McSweeny's Story - A Fictional Dynasty

[McSweeny]

ok well here's my attempt at a fictional story dynasty, which i was rambling about in this thread PM me or post any feedback




I cursed softly under my breath as the sky darkened. I still had seven blocks to go before I reached the relative warmth of my apartment. Before I had barely enough time to put my hood on and stuff my hands in my pockets the rain began to fall in earnest. A bitter wind picked up, slicing through to my bones, as if to slap me in the face. It would have made more sense to ride the subway; that is if the rent hadn’t been due. Even taking the subway is considered a luxury for someone with five dollars and seventy-three cents in the bank. It was embarrassing enough taking fourteen dollars out of my bank account and I could hardly imagine the look the teller would give me when I produced my withdrawal slip for five bucks and change. That ordeal was in the future for now at least. Things weren’t looking that bleak. The rent was paid up and I had a modest amount of food awaiting me in my apartment. Things were looking good.

By the time I reached my apartment, I was fairly soaked. The wind had been kind and blew in all directions making sure I was wet all over. A short struggle with my keys and my numb fingers and I was in. I tossed my keys on what passes for the kitchen counter and dropped my wet sweatshirt on the radiator. A few short steps and I was across my makeshift kitchen and into my bedroom. Actually, it’s the only room in the place aside from my bathroom so the name tends to rotate depending on what it’s being used for. In this instance, sleep is what I wanted, so bedroom it was. Heat is expensive and money is short so my clothes tended to stay on when I slept. This was the case here. Minutes after collapsing on my bed, I was asleep. I didn’t care how long I slept. All I knew was that I was warm, the rent was paid, and I had a couple of sandwiches awaiting me in the fridge when I woke up. Life sure is good.

[McSweeny]

sorry this took so long, i was off in boston but here ya go;

It was hard for me to imagine my life any other way. It seemed all the kids in my high school wanted to go to college and get jobs that paid tons of money. Start families and have their lives structured for the next seventy years. Not exactly my idea of living life. But then again I didn't really fit in with my high school. The kids were always trying to be trendy and do what everyone else was doing. Well hell, I was all for doing things for yourself and doing whatever I thought was the right thing, not what I was told to do by some magazine or MTV. I never wanted to be some corporate drone. Kissing ass and lying just to make a buck. Fuck that. I was and I still am, a nihilist to the core. I think... I'm not real good with terms like that. Maybe it's easier to say I'm a punk. But being a punk is lots of different things in lots of different people's books right? So maybe I'm who I am. Yeah, that sounds a whole lot better. I'm just who I am and I do just what I want. Yeah, sounds like a song. But it is true, label me however you want, it doesn't matter to me at all.

I said I was a punk before and I probably say that because my best and only friend is a punk. I mean he's got the leather and the mohawk and he plays guitar. But it's not just all about what's on the outside; Tim (that's his name by the way) is a great guy. He's always been there for me and I know in my heart that he always will be there for me. And most importantly, he's the only person I have ever met that truly understands me.

A loud crash broke me out of my deep thoughts and there was Tim, standing in front of me sucking wind.

"Fuck Johnny, I'm in a shitload of trouble," Tim gasped. I told him to slow down and explain everything and we'd take care of it. We always did. Hell, 23 years old not a care in the world and there's not a damn thing the two of us can't take care of... Right?

[McSweeny]

It's funny how time seems to stop when a crisis occurs. People always mention how a car accident happened in slow motion or how they could count the stitches on the baseball seconds before it impacted with their face, but I had never really given it much thought. That is until time seemed to freeze with Tim standing in my doorway panting and gasping for breath.

Oddly enough, my thoughts drifted back to when I first met Tim. It was a few years ago, while I was still a senior in high school. I had just been booted off the baseball team for mouthing off to the coach one too many times. Part of me was incredibly happy that I wouldn't have to play for that bastard again. But another part of me was mourning to a degree, which I thought was reserved for death and the parting of two lovers. I loved the game of baseball with all my heart and it was what my life revolved around. And now, this bastard who had no idea what he was doing had virtually ruined the game for me. I no longer would walk onto a field and have that feeling of jubilation that I had felt every time I stepped on to a field since I was 5 years old.

Anyway, I was walking home in a rough emotional state when this kid in a leather jacket came up to me and started talking. I wasn't really paying attention and he gathered as much and asked what was up. Well, we got to talking and he did a lot of listening and nodding of his head as I talked about my troubles. He let loose with a few choice expletives when I mentioned the baseball situation and he nodded grimly when I told him about not really fitting in or being understood by my peers.

