New Era First excerpt from the book I'm working on:


New Era

I am driving in somewhat of a daze and realize that my decisive course of action has not been nearly as resolute as I had originally hoped. I don’t know where I am going and my original plan to drive until I hit water seems childish. All these thoughts attack my anima and suddenly I see a sign with two words on it: New Era. At the last second I turn exit the freeway onto the exit. It seems like a good idea, and more than appropriate given the circumstances.
Turning right at the stop sign finds me on a two-lane highway, thick pine trees on one side, and rolling hills on the other. This is the sort of landscape that movies try to capture… and fail every time, either because they make it too perfect, or not perfect enough. A store selling saddles and cowboy hats flies by on the right looking almost forlorn amongst the nature surrounding it. If this had not been real life, it would have looked stereotypical. There is nothing else in sight save for one lonely traffic light ahead of me gently swaying in the afternoon breeze. The sky is blue, the air is hot, and I need something to drink.
At the light a sign informs me that another right turn would take me where I wanted to go, and I turn right almost without stopping. In the distance I can make out the vague shape of an extremely small town, much like the one I had grown up if it was cut in half in size. This seems advantageous to me as I feel I will have instant rapport with whomever I might run into. Two minutes later I reach and am driving down the main street after passing a sign that says “New Era Village Limit” and then in smaller letters “Church Groups Welcome.”
The town seems to have approximately 5 businesses: A gas station, an art gallery, a general store that advertises video rentals in its window, an internet kiosk which looks to have a small café inside, and a larger industrial building at the end of the street that seems to be some sort of plant. Rounding out these businesses are two churches, neither of which seem to have any denominational affiliation. I drive from one end to the other, turning my car around and finding a spot in the middle of the block.
Immediately upon exiting the car the summer heat begins pounding onto my black t-shirt. I never pick the right colors. Walking towards the Internet kiosk, I realize that I have not seen one person since entering the town. There are cars parked along the street and the businesses all have open signs on their doors, but not a single person is walking down the street. Not necessarily odd given the size of the town, but certainly a curiosity.
My destination reached, I open the door and walk in cautiously. The room contains a computer (outdated), and an antique soda machine. My first impression that it contained a café seems to have been proven false. I walk slowly over to the soda machine and deposit some change. Just as I am opening my bottle I sense movement behind me and whirl around.
“Pretty unexpected, huh?” says the young woman I find before me, about my age, Blonde haired and pretty.
“I’m sorry?” I ask, not knowing what to say.
“Bet you didn’t expect us to have Internet here,” she answers, chewing gum and looking me up and down, sizing me up.
“I… well, I mean it’s everywhere now, right?” I say smiling in what I hope is not a forced way.
She pauses and her look gets harder, “What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” I search, “I… think it’s great, and yes, maybe a little unexpected.”
She looks at me, a much longer pause this time, and finally says, “Well it’s a dollar for every 2 minutes, once you’re over 10 it’s a dollar every five. New minute starts the second after the old minute ends. We round up.”
She says this last part somewhat triumphantly, and I can’t help but wonder how many of the local townspeople use this place on a regular basis. She doesn’t sound like she belongs here. She sounds too smart for a small town like this. We’re both just standing there looking at each other. I have no idea what to say and she just stares with a challenging look in her eyes.
“What’s your name?” I finally ask.
Before I’m even done with the question she’s already saying, “What?!” as if I’ve offended her somehow by asking.
“Just wondered what your name was.” I tell her, trying to maintain my casual smile.
“Beth,” She finally answers, looking like she’s trying not to smile herself.
“Jon,” I say, “Nice meeting you.”
I turn to walk out the door and bring the bottle up to my mouth at the same time. She doesn’t say anything to me and I’m a little disappointed by that. Back outside the heat hits me harder than before. I have no plans now, and there doesn’t seem to be any kind of restaurant in this town. I decide that my best bet is the general store and I walk across the street, once again noticing how no one else is around.
The door to the general store is propped open, and the inside of the store is almost as hot as outside except for two fans by the checkout counter, both aimed directly at the cashier, a woman of at least 50 who says nothing to me. I stroll up and down the 2 aisles trying to figure out what to eat, all the while sipping from my bottle of soda. Finally I pick up a bag a chips and walk to the counter. I set both items down so I can get at my wallet and the woman decides to ring them both up, all the while not saying a word to me, not even the total amount I owe.
