Belford Stories 2: Belford Stories, #2

By Armand Rosamilia

October 1992...

Another Friday night in the small fishing village along the New Jersey coast.With another pending snowstorm aiming at the town, everyone has to make a choice: stay in and write the night off or go out and see what trouble they can get into.

Guess which choice most of them will make?

Check back in with Willie, April, Tommy, George, Frankie, Gary, Billy, Jimmy, Suzanna and Garrett five years after the events of the original Belford Stories!

Contemporary fiction

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rymfire Books
• Release date: Mar 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9798201641368

Book preview

Armand Thanks

My parents for raising me not on the gritty streets of Newark (where I was born) but in the little fishing village to the south, Belford.

No matter where I live Belford will always remain home to me.

Shelly for always being there and helping me to chase my dreams, even when they only seem like dreams

Amanda Lehman, who I’ve known literally all her life. Thanks for so many great potential cover pictures and especially the one gracing this book!

Belford Stories

Armand Rosamilia

Chapter One

Friday October 9th, 1992

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Willie Davidson was still a cricker despite being away from Belford and New Jersey for five years. Shit... had it been five years already?

He stared at the spot where his mother’s house used to be, now just an overgrown field. The dirt driveway had been invaded by weeds and small stunted swamp trees fighting for their own spot but he could still make it out.

It felt like he was staring at something out of an old magazine or newspaper, like a picture of an abandoned lot from the 1920’s. In five years almost all of his past had been devoured by storms and nature.

Willie felt like it was his own fault, too. He’d walked away from everything, the same way his mom had. He guessed she’d never bothered coming back.

Or had she passed away at some point? He vaguely remembered standing in the kitchen and getting the call from his aunt that his mom had passed away. Maybe from the drugs or the drinking? Maybe it had just been a dream. Whatever had really happened to his mom didn’t matter. She’d taken the money from when his dad died and never looked back.

Willie wondered why he was insistent on looking back. He had just as much ties to this lot in Belford as he did to the shitty apartment he’d shared with Steel in SoHo.

He’d felt like he’d been wandering for five years. It had been exactly sixty months since he’d left. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion it was also the anniversary weekend of when they’d gotten the bright idea to sell everything they could and hitch a ride to New York City and glory and fame.

Willie wished he had gloves on. It was getting cold and the calluses on his fingers from washing dishes at night and working construction during the day were bothering him again. Maybe now he’d have time to let them heal.

By freezing to death once the sun went down? This had been a huge mistake.

Willie wondered if catching a bus back to New York was the answer. He had as much roots there as here at this point. Maybe less in Belford. He didn’t know anyone he wanted to see. Nowhere he needed to go.

You saw the fucking house... what’s left of it, he thought. Time to move on and get your shit together.

He decided to start walking north until he caught a bus. He had enough money in his pocket for the shameful ride back. With any luck he’d be able to get his jobs back.

Willie laughed. He never even bothered quitting either of them. He couldn’t remember if he was supposed to work today. If he hurried he could play dumb and act like he thought it was the wrong day or he was off.

Go back to the shitty dead-end life, which was still worth more than what he had in front of him in New Jersey.

With Steel gone he couldn’t afford the apartment. He’d need to find somewhere else to live within walking distance of the jobs he didn’t know if he still had.

Willie hadn’t made any friends. No one to crash with. No women who were gullible enough to try to save his ass. He knew the other losers he worked with only by their first names and only in work.

No one had ever invited him out for a beer after work. No one probably knew his last name.

All he’d ever wanted to do was run away from Belford and his parents and everything this little fishing village stood for.

When his father died he realized too late he missed the old man. He would give anything for another chance to work alongside him on Tammy and haul in a good catch. Hell, Willie wouldn’t even mind getting a verbal lashing in front of the crew from his father for doing something stupid.

His mother was still another story. It made him so mad when he even thought about that bitch, who’d easily walked away from the life she had and everything in it.

Including her son.

It wasn’t like she had all that much to be grateful for, but this had been her home. As far as Willie knew she’d grown up right here, on the wet side of Belford. She was a cricker like his dad. She’d been part of the landscape just like Willie had always thought he’d be.

But things change.

The breeze kicked up and he took in the smell of fish, low tide and that elusively distinct Belford smell. He didn’t realize how much he missed the simple things like this until just now.

Willie stood in place and stared across the ruined property without really seeing it. His eyes were unfocused as his thoughts swirled like the breeze.

None of this made any sense.

He didn’t know what he was going to do with the rest of his life. He did know he was hungry.

Willie decided to do nothing right now. Go to The Marina Diner, get a pork roll egg and cheese sandwich in his belly and some coffee and figure it all out.

He’d been pulling shit from the ether for years and it always seemed to magically work out, even if it wasn’t ever what he thought he was looking for. It was always what he needed at that moment.

Steel couldn’t ever just let things happen. He had to be the one to push it. Try to figure out the meaning of life. He was too antsy and it had gotten worse once they’d gone to NYC.

Willie shook his head as he began to walk, purposely not looking back at his former home.

Maybe Steel had been right all along.

