Los Amour

By J. Jeremy Dean

Life in the beach town of Los Amour is simple. You’re born, you fish, maybe you love, and eventually you die. That is it. It seems as though life will be that simple for The Kid, especially after his father, a highly respected member of the community, dies prematurely in a fishing accident. He has to give up his childhood, his friends, and his dreams to work and care for two out of control brothers and a mother who is consumed with her own grief and bitterness.

Now 19, The Kid is without any direction or ambition, except to stay away from his increasingly abusive mother. Friendless and practically homeless, he keeps to himself. He hasn’t any real friends and can’t even imagine talking to the girl he pines for as she jogs down the beach each morning. By his own resolve, The Kid is absolutely alone.

However, all that begins to change after he befriends a strange old hermit living in a wrecked boat on the beach. While the old man talks like a preacher, The Kid discovers he also harbors a dark secret, kept locked away in an ornate wooden box. What sort of secret could this charming and obviously kind soul possess? The Kid can’t imagine, but as he will soon find out, it has the power to challenge all he believes about life, love and humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Jeremy Dean
• Release date: Aug 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466099630

J. Jeremy Dean

J. Jeremy Dean was born at 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning, just in time to watch cartoons, which might explain why his first story, written in third grade, was about small fuzzy invaders from a distant world. He has since branched out from science fiction into humor, horror and fantasy writing as well as the occasional love songs for his wife. He has completed two screen plays and two novels, but only one of each turned out very good.He wrote for and edited newspapers for six years. During that time he won an award from the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors for writing about how bad a few movies were. However, when he went to collect it he became lost and was nearly arrested for trying to enter a restricted area of Cape Canaveral Air Force Base. Conveniently, the award was later sent to him in the mail.He has traveled all around the continental United States, and in his travels he has discovered a great many interesting things. For instance, if you can afford to live on earth, Southern California is the perfect place to do so, with its soaring mountains to the east and its pristine beaches to the west. Arizona, on the other hand, looks nothing like it does in those old western movies, and the majority of saguaro cacti are quite asymmetrical and ugly. Tennessee has the country’s most beautiful autumns, and Florida its the most beautiful winters. Also, they no longer serve free beer at Bush Gardens, and pirates probably weren’t as cool during their own time period as they are right now.Though he has traveled far and often, he has never been out of the country. During a trip to Detroit, he and his wife tried to cross the boarder into Canada, but were turned away because they didn’t have enough change to pay the bridge toll. Even though they didn’t technically get into the other country, customs had to run a checked on their trunk before they could leave the bridge, just in case they bought anything illegal while waiting in the toll line.If pressed, he can recite in their entireties, both the story of Alice’s Restaurant, and all the dialogue and songs from the movie Beetlejuice. If he could have written anything that he did not actually write, it would have been The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. If he could be anyone he is actually not it would be Batman. His favorite color is green.Go Indians!

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Los Amour

By J. Jeremy Dean

Copyright 2011 J. Jeremy Dean

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The Old Man

Chapter 1

It was a bright and crisp Thursday morning, and a chilly breeze was blowing in off the gulf as The Kid made his way to the pier. Two boats were expected in that day, and both would have to be emptied before he would see the end of his shift, so he would likely be working into the dark hours of the evening. This gave The Kid no reason to hurry up the beach. He instead would take his time, savoring the cool and the calm.

You're late! was all the greeting The Kid got as he walked out on the pier. It was Dickie, the foreman in charge of The Kid's crew. It was said that Dickie hadn't spoken one kind word for a single man in the twenty-some odd years he had worked on the pier. But he was efficient, a commodity much more precious in the laboring world than kindness, and most of his crew respected him.

Sorry, sir, The Kid mumbled, which wasn't nearly good enough.

Shifts already started. You're lucky I'm short handed today, or I'd send you home. He pulled a dirty pair of gloves out of a cardboard box and chucked them at The Kid. I see you didn't bring any of these, he sneered. Turn those back in when we're done.

Yes, sir.

The Kid shuffled up the pier to begin his day of packing fish in crates and then carrying them down to the awaiting trucks. He could hear Dickie shouting behind him at another worker. Hey Ramirez, this ain't no charity pier. Let's pick up the pace, unless you want to start getting paid by the crate.

It was about two hours later than usual when he started home – which meant he had missed seeing the girl out on her evening jog up the beach – her shoulder length sandy hair gently bouncing in and out of place, tethered only by the weight of the air. It also meant, The Kid decided, that tonight was a likely candidate for sleeping out on the beach. As far as the weather was concerned, it was a nice enough night, but The Kid's real consideration when deciding where to sleep – at home or in a sand dune – was what kind of mood Mamma was in. As he walked by the Martha May, the old wrecked sailboat hull that stuck out of the beach, he gave it two quick knocks for luck. It's thin wood reverberated loudly like a bass drum in the empty air.

