Date: Tue, 18 Jan 2005 21:48:39 +0100
From: jerichoholic #1 <beer4myhorses@hotmail.com>
Subject: Blue eyes crying in the rain/ Chapter 1 : Chasing the sun

DISCLAIMER: The following story is completely FICTIONAL is does not imply
anything concerning the private life of the celebrities mentioned . I don't
know them and I don't know anything about their lives. This story is only
meant as fiction and does in no way describe real occurrences, situations or
facts. All other persons mentioned in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to an existing person, company or business is totally
coincidental.


Blue eyes crying in the rain

Chapter I : Chasing the sun

The train kept on rolling for what seemed forever. It had been almost a day
since it had left Toronto station. From time to time the rhythmic swinging
of the wagon would cause me to fall asleep, only to be awoken up a few
minutes later by some unexpected sound. The only thing I could do, it
seemed, was look at the landscape sliding by on the other side of the
window.

The wagon I was sitting in was filled with only a handful of people. Some
were asleep, some were reading something.most seemed bored out of their
skull. The seat across me was taken by an old lady in a red coat, busy
solving a crossword puzzle. Her hair was gray and her face was wrinkled. She
seemed nice though. She must have noticed I was looking at her cause, in a
silent voice, she began talking to me.

"Are you going on a holiday?" She asked.

It was easy to see why she would think that. It was the beginning of the
summer-vacation and I was traveling alone, carrying nothing more than a
backpack and my old six-string. I nodded my head in response to her
question. I didn't want to go t the whole ordeal of explaining the real
motives behind my journey. I don't think she would have understood either.
So instead of getting into everything that had happened the last couple of
days I just avoided the whole thing. And, in a way you could say this was a
vacation I guess.

"Where are you going?" She asked. Her voice sounded like that of an old
schoolteacher. Friendly, raspy and calm, but at the same time you can't help
but think they're trying to hear you out to see what you're up to.

The question, innocent as it might have been posed another dilemma. Fact of
the matter was that I had no clue what-so-ever where I was going. I knew my
final destination, but I also knew I didn't have the money to travel all the
way at once. In fact, We had passed the destination printed on my ticket a
few hours ago. Now, I was just trying to get as far as I could without
getting caught.

"Chicago" I answered.

"I'm going to Bloomington to visit my grandchildren." She said while she
smiled a bit.

"That's nice." I replied. She seemed like a nice grandmother, I thought.  My
grandparents both died before I was born so I had no idea what it was like
to have them. While I was thinking she had pulled some pictures out of her
purse.

"This is William,.He's seven." She said while holding up a picture. The
pride and love in her voice were obvious.

The picture showed a blonde boy in a baseball-outfit. He looked just like
any other kid, I guess, but because I knew his name it seemed like he wasn't
a stranger anymore.

"Cute little guy" I said.

"Isn't he?" She said, "He's a real baseball-fanatic. Even though he can
hardly lift the bat." She giggled while she was talking. Obviously she was
remembering something funny about her grandson.

I tried to remember whether I'd ever seen a similar picture of myself. I
couldn't. There were no albums in our house, so I guess in my twenty years
the only picture my parents had bothered to take of me was a
sonogram-picture I'd found once in the kitchen drawer. Come to think of it,
they didn't even take that themselves.

The lady had returned to solving her puzzle. I quickly checked if my
backpack was still where I had put it. Not that there was anything valuable
in it, but it was all I had. A few spare clothes, a couple of maps, 3 DVD's,
some old sandwiches, sketching-paper, some pencils.and I guess that was
about it. That and my guitar, that was all. But it was all I needed. I
hoped!

As he train rolled on I just looked outside, keeping one eye on the door in
case the conductor would show up. Outside the sun was setting and the sky
began to darken rapidly. It seemed it would be a while past nightfall before
we would reach Chicago. Not exactly what I had hoped for. I began to wonder
what I was going to do when I had to leave the train. It seemed, by the way
things had turned out, Chicago would be my stop today. If I didn't get off
the lady would certainly become suspicious, and it was very likely the
conductor would show up again after Chicago.

