Common Knowledge

By Gregory Wayne Martin

A student anthropologist travels from the security of her quiet life in Indiana to the weird and debauched town of Alexandria, Alabama heavily colored by alcohol, sex, insanity and elements of the comically supernatural.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregory Wayne Martin
• Release date: Apr 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301383221

Gregory Wayne Martin

I've been heavily involved in the arts, in one form or another, since I was a child. I worked in theater and music for many years until epilepsy and poor market made both next to impossible. That's when I devoted all of my creative time to writing My first two novels, Common Knowledge and its sequel Macy's Day can be found here on Smashwords. They are the first of four books which I affectionately call the Alexandria series. I have also published a short story on this site entitled Dirty Soapie which is free. Currently, I am editing another novel which is unrelated to the Alexandria series and finishing a play which is tentatively scheduled to be produced in the next few months. I have never tried to write "the great American novel". I've only intended to entertain people. I refer to my books as "on" books. They're ideal for reading on the beach, on a plane, on the toilet... Be prepared though, the characters are often quite foul mouthed and have many bad habits, even if they are inherently good people. That's it for now, I hope you enjoy what you read.

Book preview

Common Knowledge

by

Gregory Wayne Martin

copyright 2013 Gregory Wayne Martin

Smashwords Edition

Special thanks to Jennifer Garland McGinty, Eric Sullivan, Corinthia Garrett Miller, Jennifer Beckwith, Dan Mazikowski, Jeff Brown, Stacy Hiles Thune, David Dennis and Lydia Simpson.

Cover photo by Max Bell. Cover photo model: Shelley Quinn

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

About the author

Other works by Gregory Wayne Martin

CHAPTER 1

Samantha Flowers stood in line at a coffee shop with several other customers, among them one particularly noisy young man who was being a real douche bag. He was on his cell phone having a rather loud and frank discussion concerning ugly matters that, neither Samantha nor anyone else in line, cared to over-hear. It seemed that the person he was talking too had taken an interest in a girl whose sexual health was in question and he felt the need to advise them on how to proceed carefully with her.

Watch it, man. That bitch is a walking STD and if you wanna keep from getting some nasty fucking drips you better be careful how much of yourself you put in her.

The young mother in front of him covered her five-year-old’s ears and silently prayed that the child wasn’t listening enough to ask her the meanings of some of the more explicit words in the conversation. Samantha and the rest of the line just gritted their teeth and tried to ignore him.

No, man, I’m serious. She was best friends with my cousin in high school and I know, the young man said. I’ve heard what she’s got and I don’t think that fucking shit clears up. There was a pause as the person on the other end of phone responded before he continued. Oh, you can totally do that. I mean, I love that! Just don’t put your dick in her, certainly not without a rubber.

Will someone please say something to this guy? the old woman behind Samantha muttered under her breath as transactions completed in front of them and several fortunate souls escaped the vulgarity. Samantha said nothing and neither did anyone else. They just rolled their eyes and shot the young man dirty looks.

Oh, the young man said to his friend, oblivious to the reactions he was eliciting, You know that X we were talking about? Well, Molly told me she can get it for almost half the price. I know, man! Dude, it’s supposed to be awesome shit, too. We are gonna be fucking rolling tonight!

Finally, the old woman had had enough. She turned to the young man and voiced her disapproval.

Hey, there are children in here, as well as plenty of adults who don’t care to overhear your vile conversation. If you aren’t going to respect that and shut up, do you think you can at least be a little more discreet?

The young man showed her his middle finger and continued talking just as loud and inappropriately as he had been before her interjection. The old woman, completely fed up, reached over, took the young man’s phone and turned it off. That’s enough, she said firmly.

Hey, the young man snapped. Fuck you, Lady! Why don’t you eat a big hard dick?

Suddenly, the old woman was not the only one who had had enough. The man at the back of the line stepped up to add his two cents. He was extremely large and sported cornrows, a YMCA t-shirt and an indignant scowl. Hey, he said, that is you’re elder you’re talking to and she deserves a little more respect. All of us do.

