Helloooooooo!
Well, I think this will be the last original writing you get for a while because the year is getting so busy. OMG. I’ll do my best to keep writing for the blog but my dissertation has to come first (did I mention I’m doing Honours this year? I’m doing Honours this year) so it might be a little light on for a while. At least I started the year well!
Anyway, seeing as how everyone seemed to enjoy A Fantasy Story, I was inspired to start work on another novel.
Clearly I’m much better at starting novels than I am at finishing them.
I promise to write this one in chronological order so that you don’t get confused about when things are happening.
The working title is “Abracadabraholic” and the first chapter is posted here for your entertainment.
Enjoy! (Feedback appreciated, as always; I’ll only get better with criticisms!!)
♥Nancy♬
Ethan Rackett accepted his certificate from the Chief of the station with a firm handshake and a polite, “thank you.”
“I won’t speak long,” said the Chief into the microphone, “I know we promised you a party. But I wouldn’t be much of a Chief if I didn’t say that I was proud of y’all for expanding your knowledge like this. You’re a credit to the force.”
There was a pause, for applause. Ethan rolled his eyes.
“Okay, look after those certificates because you’ll need them as proof of your training if we ever need to arrange a travel permit. Now enjoy the party!”
The Chief gestured to his second-in-command who had been designated DJ for the evening. The transition from formal speech to fun party was not a smooth one. Second-in-command fumbled with the microphone as the Chief handled it over and the sound system screeched a little as he pressed play on his computer. But, finally, music began to play over the speakers and the police station break room was transformed into a lame attempt at a celebration party.
Ethan’s buddy Juan came up to him and offered a friendly hand. Ethan shook it. He wasn’t feeling particularly celebratory but Juan’s grin was infectious; he found himself smiling back at his friend.
“Hey good work, Ethan,” Juan enthused, “you gonna spread your wings now?”
“To Wiz-land? Not a chance.”
“Me neither,” Juan replied, “I wouldn’t go there if they paid me, man. But my Marguerite’s gonna be so proud of me, another fancy certificate like this under my belt.”
Juan’s girlfriend Marguerite had a fetish for self-improvement. As a result, Juan was one of the most highly qualified men at the Greenville Police Station.
“She’s gonna cost me a fortune in framing,” he lamented, and wandered off to get some alcohol-free punch from the refreshment table.
Ethan stayed standing right where he was. He didn’t really feel up to partying. It had a lot to do with recent Life Events that had got him down but it was also because he didn’t think a two-week training course was really worth celebrating. It had been an intense course, with theoretical and practical components. It was meant to encourage tolerance and acceptance; Ethan was surprised that he’d passed that part. Especially after he’d threatened one of the guest lecturers. Still, it was a useful course. More and more cases were coming up that required this level of clearance.
He read his certificate. This is to certify that Ethan Rackett has completed the Wiznockee Information and Training Course and has achieved Level Two clearance and Firearms Allowance Three at the Wiznockee Border. It was authorised by the Chief of the Greenville Police Station. It was also authorised by the National Police Commissioner. That was a big deal and Ethan knew it. He was still finding it hard to get worked up about it, though, and he hardly thought that crazy Wiz-land deserved attention from the National Police Commissioner. There was so much crime nationally, surely they should have been solving internal problems before heading out to deal with the crazies.
Ethan felt a heavy arm fall across his shoulders and realised that he hadn’t been paying very much attention to the party around him. The Chief had snuck up on him again.
“Chief,” he said, politely acknowledging his superior officer while still secretly loathing him, and the job, and the world.
“Chief,” he said, politely acknowledging his superior officer while still secretly loathing him, and the job, and the world.
“Rackett,” said the Chief, in a booming voice, “how would you like a chance to use that new qualification you’ve just earned, eh?”
What Ethan really wanted to say to the Chief was something along the lines of, “actually, Chief, I hate those crazy Wizzers and what I’d like to do is drink myself blind in my brand-spanking new apartment.”
But of course, Ethan didn’t speak his mind. Instead, he said, “new mission, Chief?”
“New case, Ethan. We’re not superheroes, we’re police officers.”
Because that’s why he’d joined the force: to not be a superhero. Sure.
“What’s the case?”
“Sensitive stuff, Ethan. When’s your next shift? Monday? Come into my office first thing if you want the case. Or it’s business as usual.”
Ethan considered things. A case could be interesting. And if there was secrecy then there was also the potential for danger. Getting killed on the job was a better alternative than suicide, that was for sure. If you killed yourself you just looked like a coward. But if he had to go to damn crazy Wiznockee... well, that might change things.
“I’ll think about it, Chief,” Ethan said.
