Non-Urban Life is a Harsh Mistress, Chapter 1
A Contemporary Variant Inspired by Robert Heinlein's Best Known Work
I’ve been playing around with some writing lately. I decided to commit to putting it out there in episodic/serial fashion (For multiple reasons, including a life that is FAR more complicated and chaotic than normal at present, I’m just not up to completing current work in progress. I just haven’t the ability to concentrate for extended periods of time right now).
Chapter One
Normally, I mind my own business. It’s a habit developed from a difficult childhood, hard-won learning experiences in love and marriage, and jobs - yes, plural, lots and lots of temporary, at-will, contract worker, and here-today-gone-tomorrow employment.
That last was the reason I’d just been left in the dust by my last girlfriend. She coldly informed me that I just didn’t WANT to be successful, and that she was going away with my former boss, “who at least has some ambition and wants to make something of himself!”
The only thing that fool wanted to make was her. But, if by ambition she meant sucking up to clueless employers, taking credit for the work of others, and using connections compensate for professional competency, then, yes, he had that. By the time this all played out, she had changed from admiring, fresh immigrant, just learning how to work a real job after college graduation, to jaded employee complaining about the pay and the long hours. And, the disgustingly backwards people - mostly men - she worked with.
She spent another 4 months hectoring me about my personal deficiencies, including unwillingness to support her expensive lifestyle habits or overlook her poor work ethics, before she hooked up with him, sold most of my stuff, and left. In that order.
I walked away without calling the cops on her, swearing to never again help any newbs with ANYTHING, and considering it a cheap education.
So you can see why I hesitated - a LONG time - before walking over towards the three ‘yutes’ pounding away on the middle-aged guy trying to keep them from stealing his bike.
I guess my decision was made by the tenacious hold the guy - I guess you’d call him a ‘hipster’, due to his man bun - had on his property. Gotta admire a guy who won’t cave easily.
It was a nice piece of machinery - one of those TREK road bikes, priced just a bit under $10,000. I saw it in one of those cycling magazines while waiting to trim back my overgrown hair. Tiff squeezed me in that day - she knew me long enough to recognize the sure sign that I was once again ready to look for work.
But even the construction jobs wouldn’t pay enough to cover that purchase. Which is probably why the Johnson brothers, never all that interested in paid employment, were using their favorite persuasive techniques on Man-Bun Guy.
Now, I’m big enough, and strong enough, to hold my own in a fight. But with 3 of them against 1-1/2 of us, it was a good time to break out the non-Marquis of Queensbury tricks. And thanks to 4 brothers and a childhood in a rough neighborhood, I flatter myself that I’m a master of the No Holds Barred craft.
After two of the Johnsons carried the third away from their failed effort at a quick payday, I checked out Man-Bun. He was winded, bruised, and bloodied, but conscious and able to move, if stiffly. He lurched to his feet, picked up his bike, and ran his hands over the frame, then spun the wheels. Satisfied that the damage, such as it was, appeared to be cosmetic, other than the flat front tire, he glanced in my direction.
“I thank you for your help. I was beginning to panic at the thought of losing my ride.”
“No problem. I was pretty sure they weren’t carrying, so the danger of death was slight.” When I saw his alarmed look, I added, “Just kidding.”
I wasn’t.
He still looked wobbly, leaning on his bike for support.
I made a decision. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat? My treat. I wouldn’t want you to think the natives are ALL unfriendly.”
He hesitated, then agreed.
Man-Bun - his real name was Neil Butler - ate like he hadn't in days. Fortunately, Shotski’s Diner is affordable, and serves large portions, so it didn’t make much of a dent in my wallet.
“So, what brings you to Allendale, Neil?” I had time to kill before my interview, and Shotski doesn’t charge for coffee refills.
He took his time answering.
“I was gathering material for a book I’m writing.” He paused, and tilted his cup to drain it. He glanced at the waitress - Dakota, called Coty - and lifted his cup in the universal request for a refill. Business had slowed down, so she took care of us both right away.
Neil looked at his coffee for a while, then said, “It really was going well for a while. I was taking down stories of the smaller towns and rural areas, and getting it organized into the framework. You know?” He wasn’t being rhetorical, he really wanted me to understand.
I shook my head.
“I wanted to explain the divide between City and Country, between those who support American governments and their work to make life better for ALL who live here, whether Black or White, religious or not, all genders—-”
“Yeah, I got it.” Not harshly, but abrupt.
Neil seemed taken aback by my interruption. “Look, I’m sure that people have their reasons for believing in the things they do, tradition, community pressure, fear—-”
“No.”
This time, my interruption brought a flush to his cheeks. His eyes stabbed around the room, clearly uneasy at the turn the conversation had taken.
I sighed. I would need to either walk away, or take some time to educate the dummy.
And, I’m not one to walk away.
I’d already settled up with Coty, so I grabbed my backpack, and said, “Let’s go.” I gestured at his bike, and added, “There’s a bike shop that can get that tire fixed for you. It’s about 20 minutes away by car. You wouldn’t want to have to carry your bike that far.”
I was quiet until we left the bike shop. It would take about 45 minutes for the repair. There were a few people ahead of him.
“Do you have a place to stay in town?”
“I’ve been staying in the woods around the lake. It’s quiet and there are places to wash up and refill my water.”
I grimaced. The weather had been foul, chill and raining off and on. The ground in the woods would be saturated.
I hesitated, then decided to jump in wholly. “I have a small place in the backyard. For the next few days, you can use it - very spare, just a foldout bed, but there’s a small bathroom with a shower.”
Neil was too stunned to speak for a minute or two. Finally, he ventured a question. “How - I mean - what would you charge for it?”
I took pity on him (I must be getting soggy-brained lately). “No charge. I’ve had some tough breaks in the past, and I’m just passing along a small kindness.”
No surprise he accepted. Despite that expensive bike, from the way he’d gobbled his meal, I surmised he was on his last few dollars. But, he seemed a decent sort, for all that his politics were stupid.
Had I known what trouble I was about to step into, I might not have offered.