Undaunted by the size of his latest critic the young man reacted with just as much contempt as he had shown the old woman, telling the large man that it was none of his business and to go suck this shit out of a camel’s ass. The young man started to express his hostility toward everyone else in line. He intended to tell them that they could leave if they had a problem with his behavior. He was abruptly cut off however as the large man grabbed him by the head with one hand, lifted him off of his feet, marched him to the door and tossed him forcibly outside. Everyone, the barista included, applauded as the large man took his place back in line.

The drama curtailed, it was now Samantha’s turn, and she stepped up to the counter. The barista shook his head and said to her, Some people…

Makes you want to leave town, Samantha grinned.

Samantha ordered a double espresso to go, paid for it and then stepped aside to wait. Once she received her coffee, she headed out the door and down the street to the bus stop, fueled now with caffeine and all the adrenalin provided by the excitement she felt over the possibility of moving away from a town inhabited by noisy douche bags.

Shorter, Indiana wasn’t the worst place in the world. It was an upper-middle class suburb located evenly between Muncie and Indianapolis and where Samantha had spent her whole life. The streets were clean, the buildings were plain, the newspaper was small and biased and employment almost always involved a commute.

Most people in Shorter were good people, decent people, the type who would defend each other against the occasional loud mouth jack ass going on and on about sex and drugs in a public place. They were responsible, conservative and clean. Five days a week they would go to work, arrive on time, do their job and go home to their families. On the weekends they would watch sports, go shopping, go to church, eat at fern bars and go to see movies filled with both car chases and comedic romance. However, Samantha had spent her whole life there and found that she didn’t genuinely connect with any of them. She wasn’t a rebel by any stretch of the imagination, she just wasn’t ordinary and that made all the difference in Shorter.

Samantha expected much more out of her life than her neighbors and on that particular day she had come to an important decision which would be the next step in making it happen. She was eager to share her decision with her college advisor who had been trying to guide her. Samantha transferred to a bus which carried her to Muncie, Indiana and to another which carried her to Ball State University. She walked, with a smile and a rapid gate, to the Anthropology department and up to her advisor's office. Dr. Brand welcomed her happily and asked her to have a seat. He immediately got to the point without any of the usual pleasantries or ceremony.

So, Sam, have you given any more thought to graduate school?

I have, she sat up straight and smiled proudly. I’ve decided on Washington University.

Dr. Brand smiled himself. It is prestigious, he said with a small hint of condescension. It’s also very selective. They only let in about four candidates a year.

Yes, but my grades are excellent, Samantha pointed out.

Yes, your grades are excellent and so is your work ethic, Dr. Brand agreed. Future research papers on both the Kincaid site and Angel mounds will most likely include your name. You’ve done some amazing work in this area.

Well, that should guarantee me a spot at Washington, shouldn’t it?

Perhaps. But, you’ve studied the majority of this region extensively, Sam. Continuing in St. Louis might be academically incestuous.

I’m sorry? Samantha wanted clarification.

You wouldn’t really be adding anything new to your education.

Samantha pondered her advisor’s input for a moment. He always had a way of trying to keep her perspective clear, and she had learned to trust him, even when they differed in opinion, or more often, when he was shattering her illusions.

What do you suggest? she asked.

It seems to me that if you really want to become an expert in your field, the next logical step would be to move down south, Dr. Brand replied. He pulled up a website and turned his computer screen toward her. Have you considered Alexandria?

Alexandria?

Alexandria College of Arts and Sciences. It’s in central Alabama and it’s a really great school. It’s also where the Kimbro mound site is.

Samantha was actually familiar with Alexandria, by name anyway, because of its mound site. Kimbro was the second largest Mississippian mound site in the United States. She knew a great deal about it from class and even hoped to visit one day, but she’d never considered moving there. The main reason was its location.

Alabama?

Don’t be so quick to judge, Dr. Brand cautioned her. You’d be surprised what it’s like down there. I mean, yes the state has a pretty poor reputation over all, but it’s not completely backwards. Alexandria is a great example. The culture there is remarkable. The people are friendly and educated… Plus, in addition to living down the street from Kimbro, you’d be close to Moundville, Etowah, Ocmulgee, Emerald…, Dr. Brand paused. If you were to get into Washington University, you’d be able to study Cahokia all the time, but…you’ve studied Cahokia, Sam. This would give you a chance to examine the other really important sites. Best of all, you’d be able to get a great scholarship.

What kind of Scholarship? she asked with sudden interest.