I tried to recollect how much money was in my wallet. There was no way it
would be enough to pay for a hotel to spend the night. Even if there would
have been, it didn't seem like a good idea to spend that amount of money
this early on in my journey. I knew I was going to need every penny I could
lay my hands on. There were only two options as far as I could see: Either
trying to find some friendly folks who could offer me a floor or a couch for
the night, or spend the night on the street. I don't think it would come as
a surprise if I told you the latter didn't appeal to me very much.

I tried to figure out how I was going to approach people and ask them for a
place to spend the night. It seemed to me I would have the greatest chance
of success if I asked people of my own age, students and such. Nevertheless
I needed to make sure my story would be convincing enough. There was no way
anyone was going to help me if they knew the real reason I was out, alone in
the middle of the night. After I had thought about it a while I decided I
was going to present myself as a student who was backpacking through the
country. For some reason it seems people always have more sympathy for
adventurers like that. The thought of having to approach strangers and ask
them for a place to stay worried me quite a bit. I've always been
uncomfortable talking to strangers, but it was either that or spending the
night on the streets. No real choice, was there?

"James, what am I doing" I thought. It had taken only one day for me to
realize some of the difficulties I would come across. I had planned this the
best I could and I knew it wouldn't be easy.but with my limited resources I
felt I had prepared the best I could.

As the train drove into the night I started wondering if my folks would have
noticed I was gone by now. Mother would have just woken up by now,.if she
had bothered, and her boyfriend would be coming home from work just about
now.Since I had stayed away all night before, without explanation, they
probably wouldn't even realize I was missing until morning. For some reason
the idea made me feel relieved. I didn't think for a second they would ever
come looking for me, and even if they would there was little chance they
would find me. But it seemed it took more than a day-long train-ride,
crossing one national border and one state-border.to escape my stepdad's
mental presence. But that didn't bother me, cause as the hours passed I was
moving farther and farther away from him.

I remembered the first time I met him. Mom brought him to the house one day
when I was only eight. He seemed nice than, .just a normal guy,.He had even
brought me a football. I remembered we actually used to play with it a
couple of times, but the memory was too far gone for me to determine whether
that had really happened or if it was just wishful thinking on my part. It
was also the only time I could remember seeing my mother smiling. She used
to have a beautiful smile,.but in time it had faded to a pitiful spasm she
produced whenever the situation demanded a smile. Like when Brad, her
boyfriend, would bring home a bag of potatoes he had nicked somewhere. For
some reason he would act like he was a hunter who had brought home a bear,
shot after an epical struggle between man and nature. What was even worse:
he expected everyone to act as if it really was the big deal he wanted it to
be. It made him feel like he was providing for his family.I guess. In a way
he was, cause there were days those half-rotten potatoes were the closest
thing to dinner I would get. One night they were so badly rotten, when my
mother had cooked them all that came out of the pot was a black smelly mush.
It tasted as awful as it looked but we ate it nevertheless. There was no way
on earth Brad would have taken kindly to a refusal to eat his swag. I still
get nauseous when I think of that night. I think it was the first time in my
life I realized we weren't a normal family. I had never been over to the
houses of my classmates so I figured there were beer-bottles lying around in
every house; too me.every kitchen-sink was piled with dirty dishes that had
been lying there for weeks. But as naive as I was back then I couldn't
imagine Mike, who's daddy drove a Mercedes,.or  Ada, who always smelt like
lilies - my first acquaintance with the concept of perfume - .would be
served rotten potatoes for dinner. I was too scared to say anything,.but
till this day I don't know whether my sickness that night was caused by the
potatoes or by the realization we were poor.

The only good thing Brad ever brought into our house was the guitar I was
carrying right now. One night, while I was watching TV, he came bursting in
through the front door, his usual drunken self. He came into the living room
carrying a guitar. From his drunken mumblings I could decipher he had won it
at a game of cards, and wasn't too happy about it. He had probably been
hoping for more booze-money. The way he was behaving was all the warning I
needed too head upstairs. He was bad enough when he was sober.When he got
drunk he lost all sense of reality and anything could tick him of. When I
came down the next morning I saw the guitar laying against the garbage cans
outside. I smuggled it to my room where I kept it hidden most of the time. I
only played it when he was out.and after a few years, I think I can say, got
pretty good at it. I've seldom been as proud as that afternoon when I first
played `Folsom prison blues' without a flaw. Even though I would come to
regret it's weight on my shoulders many times I couldn't leave the only
thing that kept me sane for all those years behind. Besides I was counting
on my playing skills to earn myself a few bucks along the way.