When the conversation dried up he asked me if I had any plans for the evening and since baseball was no longer an obligation I shook my head. He gave me a toothy smile and handed me a flier with an address on it. When I finished reading the flier, which listed a bunch of bands I had never heard of, and looked up he was gone.

That night I managed to find the address listed on the flier. I wasn't quite sure it was the right place as it was quite dilapidated and didn't look like any place I'd ever been to see a concert. I figured I had nothing to lose so I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

From the moment I walked through that door my life changed. I met people who were like me, people who understood me. People who didn't care where I came from and people who didn't care where I was going. People who were happy to spend an evening listening to music with me.

A familiar person strode out onto the stage as the lights dimmed. The kid had given me the flier. Three others joined him on stage and he stepped up to the mic,

"Thank you all for coming out tonight and supporting this show," he said, "None of us fit in outside of those doors and this show is for all of you"

The crowd began to edge forward and I found that I too was pushing my way towards the stage.

"My name is Tim and we are the Shameless Bunch of Thugs," the kid slurred his voice like a pleasant mixture of glass and gravel, "This song is called "Stay Free" and it's an old Clash tune. I'd like to send it out to a kid I met walking home today, I hope he's here tonight"

The music drowned out the crowd and paved the way for a brand new chapter in my life

[McSweeny]

The past was gone in an instant and reality struck with the force of a wave crashing on the shore. Tim was there. Tim was in trouble.

"See Tommy, I was walking home," Tim was saying, "and I walked past those nice apartments up on 22nd right? Well anyway one of the doors was open a crack so I figured I'd take a peek and see if anyone was home, maybe pay the rent for the next two or three months ya know?"

Tim was a minor criminal. He broke into the odd house when money was thin. Nothing major, just paying the rent as he put it. But I figured something had gone wrong. Tim was never one to risk his neck when he was breaking the law, it just wasn't his style. He wasn't stupid, he was very careful. Until now.

"So I holler out and get no response so in I go" Tim was on a roll now that'd he got his breath back, "I started looking around and picked up a few choice items. I headed back to the bedroom figuring to pick up a piece of jewelry or two, not clean the place out, just a piece or two."

"Go on"

"Well, I picked up this bust that was sitting on one of the dressers..." Tim stammered, "and... and it was slick... slick with blood"

"Goddamnit! Tim what the hell were you thinking? You should have cased the place first!"

"I know, I know!" Tim pleaded, "But it was too late. I saw a body of man lying on the floor groaning..."

"Thank god he wasn't fucking dead Tim or you'd be up the fucking river for sure"

"Damn Johnny, I'm still up the river don't you see?" Tim said with a sad grin, "My prints are all over that place. Man, I was two steps ahead of the cops. They'll find me man. And I can't spend my life running Johnny, I can't"

And wasn't that the truth. Tim couldn't run. Hell hardly anyone could run from the cops forever. They'd catch him eventually and it'd only be worse. What rotten luck. Tim was just an innocent kid trying to get by. He did what he loved and if he had to nick the odd necklace to do that so what? Was he really hurting anyone? The court would say yes he was, he damn near killed a man in a burglary gone wrong. They wouldn't believe it wasn't him. A punk kid is a no good kid. Up the river he went and society was a better place. Well that wasn't going to fucking happen. Not on my watch. Tim had done too much for me to let him go away for at least 2 years. He'd been there for me through thick and thin. He never left me hanging and he always believed in me. And now it was time to pay back my debt. Time to show Tim he hadn't wasted his time.

"Tim," I said after a moment of deep though, "That's not going to happen, we'll think of something and I'll take care of everything. We'll be fine; you and me verse the world ok buddy? We'll think of something"

We had better damn well think of something and fast

[McSweeny]

After that first show, things changed in my life. Where once I had wanted to go to college and get a job like I was supposed to, I now wanted to lead my own life and see where it may take me. I had lived in or around South Boston my entire life and I liked to think of it as my home. I couldn't imagine picking up and moving elsewhere. So when Tim came up to me after graduation and asked if I would be interested in renting the apartment across the hall from him it seemed like an ideal situation. At least until I realized I had next to no money. Tim told me not to worry, I'd find work. Sure enough I did, I ended up working in the bar right below my apartment. It paid next to nothing, but as long as I had a roof over my head and food in my belly I was happy.

