Realm Crux Books
Publishing Mythic Fiction/Fantasy, Surrealism, Coming of Age, and Poetry
Seattle, WA 98102
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Excerpt From: Frog in the Pot
A novel about an alcoholic janitor and his quarter-life crisis.
There it is; do you hear it? The voice said as I noticed that old familiar, high-pitch ring in my ears. Yeah, I heard it—it was the sound that I could only hear while sitting in complete silence. It’s the kind of sound that could drive a man mad. Yeah, if he sat long enough fixated on it; but I was in no mood to do that anytime soon. If I had a pin I’d drop it; just for the sound, something to stop that God-awful ringing. Even a seashell would bring a silent ocean because there’d be nothing to make its echo. I enjoyed sitting on the toilet though—a good place to think. My navel: for nine months I stared at it, back when it served a purpose. All it did recently was collect lint. Move on, please. Anyway, it didn’t matter if I was on my own toilet or on one that was stained yellow at the airport, I always felt uninhibited—probably because there was no one watching. That’s what you thought. Oh, ha ha.
Got up and flushed. That was a long enough break anyway. Besides, I had to finish cleaning the rest of the bathroom and the school was cold. A custodian’s job is never finished, especially after I made the mess—any kind of mess—like back at home. Whenever I cleaned up after myself it didn’t feel like work. Looking at my watch I saw that it was half-past midnight, shit, I had to get out of there. The bathroom was always the last room I cleaned before I left every night. I found it strange how I’d do the school in a certain order or it wouldn’t feel right. Guess that’s just how I was, liked to keep things in order; give some regularity to them. Didn’t think it was a problem though. Not yet, anyway. What’s that supposed to mean? It never would be a problem. Yeah, I know.
I finished up the boys’ restroom and put my gear back in the closet. Time for the drive home, and vacation. I stepped out the front door and locked it behind me as usual. It was pretty cold out, the sky was clear and some frost was sprinkled around. That year’s winter was more extreme, by Seattle standards—lots of rain, obviously, and more snow than usual; but it never lasted more than a week. The year before was the opposite: very mild with little rain, only snowed once.
I got into my sleek blue Pinto and listened to “Rubber Soul” on the way home. I-5 was pretty bare, as usual, and I made it home in under a half-hour. I lived in Kent, I guess you could call it downtown Kent, about a 45-minute drive from Seattle during the day. As you know, I lived alone in an apartment complex, just a walk away from all the necessities. I parked in my spot under the carport, went in, drank a glass of OJ, pissed, then hit the bed. Ah, bed. That was something to get into…ha ha. I always had trouble falling asleep; too quiet, so I’d sleep with the window slightly open—no matter what time of year it was, for the noise of the street. There were always trains going by with their horns blaring. Plus, I liked the room to be kind of cold when I got in bed; it made the warmth of the blankets feel that much better. At first the sheets were freezing, then it got nice and toasty.
What a life, Alvin Taylor—no wife, no girlfriend, and very few friends. What was the purpose? What got you off? Almost thirty years old, with no prospects; most people that age are married and live in houses. What did that have to do with me? I had my own life, why follow anybody else’s standards. I guess my purpose was to clean up after people, but I wasn’t bitter about it. Life’s not a test, you know. Then what is it, Alvin? That’s what I’ll try to explain, but I can only use my life as an example—so bear with me. Okay. So I guess this is where I plead my case then, huh? If you want to put it that way....
Copyright 2010 Richard Beckham II
Copyright 2010 Realm Crux Books. All rights reserved.
Realm Crux Books is a member of Small Publishers Association of North America (SPAN).
Seattle, WA 98102
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