If Willie had just gone with the flow, like he kept telling himself he was doing, he’d be in Hollywood and sunshine right now with Steel.

A stray snowflake spiraled before his eyes and he turned up the collar on his jacket.

Chapter Two

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He heard his mother coming down the steps to his basement bedroom and he tried to pull the covers over his head. Maybe she wouldn’t see him.

Get up. It’s almost dinnertime. This room is a mess, too. Didn’t I just wash those clothes that are in a pile in the corner? George, get your ass out of bed and help around here before your father comes home and you go round and round again, his mother said.

I need to sleep. I have a gig tonight, George Smith, who wanted to be called Damien Redd, yelled. He wanted his mother to get out of his room and stop calling him George all the time. It felt like she did it on purpose because she knew how much he hated it.

George, I’m not giving you any more gas money. Don’t bother asking your father, either.

I’d rather kill myself then ask him for a dime, George said and threw the covers off, launching them across the room. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. I need some sleep.

You’ve been sleeping all day, George, she said and smiled as she picked up his fading denim jacket and placed it on the chair at his desk. Where are you playing tonight?

George looked at the posters on his wall: Nirvana and Pearl Jam. It’s a house party.

So... no money again?

It’s not about the money, George said through gritted teeth. I’m an artist.

His mother shook her head. Two years ago you wanted to be a heavy metal guitarist but then that band got rid of you.

They took a hiatus and then decided to get a new guitarist because I was busy, George said. He was so sick of going through this with her whenever she came down the steps. He just wanted to play guitar and write music. The rest would come.

Your father let you take a year off from school to get your shit together. One year. That was three years ago?

George waved his hand and went to reach for his pack of cigarettes but wisely decided not to pull them out in front of his mother. He was sure she knew he smoked but as long as he didn’t do it in the house she didn’t say a word. George always used the excuse he was at a club and that’s why he smelled so bad.

I don’t want to go to school. I don’t need a lame degree. I need to play my guitar and do something important with my life, George said.

He just wanted to crawl back in bed and sleep but his mother had pissed him off with her never-ending talk about school and jobs and his life.

You never leave the house unless it’s to play a few songs at someone’s house party. George, that isn’t a career. It’s you hanging out with your friends and singing your sad songs, his mother said.

You and dad hated when I played Judas Priest and Iron Maiden all day and night. You’d yell down the steps to turn it down. It was too loud. Remember? Now that I’ve discovered grunge music and bands like Mother Love Bone and Mudhoney you’re complaining about it being too depressing. Guess what? I’m depressed, George said and sighed.

He should’ve never admitted that to her. By the look on her face she wasn’t surprised at the admission but she was surely going to use it to press her points.

Is that why you hide in your room every day, sleeping until you go to play your guitar? George, we can get you the help you need. Your father has excellent insurance. We’ll find you someone to talk to. There are some great breakthroughs in medicine, too. I just read an article about some of the antidepressants doctors are recommending. We can get to the bottom of what is making you depressed, his mother said and smiled.

You don’t get it.

His mother went to sit down on his bed but George put his leg out, blocking her. What don’t I get?

Part of my depression is because of you and dad. Because you’re stifling me creatively. You butt into my life every day. You want to know where I’m going. What I’m doing. I’m old enough to drink. I can find my own way, George said.

Now she was really smiling. She put her hands on hips and shook her head.

Ahh, I get it. You’re an adult, she said.

George didn’t bother to answer. He knew by her posture she was about to pounce and rip him a new asshole for saying stupid shit. He knew what he’d said was over the top and gave her plenty of ammo, too.

I guess that means you can pay rent to us. Part of the utilities. Get your own food. Do your own laundry, too. You know... act like an adult, she said. She was no longer smiling.

Fine. I get it, George said and reached for his blanket on the floor.

His mother pushed it away with her foot. That blanket is mine. I paid for it. Get out of my bed, too. It’s all mine because you never worked for anything, George. You forget I’m the only one on your side. Trying to get between you and your father. The worst part is he’s usually right. You’re amounting to nothing. You need a real job. Start contributing to the household or find somewhere else to crash.

Maybe I’ll leave. I know when I’m not wanted, George said and stood. He walked across the room and put a hand on his guitar.

Not yours, she said. Technically, the clothes on your back are mine, too. I’ll let you keep them and the shoes if you’re stupid enough to walk up those stairs and out my door.

George wanted nothing more than to give her the finger and race out, slamming doors as he went. But where would he go? It wasn’t like he actually had friends anymore. The only people he knew were the ones who threw parties when their parents weren’t home and wanted him to play a few Pearl Jam songs while they tried to get laid.

He was still trapped until he figured out how to turn his music into money.

I’m sorry, George said. It sounded like the right thing to say.

Sorry for what?

For being a shitty son.

Watch your language, his mother said.

Sorry. George sat back down on his bed. I don’t want to go to school. I want to write music. I want to play. It’s the only thing that interests me.

"I told you, if you wanted to go to a music school, I’d talk to your father. I think at this point he’d be happy to see you in any school."

It’s still school, George said.

At some point he’s going to throw your ass out on the street. Do I need to remind you at what age your father got his first job and the struggles he went through to provide for his family? she asked.