Chapter 1 – The Middle Finger

Omar Watson sits on the side of the highway, contemplating the awesome power of a middle finger.

Who knew middle fingers had so much power? Who knew that one simple, silent gesture had the power to scream? Who knew that one ordinary finger, slightly longer than any other, had the power to give you an enemy – damn near instantly!

Omar had never had an enemy before, but after his father, Jasper, cast a nice fat middle finger to the lady right down Highway 71, now he did. This was all very new and exciting to him.

In fact, everything in the past year had been exciting to him; he noted as black smoke poured from his father’s car, creating thick billows that danced in the sky.

It was exciting when he got down on one knee and stammered the words, “Will you marry me?” He remembered feeling butterflies fly around in his stomach and thinking, perhaps for the first time ever,  he may be in love.

It was exciting when his fiancé, Monica, walked away from him months later without warning. It felt like pigeon shit splattering on an unsuspecting bald head—cold, wet, and embarrassing.

It was exciting when he decided in a panic, he was taking a new job and moving across the country. The breakup had served as a reminder that life is to be lived, and you only live it by living. An unfortunate, sobering reality.

Finally, it was exciting when his father’s car suddenly veered off the road and flew into the air before rolling to a screeching, thunderous stop. It was the explosion of a new beginning he wasn’t looking for.

Omar leans up against the large support beam under the bridge and rubs his fingers across the cool concrete cylinder. Smoke sways his thick, black hair from side to side and he slowly drifts back to where it all began.

He and Jasper had just cruised past mile marker “who-the-fuck-knows-where” and found themselves teetering on the line between annoyed and dazed.

Jasper’s large frame was hunched over the steering wheel, trying to will a gas station into existence. 65 years of frustration was etched across his face, like a man who’s having trouble on the toilet. Next to him, Omar was practically curled into a ball on the passenger seat. Despite his smaller frame, he was massaging his temples so hard; you’d think he was trying to push a hole into his head.

This was the first time in five years he had been with his father, and it was going about as well as he expected: Drama. Drama. Drama.

It had been 4 hours since their last stop, and in the back of their minds, a stubborn voice wouldn’t stop reminding them they should’ve gassed up back at the last station. They watched the orange gas gauge needle inch dangerously closer to “E,” like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.

In front of them, long stretches of pavement weaved on for miles before fading into the grey horizon and all the stretches of green farmland in the Ohio countryside started to blend into one. And then, when all hope was nearly lost, Jasper saw a bright blue sign that appeared like a gift from the heavens above. “BP Gas station – 1 mile.”

Jasper’s mouth eases into a smile. “About damn time.”

He glances over at Omar, who looked as if he didn’t appreciate the situation or the salvation. He was gawking at a picture of his ex-fiance’ laying in the outstretched arms of another man. Even more troubling, to the right of Omar, smack dab in their way, was the lady still driving alongside them.

For the past 2 hours, Jasper and the lady had been caught up in the worst kind of race: the kind without a finish line. Despite miles and miles of clean air, cow shit and charcoal colored road, these two were in a never-ending dance of passing, speeding up, and passing again.  And what started off as an innocent coincidence would soon become personal, as these matters of the mind often do.

In the quiet of the car ride, Jasper had become incredibly convinced this lady was, in fact, out to get him as he tried to size up her motives.

Did I cut her off?

 Does she know me?

 Is there something she’s trying to tell me?

Is this because I’m black?

He cut his eyes to the mirror and frowned as he noticed her oblivious smile. “Can you believe this fuckin’ lady? She’s smiling!”

Omar only shrugs. His gaze and heart hadn’t left his phone.

“She needs to get the fuck off this road!” Jasper pleads to the plastic dashboard, which offered its silent sympathy.

“Get her attention; she’s got to let us over.” He says, nudging Omar.

Omar looks up from his phone and glances at the clueless lady. She wore big black sunglasses that covered her face and made her look like a fly. And her head was tilted down, staring at her phone, which of course, is the last thing anyone wants to see while driving at 70 miles per hour. It was a miracle she kept the car between the lines.

“She’s texting and you can’t pass her? Have you tried using your blinker?” Omar said with about five years of repressed sass rearing its annoying head.

“Of course I did! What do you think?” Jasper snorts.

Jasper’s mouth curls down as he glances at his gas gauge once more, another tick closer to E. He wails on the horn.

“Get the fuck out of the way!” Jasper screams, his fist pounding the dash.

About 1000 yards out, the exit ramp appears like a mirage on the desert and tasting salvation, Jasper taps the accelerator. It was time to pull a fast one on this bitch.