“Um, I brought the soda in with me,” I tell her, and she raises her eyebrows and sighs as if correcting her mistake was the end of the world.
“Shoulda’ told me,” she drawls, “Save us both a little time.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I say somewhat sarcastically. I know she saw me bring it in with me.
Before I can hand her the money for the chips the phone rings and she holds up her index finger at me as if to say don’t even think about it. She picks up the phone and before saying hello immediately slouches back in her chair as if she knows it will be a long conversation.
“Hello?” she says, “Oh hi, Beth, dear. Yeah, another slow day here. You too? Oh really?”
At this point she looks back at me with renewed interest and arches her eyebrows in such a way that I wonder if the act required practice. She looks at me intently and I can hear Beth talking to her but can’t make out what she’s saying. I’m guessing it’s about me, but it goes on for so long that I can’t possibly imagine what she’d have to say since our meeting only lasted 60 seconds.
“Well he’s here right now,” the cashier finally says, looking at me intently, “I see what you mean.”
She lowers her voice, “Charged him for a soda he says he brought in with him and now I have to undo it.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, and the cashier sits bolt upright as if shot.
“What did you say, young man?” she yells at me, “Did I hear you correctly? Beth I have to go.”
She slams the phone down into the cradle and her eyes flash violently at me. I have no idea what to do and stand there dumbfounded looking back at her, the bag of chips and my soda between us. Her gaze is rendering me motionless for some reason.
Without warning, she grabs the bag of chips and the soda from the counter and throws them violently into the trash. Then almost as quickly she picks up the phone and begins dialing. I slowly back away but her voice stops me in my tracks.
“You’ve got some nerve comin’ in here talkin’ the way you do!” she says angrily then hearing someone pick up the phone, “Jim, get over here. There’s someone here needs a good talkin’ to. Took the name of our Lord and Savior in vain right while I was on the phone with Beth.”
At this point I start moving towards the door. The cashier is so enamored in her phone conversation that she doesn’t notice. I’m moving slowly and steadily and I’m almost there when once again she starts yelling at me.
“You’re payin’ for those chips and that soda!” she sounds nearly hysterical, “Don’t think you aren’t payin’ for them!”
“I brought the soda in with me,” I tell her again, raising my voice, “And you took away my chips.”
I walk out the door and hear her screaming behind me. Then she quiets briefly, and after 5 more seconds I hear her slam down the phone again. I turn towards my car, not knowing what just happened, but ready to get out of town. I’m almost at my car when a tall thin man of at least 60 comes running out the front door of the closer of the town’s two churches. He begins striding towards me.
“You there!” He calls out, “Wait a minute. I want to talk to you!”
He’s close enough to me now that I know I won’t have time to get into my car, and so I stand frozen awaiting my fate. He arrives out of breath and stands about 5 feet away as if afraid I might strike him. We stand there looking at each other and he keeps catching his breath. Seconds turn into a minute and finally he reaches into his pants pocket and produces a miniature Bible that he opens ritualistically.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only son that whoever should believe in him shall not perish but have eternal life,” He reads, and then adds as if for good measure, “John 3:16.”
He looks at me expectantly.
“I knew that one,” I say to him, completely bewildered.
“Carol doesn’t think so,” Jim tells me as if that somehow ties everything together, “In fact she says you took His name in vain. She also says you owe her for chips and a soda.”
I roll my eyes in spite of myself and without warning he reaches out and grabs my wrist.
“Hey!” I yell, taken off guard.
“2 dollars and fifty cents is no laughing matter, son,” He says to me menacingly, “And taking the son of our Lord God’s name in vain…”
He’s still squeezing my write with surprising strength for a man of his age and his face is getting red. I’m thoroughly freaked out and have no idea what to do or say. He somehow manages to squeeze even harder and I think my hand is starting to go numb. His eyes burn with fury.
“Well?” he keeps asking, “Well? Well?”
“I’m sorry!” I yell doing everything I can to keep any expletives from coming out with it.
Almost as quickly as the man grabbed my hand, he lets it go. We look at each other again, each of us considering the other one. The man’s face is still bright red and he still looks angry enough to kill me. I’m pretty sure he’s wearing a wig, and his eyes are bloodshot and yellowish. He looks more like a mental patient than a preacher, and the whole thing makes me extremely uncomfortable.
Suddenly, “Okay, then.” he says to me as if nothing had happened, “My name’s Jim. Why don’t we grab some lunch at my house?”


To be continued... leave comments.

End.

  ¶ 8:55 PM