Chapter 1: raw, unedited, rough draft (please forgive me!)
Tic sat alone at the breakfast table in the early morning hours, as was his custom. The sun had not yet risen, but was threatening over the horizon. Monday morning, and most of the neighbors wouldn't be up for awhile yet. This wouldn't be such a long day after all, he well knew.
The old man slowly stirred his tea -- an herbal concoction of his own design -- and pushed away the toast and jam he had prepared. He simply wasn't hungry any more. So this is what it feels like to disconnect, he thought to himself, watching the loose tea leaves swirl in the small cup in front of him. Might as well get on with it, then.
He waited for the tea leaves to settle in the cup but soon lost his patience. He raised the ceramic to his lips and swallowed all of the tea in a single gulp, careful not to let the tea leaves past his lips -- that would defeat the purpose of the exercise. In one swift motion, he turned the cup upside down and rested it in its saucer, where the last drops of tea meandered down beneath the rim. He waited a bit, picking a few stray tea leaves from his gray mustache. He chuckled to himself, remembering how many times his appearance had been compared to Walt Whitman.
A fine fellow, Ol' Tic thought this himself. And not so different from me, in the end.
Satisfied that the divinatory cup was ready, Tic picked up his tea mug, turned it right-side-up, and peered down into the tangle of leaves decorating the interior. He brought the cup closer to his face and then stretched his arm far away again, trying to get the best vantage point to understand what he was seeing. Finally, he rested the cup on the table before him. He knew what he was seeing. There were no two ways about it.
He was torn between relief and remorse. His long struggle would finally be coming to an end, but had it really been a life-long battle? He wasn't proud of his past, but that one dreadful chapter had long since faded from contemporary memory. And that unfortunate fork in the road had led him down a most unexpected pathway, one that he couldn't now say that he regretted. But still, the pain he had caused, the mess he had made. He leaned his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. "Ah, Simone," he lamented quietly, with no one to hear him but the gently swaying branches outside the window. "Who's to say we would have ended up any differently?"
Tic wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and sat upright in his chair. He looked down at the tea cup oracle, unchanged. Yes, this would be a short day after all. He reached for the file folder across the table from him, confident that everything was in order. Just needed to make one more telephone call. Still, something in the tea leaves had troubled him.... not so much troubled, perhaps, as caught his interest. A storm. A literal storm? he wondered, pausing to look out the window over his shoulder. Dawn was approaching. So was change. Big change. Something coming that would set this city on its ear.
"It sorely needs it," Tic muttered to himself as he pulled out the deck of Tarot cards he'd been keeping in the breakfast table draw for decades. The box had long since disintegrated into dust. The ancient rubber band holding the desk together came apart in his hands. Tic managed a quick laugh. "Just as well," he murmured, beginning to shuffle the cards, his old friends. "Mmm," he rattled, deep in his throat. "Let's see what you have to say today."
Shuffling done, he placed the deck squarely on the table in front of him, face-down. Tic took a deep breath and lifted a single card from the top of the deck. Turning it over, he placed it back on the table, next to the deck, and stared down in amazement.
The Tower. The burning castle tower, people falling head-first to the ground, their hair and clothes in flames. Lightning and hail raging from heaven above, striking the tower, crumbling what had once stood so tall and proud.
Tic shook his head, a strange smile playing across his lips. He knew well what this card foretold. Dramatic upheaval. Sudden reversal of fortune. A card of change, but certainly not the gentle, slow-paced change most human beings prefer. "Humbling," Tic mumbled, his mind racing. "Sudden realization of the truth." Truth? What truth might that be? He looked down at the card again.
"There is going to be a reckoning," he sighed at last. "Richmond, you're going to pulled screaming from the darkness of your own making." Ah! If he could just be there to see it! This was the storm he had been waiting for, the blessed turbulence that would finally free and thousand voices, and more. It was almost too good to be true. He knew the city was strong, and stubborn.