Or was it? Despite staring at her phone, she found a way to block his exit and match the speed. It was as if there was a magnet between the cars. And that’s when it all happened. Jasper’s nostrils flare, he slams down on the automatic window button, shovea his son back into the seat, reaches out the window, and gives the lady the bird.

“Move the fuck over!” It was as American as Johnny Appleseed, holding a firework, while riding a bald eagle.

And then, she looked up and did the most inconceivable thing. She smiled and waved, which had the effect of short-circuiting Jasper.

His jaw dropped, his face twisted, and he looked as if he had just seen a ghost, still staring at the apparition. Unfortunately, something directly ahead of them was scarier.

“Watch out!” Omar screams, his eyes widening.

Standing smack dab in the middle of the road was a 10-point buck delivered from Karma herself. Jasper, still staring at the lady, didn’t see it coming. And he didn’t have to; his other senses did the heavy lifting.

WHAM!

He felt the impact of hitting the buck at 70 miles per hour.

He heard the shatter of glass cry out with sudden deafening force.

He smelled the engine mix with the cool outdoor air that bites your nose.

And when he looked up, he saw the world was upside down as the car began to roll.

Omar’s move was over before it even began.

 

Chapter 2 The Briefcase

 

There’s always a moment where you know you fucked up, but you don’t want to accept it. So you distract yourself. You think of everything that could happen instead of everything that did happen. It’s a coping mechanism, a lie disguised as a thin layer of hope that you’re dead set on making true. And hiding behind this thin layer of hope, Omar snaps out of it, the reality fading in, one wave of nausea at a time.

The world was spinning. Omar crawls out from under the front passenger window and struggles to put on his glasses. The thin frames wiggling up and down, as his sight moves from blurred to clear. When he came to, he saw the destruction.

What was once a reliable, run-of-the-mill Honda Civic looked as if it was in a monster truck jam – only it wasn’t the monster truck. It was the car that monster trucks run over.

Pointy metal scraps lay spread all over the road, and there was enough glass scattered that it looked like a pinata gifted from a demented clown had just gone off.

Dark, black smoke started to climb to the heavens above, and the wheels were still spinning, remembering what it was like to be on the road.

 

The door rumbles forward and kicks up dirt as Jasper falls out, holding a can of Coke. Beads of sweat, mixed with blood roll down his face.

“That fucking bitch!” Jasper screams while cracking the Coke open. “Can you believe this shit!” He sticks his middle finger in the air, not learning his lesson.

“Dad, what the fuck were you thinking?!” Omar huffs. “Did you not fucking see it?”

“What do you think? Do you think I wanted to crash my car? Right here in the ass crack of America? You think I wanted that?” Jasper says with a frown. “Come on now, I don’t have any hemorrhoid cream!”

“Damnit, Dad! Why would you insist on coming if you’re going to do this!” Omar screams, eyes still watching the car wheel turn.

Jasper shakes like an earthquake as he eyes up the carnage.

“Shut up… are you ok?” Jasper says.

“Scratched but fine, and you?”

“I got a fucking headache and a new hatred for deer. Good thing I got my Coke.”

He rips another sip; sweat drips down his forehead. Omar stares at the Coke as if he were trying to disintegrate it with his eyes. Everything he hated about his father was minimized to this can of Coke.

Ever since Omar was a boy, he only knew one quality about his Dad. To Jasper – every problem in life could be cured with a can of Coke.

Got a sore throat? Have a Coke

Scraped knee? Have a Coke.

Your collarbone sticking out with blood spluttering and ruining your brand-new, whiter-than-snow carpet? Have a fuckin’ Coke.

He could have been the company’s best spokesman – had he not been a salesperson for the Pepsi company. It was the great irony of his life. Jasper takes another sip and clenches his jaw.

“Ahh fuck it. Everything’s got an expiration date.” He says ominously, standing on a rock as he surveyed the deer, or what was left of the deer, and the car, or what was left of the car. Jasper stakes on last gulp of coke, rips the tab off, and crunches in on the ground. It was his signature move.

Standing on the other side of acceptance, Omar paces around the car, his hand gripping his chest as he tries his best to avoid a full-blown panic attack. He takes slow, deep breaths, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, and his eyes dart around, searching for a focal point to ground him in the present moment.

Unfortunately, the only thing that sticks out was the deer’s white eyeball that seemed to stare right through him, calling him a bastard. Because when you hit a deer on the highway, you’re a bastard. And if you’re Omar Watson, who grew up with a Dad who was hardly home. You’re a bastard.

Omar tries to engage his other senses, listening to the wind, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin, and inhaling the earthy scent of the nearby grass, but nothing seems to work. He runs over to the cylinder and leans up against it, trying to escape the deer’s eye.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Omar thinks to himself, still focused on the eye. “My life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.” He screams inside his head. He had it all planned out.