That wasn't the only change in my life. I had once been a misunderstood social outcast. Now I felt alive. I felt like I was part of something. Try as I might I could never find the words to describe what I was a part of. I had thrown off the shackles of society and embraced something so primitive and so raw that it could not be described by words alone. What I was a part of had to be felt. It wasn't just the music. It was the scene, it was the people, it was the ideals. On nights when I was feeling philosophical, it was somewhat religious. On other days, it reminded me of a large family. And on days when I was feeling particularly depressed or lonely, it seemed like chaos and disorder at its absolute worst. It wasn't anyone of those things. It was a delicate combination of all of them. But above all, there was the music holding it together.

Tim was the glue that held me to the scene and the scene was what kept me from rotting away. Without Tim, I would have drifted away from the scene. The kids would notice that I was gone and they'd shrug their shoulders and tell themselves I was another casualty in the war. But the scene would keep on going without me. Without Tim the scene itself might very well dissolve. Tim was a leader of sorts and kept everything running as smoothly as one could expect. I shuddered to think of what would happen if Tim went to jail.

I did not want to face the kids on a Friday night and tell them I could not save Tim. I did not want the scene to disappear. And I sure as hell did not want to rot away. Just thinking about failing made my shoulders ache under the weight of it all. I remember hoping with all my heart that I was up to the task. God help us all if I wasn't

[McSweeny]

ok this is just some author commentary, not the next installment, notice the italics? ha anyway, you guys enjoying this so far? I've revieved positive feeback from a few people and I'm pumped that at least one or two of you guys are enjoying this. Sorry about the latest installment, it kind of fizzled. And i realized i've been calling my main character 2 different names... Johnny or Tommy... I think i'm going to stick with johnny, that ok with you guys? Any more feedback, just PM it my way, good or bad. Ok, now on with the show!

[McSweeny]

"Ok, here's the deal," I said to Tim "We'll go back to the place you broke into and do our best to conceal your involvement ok?"

"I dunno man; I thought I heard sirens when I was leaving"

I cursed under my breath. "Well, we've got to try anyway. We can't just sit here and do nothing"

With that, we left my apartment and retraced Tim's steps. As we neared the place Tim had broken into, I saw blue and red lights. Shit. My stomach dropped and I felt like crying. We were done for. We stood no chance. Tim would be wrenched from my grasp.

"Well, I guess that's out. On to plan B"

My mouth dropped and I stared at Tim. "Plan B? We have a plan B?"

"Of course we have a plan B," Tim gave me a knowing smile; "I'm not stupid am I? I'm not just going to sit here and look at my fingers am I?"

And with that, Tim started walking back up the block toward our apartments. I gathered myself quickly. Why was I so surprised that Tim had another plan? He was always the one leading me, I should have expected it. Maybe he was just testing me; see if I had it in me. I couldn't help but wonder if I passed.

On the walk back, Tim explained that the police investigation would be slow and methodical. He did admit that they would find his prints and figure out that he was in the house and was holding the weapon used. They'd have a tougher time finding out where he lived though. Since the both of us sublet our apartments from Mr. McColgan who owned the bar below us. Eventually they'd figure out where Tim lived. But he said we'd have two or three days to put his plan into action. I tried my best to feel a little relieved.

Tim's plan it turned out, was talking to a lawyer he knew. It seemed that Tim knew someone for every situation that life would present him with. It was quite amazing. Tim's lawyer friend informed him that he would do a year and a half inside at the most, if he was indeed convicted. Tim seemed cheered slightly by this news; however, a year and a half without Tim was far too long for me.

That night Tim spent a lot of time talking on the phone. I figured he was talking to his lawyer buddy or trying to take care of the situation. I wondered what he was planning. When I asked him, he shooed me away and made another call. I fell asleep that night trying not to feel worthless.

The next morning Tim informed me that he was going to visit his cousin in New York until things died down. He said he wouldn't be gone longer than a month. Deep down, I knew that it was the right thing to do. But my selfishness won out.

"Tim, play one more show, tonight!" I blurted out. "Tell the kids what is going on, they deserve to know."

It was fairly weak. I just wanted Tim so stick around a little longer, even if it wasn't exactly the smart thing to do.

As that evening rolled around, we were preparing to go to the show. Tim's last show. When there was a knock at the door. I got up to answer it, figuring it was one of Tim's band mates. I opened the door and found myself staring at two men in dark blue uniforms. Police officers.

