The Meteoric Rise of Simon Burchwood

by Scott Semegran

  And that's when I woke up in a cold sweat, feeling like my life had been drained out of me. At first, I didn't know where I was. But I quickly noticed the rundown clutter that was Jason's house and realized just what had happened. I had been dreaming. But no matter how horrific the nightmare was, I knew it was only a dream. I never thought that I would thank God that I was sitting in the midst of a goddamn pig sty. But that's what I did. I assumed that the dream was trying to tell me just how much I loved my family and that I missed them, especially since I hadn't seen or spoken to them in a few days. And to me, that was almost like an eternity in itself. So I decided right then and there that I would call my wife and tell her how much I loved her and the kids. I looked around for any signs of Betty before I uncovered myself. I like to sleep in the nude (in case you didn't know). And the last thing I needed was Jason's whore wife jumping on my naked body so she could destroy her goddamn marriage. I didn't see her so I got up and put my shirt and pants on and went to the kitchen for a glass of juice.

  Oddly enough, Jason was in the kitchen sitting at the breakfast table. He had a note in his hand and a look of dread on his face. He didn't look good at all.

  "Good morning, sunshine," I said, going to the cabinet for a glass. He didn't look up from the note or greet me in return. Jason always was a grumpy bastard in the morning. "A little grouchy, I see. I bet you're really hung over. By the way, you got any orange juice?"

  "Betty left me," he said, his eyes locked on the note with disbelief. "She took the kids over to her sister's house and she doesn't know when she'll be back. She might not come back at all."

  "Really?" I went to the refrigerator for some juice but there were only cans of Coke. Jason's house was filled with all kinds crap with no nutritional value whatsoever. It's true. Everywhere you looked there was junk-food crap. I mean, how does he expect to live past fifty while he pumps his veins with all of this garbage? I grabbed an orange soda (since it was the closest thing to what I was looking for) and sat down at the table. "What are you going to do?" I asked, kind of disinterested.

  "I don't know, Simon. I just don't know." His eyes welled up with tears as he tried to hold back his emotions. I could tell he was experiencing some strong emotions he probably hadn't felt in a while. He cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes and shook off the pain. "Maybe I shouldn't go to New York. Maybe I should stay home and try to fix my marriage."

  "Don't be ridiculous. You're coming with me. The best thing for you two right now is some space. Let her stay at her sister's house. Maybe she'll realize what she's missing while you're gone." I thought it strange that anyone would miss Jason's rundown house and all his rundown things and his junk food. But I knew, deep down inside, that Jason was a good person. I mean, he loved his wife even though she was a goddamn whore. And that is really something. It takes a lot of character to dig down past her obvious faults and find something good in her. And whatever that was that he found, he loved it dearly. "So go pack your bags. I'm going to call and reserve you a seat on the plane. Plus, I gotta call my wife and accountant. I haven't spoken to either of them since I got here."

  "Do you really think I should go?" he asked. He was really starting to act like an idiot. Who questions going on a free vacation? A goddamn idiot like Jason, that's who.

  "Yes, you're going and that's final. You'll be back in a couple of days and you two can talk about your problems then. You'll have a fresh head, I'm telling you. It'll be good for the both of you."

  "OK then. I'll leave her a note and pack my bags. I'm going with you to New York and that's final." And that's all it took. Sometimes, it felt like I had to lead him through his own life, like he couldn't make his own goddamn decisions. It was really starting to drive me crazy. He stood up and grabbed his forehead like it was about to fall off, wincing his eyes and rubbing his brow. "And yes, for your information, I have a hangover. A bad one, too."

  He left the kitchen and headed for his room, I suppose. I'm sure he had to think of what to write to his whore wife about suddenly leaving for New York. And I'm sure he didn't have much to pack besides a pair of underwear and a couple of clean t-shirts. He wasn't a goddamn fashion model and all. He was just good old Jason, a goddamn pig and my best friend.

  I decided to call my wife so I went into the living room to use the phone. I really wanted to hear her and the kids' voices after that nightmare I had. I dialed my home number, using the goddamn rotary dial on Jason's ancient phone. The number-wheel turned slow as hell after I selected each number and it seemed like it took an hour just to dial. But I soon finished the sequence and listened to the phone ring. It seemed to ring forever. And then the answering machine came on, "You've reached 512-555-6681. We are not in right now but if you leave a short message ..." It was the same goddamn boring message. I decided right then and there that when I finally got home, I would change that stupid message for good. I was sure we could think of something a little more creative than that one, but not too creative. Then the machine beeped. "Hey sweetie. Just calling to let you guys know that I'll be leaving for New York later this morning. I guess you all are at Grandma's house, being that it's Saturday and all. I miss all of you terribly and every day apart is a day I miss. Jessie, be a good girl and help your mother around the house. Sammie, I can't wait to get home and beat you at Nintendo. And Jessica, my sweet angel, every minute I'm away is equal to the number of kisses you'll receive when I get home. I'll call you when I get to the hotel in New York. Bye." I really hate leaving messages on answering machines, especially when I have some endearing things to say. The messages never sound as good as I intended them to sound. They always sound muffled and forced because I know I only have thirty goddamn seconds to leave a message. Otherwise, the machine hangs up on you. And there is nothing worse than having to leave a second message after the machine hangs up on you the first time. I needed to call my accountant but Jason started yelling at me from his room. He loved to yell at me from the other side of the house.