After the wedding was called off, Omar wanted an escape. He wanted a new adventure. So he thought about heading west, like the cowboys did.

California was said to be the land of opportunity. The land where dreams come true. The land that’s been so sung about, so written about, so special, it had to mean something, if not for sheer force alone. Omar wasn’t sure what, but he hoped it was true.

He needed to jumpstart his life. He needed help. He needed a fresh start. So thoughtlessly, he applied for the first job he saw. A door-to-door knife salesman… the kind of job that would take anyone with a pulse. He accepted the job without giving it much thought, renting another dream without actually dreaming. Because dreaming is scary, and Omar is scared.

And yet here he was – carless, fiancée-less, and rudderless – confronting the sober reality that this wasn’t a dream at all, just another nightmare… only it came before he could sleep.

“Ahhhh” that hits the spot!” Jasper burps as he crushes his can of Coke, ripping the tab off and looks at his son noticing his chest rising and falling.

“You alright?” He asks.

“Am I alright? Am I alright? My fuckin’ life is ruined… again!” Omar snaps and rubs his temples.

“You should have never come on this trip!”

Jasper sighs and frowns.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about- all your shit’s in the mail; we’ll just go to the gas station and figure it out.”

“We can’t figure this out!” Omar protests.

“Sure, you can. That’s what you do in life – you figure it out; everything is figureoutable – You just gotta take action.”

Omar shakes his head, his frustration igniting like a wildfire, and kicks the ground. “This ain’t; we’re completely fucked! – Even a genie in a bottle can’t figure this out!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the bad guy for wanting to help,” Jasper scoffs.

“You’re the bad guy for hitting the fuckin’ deer!”

“What’s that deer doing on the road anyway?! Eating asphalt?!” Jasper exhales deeply, and regains his composure. “Can you help me grab my suitcase? I have something I need to show yah. Just my luck if that’s fucked too.”

Omar kicks up more dirt, sending a small cloud racing into the sky. “Sure. Right after I have this panic attack.”

Breathing heavily, Omar surveys the wreckage, his rage arresting his body as he tears through the crash site like a tornado. He picks up bits of glass, car parts, and wrappers and sends them flying, one huff at a time. He was so mad, so pissed off, that he forgot he was supposed to have a panic attack. His father’s charm worked.

Hidden nearly fifteen yards from the crash site, a glint of light catches his eye – his father’s black suitcase, now coated in a layer of dust, was cracked open. As he stomped towards it, he noticed an envelope addressed to him in his father’s neat cursive handwriting. “To Omar,” it read. Omar holds the letter up to the light, hoping it would reveal its secrets.

“Omar, by now, you know the truth. I am …”

A roar echoes from the other side of the wreckage. “Did you find my suitcase?”

Omar quickly conceals the letter. “Yeah, we’re good.”

“See any more Coke?”

“No!”

He casts another glance at the suitcase; this time, an icy shiver creeps up his spine. Everything in the past week had been so unusual, especially the phone call he got a few days ago. He closed his eyes as memories bulldozed their way in.

Omar was sitting on the couch, escaping life when his cellphone lit up. It was Jasper.

He paused and looked at the phone and bit his lip, and felt a weary mix. When you don’t hear from a family member in years, more likely than not.. the news isn’t good. After a few rings, he picked it up.

“Hel…Hello?”

“I just heard through the grapevine you’re moving across the country. I’m going with you.” Jasper barked into the phone.

“Dad, no and is this really the first thing you want say to me?” Questioned Omar.

“Time is of the essence, plus I’m already here.”

Omar lowered the blinds to see his father sitting in his car directly outside of his apartment. He frowned. “Fuck.”

He snaps back into reality and sees Jasper squinting into the distance, shielding his eyes with one hand. “Would you look at that! This gas station has a restaurant… and not just those bullshit smokies! We’ll grab some food and figure out how to get back on the road.”

With an extra pep in his step, Jasper strides over to Omar, grabs the suitcase, and urges: “Come on, seeing all that deer meat made me hungry.” He rubs his stomach.

Omar couldn’t help but feel nauseous at the thought and throws up. It splashes off the asphalt to which Jasper says, “Good, now you got some room.”

Omar shakes his head and wonders what he did to deserve this.

 

OK – life’s better when you do it in reverse, right? So I’ve been sharing how the end of my book goes, but you may be curious how it starts. This is the first 2 chapters of my book, and I’m curious if it hooks you and what you think. I’m making my final adjustments, so I would love to hear what you think. All opinions are welcome. Once again, I really can’t thank you all enough; seriously, writing a book is so lonely, so it’s nice to be able to share it. Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think.