Well, average cost of tuition, classes and fees per year is around $25,000. I’m pretty certain, with your grades and background you could get a scholarship for most, if not all, of it.

Really? Samantha’s optimism rose. Are you sure?

Darren Hellar is the head of the Early American Anthropology department at Alexandria and he’s a friend of mine. We spoke yesterday, and according to him, their last two graduate students just graduated last year and they have yet to accept anyone into their program for this upcoming term. He says they’d love to have someone like you there.

There was a brief pause as Samantha mulled over the possibilities in her head. A scholarship at a great college, near an important anthropological and archaeological mound site where she’d be the only graduate student in her field was a marvelous prospect. She also liked the idea of moving far away from a tepid town and her overbearing mother. She’d always planned on visiting Alabama for research. Would it be so bad to actually live there?

Dr. Brand finally broke the silence. So, what do think?

Samantha finally shrugged and smiled. It’s something to consider, she admitted.

****

With a loud click, the final suitcase locked. Samantha heaved it off of her bed and set it down hard next to her other four bags. She stood and stared at them, wondering for the three thousandth time if she was, in fact, taking all of the clothing and other personal belongings she truly needed. Surely, she was forgetting something—something important.

Samantha shook off the concern for her possessions and turned it to herself. Looking in the mirror she surveyed and scrutinized every detail of her appearance.

Why, she wondered, was her hair always determined to remain a complete mess? It never looked teased or permed or shaped or anything deliberate. It just hung off of her head in thick, wavy clumps that seemed to have, not just minds of their own, but a collective mission of hostile relations and segregation. The dark brunette mane came in handy when she needed a place to stick a pen or pencil or highlighter when she already had a different one in her mouth, but other than that, it seemed to serve no other purpose than to frustrate her.

Her clothes weren’t much different. Extreme devotion to academic over-achievement hadn’t left her much time to concern herself with more mundane things, such as fashion. Continuously wearing only what her mother bought her growing up, followed by three and a half years of college had her now dressing strictly for convenience. Jeans, khaki shorts, hiking shoes, sandals, t-shirts, twill over shirts and the occasional casual skirt comprised a large portion of the contents of her luggage. The rest were filled with books, notes, a handful of CD’s, the most basic of toiletries and make-up and her lap top.

Samantha did unfasten the top button on her shirt to see if it made her look less nerdy. As the fabric parted down a couple of inches it exposed her St. Christopher’s medallion. While a lifetime of carefully instilled guilt had rooted itself deeply in her heart, Samantha’s mind had basically begun to reject many of, what she considered to be, the superstitions of her very Catholic upbringing. She decided it would be better to be seen as frumpy rather than as a fruity zealot and buttoned her shirt back.

There was a sudden rustle at the door. Sam’s mother scurried in, in a nervous, barely controlled state of panic. What am I going to do? Mrs. Flowers whined. My little girl is leaving me!"

She shuffled in quickly, hugged her daughter and immediately began adjusting her appearance, straightening Sam’s clothes and launching her own futile attempt to institute some control over her hair.

Mom, please don’t, said Samantha, rolling her eyes and halfheartedly trying to push her mother off of her. It’s not like I’m going to Botswana or someplace. It’s just Alabama. I’ll manage.

Samantha had a hard time convincing herself of the simplicity of the transition. However, when she declared that it was simple to her mother, she meant it.

That is over five hundred miles away, young lady. Almost six hundred! Not to mention the fact that you’ll be living there. How do you expect me to begin to cope with that idea when you’ve never been gone more than a few days at a time for a dig or an anthropology convention? Mrs. Flowers began looking over her daughter’s luggage. Lifting one suitcase a couple of inches off the floor she added, How do you expect to drag such a heavy load of bags all the way down to cow country?

We have cows here, Mom.

Yes, but we don’t make them our college mascot like this Alexandria place. You’re going down to major redneck country. They eat rabbits and possums down there and practice voodoo and girls are attacked by gangs of rabid hillbillies and—

Mom! said Sam firmly, cutting off her mother’s nonsensical tirade before adding gently, You know that none of that is true.

Amanda Flowers sighed. She shook her head, more in an attempt to regain her wits than to confirm her daughter’s dismissal. I know, Samantha, she said much more calmly. I just don’t like the idea of not having you here.