  "Hey? Simon?" he yelled, like a big dope.

  "Yeah?"

  "Do I need to pack any bathroom stuff?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know, like shampoo or toothpaste?" It was pretty fucking obvious to me that Jason hadn't left Montgomery on trips or vacations. For a second, I felt like I was taking a goddamn Beverly Hillbilly to New York and he was asking me if there was going to be any road-kill to eat or a cement pond in the BIG CITY.

  "Jason, I'm sure they'll have that stuff there for us. It's a pretty nice hotel and all."

  "OK. Just checking."

  I started to dial the number of my accountant when I remembered that it was Saturday and that he probably was out playing golf or some shit like that. The bastard was always playing golf or hanging around his country club like some big shot or something. It always drove me crazy especially when I really needed to talk to him. I mean, he should be balancing books and verifying goddamn receipts and all. But it never seemed like he ever did any of that because he was always at the golf course. If I played golf as much as he did, I would never get any writing done and I'd be a goddamn professional golfer instead. It's true. I made an executive decision and decided that the weekend was going to be paid for on my credit card and that I would take care of everything with him when I got back. Plus, I would talk to him about his golfing. It was beginning to interfere with my business. Then Jason started yelling from his room again.

  "Hey Simon?"

  "Yeah?" I was getting tired of yelling back and forth. I mean, he could at least come into the room where I was so we could talk like decent human beings and not yell all over the place like a pair of idiots.

  "Why don't you have a cell phone? Wouldn't it be easier calling your family and your accountant with one rather than having to look for a phone to use?" I'm telling you, Jason was a goddamn genius. It's true. He was always thinking and using his brain.

  "Maybe it would be easier to contact them with a cell phone. But it would also be easie
r for people to find me. And sometimes, especially if I'm trying to write, I don't want to be bothered, you know. I don't feel comfortable knowing that people can call me whenever they want and try to find me whenever they want. Plus, we live in a civilized society, you know. I can find a phone anywhere if I need to call someone."

  "That's true," he said. I could hear him rummaging around in his room, probably sifting through piles of dirty clothes and crap like that. "Betty and I got cell phones so we could keep in touch with each other. You know, in case of an emergency or something."

  "Well, I would advise that you not bring your cell phone to New York."

  The rummaging stopped immediately after I said that. Then Jason came into the living room, looking a bit confused and concerned.

  "You don't think I should bring it to New York?" he asked, holding the phone in his hand. It was one of those older model cell phones, the kind that looks like the military combat phones you see in old war movies that were the size of a goddamn cowboy boot with an antennae sticking out of the top.

  "No, I don't think you should bring it to New York. If you're going to assist me, then you are going to have to follow my rules. I will not want to be bothered or have you bothered by anything until I'm finished with my appearance. It's that simple."

  "But what if there's an emergency with the kids?" He was really starting to drive me crazy with his indecisiveness. I mean, who was the man in the house anyway? It obviously wasn't him. It's true. He definitely didn't wear the pants around here.

  "Look, Jason. We'll be staying at the ----- ----- Hotel in New York. In your note, tell Betty that if there is an emergency, to contact us there. The room is registered under my name. That's all she needs to know. My wife has the same information. If she really needs to find me, she knows where to find me as well."

  Jason and his combat phone went back into his room to finish packing. I called the airline and reserved Jason a seat on the plane. I almost changed my mind about the whole thing, thinking that he would probably be a big distraction in New York, what, with his whining about his whore wife and his scrotum-poking kids. It was enough to really ruin the entire goddamn trip. But I also knew that the trip would be good for him and I really needed the help. I was going to have a lot to do in New York. So I booked the seat anyway and decided to just press on. Nothing was going to get in my way on the road to notoriety and fame: not the crazy taxi driver or the psycho bartender or Ernie the Nose-Picking Barfly or Grant the Asshole or Patty the Adulterer or Darren Reedy's death or Betty the Whore or Stanford the Thief or Jason the goddamn whining, pathetic pig and his scrotum-poking kids. Well, I take that back about Jason. It wasn't all his fault, I'll give him that. But the whining could be controlled and we were probably going to have to have a talk about that. It's true.

  I finished packing and went to retrieve Jason. He was writing a note to Betty, sitting at her vanity table in the master bathroom. He looked like he was really concentrating like he was writing his last will and testament or something. It was all just too ridiculous. I stood there and waited for him, my bags on the floor and my backpack nestled on my back, standing right behind him. He finished the note by dotting his i's and crossing his t's.

