The Beckoning

I never called Derek, but I ran into him at the coffee shop the very next weekend. I purchased a coffee and joined him just outside the cafe. We sat at an uneven, squeaky wrought-iron table, and he informed me that he had been thinking of my dilemma all week and had come up with a brilliant idea.

He went through three hours and almost a full pack of Marlboro lights explaining his concept. The gist of it was this: write my happenings as fiction and distribute it on a mass scale. The government officials who hunted me would never seek answers in the newest fiction novel, but if the novel contained details that only my family were privileged to, then it would prove my authenticity and thus they would contact me.

Could this actually work? I guess we will find out as Nolen The Beckoning is just that. Derek also informed me that he had friends in publishing and marketing and had a few documents published himself. He was more than happy to walk me though each step. I could see the enthusiasm in his eyes.

As the night progressed, I explained more of the situation. Not every detail, but enough for him to insist I crash on the couch at his place and use his spare laptop to record my story as fast and as accurately as possible. To keep things from getting weird I made him agree that no matter what I wrote or how I explained things it was understood to be fiction.

how I met Derek

I'd been frequenting a 24 hour coffee shop. That's where i met my most useful resource who is helping me in my search. A man named Derek approached me at the shop one night and invited himself to my table. I'm not used to this type of reaction from strangers, as my pheromones usually ward off any curiosity men may have. I hadn't seen this kind of confidence in a person since Conrad. "You look like you could use a friend," he reassuringly proclaimed as he seated himself across from me, placing his coffee and biscotti before him. I nodded and introduced myself. We talked for hours, each of us equally sharing in the conversation. Time passed more quickly than it had in quite a while, a welcome break from my loneliness since everything had happened. I was vague about my story but explained that I had recently lost everything that meant something to me, including my family. I then took a chance and revealed to him that I couldn't rely on authorities to help me find my relatives because I was "wanted" by such authorities--and my relatives were as well. He seemed trustworthy enough...besides i thought to myself, what's the worst that could happen.

Derek's a short, well put-together individual that looks young for a man in his thirties. My first impression was that he was articulate and seemingly afraid of nothing. He informed me that he was a graduate of a local community college with a degree in business and an eye for marketing. He said he currently worked for a global business as a general manager and was returning to school in a semester or two for advertising. It was the weekend, which he had off from work and though he had only stopped in for a cup of coffee to sober up from a night of clubbing and bar hopping, he stayed and conversed with me until sunrise was approaching, and then I had to excuse myself for the evening. As I departed, he placed his business card in my hand as he shook it. He said the card had his cell number on it and that he enjoyed the evening and thought i was interesting and held wonderful conversation. He said he'd love to talk again, the next time I felt up to it.

I said i would, and thanked him for letting me get some things off my chest. He shouted good luck as I exited the shop.

back streets

I had to delete my meetup blog due to suspected tracking by government officials, so this is my second attempt to reach out to my family or anyone else willing to help me.

Some time has passed since I began dwelling in the abandoned building. After a week or two of letting everything soak in and feeling distraught and hopeless I decided to scout the area, if nothing more than to see what resources may be of use to me. Besides, I was sick of feeding off rats and hoped that chasing some wild game might get some serotonin flowing through my blood. No matter what street name or surrounding, everything looked and felt the same…cold and lonely. The few fragments of time when the thought what happened escaped my mind was pure bliss followed by torture.

A few nights ago while walking a busy street around 2am a bar was closing up. As a group of college aged men and women exited I overheard one of the men telling a joke. The delivery was clever and well timed. I laughed quietly to myself. As his accompanying lady heard the punchline, she let out a playful laugh and her eyes lit up with content. It’s at that moment that a horrible blanket of guilt covered my very essence and my eyes began to flood with tears. How could I forget her. I found solace in a back alley where I bawled for hours.