“See that you do,” the Chief said, and went off to the refreshment table to over-indulge on potato crisps and cheap lolly snakes.
Ethan left the party early. He turned his key the wrong way in the lock on his apartment door yet again. When he eventually got the door open he threw his keys lazily onto the kitchen bench, where they skittered over the edge onto the floor. He threw his certificate onto the bench too, where it joined the ever-growing pile of papers that was starting to take over the house from the kitchen outwards.
There was a glowing red 1 on his answering machine. He pressed the play button and got a beer out of the fridge.
“Hi Ethan,” sniffled his mother’s voice, “I hope you’re doing okay. I’m having a lovely time on my recovery cruise.” She sniffled again and Ethan decided not to believe her. “I just wanted to check in with you, love. Edna sends her wishes.”
“Hi Ethan!” called Edna from a distance, who didn’t sound half as sniffly as mum. She had fared quite well in her divorce. Mum had not fared so well when Dad’s second heart attack had killed him. Hence the sniffles.
“I’m home in another week. I’ll see you then. Hope you’re holding up. Bye now.”
“You have no more messages,” said the machine.
Ethan kicked his kitchen cabinet. It made him remember that he’d already taken his shoes off. He instantly regretted kicking the cabinet.
He went to sit down on his couch with his half-drunk beer and an unopened one to follow up with. He turned the tv on, flipped channels for a minute and let then let the remote sink down between the cushions. He settled in to watch Oprah. And then Ellen. Maybe The Doctors or the The View, afterwards. He moved onto whiskey after his fifth beer.
The next morning he woke up with a sore neck, a raging hangover and the tv still blaring its inane, mundane shows. It was a normal morning, really.
At midday, Ethan had mostly recovered from his headache and was enjoying the weekend by sitting alone in his dark apartment and pretending to sleep. And then the phone rang. He groped around on the couch, certain that he’d brought the handset down here at some point.
“Hey,” he said, answering the phone without looking at caller ID.
When he heard the voice on the other end of the phone, he immediately regretted answering the phone in the first place.
“Ethan?” said a pretty female voice. Once, that voice had been like a drug to Ethan. Now she sounded like poison. “Hi, it’s Amy.”
“Hi Amy,” Ethan said, stopping at that because he had no idea what else he was supposed to say to her.
“Hey, look, I’m just calling because I found some more of your stuff mixed in with my stuff. It’s all in a box, can I drop it round soon?”
“Sure.”
“I wasn’t certain if you’d be home.”
“I’m home.”
“I’ll bring the stuff round Sunday night, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“Bye Ethan.”
“Bye Amy.”
There was a gentle clicking noise as Amy hung up the phone on her end.
Ethan sighed. Then he threw the phone towards the kitchen. It bounced on the tiled floor and broke open. He sighed again and got up, intending to put the phone back together. He changed his mind halfway through the process and got a beer out of the fridge instead. His supplies were running low. He made a mental note to sober up enough to get to the shops soon.
At 8pm, Ethan went to reassemble the phone. When it woke up again, he pressed speed dial three.
“Lucky Moon Asia Restaurant,” said the man who answered.
“Hey, it’s Ethan,” said Ethan, “can I just get the usual?”
“Number 3, number 16, prawn crackers,” confirmed the guy on the phone.
“Yeah.”
“Fifteen minutes, Mr Ethan.”
“Thanks,” said Ethan, and hung up the phone.
Ethan opened the fridge and pulled out his last beer. He kicked the fridge door shut. It severely rocked the unit and he watched for a moment, not even sure whether he wanted it to stay standing or to fall. It didn’t fall, in the end, and he cracked his beer open to fill in the time until he could go get his food.
Almost fifteen minutes later, he added that empty beer bottle to the ever-growing pile of empties next to the front door. He made a mental note to take them all out to the recycling. He was kidding himself and he knew it; they wouldn’t be taken out for weeks. It took a minute of scrounging around the messy kitchen bench before Ethan found his wallet. When he did, he shoved it in his back pocket and stormed out of the apartment. He didn’t bother to lock the door. What would people steal? The empty bottles and a crap old television?
As Ethan walked down the five flights of stairs to street level, he felt his head began to spin a little. He’d reached the stage that his mother would call “Dinner-Party Tipsy.” Usually he preferred to be at his father’s old “Pub-Night Stumble.” But he’d run out of beer so he probably wouldn’t get there tonight. He tried to remember whether he had any whiskey left.
On street level, he stormed through the door to his apartment building and turned left. Two buildings along the street was Lucky Moon Asia Restaurant. Bells rang above his head as he went in through the plastic curtains that hung over the door.
“Hi Ethan,” said a young girl’s voice.