[McSweeny]

After one of the Friday night shows, some men in three-piece suits walked up to me and Tim. The worked with a record company they said, one of the major labels. They told tales of glory, fame, and fortune for Tim. They told a fabulous story, one which every teenage boy dreams about when he first here's a rock and roll song. They told Tim they wanted him to come to New York and record an album. Go on TV, be played on the radio, and tour the country. They said that they had a car waiting to bring him to New York to finalize the details. They said that seeing Tim perform live was more than enough to convince them. He was the real deal. He would go far. All they needed was his name on a piece of paper. Would he sign?

"Can I bring them?" Tim asked, gesturing over the crowd with his hand.

"For the ride to New York?" One of the suits asked, not quite sure, if Tim was joking.

"No."

An awkward silence followed. Both men grinning and glancing at each other. Wondering what the hell he was talking about.

"For the whole ride. Can I bring them where I go and can I involve them in the making of the record? Will they be compensated as generously as I will? Will I still be allowed to play shows here? Will I still have control over my destiny? But can I bring them with me?"

All the while Tim was talking; the two men in their suits began to sweat. When Tim's voice grew stronger and louder, the men began to look nervous. And when Tim finally finished speaking the men had nothing to say. And they slowly dropped their gaze to the dirty floor.

"If that is the case," Tim said, reading their minds "then I would be useless to you. I would make you no money. Without these people I am nothing. They make me. They always have and they always will, no matter what you want to think or believe."

Tim turned his back to the men and looked out at the people. The people waiting for another band to play.

"No, sorry. I cannot do what you ask. I don't even want to do what you ask. I am happy here. That is enough for me"

Tim walked back onstage and played a slow song. I smiled as I figured out what he was playing. Billy Joel would be proud. The men turned to leave.

"It's still rock and roll to me," Tim sang. The crowd picked it up and sang along with all their hearts.

"It's still rock and roll to me"

Those men would never understand those words, but they would never forget the feeling of 100 kids singing those words. It gave me chills and made me smile. I joined them as the chorus came around again.

"It's still rock and roll to me"

All this ran through me head as I saw those two police officers at the door. Tim stood up for what he believed in and did what it took to keep the scene together. I too had been put to that same test and I crumbled. The thought brought tears to me as Tim was handcuffed.

[McSweeny]

My life was a whirlwind after the cops took Tim away in the back of their cruiser. Everything happened so fast. I didn't make it to the show that night. I didn't even make it out of the apartment that night. I crawled inside the magic bottle and I stayed there, feeling sorry for myself. I don't know how long I sat there on the floor sucking on a bottle of whiskey. Time had no meaning to me. I drank and I drank. I don't remember sleep, I only remember drinking.

It wasn't until I drank all the liquor in the apartment that I stopped. It wasn't until that last drop of whiskey was gone that I slept. It was a long dreamless sleep filled with nothing. It was a sleep brought on by physical and emotional exhaustion.

When I awoke, my mouth tasted like vomit and my head felt like it was ready to explode. I swallowed a bottle of aspirin before I staggered out the door. I had no idea how much time had passed. People stayed on the other side of the street, not making eye contact with me. Mother's shielded their children from me. The bums gave me grim faced nods.

I caught my reflection in a store display window and it nearly shocked me. Unkempt hair, swollen eyes, two-week growth of beard, filthy clothing, no shoes; no wonder people were avoiding me. I looked slightly worse than death. That was how I felt also.

I picked up the day's paper and tried to read it as I ambled towards the relative comfort of my apartment. Roughly two and a half weeks had passed since Tim had first been arrested. Correction. Since my selfishness had gotten Tim arrested.

I didn't notice the article until I reached the door of my apartment. It was tucked near the back of the local section. It said that Tim had copped a plea. He admitted to breaking into the apartment and being surprised by the old man. He admitted that he might have shoved him in his surprise. The article went on to say that Tim would receive a year in prison.

Damn.

So it wasn't a dream. It had really happened. Tim wasn't getting out of this one. It was my fault. One full year. Damn.

I noticed the blinking red light on my answering machine, as I stood dazed in my apartment. Absently I clicked the play button and listened to my messages. A familiar voice. Tim's voice. All told, there were about eight messages from Tim, each one pleading with me to come to the station and talk with him, telling me he needed me. Each message more urgent than the last.

The final message from Tim was the worst. He voice was cold as ice. "I've no choice, what's done is done. I hope to see you when this is over. I'm sorry that this didn't turn out better."

I played it again.

His voice cut through my heart and I knew I had fucked up, again. The tears welled around my eyes as I walked blindly out into the street. Hearing Tim's voice over and over in my head. Tim's voice was all I heard until I got back to my apartment and did my best to shut him off with a bottle of whiskey.