"You've been your own jailer," he spoke to the world outside the window, watching as the first morning light played and danced upon the new leaves of the weeping willow tree. The dew glistened on the young plants in the garden, and the robins were already in the yard, digging for breakfast. Such a pretty place, he thought to himself, trying to see his neighborhood through the eyes of outsiders, but he never succeeded. Then that new plot caught his eye, the patch of dirt where that plant had sprung up of its own accord. Tic smiled.
"Good then." He left the cards on the table and got up to go to the telephone on the wall. He pulled the business card from his trouser pocket as he lifted the receiver. He had to squint at the card to make out the numbers, and sighed. "It's just as well," he teased himself as he began to dial, enjoying the weight of the wheel against his finger and listening to the clicking noises it made while rotating back into place. "Never underestimate the simple pleasure of a good telephone," he said to no one.
Listening to the line ring, he checked the clock on the wall and winced. No matter, he reassured himself. After all, this couldn't wait, not another day, and quite possibly not another hour. Suddenly, there was a racket at the other end of the phone, followed by a groggy and irritated voice.
"David?" Tic spoke patiently into the receiver. "I know it's early, son, but I have a rather urgent matter to go over with you, as soon as you can get here. I'll be waiting for you at the house." He replaced the receiver, not waiting for the inevitable, argumentative reply issuing from the other end of the line. He took a breath, cut short by the familiar tightening in his chest. Tic leaned both hands against the wall to keep his balance, breathing as deeply as he could; it was the only way to truly hold it off. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for the small prescription bottle he always carried with him, even though it contained yet another herbal remedy he had made with his own hands. Popping off the top of the bottle, he shook two small capsules out into the palm of his hand and slid them into his mouth, swallowing them easily.
Looking down at the bottle as he replaced the cap, he smiled. Let others see what they want to see, he thought to himself as he returned the bottle back to his pocket. Slowly, he slid his suspenders down over his shoulders, to help him breathe a bit more easily. No, it wouldn't be long now.
He took the few steps back to the breakfast room table and sat down. Tic pulled the file folder in front of him and opened it. Staring down at the legal document, he knew that everything was in order. This visit from his lawyer -- a young, well-meaning fellow, if not so bright -- was merely a formality. Tic took a deep breath and sighed, glad to feel the tightness in his chest loosening its grip. Letting go was going to be easier than he'd expected.
The old man slowly stirred his tea -- an herbal concoction of his own design -- and pushed away the toast and jam he had prepared. He simply wasn't hungry any more. So this is what it feels like to disconnect, he thought to himself, watching the loose tea leaves swirl in the small cup in front of him. Might as well get on with it, then.
He waited for the tea leaves to settle in the cup but soon lost his patience. He raised the ceramic to his lips and swallowed all of the tea in a single gulp, careful not to let the tea leaves past his lips -- that would defeat the purpose of the exercise. In one swift motion, he turned the cup upside down and rested it in its saucer, where the last drops of tea meandered down beneath the rim. He waited a bit, picking a few stray tea leaves from his gray mustache. He chuckled to himself, remembering how many times his appearance had been compared to Walt Whitman.
A fine fellow, Ol' Tic thought this himself. And not so different from me, in the end.
Satisfied that the divinatory cup was ready, Tic picked up his tea mug, turned it right-side-up, and peered down into the tangle of leaves decorating the interior. He brought the cup closer to his face and then stretched his arm far away again, trying to get the best vantage point to understand what he was seeing. Finally, he rested the cup on the table before him. He knew what he was seeing. There were no two ways about it.
He was torn between relief and remorse. His long struggle would finally be coming to an end, but had it really been a life-long battle? He wasn't proud of his past, but that one dreadful chapter had long since faded from contemporary memory. And that unfortunate fork in the road had led him down a most unexpected pathway, one that he couldn't now say that he regretted. But still, the pain he had caused, the mess he had made. He leaned his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands. "Ah, Simone," he lamented quietly, with no one to hear him but the gently swaying branches outside the window. "Who's to say we would have ended up any differently?"
