Crossroad

Bit of a non-blog this time. I haven’t been doing much except writing. I’ve finished four short stories for this course I’m on. I have to submit one to the author/mentor and the following story is the one I’m least happy with, in fact I was on the verge of deleting it. Anyway, have a quick read then tell me what you think’s wrong with the story. I won’t mind if you agree with me that it’s rubbish. It’s a bit long for one blog, so I’ll do in in stages.

CROSSROAD

By Chick Dubber

Ian got out of the car at the crossroad. He had to. When the driver of the little Toyota stopped to pick him up he asked which way Ian was going.

“North,” he said on an impulse. After all he was headed in that general direction.

“Hop in. I’ll take you a few miles up the road, then I’m heading off east,” the driver replied.

So, there he was in the middle of the Wairarapa on a Wednesday morning. Not really knowing where he wanted to go, but knowing where he didn’t want to be.

At least the weather was fine. Ian doubted if he’d have left if it was raining. That had been his biggest problem. Finding excuses for not making decisions.

But this morning he decided.

“If there’s nothing happening, go out and do something,” was one of the few mantras he remembered from countless motivation courses.

He felt there had been nothing happening in his life for a long time. Ever since he realised that Sam must be having an affair. The really sad part was that, after the initial shock, he really didn’t care. It didn’t worry him. Or so he told himself.

He hadn’t confronted her about it. She knew he knew. He just accepted the fact. She also knew that nothing was going to be done about it and that was probably why she had the affair in the first place. He’d lost interest in her and she’d lost patience with him.

But now he had done something. He wrote her a note. He filled a backpack. No business shirts, no suits, no ties, no dress shoes. Jeans, tee shirts, sneakers, skip cap, parka, change of underwear and socks. That’s all he needed for now. Ian had a few dollars in his wallet along with driving licence, credit card and blood donor card. There were some books he might go back and collect later, but could live without them for now.

The apartment and most of the furnishings were Sam’s. He assumed her new boyfriend would move in. Unless, of course, he was married. That could be an interesting scenario.

Ian wished he hadn’t said he was heading north. He would have liked to have gone to Napier with that guy. He’d never been there and might have been able to pick up a job. Something outdoor. In an orchard or vineyard. There’s plenty of them in Hawkes Bay. I’m reasonably fit, he thought, despite a gammy knee, and still relatively young. Better out in the fresh air working than on a gymnasium treadmill looking at your reflection in floor to ceiling mirrors. And preferable to selling cars or real estate to people who either couldn’t afford it, couldn’t make up their minds or to know-all bastards who’d ask you to drop your commission for a quick sale.

Still, something might turn up soon. What’ll it be? Taumarunui, Te Kuiti or Taupo. The next person who stops he’ll ask where they’re going to, then say, “Me too.” Let fate deal the hand and he’d play it.

. . .

It all started so promisingly.

Captain of the First XV, Head Boy, not too bright academically but that was overlooked by the school hierarchy. He was destined for great things. In the Manawatu Rugby squad at 19, had a job in a second-hand car yard owned by a rugby big wig in the province. He wasn’t expected to work too hard there, just be around to talk football to the punters then let the real salesmen sell them the cars. All the time off he wanted for practice.

Then the offer from a Wellington club.

“Come down here,” they said. “You could go a long way.”

They said their incumbent centre, an ex-All Black and Wellington player, was retiring at the end of the season and the club thought Ian could fill his boots. They offered to find him a flat and a job. And, of course, they’d help with moving expenses.

Moving expenses? He could pack a suitcase, catch a train and be there in an hour. He was so naïve then.

“If you want to go places, this is the fast track,” they said.

So he went. The club did all they promised. They found him a flat within walking distance of the training ground, and a job with one of their sponsors, selling cars again.

Things started out so well. In his first season with the club he made the top team and after a few games was added to the Wellington Second XV squad. The social life was great, too. He fell in love with the city nightlife.

The second season started even better. Ian made the Wellington squad and played in a couple of pre-season friendlies. The club went well too. They made the finals, just losing to Marist St Pats by one point. Ian became first choice centre for Wellington in the national champs.

The following couple of seasons were much the same, but still no sign of an All Black call-up. Then he had his first serious injury. The club had just beaten their traditional rivals at Athletic Park on the Saturday and after the game Ian and a couple of his team-mates went out on the town to celebrate and made a real night of it.

On the Sunday morning he was supposed to be at a training run with the Wellington squad, but had slept in and turned up an hour late, not feeling the best. The fitness trainer read him the riot act, gave him a lecture about looking after himself and how there were plenty more players ready to take his place if he carried on like this. They then ran some practice moves and the ball came to Ian ­- he took too long deciding whether to run or pass and a big forward came smashing into him and he folded, or rather his leg did.

He was taken by ambulance to Wellington Hospital and the x-ray showed he needed major knee surgery. He’d be out for at least a season. He was sports page news for a couple of days, then ignored.

He turned up to some of the club games with crutches. People were very sympathetic. Said he’d be good as ever next season, just work on his fitness. She’ll be right.

Ian became a bit more mobile in the off-season. But, instead of going to the gym he went out socialising. Became a regular at the nightclubs in the city. People kept buying him drinks and telling him next season, when he was fit again, he had a good chance of making the All Black squad going to the UK. As it turned out, the knee never really healed. He lost his acceleration and became tentative when tackling. He was dropped from the club first team. They asked him to find another flat as they needed his for a new player coming down from the provinces. He gave up playing rugby altogether.

He moved to Australia. Spent a couple of years in Perth selling cars, then moved to the east coast. Melbourne, Sydney, then up to Queensland. Sold time shares on the Gold Coast for a while. He was working in Brisbane when he met and fell in love with Sonia, a Croatian girl. She became pregnant and Ian suggested they get married, but she decided she didn’t want him or the baby. She left and he never found out what became of her.

Eventually he returned to Wellington. Drifted in and out of jobs. He was good at selling cars, but still restless, easily bored. So moved into selling real estate. He did work hard at that for a few years but was on the verge of chucking it in when Samantha joined the company.

She was everything Ian was not. Ambitious and hard working. She had married young and realised after a few months that she’d made a big mistake. Her husband, who outwardly exuded self-confidence and charm, was really insecure and bone lazy. He tried to cover his inadequacies by belittling and verbally bullying Samantha. She left him, vowing never to let a man try to run her life again.

They found they worked well together. Her drive and enthusiasm carried Ian along with her. They shared listings then Ian moved in with her. When her divorce came through they married. Things were good for a few years. They made good money, spent up large on holidays and new cars.

But inevitably, Ian became unsettled. Samantha accused him of not pulling his weight in the partnership. Ian took this badly and rather than admit she was right, he resigned from the company and went back to selling cars again. Samantha tried to get him interested in a hobby, or rugby again.

“Try coaching kids’ teams or something. Anything. Stop moping around the house and complaining about your job,” she pleaded.

Samantha thought something was worrying Ian, but he wouldn’t open up to her. She decided just to try and carry on as normal and hope he’d come out of his depression, if that was what it was.

Now here he was. Forty-four years old, standing at a crossroad with his few possessions on his back, hoping for a ‘road to Damascus’ experience that would bring some meaning and contentment into his life.

TO BE CONTINUED