1st person, present tense

 

June 15

It came to me last night that my story would work better in 1st person, present tense.  I rewrote the first two sections.  I think you’ll agree that it is better.

I build cabinets.  In Miami.  Tall cabinets, oak cabinets, neon green cabinets, Chippendale cabinets, and maple cabinets like the ones I’m working on now. If you needed a cabinet, I’m the man to see.   Tall, six feet, two inches, with olive skin and fine, dark hair, curly around his ears, I’m 31 and have a lean frame with strong muscles in my arms from handling woodworking tools.

Also, I read minds.

I’ve always been able to read the minds of others since childhood.  I don’t know how I did it; I just knew what other people were thinking.  Sometimes this just annoys me, as I don’t really want to know what other people were thinking, so I am able to block out their thoughts if I concentrated, which accounted for why I’m still sane at the age of thirty-one.

Being a carpenter since my teens, working with wood calmed my nerves and often gave me a feeling of peace inside, as well as filling my pockets.  Reading minds had the opposite effect. Sometimes, people think awful, wicked things.  But I largely ignored peoples thoughts now, and, cabinets are my main concern.  There was nothing like a well-made cabinet to give me a sense of accomplishment.  Cabinets, of course, did not assemble themselves, so along with me are three hard-working young men who served as my apprentices: Jason, Ray, and Buddy.  Between the four of us, they assemble about thirty kitchens a year.  

I have my own shop in my large garage complete with table saws, band saws, drill presses, routers, and fine collection of hammers and nail guns.  A series of shelves to the right of the room when you enter holds expensive hardwoods used in cabinet construction.  I was working on a project for Mayer’s Construction, cabinets for high-end houses made of maple; these cabinets were some of the best I’d ever built.  I measure thirty-six inches on the maple board in front of me with my tape measurer; third-six inches exactly.  I take his carpenter’s pencil and marked the line on the board with his T-square, put on my safety glasses and reach for my circular saw. 

Dressed in Levi’s and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, I have a smile on his face as I turn on the saw.  I smile because I knew that Ali was about to break up with me, and this pleased me immensely.  

“Working.  Always working,” said Ali, my girlfriend, as she walks into the garage. She has a frown on her face.  Shorter by half a foot than me, she has a killer figure and no bra.  Ali oozed sex whenever she was around me, and often I responded, but lately it had become clear that she didn’t love me and didn’t respect me either.

Ali looked at her nails.  “I’m leaving you,” she said with little emotion.  I can’t take being ignored all the time.”

I put my saw down and turn to face her.  Images of another man, a rather large, muscular man come from her mind.  I wasn’t surprised.

‘Ali, just leave and spare me the details.  It’s about time you moved onto your other man.”

“How long have you known?”

“For a while now.”  Actually this man’s image came to her mind whenever they made love lately; she visualized him during sex.

Jason, one of his apprentices, walked into the room with a hopeful face.  “Ali, did you say you were leaving Ford?”

She turned toward and gave a sideways glance.  “What makes you thing I’d be interested in you?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean…Jason in his mind was picturing two horses making love.

I come over and gave Ali a hug and said, “We’ll see each other around.”  Ali hugged me back and left.

“Gee, Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything.”

“Don’t worry,” I said.  I put on my safety glasses again and start the circular saw.

  

Ford looked out the garage window.  Double-down Dan (DDD), usually a loud man, short and red-faced, came to Ford with a spring in his step. He shut the door of his dusty brown Kia hatchback and hitched up his cargo pants, his ample belly sticking out like a pillow.  His bald head shined. After Ford let him into the garage, DDD paced back and forth in front of him.  Then he asked, “Have you seen the odds tonight for the Laker game?” he asked.

Ford was disappointed.  “No hello, how are you?” Ford asked.  Money must be involved, he thought; little else motivated Double-down.  “You know I don’t gamble, ever,” Ford said.  

But that’s not the issue he thought; he will ask me for money.

  “You never take chances.” Double Down reached for Ford’s arm.  “Lend me a hundred dollars.  The odds are 15-1 the Lakers lose.   No way that is gonna happen.”

Ford shook his head.  “Not likely.  You still owe me.”  The rebuff had little effect on DDD.  His lips were curling, as if he was about to ask a question, and he said,  “Lend me the money and I’ll introduce to you Jenny.”

Ford winced.  “No thanks.  What I definitely don’t need is another of your blind dates.”

DDD takes out his phone, swipes a few times, and handed it to Ford.  There was a picture of a gorgeous blonde woman.  She almost looked too good to be true.  Long, almost white hair and shapely legs, a wasp waist, and light, smooth skin.

Double Down says, “Pretty nice, huh?”

“I can’t tell much from a photograph,” Ford lied.

“Then lend me $100 and you can meet her.”

Ford handed his phone back.  DDD hand was sticky.  Ford said, “I’m suspicious. How do you know her?”

“She lives next to me.  Got a real thing about men.”

“What do you mean?”

Double-down scratches his chin.  He brushes over the two hairs that cross his bald head.  “She doesn’t date much.  Kind of a loner.  We had a talk in the laundry room about men, and you’ll be surprised to know she’s very shy and reclusive.  Wants someone reliable who is easy to talk to.”

“So no boyfriend?”

“No, that’s why she’s perfect for you.  Would I lead you wrong?”

DDD in his mind visualized me with a flower in his mouth. Not that that made much sense but there are other more disturbing images.  Images of thugs.  In a rush, the images I suddenly got from DDD were of three men standing around him, threatening him with guns. 

DDD thought he was in big trouble. 

I take a C-Note out of my wallet and gave it to DDD.  “When can I meet her?” I ask.

DDD folded the note and said, “Tomorrow.”

I look at the dirt beneath my fingernails. “Who are the guys?”

DDD looks innocent.  “What guys?”

“The three thugs that are in your mind.”

A look of realization came over DDD’s face. “Awww…are you reading my mind again?  You said you wouldn’t do that!”  

I shrug.  “Sometime I can’s help it.  Who are they?”

DDD demurred and crosses his arms.  “Nobody.”

I saw in DDD’s mind that the three threatened DDD and also made him quite frightened.  “DDD, it’s okay.  You’re my best friend.  I want to help you.”

“They’re Giovani’s men.  I owe them ten thousand dollars.  They said they would visit me tonight to collect it.  If I don’t pay…”

I say, “And you can’t pay them.”

“No.  Even if I win the Laker’s bet, I don’t have enough money to keep them from breaking my legs.”

I think for a minute.  Then, I say, “How do I find the man Giovanni?”

“Everyone knows where to find him.”  DDD visualized a house in Little Havana.

“I think I’ll pay him a visit.

“Are you nuts?  What are you going to say to him?”

“Im going to ask him to forgive your debt.”

DDD looks at me like I’ve grown a horn. 

“I’m going downtown to place the bet.”  He turns, walks to his car, and leaves.