. And then the same guy who first brought the cigarettes all that time ago, would bring in some beers that his brother gave him. And it wasn’t much, I mean he got like half a can of beer for each of you, so you shared it with your girlfriend. A few days later that friend would tell the boys, when none of the girls were around, that he and his girlfriend had sex, and all of you would be impressed, and then when you met with the girls, some of the boys would make some jokes or remarks to that guy, related to the sex, and then his girlfrend finally figures it out, and she gets mad at him for telling. Later on when it’s only you and your girlfriend, you’d try to suggest the idea to her, even though after they left the meeting for that day to sort out their problems you all went like “can you belive they actually did it?”. And of course, your girlfriend would accept. And of course she’d tell you not to tell the boys. And of course you would tell the boys with the first chance you got.

     Then some more time would pass by, and with that time, some more girlfriends too. Some of the friends would move to other places too, you included. It’s time for you to go to college. By the time you go to college you could grow that awesome beard you always wanted, like your dad. But your dad was balding now. And you wished with all your heart none of that would happen to you. In college you’d meet up with other kinds of people, and they’d soon become your friends. And with the new group of friends, theres a new temptation – weed. And you love it. You love the way it makes your head feel. And it makes you more creative, and that’s good, because you chose literature as your major. You decided to give writing a go, and it looks like you have potential. During your first year of college you publish your first short story in the university’s magazine, and it gets decent reviews. During the next two years you publish another seven, and by the time you’re about to finish college, you’re three quarters into your first novel. Your favorite professor, Mr. Bailey, says he your book looks promising, and that he will help you publish it, he know some editors.

     A year and a half after you finish college your first book is finally out. Your father would be so proud. He passed away just three months ago. Lung cancer. Even though he wasn’t a smoker, in fact he was quite vocal against smokes. I guess God decided to play the world’s funniest gag against him. At least he got to read the second draft of the book, and sent you a letter telling you how proud he is, along with a check with $5000 written on it, and with the instructions in the letter “P.S. I also sent you this check, so you can pay rent until your book gets published. And who knows? Maybe you’ll become a millionaire and then, but only then, you could pay it back to me.” You quit smoking after you heard the news about your father. You couldn’t do it anymore. Out of instinct you pulled a cigarette out of the pack, put it in your mouth, but found yourself unable to light it. Something wouldn’t let you. You also give up drinking at the same time.

     The book is amazing, you get excelent reviews, and sell one million copies in just six months. You get a contract for your next two books that makes you rich, and you hear that Stephen Spielberg wants to buy the rights for your book to make a movie staring Tom Hanks! I mean how amazing is that?

     Spielberg did get the rights for the movie after all, and they got you to be on set for reasons you don’t really understand, but hell, you are excited. They are filming your first  movie. You instantly fall in love with an actress called Willa Lawrence, and you ask her for a date. She rejects at first, but after a bit of persistance, you finally get her to say yes. You go on a few dates together and she falls in love with you as well. By the time the movie releases you are already engaged and planning to have babies.

     Two days before the wedding you find out that Willa’s pregnant, and you never felt more happy in your life. Before the baby is born you start working on a love story, which is something completely new to you, but both your wife and your editor says it’s good work.

     The baby is one now. Willa is planning her return into the movie business, and you both are planning to move to L.A. to make it easier on both her and you. The love story you wrote is planned to release in three weeks and you are excited for that. There’s already a deal in the works for the story to be turned into a movie.

     Six months have passed since the release of the book. People have mixed oppinions about it. Most people say it’s a cliché, but it pays tribute to the older stories in the genre, while others say it’s plain bad. Willa is back in front of the cameras. She was originally supposed to act in the movie for my book, but she dropped out because she wanted to share the screen with Robert De Niro, and at first you were a bit pissed, but it passed with time.

     It’s almost your daughter’s third anniversary now. You haven’t seen your wife in five months, and neither has your daughter. She filmed the movie with De Niro in Italy, and then she went straight to Egipt, for a movie directed by Peter Weir. The movie made after your book is a complete disaster. Some critics slam the director, others say it’s both his and your fault, while others say he did his best, but it’s the material he had to work with that sucked. You started working on three different novels in the past year but dropped two of them and you’re on the verge of dropping the third one too.

     Your wife is leaving you for a stuntman she’s met on set. You haven’t had a good idea in over a year. You started drinking again. Nothing is going well for you except for the fact that Willa is leaving you the child.

     You get yourself into a car accident because of the drinking. You suffer a back injury and have to constantly take painkillers and walk with a cane from now on.

     Fifteen years go by. Your daughter’s about to start college soon. She’s found herself a nice man. She’s not like you, and you thank God for it. She’s not smoking, not drinking, and she doesn’t swear as much as you used to. You started to go bald just like your father, and your beard started to turn gray. Over the years you wrote ten other books. They didn’t sell as well as they used to, but the sales were steady, and they did make enough money. You are saved by the fact that you once were a “#1 New York Times Best Seller”. The drinking and the pills don’t get along well, but you’re not gonna stop taking any of them. And that made you a bitter man, who doesn’t really have friends anymore.

     It’s your 50^th birthday! Happy birthday! You wake up late, as it is usual for you in the last year, since you retired from writing. You know you won’t live very long, so you live off the royalties and the money you accumulated over the years. Your daughter dropped in the last year of college to marry the man she met when she started college. Turns out he’s not such a good man as you thought, but she wouldn’t tell you too much. She calls you to tell you “Happy birthday!” but to also tell you she’s pregnant, but she doesn’t want to keep him. You protest to it, but to no end. The call left you a bit empty inside, and for the first time in a few years you think of her mother, who is now a household name and a Oscar winning actress. You decide to go on a walk, and maybe stop at that bar you always stop at. After about an hour of walking you decide to go ahead and visit that bar after all. Inside the bar somebody has been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes, but when you try to look at him, he looks away. After your third glass of whiskey you have the courage to ask him why he’s staring. He then asks you if you are (name) and you say yes. You see his face light up, and his mouth turns into a smile. He says he always wished he’d bumped into you since he first saw you on TV. He laughs and tells you his name. It sounds vaguely familiar to you, but you can’t quite place him. Until he tells you he’s a friend back from school. And then you remember. He’s the guy who gave you your first cigarette. The guy who gave you your first beer. You’re glad to meet him in a place like this, and for the next two hours you talk about yourselves. Turns out he’s a janitor in a corporate building in the city. His wife left him too, but his took the children with her, and ran away and then he never saw them again. He also told you that he had cancer. Lung cancer. But he said he was happy. He lived a good life and he doesn’t regret anything. You look outside and see it’s getting darker. You spent enough time here, so you pay the bill for both of you and then you part ways. But you still fill empty on the inside. A little bit more empty. You hail a taxi to take you home, and the whole ride home you think about your life. All of it.

     Before you get out of the taxi you pay the driver, and give him probably the biggest tip he’ll ever see. You gave him all the money in your wallet. Five hundred and thirty-eight dollars. You climb the stairs to your appartment, instead of taking the lift, even though your back hurts like hell. When you get to your appartment you pick up a full bottle of whiskey, even though you already had one half-full sitting on the floor, near the bed. You round up every pill you can find in the whole place and you start drinking them all with wiskey. You are found dead, three days later, by your neighbour, who got worried cos she didn’t see you in a while.