  "How does this sound?" he asked, propping the note in front of him like it was the goddamn Gettysburg Address or some shit like that. "To my dearest Betty - I've gone with Simon to New York to assist him with his publicity appearance. If there is an emergency, you can contact me under his name at the ----- ----- Hotel. Hopefully, when I get back, we can discuss the recurring problems we are having in our marriage. There is nothing more important to me than you and the kids. If you need money, I have left some in our hiding place (you know where that is?). I will be back in a couple of days. Your dearest husband, Jason." He set the note down on the vanity and looked at me in the mirror. He was obviously looking for some kind of encouragement from me or something, being that I was the famous writer and all. "How does that sound?"

  "Pretty good. Let's go." I was ready to get the hell out of Montgomery. It's true.

  "You don't think I left anything out?" he asked, worried that his note wasn't in the final-draft stage.

  "Nope. It's perfect." I grabbed my bags and headed for the garage. Jason soon followed behind.

  "Where are you going?" he asked. "The Chevette's out front."

  "Jason, we're not going to the airport in that. Let's take the Mustang. Let's go in style."

  "Well, OK. Let me lock up the house."

  I don't know who Jason was locking his house up from but he did it anyway. I couldn't imagine any thief wanting to get into his place unless they were desperate. What were they going to find of value in there? Nothing, I tell you, except the largest stockpile of junk food and rundown things. I loaded up my bags in the Mustang and Jason soon came out to do the same. He looked sad as hell so I told him I'd drive. As I pulled the beast out of the garage, he started to weep a little. He was depressing the hell out of me. Nothing is worse than seeing a grown man cry. I mean, it's like watching a mountain crumble or an old-growth forest burn to the ground. You don't know what to say. It's true.

  "We'll only be gone a couple of days," I said, shifting the beast into second gear.

  "I know. But I've never been out of Alabama. And I have this bad feeling that I'm never going to see my family again." He really started to cry then. He was crying like his mother died or something. It was depressing as hell. I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to say anything else until we got to the airport. That felt like a good strategy to me. And that's exactly what I did. I kept my mouth shut the entire goddamn way there.

  Besides Jason crying up a storm, all I could think about was how happy I was to finally be getting the hell out of Montgomery. I mean, I was glad to come back and visit. But after seeing all the sad bastards that I had left behind when I was a kid, I was really glad to be moving on. Sometimes, it's just best to leave things that are in the past in the past. It's true. I mean, I had really fond memories of friends and places in Montgomery but you can't relive everything exactly like it was. People change and places change even when your memories stay the same. And there really is no point in ruining your memories of what you had by revisiting the people and places from your past. With the exception of seeing Jason, the entire trip was a bust. It was a goddamn bust.

  "Even though we are going to be gone for only a couple of days," Jason said, finding just enough strength to speak. "I'm really going to miss Montgomery. I can tell already."

  I nodded my head to acknowledge him but I kept my promise. I didn't say another goddamn word until we reached the airport, not one. It's true. It was hard as hell but I did it.

  19.

  The plane was barely in the air for more than five minutes and I was already regretting my choice to bring Jason along. Thankfully, our stay in the airport was pretty uneventful, which was the way I wanted it. We avoided the airport bar and I limited my conversations to just the essential personnel that I was required to interact with. After what happened at the airport in Texas, what, with the vigilante bartender and the know-it-all nose-pickers and all, I didn't want anything to deter us from getting on the plane incident-free. The only problem was Jason's incessant goddamn blabbing. He was blabbing all over the place and talking to every fucking person he came in contact with. He bumped into a janitor in the restroom and went on about how he'd never been out of Alabama. When he was stopped by a security guard, he would go on about how he'd never been to New York. Then when the flight attendant asked him for his ticket, he blabbed about how he'd never been on a goddamn plane before. He was driving me crazy. He just wouldn't shut up. It's true. I bet that's why Betty wanted out of their marriage. I'd hate to be married to someone like Jason being that he was such a goddamn pig and blabbed all the time like an idiot. He should've just worn a sign around his neck that said: Take advantage of me cause I'm a goddamn redneck idiot who has never been anywhere and will never go anywhere.

  Jason's only
redeeming quality so far was his innate ability to cheerlead for me and my career. I mean, even though he was blabbing to every Tom, Dick, and Harriet about how naïve and unworldly he was, he'd end every conversation with: And this is Simon Burchwood. He's a famous writer. He said that at the end of every conversation, like a champ. I didn't even have to pull out one business card, not one. I was very impressed with that, at least. He was negating his blabbing the best he could, I suppose.

  Luckily, we were seated together in first class. He was so goddamn excited to see the ground from the air and that I let him have the window seat. Traveling with him was kind of like traveling with a child; everything was so new and interesting to him. I was already a weary traveler. It's true. I've traveled all over the goddamn place. So seeing the ground from the air for the hundredth time didn't interest me one goddamn bit. All I was concerned about was landing safe and sound without incident.

  Once the plane leveled out and the seatbelt sign was turned off, the flight attendant made her way up the aisle for drink orders. She had the same look to her that the flight attendant had on the plane to Montgomery, that Barbie-doll-fake-blonde look. And she responded to every passenger in the same robotic, ambiguous tone. The airline must have spent a fortune training their flight attendants to look and talk like that. Eventually, she asked for our order.