Oh Man in the Moon, The Kid said to nobody in particular, let Mamma be in a good mood. Then he walked on down the beach toward home.

And where have you been? Mamma sneered when The Kid walked in the front door. Mamma was in the living room half laying and half sitting on the dilapidated couch. Joey and Billy, The Kid's younger brothers, were behind the couch having a great sword battle using two broken yardsticks. If Mamma had any concern at all about the actions of her two youngest sons, she was hiding it rather well.

I've been working, Mamma.

Uh huh, she replied in spite from her disbelief.

A beaded curtain hung in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, and The Kid was trying to slip through it as noiselessly as possible. He rifled through the cabinets and pantry in search of some bread, but he couldn't find any. If he had been any less hungry he would have let it pass, but he was coming off a long shift.

Mamma, where's the bread? he asked, delicately as possible. He could hear Mamma gathering herself up off the couch, in what sounded like quite a triumphant feat. Then he heard the beads rattle behind him. He was not eager to turn around and face her, already feeling the seething waves of anger resonating off her like the beating of a bass drum.

So, The Great Sandwich Maker has returned, she said in a measured voice. If you came home more often, you might know where the bread is.

I told you, Mamma, I've been at work, The Kid was reserved but defensive. He could really use a hot shower and a warm blanket.

They keep you all night at work now?

They only kept me a few hours over. It's only just now nightfall.

What about last night? You working then too?

Last night, and the night before too, The Kid thought. How long had it been since he slept at home – three maybe four days?

No, he said. I just slept out on the beach, that's all.

This house not good enough for you, oh Great Sandwich Maker?

I just couldn't sleep, that's all. You know how I have a hard time sleeping. It's peaceful out there, it calms me down.

You find a lot of peace on the beach?

Her voice was placating. He was in for something, she was bating him. The Kid could feel it. He answered cautiously, Yes, yes I do.

A piece of what, if you don't mind telling your Mamma?

The Kid's voice, steady up until now took on a sharp tone. I wasn't with any girl, Mamma. She had him.

Lies, Mamma screamed, all of it. Do you take your old Mamma for a fool, boy? Do you think I can't see through any of this?

It was over, and he knew it, but still The Kid couldn't stand being lied on, and by his own mother.

I wasn't with any girl, he yelled back.

You'll burn in hell for it, boy! This was where Mamma came apart. That's right. You'll burn for it. Lies to his mamma, and lays with strange women.

There are no women, Mamma!

Where do you think it'll end you up, boy? Hell, hell I tell you!

I'm already here! The Kid screamed, totally defeated.

So, it had come to this. Usually The Kid had more self control than this, but she didn't usually damn him quite so quickly either. It had taken him a little off guard. I'm already in this godforsaken house, in this godforsaken town!

This is not where it ends, boy, Mamma shrieked. Keep running with those wild women, and you'll see. You'll be stuck! Stuck in a house with three evil boys, wild and evil, and all bound straight for hell! All four of you bound straight for hell!

Mamma collapsed on her knees, sobbing and gasping for breath. Guilt shot through The Kid like a fire though dry thatch, and before he had a chance to think he bent to comfort his mother.

Don't touch me, devil, she hissed and spat at him. Go back to hell, where you came from. She was gone now, and The Kid could tell it. There was nothing to do but back away, and pray that she didn't kill herself or someone else before she regained her composure.

The Kid pushed himself away from Mamma, but she wasn't ready to let him go just yet. She grabbed at him and through foamy white spittle she screeched, Go to hell, Devil. Go to hell!

The Kid wrenched away from her grasp and ran for the beaded doorway. Mamma grabbed a frying pan off the floor and threw it hard at The Kid as he ran. It probably would have hit him, except that it got tangled up in the beads as it made to pass through. Joey and Billy got a couple of good swats at The Kid's shins though as he dashed through the living room on his way to the front door.

Once outside, The Kid took only one mournful look back at the house before turning his back on it for the night, making his way to the beach.

On the beach, The Kid lay back into the sand looking out at the moon. It was pretty, and nearly full, so he could see the whole of the man's face looking back down on him.

