STEVEN
ORLOWSKI
Author of Thriller, Suspense, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, and Speculative Fiction novels and stories.
Preface
The burning head fell from the end of my filterless Camel. It scored a hole through my AC/DC tour shirt while seeking a resting place on my sun-burnt skin beneath. My teenage instinct compelled me to release the steering wheel and swat at the wayward fireball. This caused my '73 Mercury Comet to swerve into oncoming traffic. Aerosmith's "Back in the Saddle" cranked out of the speakers and into the sticky August night while the cars rusted quarter panels flapped in the ocean breeze.
I yelped in dismay as the oncoming cars skidded on the rock and sand shoulder in order to avoid my hurtling Comet. Like a seasoned pro Sal grabbed the steering wheel from his post in the passenger seat. With an inch and a half of ash hanging loose from the end of the Newport Menthol in his mouth he got us back in the proper lane, expertly compensating for my ineptness.
While he demonstrated his heroics I cursed at the molten ember as it continued to pursue its final resting place on my left thigh. It hurt a little but left only a slight redness. The real damage was swelling on my chest.
After the fire had been extinguished and when I had reclaimed control of the car I re-lit the remains of the stub still lounging between my lips. I then coasted the car to a standstill at the end of Brown's Mill Pike which was, for us anyway, the beginning of the beach. Brown's Mill was off the beaten path, a dead-end at the farthest reaches of Beach Crest, the South Jersey shore town where we were vacationing. This beach was our place to hang out.
"So, Ev, what do your parents think?" Sal asked.
"What do I know what they think? About what?"
"You know, college."
"Oh, about me going to Balboa State?" I replied.
"Yeah. Beer?"
"Does a bear shit?” I asked rhetorically. “My Mom's thrilled. But she'd be thrilled if I went to County College of East Bumblefuck. I don't know if my Dad even knows I'm going anywhere."
"Thought so. Major?” Sal inquired.
"Major hooters," I said. Sal laughed at that. "Accounting or something."
"No shit?"
The peaceful slosh of waves living their final seconds mere feet from the nose of the car was for a moment accompanied only by the sound of beers popping, lighters flicking and lungs inhaling toxicity.
"How many beers did you get?" I asked.
Sal laughed again. "Accounting already, are ya? How many would you be satisfied with? My Dad brought so much alcohol you'd think he was on a suicide mission."
That satisfied my curiosity. Sal's dad wouldn't miss a case or two, and if he ran low he'd just buy more, thinking he drank it all but forgot.
"It's hard to believe this is probably our last vacation together," I said.
"Don't get gay on me," Sal commanded.
"Just for a moment Sally. You're Dad may be a drunk, but for the last decade this has been my family vacation." I raised my beer high over the center console. "So here's to your dad, his booze, the summer house he rents every year and especially to bringing me along for the ride."
"Here, here," Sal responded," It's been a great run, glad you could make it. Here's to our own alcoholism, long may it wave."
We chugged our beers than paused for more sloshing, flicking and popping.
"Accounting huh?" Sal asked.
"Get over it. You have to pick something. Besides, I'm just going to party, bang some chicks, hopefully graduate, get a fucking job, and wait to die. Birth, school, work, death. Drink up, shithead, times a wastin'. The best years are probably already behind us anyway."
Sal finished his beer. "So that's it, huh? Sounds kind of crappy."
"What the fuck do I know? Listen, how about we both see if we make it to thirty. That'd be an accomplishment all by itself."
"Fine. Loser owes the winner a case of beer. Make sure it's in your will."
"Deal."
Chapter 1
"You have six months to live."
What a crappy way to start a week - being given a shocking and completely unexpected death sentence.
Naturally it was a beautifully crisp, blue-skies and sunshine winter morning; and Monday morning, to top it off. It had snowed the night before so the ice and slush crunched under my tires as I pulled into the parking lot of the Whistler Building. I navigated my Lincoln Navigator around the four-foot-high snow piles looking for a spot to accommodate the too-big SUV.
I had only expected to be with my doctor for a few minutes. I thought I’d get to work before the bell rang at the New York Stock Exchange. I didn't need to be there before the bell rang. In fact, I hadn’t needed to for many years. My professional activities had long ceased to be directly related to the trading day, but I liked to be there before the bell rang anyway.
Old habits died hard, even back then.
It had snowed mercilessly the night prior. But I was in a good mood despite the fact that I had spent two hours earlier that morning shoveling 18 inches of snow off of my driveway.
You see, my house was something of a mountain preserve. It sat high up in the northern New Jersey hills overlooking a valley. The views were breathtaking. From the living room you could see over the tops of the trees. It was a peaceful and relaxing place.
But in the winter it was a different story.
The region was, and still is I imagine, prone to heavy snowfall. I had previously employed a plow service to clear the driveway of snow each winter but that year my plow-guy gave up the business right before the beginning of the winter season, or so he claimed.
What happened to me because of his unexpected departure I was kind of trapped on the hill, seeing as how he just didn't show up to plow me out, nor did he call to let me know he wasn’t coming. Later on I heard from neighbors that the steep incline of my driveway had caused excess wear and tear on his truck and plow, causing him reevaluate the economic benefit of plowing my driveway, of which there apparently was little. But still, he could at least have called before the first snowfall.
I also learned that the previous owners had their plow guy quit for the same reason. Oh well, mine was unreliable anyway. When he did show up it was on his schedule, not mine. There were days where I'd have to work from home because our house was the last stop on his rounds. There were a few times when I was unable to rejoin the civilized world until two days after a big snowfall.
Anyway, after that first snowfall I decided to buy a big mother of a snow blower and clear the driveway myself rather than hire another service. I mean, how hard could it be anyway? At least that way I'd know when the snow was going to get cleared.
Unfortunately, the brand-new, $2500.00, 13 horse-power, 32" auger, self-propelled wonder-machine broke after only one snowfall. Yeah, probably as my fault, or maybe the plow-guy had the right idea about the wear and tear, but regardless, that’s why I had begun that particular fateful Monday shoveling my way out of my driveway.
But I had planned ahead and rose early anticipating some delay because of the weather and made it to my appointment on time. It was an appointment to discuss the results of a standard physical; my first physical in many, many years.