Hey all! I thought I would post some of my work here, so you can read it...
It is, however, long...15 pages in Word.
More than meets the eye….
A SHORT STORY.
There was a lot that people didn’t know about James Sinclair, like the fact that his 22 year-old brother was living in New York City, or that he even had a 22 year-old brother.
Not even James himself knew, until just before dinner on an April evening.
The sixteen year-old brushed his chocolate locks away from his midnight blue eyes, and dug his fingers into a cardboard box. The contents were few, and when James tipped it over, they spewed out all over the attic floor. A few mothballs rolled, and found their ways to the stairs, where they descended, hitting each step with a thump.
Carcasses of dead spiders were scattered across the floor, the eight legs folded up against the torsos they belonged to.
James recoiled at the sight of the bugs, arachnophobia keeping him from advancing. Shaking his head, he plunged his hand deep inside the box, his fingers curling around a wooden frame. Pulling it out, he could see that the glass was broken, and James set the photo down gently, so as not to send the glass flying around.
The edges of the picture were yellowing and curled up slightly. James narrowed his eyes as he ran his fingers over a section of the photo that was uncovered.
There was his mother, sixteen years ago, a smile on her face, her green eyes glittering with happiness. Her blonde curls were brushed behind her ears, and her left arm was curled tightly around a six year-old boy.
The boy was scowling, his face the mirror image of James, when he was 6. The resemblance was so strong; it could only be the work of sibling ties. The boy was holding a small baby, whose face was turned to the camera. James recognized it to be himself.
“James, pass the potatoes.” Arthur Sinclair instructed his son. James held out the dish, but wouldn’t let go.
“Mother…” his voice was cold, “what’s my brother’s name?”
Helen dropped her glass. It hit the table and split, sending Zinfandel dripping to the floor. The baby squealed and clapped her hands, thinking it a game.
Arthur sighed, and snatched the potatoes from James’ hands.
“Go and get a napkin and clean that up, James.” He instructed. James stood, but didn’t move.
“Mom, come on, now. Don’t lie to me.” Helen’s bottom lip quivered under pressure. Finally a squeak omitted from her mouth.
James curled his fingers up into his hand, making a fist so tight that his knuckles turned white.
“I need a couple thousand dollars, and a location.”
“Oh, no, Jamie…” Helen reached out her hand, and set it on his wrist, but as her skin touched his, he wrenched his arm away as if he were in contact with pure evil.
“Your stinking brother doesn’t care about you, he’s only concerned about his drugs.”
Arthur pulled James down into his seat.
“Drugs? And you haven’t done anything?”
“What’re we supposed to do? He’s not your father’s son, and he wants nothing to do with us.” Helen’s voice wavered, but she stood up.
“Now,” she forced a smile, “anyone for dessert? I have cake.”
James stood again, enraged.
“I don’t care about your stupid cake!”
Arthur stood now, holding his arm in front of James’ face.
‘I can call the cops on you for that.” James spat. He picked up a carrot stick from his plate, and bit into it in the cockiest manner possible.
“Jays!” The baby squirmed in her seat, babbling her imitation of her brother’s name.
But James Sinclair was so blinded by anger, that he brushed off the fact that the baby had just said her first word. Sending a sharp glare at his parents, he exited the room.
James had managed to withdraw money from his bank account, since he had been given large amounts of money from his Grandparents. After rooting through more boxes, and finding letters from Kieran, he was ready to depart.
Moving swiftly through the house, he pulled the plane ticket, and spare cash from the hiding spot in the fireplace, and spun around.
“James, I heard you get up.” Helen still looked the picture of grace, even in her silk negligee. James frowned at his mother.
“You can’t stop me from leaving, now.”
“I, I know. Just…Promise me you’ll be back…New York City is a big place.”
“It may be big, but I’m not small-”
“But you’re my baby!” Helen pulled her son to her, and enveloped his wiry frame, standing on tiptoes to reach his shoulders. Her eyes closed, and she planted multiple kisses on her son’s cheeks and head. Struggling, James stopped her.
“Ma! Okay, Mom, I’m leaving now…the taxi’s outside.”
With a teary hug, Helen said goodbye one last time. James Sinclair stepped out of the door, carrying with him a small bag, and the clothes on his back.
“Where will I be taking you, sir?” The taxi driver asked in a gruff, accented voice.
“Uh, the airport.” James answered simply, all the while wondering why the taxi drivers were usually Mexican.
After paying the Mexican, walking through the metal detector, and finally boarding the small plane, homesickness hit.
James held his head in his hands, and drew his knees up to his chest.
“Would you like a cookie?” An old woman rested her hands on James’ shoulder, and he looked up with a start. Her white hair was pulled back in a bun, and her ice blue eyes were framed with crow’s feet.
James shook his head, and for the rest of the ride ignored her. At one point, she even stood and announced that she had to use the bathroom, only in detail.
“Sinclair!” A man held a sign, his gray tweed jacket was slightly wrinkled, and it held a faint scent of raw coffee bean. James looked at him, wondering if he was meant by the last name on the sign.
As if the man knew James, he winked at him.
“Uh, hey.” James crossed over to him.
“Hello, sir. Would you be any relation to Kieran Sinclair? Only you look a lot like him…”
“You know Kieran?”
“He’s the reason my wife left me.”
“Oh...” James seemed taken-aback.
“She didn’t like my Meth addiction.”
“And that concerns my brother, how?”
“Oh, he sold it to me…Look, I really must switch my sign…” The man dropped the sign that read Sinclair, and revealed another, reading Smith.
“How did you know I was coming? How did you know to make the sign?”
But the man only smiled, and walked away.
James had never thought about lodging, It truly had never crossed his mind. And now, he leaned against the wall, crouched in between two garbage cans, with his suitcase behind his head, and a newspaper failing to warm his body.
He did not sleep, the shadows were not terrifying, but not overly pleasant, either. The darkness loomed thick like fog, and when the sun finally rose in the sky, James could not feel a thing in his body. The cold couldn’t have numbed him, or he’d likely be dead. Looking around him, and lifting his head, he saw that he had been unawaringly frozen in fear.
“He’s awake.” A gruff voice split through the silence like a knife easily slicing through a tomato.
“Ok, Let’s ask him for it, now.”
“Ask me for what?” James insisted, and stood slowly, his knees and elbows cracking from the awkward position he’d been lying in all night.
“The money, for the crack. You never paid up. So now we’re going make you pay.”
“Um…Yeah…” James picked up his bag, and began walking away.
“Kieran!” The guy with the gruff voice, presumably the leader, piped up. James turned.
“Kieran? He lives around here?”
“Quit joshing me, Kie.”
“I’m James. His brother…” The men contemplated James’ last statement, and seemed to accept it as the truth.
“Ok…So what If I were to suppose you were looking for your brother?” The leader asked.
“Then you’d be supposing right. And would I be correct as to suppose that I need to do something to have you tell me where he is?”