Oh, Man in the Moon, yours must be the most beautiful life. You look down on us and give light to our darkness. You live in the dark, but never become part of it. You watch us, but you never interfere. You're much too beautiful for that – to be spoiled by the problems we face down here. You're light is just bright enough to give us hope, but not enough to change anything. You just hang there in the sky, close enough to see, but far enough away that there's no fear anyone will ever touch you. I used to think your light would guide me somewhere better than this place, but really you just stay in one place, don't you. You don't guide anyone anywhere. Nowhere but right back to where they started. Right back to Los Amour.

I forgive you.

The voice wasn't one that the kid recognized, and the sneaking suddenness of it off set him just a little bit, but The Kid was used to being startled by his mother's mood swings and his brothers' swinging toys and fists, so he didn't jump. He just calmly asked, What?

Existential crisis often manifests itself in the form of madness, you know, said the man now looking down at The Kid who was looking up.

Are you trying to confuse me? The Kid, squinting up his eyes, asked the guy.

No, I'm trying to make things a little clearer for you, he said back.

You're not very good at it then, The Kid quipped. And the old man smiled.

Perhaps not, he said.

Well, who are you then, The Kid asked a little more bluntly than he intended. The heat of the argument was still on him.

Man in the Moon. Wan'na take a swing?

Ha, ha. Make fun of the kid talking to the moon.

Would you believe angel of the Almighty, then? The old man's voice took on a theatrical air of importance to speak this line.

The Kid rolled his eyes, but didn't venture a reply. He just looked at this strange man who had intruded on his pity party – this man who seemed somewhat familiar, though he was sure he had never noticed him around before, neither out on the pier, nor in the Barnacle. He just looked at this man, and got that ticklish little sensation around the edge of his brain, the one they called deja vu.

I'm just some lonely guy, looking for someone to talk to, the man said finally, offering The Kid his hand. The Kid took it without thinking and helped himself up off the sand. You? the man asked.

Just some lonely guy who talks to himself too much, The Kid said dusting the sand off the seat of his shorts.

So, now you have someone to talk to. I'm all ears.

The Kid tried to think of something to say, but nothing he thought of seemed to fit the situation. So, after a moment he simply said, I've got nothing to say.

Most folks who talk too much don't. Then, as though changing the subject, the man said, My name's Guy. He turned and started to walk away from The Kid in the direction of the old wrecked boat, the Martha May, which was about a hundred yards down the beach. Well, come on, Guy said to The Kid, motioning in a way that made him think Guy didn't expect to tell him twice. He hadn't, it seemed, expected to need to ask him at all.

They walked half the distance to the old boat hull in silence, but Guy didn't seem ready to keep asking the questions. The Kid decided he might be more willing to answer some. So, where you from? The Kid asked him. I've never seen you around here before.

Oh, Guy said, I'm from here and there.

So, why did you come here from there?

Saw it on a map one day. I thought it sounded like the name of a pretty place.

The Kid thought that answer sounded like a lie, but he didn't say anything about it right then. Instead, he said, So, you just packed up and came here?

Not much stuff to pack, Guy said simply with a mild smile.

So you're homeless. As soon as the words came out of his mouth, The Kid recognized them as potentially offensive, and tried a feeble retraction. That sounded bad, he said. You don't have to answer that. It was weird. The Kid wasn't the kind who would intentionally offend somebody, but this Guy was the kind of fellow that sets you right at ease right from the beginning. It was, The Kid thought, as though he was an old friend. The kind you could tell when they had their fly unzipped, without fearing that they would wonder what you were doing looking at their crotch. The kind you looked out for no matter what – hurting their feelings even, rather than watch them do something stupid that they would live to regret. It was that old familiar feeling that lulled The Kid into asking a question like that.

No. It's a good question, and I will answer it, Guy said. But, I ain't homeless. Not so long as God spreads a big beautiful baby blue roof over my head and puts a sandy floor under my feet. The whole Earth is my home. Even says so right at the front of the book, Genesis 1:26. And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

But you don't have a house, The Kid persisted. You don't have a place to go at night. The Kid found him self somewhat worried that this man didn't have a comfortable place to sleep.

Oh, Guy said, Sure I do. I sleep over there, he said pointing at the old hull which they were almost upon now, in the belly of the Martha May.

You sleep in that old wrecked boat? The Kid was taken aback at the notion. He wouldn't even have though to venture inside the old hull, much less try to get a good nights rest in there. Did he have stuff in there, like a home, The Kid found himself wondering.

A body's got to sleep somewhere, Guy said simply. Where do you sleep?

The Kid felt a little pang of something, when he realized what his answer to that question would have to be. It was a feeling that couldn't be guilt because he hadn't done anything wrong. However,