Florida State University Libraries Electronic Theses, Treatises and Dissertations The Graduate School 2005 Distances: A Collection of Stories Quentin James Follow this and additional works at the FSU Digital Library. For more information, please contact [email protected] The Florida State University College of Arts and Sciences Distances: A collection of stories by Quentin James A Thesis submitted to the Department of English in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Art Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2005 Copyright 2005 Quentin James All Rights Reserved The Members of the Committee approve the thesis of Quentin James defended on September 26, 2005. ______________________________ Julianna Baggott Professor Directing Thesis ______________________________ Elizabeth Stuckey-French Committee Member ______________________________ Mark Winegardner Committee Member Approved: ________________________________________ Chair, Department of English ________________________________________ Dean, College of Arts and Sciences The Office of Graduate Studies has verified and approved the above named committee members. ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Abstract iv I. Distances 1 Happenings 2 Cadillac Car 9 Besides a Dream and a Tree 19 The Funeral of a Stranger 35 Okay Days 49 Men Among the Plenty 54 Biographical Sketch 68 iii ABSTRACT The stories in this collection depicts the lives of young men coming of their age as they struggle to find contentment within themselves. They are unlikely journeys of self discovery that help them find this contentment. The central figures in these pieces find themselves weighing their lives against the vast array of eccentric characters that they encounter. Satisfaction and happiness with their place in life is what the people yearn for, but ultimately what I think these men discover is that sometimes no matter how far you travel you often simply find yourself only in a different place. iv I. distances 1 Happenings There was a paper sign taped to the doorbell that said in handwritten Sharpie, Come on in, but I knocked and waited anyway. It was the day before Christmas Eve, a cold rain was gently falling, the temperature was nearly freezing, and Nessa had invited me to a party at her parents’ home. Up until that day winter had been slow to make its appearance. I hadn’t seen Nessa in a while. When she opened the door, she looked good, she was smiling. Her hair was up and out of her face, a tight white sweater clung to her chest, there were silver bracelets around her wrist and a silver necklace around her thin neck. I gave her a hug, but it was graceless. My arms felt like wire hangers. Hers felt small, as if they belonged to a child. I walked in, and I think it was Grant Green’s guitar on the record player. For certain, I can’t say, but he always seems in a pleasant mood. This house was a big house. Nessa hadn’t lived here since high school. There was a lot to decorate, and they had been thorough; tinsels and wreaths astray. It was a decent party, fairly crowded. I followed her through the front door, and she pointed both artificial Christmas trees out to me as we made our way to the dining spread. There was an emerald star atop the one in the hallway. On top of the one in the living room a white angel dressed in white, and I pictured her climbing a footstool, her arms stretched towards the peak. We nibbled at squares of cheese and crackers and listened to the chatter of conversation, even made some small talk of our own, “Pretty cold out there, isn’t it?” she said. My reply, “Pretty damn cold.” She asked me if I wanted something to drink. I said a Sprite, and she smiled and left me alone among the small huddles of people. I think most of them were her family and her father’s co-workers and their families. They were all wearing nice sweaters, sipping on drinks, laughing. Nessa’s younger brothers and cousins were running around down in the game room. There was a ping-pong table, a card table, a dartboard. I could play darts forever. And then I suddenly decided that I needed to find Nessa’s father. He had always been a clever old man, giving these extra firm handshakes and looking me in the eye. One time Nessa and I were kissing a little bit in the basement of this place when we heard his loafers on the hardwood stairs. He called out to Nessa about a phone call. He didn’t catch us, making out I mean. We hadn’t gone that far, my hands weren’t yet wandering, and Nessa had quickly thrown me off of her and flicked on the TV set with the remote. She went past him up the stairs, and he stood at the base of them, his hand resting on the banister. “How ya doing down here, Mr. Sonny?” “Just watching a movie.” “Oh, yeah,” as if he were really interested. “Whatchya watching?” “This Tom Hanks movie,” I said because I saw Tom Hanks on the screen. I think it was Splash, but I didn’t say that because I wasn’t for certain. “Is that so?” he asked, but he’s no fool. We were only kissing down in that basement, but who knows what was dancing around in his head. I don’t think it would have settled right with him if I had made it out to their party after being away for so long without finding him to say hello. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask where he was because that old shit could smell a brown nose, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. So I just kind of wandered among the clusters dodging in and out of conversations. A group next to the hallway tree talked about the Redbirds. Trade Lankford, someone said, so I kept on walking. Another talked and laughed about the Price is Right and how they would bet one dollar every time, how old Bob Barker was 2 getting, how he still was probably sleeping with all of his models, the wonder of Viagra. I made my way to the small bar, but Nessa was nowhere to be found. Another group spoke about the war overseas and how brave those fighting people must be, and another discussed New Years celebrations. “Lots of boozing that’s for sure” or “I doubt I’ll even make it to midnight this year. Whew, I’m getting old.” And this one group of about four, I remember, right next to the fireplace was talking about the rain outside. There was a fire crackling and a woman said to two others that her son, Carter, had asked Santa for snow on Christmas. She said that when it started to rain he asked if there was any way he could mail something to the comment and complaint department in the North Pole. That was a pretty cute thing for a kid to say, pretty funny, so I laughed. As a boy I thought the merriment of the entire month could be in the snow alone. The group opened up a bit, and I took that as an invitation to speak. I said, “Santa’s little people probably confused Carter with some little boy’s letter on the desert. There’s probably a blizzard in the Mojave.” And then I started laughing again. I was the only one laughing, and some guy with a tan jacket was next to me, and he said, “You called the elves little people, but elves are way more fantastical.” And I started to chuckle a little bit at that, and he chuckled too, and his sounded fake, and probably mine did as well. I said to him, “I just refer to all of those little people as ‘little people’. Safest way to go,” and then they started talking about something else. One of the ladies turned to me and introduced herself as Carly, Nessa’s Philadelphia cousin, and I said, “I’m Cranston. Good to meet you.” “Oh,” she said. “You’re Cranston,” and she said it in that tone, you know that tone, not accusatory, just surprised, like she was expecting something else. It was very polite. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said and I had guessed by her tone that that was coming next. I had already prepared myself to reply, “All good things I hope.” She smiled and nodded and said, “I heard you play a mean piano.” “No, no,” I said. “I only play nice ones,” and everyone briefly laughed and Carly excused herself because her cell phone was vibrating. I didn’t hear it, but it could have been. Nessa and me had a rocky go at it, but I hoped she hadn’t been using her e-mail to broadcast our business to places like Philadelphia and all other corners of the world. I thought about going down to toss some darts with Nessa’s brothers and cousins, or giving another search for Nessa’s father, but I decided I needed a smoke and went outside on the balcony to have one. The rain outside made the white Christmas lights on the framework of the house seem brighter than they were. Her balcony looked over the driveway and a wooded area out back. Lots of land. Probably half a mile down to the right was a pond, but you couldn’t see that at night. It froze over one winter and we skated in our snow boots. The gate in the yard squeaked when you opened it, slammed shut when you let it go.