I understand, Mom.

An hour later Samantha’s mother and father were loading her and her things on to a bus destined for Alabama. Amanda Flowers whined and worried while her husband, Phil, merely hugged his daughter, smiled and said, Call. Five minutes later Samantha had found her seat and was on the road.

It was a bright, warm day and Samantha opened a book to pass the time. However, she found herself reflecting on her past and potential future instead. Here she was, just barely twenty-one and already starting graduate school. While all of her peers indulged in the fruits of youth like Vikings on a rampage, Samsntha had spent all of her time with people who’d been dead for centuries.

Her focus was Native American Culture mainly because it provided more mystery and allowed her to hide from the real, more current world. Coupled with her mother’s henpecking and strict Catholic values, it left Samantha with a slight feeling that she might have missed something growing up. But, she’d usually just shake it off, telling herself that she wasn’t an unwed, teenage mother and that she knew more about many subjects than most people were ever even exposed to.

Still, she was twenty-one and she was moving out on her own for the first time. Even throughout her undergraduate education, Samantha’s mother had insisted that she live at home and not work so that she could concentrate on her studies. She may have been more academically developed than most people her age, but she was also less socially adept. Samantha had never been to a rock concert. She hadn’t attended her prom. She'd never been a member of a club like the girl scouts. She’d never even had a job that wasn’t directly involved with her education. It always started with her mother opposing ideas because they might interfere with her daughter’s studies and evolved into Samantha being too apprehensive to explore things on her own due to lack of experience.

Her love life wasn’t very different. Samantha had dated a little bit in college. It was usually a situation where she’d be asked out by or set up with a classmate and would go out with them a few times. After a short while, her suitors would realize that they came second in her life behind school and that she had the type of mother who would vehemently impede their lustful intents at every opportunity. As a result they barely saw her, calculated that the time it would take to develop physical and emotional intimacy was too great and quickly moved on.

Now, however, there was a potential for change, in all aspects of her life and something inside of Samantha Flowers was extremely eager to see it happen.

Alexandria, Alabama. It was a tiny, backwoods town with a liberal arts college in the middle of it. The combination seemed a tad odd, but a Mississippian mound site in the area helped make it a prime location for such a place. There were highly accredited departments in other fields at Alexandria College of Arts and Sciences like music, theatre, art, chemistry, physics and some medicine, just to name a few. But, historical studies and preservation had launched it all and helped develop the institution into one of the most respected in the country, even if it was something of a well kept secret.

Samantha had accepted an academic scholarship and a graduate fellowship. Together they would pay for everything except living expenses. This was another thing she was excited about. She was going to get a job. She fancied herself an excellent candidate for head archivist at the county archives, as a museum curator at a state park or working as a research clerk at a law firm. She’d use the money she made to get a modest, but chic studio apartment, learn to make her own sushi and sail through the next two or three years as the celebrated star of the department.

Based on much of the description Dr. Brand had put into her head, Samantha had developed a rather romanticized image of her destination. This wasn’t just some stereotypical high school where she didn’t fit in. It wasn’t some state university where, even doing extremely well, she might still walk about unnoticed. This was a small, specialized, enlightened institution of higher learning in a quaint, out-of-the-way little town. Samantha Flowers felt for the first time in life that things were genuinely going to happen to her and she was going to really shine.

About the time the bus officially passed out of Indianapolis’s city limits, Samantha, caught herself indulging in ridiculously fantastic daydreams. She shook off her idealistic expectations and allowed her more familiar fear and apprehension to set in. She reminded herself that things had not always gone her way and that, on quite a few occasions, things had even been genuinely awful. Throughout grade school, junior high and high school, her high I.Q. had gotten her teased and tormented by some. This was one of the reasons her mother had always been so protective.

As far back as second grade, Amanda and Phillip Flowers had been summoned to the principal’s office for a consultation. A couple of the other kids who had grown tired of Samantha always volunteering answers in class started calling her names like nerdy-turdy and Samantha shit face. After her supposed best friend Jamie had slapped her and told her in front of all the other girls that being a know-it-all only meant that she’d grow up to know all about being an ugly, old cat hag, Samantha was found in one of the bathroom stalls shaking and crying and wouldn’t let any of the other kids or teachers come near her. All at once, Samantha became silent in