Petrichor

By Jason Wonio

"Petrichor" tells the story of Rick Stanton, a former EMT in Seattle who leaves his life and job behind to pursue his boyhood dream of acting in Los Angeles. Crippled by grief after losing his wife and inability to dodge a drink, he sets out to prove the naysayers wrong.

As Rick pursues his dream and embarks on this journey, he struggles to adjust to the new lifestyle in the City of Angels. He's constantly being bombarded by pop stars, intrusive neighbors, and a California sun that never ceases to burn his skin. With "Happily Ever After" in the rear view, a man struggling with loss and grief commits to a dream that everyone told him was impossible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098369729

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© Copyright 2021 by Jason Wonio - All rights reserved.

ISBN: 9781098369729

It is legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the author’s imagination and have no relation whatsoever to anyone’s name or names. They are not inspired by anyone known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are based on the author’s imagination.

Dedication

For Sophia

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 1

I was in the back of the cab, so don’t try and quote me on the details. My vision was blurred. I was half in the bag to prepare for my flight, so maybe my eyes were inaccurate.

But it sure felt pleasant. I could count on one hand the number of times in the past, where getting stuck behind a school bus didn’t frustrate me. I was always in a hurry. This time was different, though, it was one in the afternoon, and the kids were all headed home early for the holidays. Just two blocks down from the hotel I was staying at, two children got off the bus, a boy, around 10, and a little girl, around 5. The boy was twice her size. The girl struggled to maintain her pace. Before getting across the street, the boy took his sister’s backpack and the weight along with it. He slung it over his shoulder, and they continued towards their apartment. She had no problem running alongside him now. It was the first time in a long time where I smiled, and it actually felt genuine. 

The past six months, hell, maybe even the last few years, I had suffered from an astounding lack of smiles, and it was all self-chosen. That’s the funny thing about grieving. They tell us it’s natural to be sad. They don’t tell us to cheer up. But I lived alone. Nobody could tell me anything as I was my own man. A widower, but I was a lone wolf. Strayed from the pack, I decided to listen to that voice that was all too often shut out. The one we all have. Sometimes it’s your mother; sometimes it’s your father. For me, it was always a doubt. My entire life, I had suffered from an astounding lack of confidence. In high school, I was an absolute film geek. When I wasn’t getting loaded in the church parking lot by my friend’s apartment, I was glued to the couch in front of one of the classics. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, and Psycho being the frontrunners. I didn’t stray far from the norm, but I just didn’t like the new cinema. Without post-production and special effects, films had to rely strongly on a competent leading role in the days of old. I was in love with Brando, the suave motherfucker. He was the one I wanted to be. I was most comfortable on the stage.

Between acting in school plays and volunteering my time for the amateur directors in class, my biggest goal was to master my craft. I took many of the leads in all of our school productions. Romeo, Teyve, Javert. In terms of public schools, I stole the limelight. But women didn’t care much for thespians. And the older I got, the more I cared about women. While acting brought me solace, women brought me insanity. I let it overcome me. At the start of my senior year, my interest in an acting career drifted away and I lost that personal high it gave me. Until now, that is. I was in the back of a cab headed for the airport. In my pocket, a ticket from SeaTac to LAX quivered against my excitement. The trunk weighed heavily towards the asphalt with my luggage. When I graduated, although he seemed to be somewhat joking, my drama teacher, Mr. Howell, thought I should give Hollywood a try. I don’t think he’d ever left the Seattle area his entire life. But he had faith in me, and if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that faith in your fellow man is few and far between. I had been warned about Hollywood. That for a city named after the angels, Los Angeles dripped prominently with sin. So, I detoured from the unknown. I stayed in Seattle after high school, and after two years at a community college, I became an EMT and met my wife, Kate, at one of the hospitals I’d deliver patients to. She said one thing, I said another, and the next thing I knew, I never wanted to say goodbye to her. With Kate gone now, I didn’t want to breathe the same air anymore. I didn’t want to see the same stains. I wanted to see the stars. I wanted to see the airplanes.

Looks like $36.66, my guy, The cabbie said.