Tic wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and sat upright in his chair. He looked down at the tea cup oracle, unchanged. Yes, this would be a short day after all. He reached for the file folder across the table from him, confident that everything was in order. Just needed to make one more telephone call. Still, something in the tea leaves had troubled him.... not so much troubled, perhaps, as caught his interest. A storm. A literal storm? he wondered, pausing to look out the window over his shoulder. Dawn was approaching. So was change. Big change. Something coming that would set this city on its ear.
"It sorely needs it," Tic muttered to himself as he pulled out the deck of Tarot cards he'd been keeping in the breakfast table draw for decades. The box had long since disintegrated into dust. The ancient rubber band holding the desk together came apart in his hands. Tic managed a quick laugh. "Just as well," he murmured, beginning to shuffle the cards, his old friends. "Mmm," he rattled, deep in his throat. "Let's see what you have to say today."
Shuffling done, he placed the deck squarely on the table in front of him, face-down. Tic took a deep breath and lifted a single card from the top of the deck. Turning it over, he placed it back on the table, next to the deck, and stared down in amazement.
The Tower. The burning castle tower, people falling head-first to the ground, their hair and clothes in flames. Lightning and hail raging from heaven above, striking the tower, crumbling what had once stood so tall and proud.
Tic shook his head, a strange smile playing across his lips. He knew well what this card foretold. Dramatic upheaval. Sudden reversal of fortune. A card of change, but certainly not the gentle, slow-paced change most human beings prefer. "Humbling," Tic mumbled, his mind racing. "Sudden realization of the truth." Truth? What truth might that be? He looked down at the card again.
"There is going to be a reckoning," he sighed at last. "Richmond, you're going to pulled screaming from the darkness of your own making." Ah! If he could just be there to see it! This was the storm he had been waiting for, the blessed turbulence that would finally free and thousand voices, and more. It was almost too good to be true. He knew the city was strong, and stubborn.
"You've been your own jailer," he spoke to the world outside the window, watching as the first morning light played and danced upon the new leaves of the weeping willow tree. The dew glistened on the young plants in the garden, and the robins were already in the yard, digging for breakfast. Such a pretty place, he thought to himself, trying to see his neighborhood through the eyes of outsiders, but he never succeeded. Then that new plot caught his eye, the patch of dirt where that plant had sprung up of its own accord. Tic smiled.
"Good then." He left the cards on the table and got up to go to the telephone on the wall. He pulled the business card from his trouser pocket as he lifted the receiver. He had to squint at the card to make out the numbers, and sighed. "It's just as well," he teased himself as he began to dial, enjoying the weight of the wheel against his finger and listening to the clicking noises it made while rotating back into place. "Never underestimate the simple pleasure of a good telephone," he said to no one.
Listening to the line ring, he checked the clock on the wall and winced. No matter, he reassured himself. After all, this couldn't wait, not another day, and quite possibly not another hour. Suddenly, there was a racket at the other end of the phone, followed by a groggy and irritated voice.
"David?" Tic spoke patiently into the receiver. "I know it's early, son, but I have a rather urgent matter to go over with you, as soon as you can get here. I'll be waiting for you at the house." He replaced the receiver, not waiting for the inevitable, argumentative reply issuing from the other end of the line. He took a breath, cut short by the familiar tightening in his chest. Tic leaned both hands against the wall to keep his balance, breathing as deeply as he could; it was the only way to truly hold it off. He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt for the small prescription bottle he always carried with him, even though it contained yet another herbal remedy he had made with his own hands. Popping off the top of the bottle, he shook two small capsules out into the palm of his hand and slid them into his mouth, swallowing them easily.
Looking down at the bottle as he replaced the cap, he smiled. Let others see what they want to see, he thought to himself as he returned the bottle back to his pocket. Slowly, he slid his suspenders down over his shoulders, to help him breathe a bit more easily. No, it wouldn't be long now.
He took the few steps back to the breakfast room table and sat down. Tic pulled the file folder in front of him and opened it. Staring down at the legal document, he knew that everything was in order. This visit from his lawyer -- a young, well-meaning fellow, if not so bright -- was merely a formality. Tic took a deep breath and sighed, glad to feel the tightness in his chest loosening its grip. Letting go was going to be easier than he'd expected.
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