By the time the train halted in Chicago the night had fallen and the moon
stood high in the cloudless sky. I gathered my belongings together. I had
traveled half the day without a valid ticket, so I felt I had pushed my luck
enough for one day. As I Left the wagon I nodded to the lady as a manner of
goodbye. Even though it was summer already, leaving the warm and damp train
for the cool air of the night, sent a shiver down my spine. With the cold
air freeze-drying the sweat on my face came the realization of the helpless
situation I was in. As I walked to the main hall of the station I got a
heavy feeling in my stomach. Talking to strangers was one thing when I was
still on the warm train thinking about it, but now that I was actually
there.my confidence faded as fast as the warmth of the day had when the
evening fell. I tried to convince myself for a quick second that sleeping on
the street wouldn't be that bad.but immediately dismissed the thought.
Unless there really wasn't an alternative I wasn't about to sleep on a bench
in some park. I tried to convince myself I could stand my own.and maybe I
could, but there was no point in inviting danger to my front door.

The main hall of the station wasn't nearly as crowded as I had expected.
Sure.,it was past midnight, but still.I had expected more people than this.
I quickly scanned the hall. Most people I saw didn't fit the profile I had
in my head by a long shot. Elderly couples, middle-aged men rushing by,
.There was no way I was going to have any success with people like that. As
I walked through the hall I kept my eye out for people who looked like they
might help me. After a while I spotted two guys sitting on a bench. They
looked like they were in their early twenties, which matched the imaginary
profile I had deducted on the train. There were two sporting-bags on the
floor in front of them. For some reason that made them seem more likely to
help me out.

My heart was pounding in my throat as I approached them. I told them I was
Back-packing through the country and was looking for a place to spend the
night. There was a lot more mumbling and stuttering involved than one would
think reading this, but I got the message across. Their response was
friendly but not exactly helpful. They directed me to a hostel nearby. Since
I didn't have a lot of money to spend that really wasn't an option for me. I
thanked them and walked away. Even though they weren't able to help me out,
their friendly response lifted my courage a bit. I walked to the other end
of the hall, cause the thought of approaching other people where those two
guys could see,.made me a bit nervous. For some reason it seemed a bit
disrespectful to sort of rub it in their faces they hadn't been as helpful
as they thought they had been. I talked to some other people. they were all
quite nice, which was a relief, but no-one seemed to be able to help me. I
sat down, just about to give up when I saw Marc entering the hall.

There was something about him that immediately made him stand out of the
crowd. He walked with an air of confidence as if he was on top of the world
and nothing could touch him. He was wearing a long dark coat and was
carrying a small backpack over one shoulder. He had short dark hair that
contrasted a bit with his skin which had a light tan. As I observed him he
walked to a phone-boot. I took the opportunity to approach him unnoticed. It
seemed to me it would be a bit weird if he saw me crossing the entire hall
to talk to him. Somehow I thought it didn't ad to my chances if I looked as
desperate as I was. I hung around the phone-boot  he was using, pretending
to look at a rack of brochures standing against the wall. When he hung up
the phone and walked in my direction I took my chance. I walked up to him,
which seemed to surprise him a bit, and  introduced myself. I told him the
same story I'd been telling everybody the last hour or so. The practice I'd
had on my previous victims seemed to pay of, since I was able to say what I
wanted to say without stumbling over my own words. After I had asked him if
he could offer me a floor to sleep on he took a moment to think about what I
had asked him, but, to my surprise, responded with "Sure, you can stay at my
place for the night. It's not too big though. I hope that's not a problem?"

Thinking back it still makes me laugh when I realize how funny that last
question was. Like I was going to turn this offer down because his place
wasn't `big enough'. I was overjoyed knowing I wouldn't have to spend the
night out in the streets. I tried to tone down my enthusiasm in front of him
cause I didn't want him to think I was some sort of nut-job. Meanwhile he
introduced himself, we shook hand.after which he took me to his car, parked
just outside of the station. As we drove off the first day of the rest of my
life came to an unexpected conclusion. I wondered what the first night would
bring.so far I was not complaining.

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Well that's it for chapter 1. Please let me know what you think
beer4myhorses@hotmail.com