I handed him $40 and told him to keep the change. I packed rather lightly for somebody who thought they were going to start fresh in the Land of the Lotus Eaters. I kind of wished my mother was there to help me think about it, like in high school, but I wasn’t 18 anymore. I was a grown man, and she had long since gone. It had been an even longer time since I had been on stage in front of an audience. But I wasn’t the man I used to be. It had been a long time since I tore those wings off and swam to shore. I was ready to jump back in. For Kate’s sake, I just hoped I could still float.

From the first time going to one as a boy, I have always had a profound love and admiration for the airport. I believe I was only four years old when I first set foot in one. Maybe I had done it before that, but there’s nobody around to fact check. It was for my grandma and grandpa’s 50th wedding anniversary. We went to Las Vegas. Only certain fragments of the memory remain. My grandfather made us walk three miles in 100-degree heat on the strip to go see a dolphin stunt show. He said we all needed the exercise. That’s really the only noteworthy event I can recall of the actual trip itself. The prelude was all I cared about, SeaTac to McCarran. After entering that place, my adolescent brain made one thing clear to me, that I could learn more here in one day than an entire year in a classroom.

Airports are nothing more than cultural hubs. It was overwhelming at first. I white-knuckled my mother’s hand and she held mine tight. It was so easy to get lost. Lights and numbers were skyrocketing through the foyer and men with briefcases were yelling at each other. The carousels were my favorite. I remember asking my mom if I could go for a ride. She ignored me. During that first visit, I didn’t get to explore too much. The mission was to get to the plane and then back on the ground as fast as possible. It’s easier to take care of a four-year-old with both feet on the ground as opposed to flying through the sky. I tested my mother, though. The actual plane ride frightened me, and I took about four bathroom trips within the two and a half hours. To this day, flying still isn’t my thing. But the airport has always been.

Whenever Kate’s family would fly in for holidays, I would always volunteer to pick them up. It gave me a chance to go back. It also gave me some brownie points with the wife. If their flight came in at four, I would always be there at three and wait in the lot. I would park at the right angle to where I could see every plane land and take off. It gave me a lot to think about. For someone who once dreamt of leaving Seattle, the airport satiated my fantasy. Where was everyone going? There was so much rush about it. The people in the waiting lot paced back and forth on their phones, eagerly awaiting their package to come and end the experience. It was important. Were they picking up a kid from college or a mail-order bride? Maybe they were waiting for their in-laws like myself. Whatever the business, it was always calming for me to watch. And it has been made that much more liberating for me now that I have become that fantasy.

With three shots of Jack from the hotel bar weighing my legs down, the cab ride through traffic didn’t help much. My baggage furthered my incoordination. Thirty-something pounds on my right shoulder with fifteen clamped in my left hand, I kicked the cab door shut. When I entered the terminal, I was nothing short of a cripple behind the shit-eating grin across my face. Truth be told, I hadn’t been inside the airport for close to ten years. The last time was when I flew out east for the week with Kate in New York. It was a surprise for my birthday. Being a first responder, she thought I’d like to see the 9/11 memorial at ground zero. It was too goddamn depressing, and the city smelled of shit. I hoped Los Angeles sung a different song. When I approached the airline counter, I knew the woman at the desk was suspicious of my blood alcohol level.

Flight to LAX. Stanton.

The clerk turned away from me and began typing at her computer. I set down my bags and nearly tumbled over along with them. It gave me a moment to glance around the atrium and accept my reality. I was finally following through with it all.

Rick? The clerk responded.

I turned around towards her. Yep!

Looks like you begin boarding in about two hours. Any checked luggage?

I handed her my duffel bag. It was all clothes and some headshots I had taken a few weeks back. I packed lightly. I wanted to leave everything behind. Tabula Rasa. There was an apartment waiting for me in Van Nuys, $850 a month for a studio. LA would surely be the death of me financially, if not physically. But it’s all I had left, along with the backpack over my shoulder. After a few fumbled expressions on her keyboard, the clerk handed me my ticket along with directions towards the TSA. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me. And it made me glad.

Before I was about to do anything else, facing security for that matter, I had to piss. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was my flight anxiety, but I had become disoriented. I stood in the middle of the travel highway, people passing me everywhere. I didn’t know which destination to call my own. There was a woman headed in the direction I was