Ethan blinked to refocus and saw that Meili was at the cash register today. She was the owner’s sixteen year-old daughter. Ethan tried not to look quite so drunk.
“Hi,” he said, “my order ready?”
“Yes,” said Meili. She was adorable. Ethan used to imagine having a cute little girl of his own, one day. He no longer imagined that sort of thing.
“Hi Ethan,” said Liu, the owner of Lucky Moon Asia Restaurant. “How are you?”
“Same as ever,” Ethan said, with a nod of greeting. “How’s Sandra?”
“Big as a house!” announced Liu, proudly. “But still, so sexy, eh?”
“Dad,” said Meili, and escaped into the back of the restaurant.
Liu spent five minutes raving about how well Sandra was doing, how well the baby was growing and how he’d need to hire someone to take over the books for the restaurant while Sandra was on maternity leave.
“It’s a problem, with family owned business, you know Ethan? Meili doesn’t want to work but her mum is pregnant, so she works. I don’t want a new bookkeeper, but my wife is pregnant, so I interview.”
“Yeah,” said Ethan.
Liu handed over the food and Ethan paid by credit card, as always.
“Bye Ethan,” said Meili, as she came to stand by the cash register again.
Ethan raised one hand in a wave and then trekked back up to his apartment. No one had been in to steal his junk. He ate his Chinese takeaway in front of more tv shows and followed it up with what remained of his whiskey. He really needed to go shopping. He slept on the couch again and woke up the same way he always did: with a sore neck, a raging hangover and the tv still blaring its inane, mundane shows.
Things were looking bad. He’d run out of beer and spirits. There were bottles, papers and empty Chinese food containers all over the apartment. His usual channel was running a Friends marathon and they were all way too cheery for his tastes. And Amy was coming round this evening, to return some stuff.
That last thought was particularly sobering. Ethan jumped up from the couch and rushed to the bathroom. For the first time since Friday morning he looked into the mirror. Jesus, he needed to do something about himself before Amy came round. And he should probably clean up the apartment a bit. He didn’t want to look pathetic. Even though he was.
He showered and shaved and put on clean clothes. When he realised that he’d just put on his last clean shirt, he kicked his chest of drawers and then hopped around clutching his sore foot.
Ethan cleaned up his apartment for the first time since he’d moved in. He took all his empty bottles out to the recycling. He took his dirty clothes downstairs to the laundromat next door to the Lucky Moon Asia Restaurant. He took a good, long look at the papers all over the kitchen bench and settled for pushing them all into one pile and wiping down the bench around them. He vacuumed the floor and poured some disinfectant into the toilet. Surely the place was clean enough, now?
There was a knock on his door. He ruffled up his hair, as if that would make it look better, and went to open the door.
“Hi Ethan!” Amy said.
She looked as beautiful as ever. And she was as cheery as ever, too, which made Ethan’s heart hurt, which in turn made him think of his dad and how everything had gone to shit in his life lately.
“Hi Amy,” he said, politely, and moved out of the doorway so that she could come into his apartment.
Behind Amy stood a tall, well-built man who was carrying a large cardboard box. He had the same brown hair and grey eyes as Amy and the same beautiful features. He was an Adonis.
“Hey,” he said, following Amy into the apartment. He put the large cardboard box down on the space that Ethan had cleared on the kitchen bench. Then he turned to Ethan.
“Hey Tim,” said Ethan.
“Sup bro?” said Tim, and reached out a hand.
Knowing what was coming, Ethan tried to look enthusiastic as he took Tim’s hand to shake it and was, instead, pulled into a manly bro-hug. He chose not to point out to Tim that he was not, in fact, his bro. And never would be, because Amy had given back the engagement ring.
“You’ve got a nice place here,” Amy said, looking around. “It’s very clean.”
“Thanks,” said Ethan, then lied, “I’m trying to take good care of it.”
“Any good hang-outs here?” Tim asked.
“Nothing like the Brew Ha Ha back near Amy’s” - back near my old place, he didn’t say - “the Chinese place down the street is good though.”
“You busy tonight? We’re going to a party. Amy’s gonna be my wingman,” Tim said, proudly.
Amy, who had been looking around the apartment, turned to face them. “I’m sure Ethan’s busy, Timbo. Let’s leave him to it yeah?”
“Yeah, I got plans,” Ethan lied smoothly. “Give ‘em hell tonight, Tim.”
“Thanks bro.”
“See you later Ethan,” Amy said.
“Thanks for my stuff. Bye Amy.”
Amy ushered her brother out of the apartment and let Ethan close the door behind them. He returned to his couch and watched tv until he fell asleep.
