Picking Stones Chapters 6 & 7

"Imperial Szechuan" & "Mogwai"

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3 & 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6 & 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12 & 13; Chapter 14, 15, & 16; Chapter 17 & 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22; Chapter 23 & 24; Chapter 25 & 26; Chapter 27; Chapter 28; Chapter 29; Chapter 30; Chapter 31 (Final Chapter)

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Imperial Szechuan

“Good evening, gentlemen. I will be guiding you this evening.”

A strained voice above the table cut in over our conversation. I turned my head and was met by piercing brown eyes with bent crow’s-feet sprouting from either side. My own eyes squinted; there was a discomfort in the air. Had this man just gotten a glimpse into my soul? Who uses the word ‘guiding’ for food orders?

The man standing before us looked to be in his late sixties. His skin was withered from the years, but high cheekbones gave an essence of youth. He seemed to tower over me from his vantage point above the bench I sat on, his head held high in a graceful manner. His hair was buzzed into short silvery stubble. He had a matching goatee finely cut on either side of his mouth. The black material of his silk shirt loosely hooked onto the corner of the table, inches from my hand. He nodded at me and addressed the table again, never taking eyes off mine.

“For drinks it’ll be a carafe of our house plum wine,” he said.

“Yes, um,” Kyle said. “Exactly.”

“Lucky guess.” The man smirked, not breaking eye contact with me. Anxiety was starting to boil up my throat again. Trying to break the awkward stare I said, “I think we’re ready to put in some appetizers.”

“Those will be taken care of. I’ll get these menus out of the way, you gentlemen won’t be needing them. But please do not hesitate to reach me. If you need anything, just call my name. Peter.”

In a flash he was gone. The four of us were left exchanging bewildered glances. “I was on Yelp all day for this, we specifically came here for the—” Phil was cut off by the sound of glasses clinking down onto the table. They were almost up to the brim with wine. From behind my shoulder a carafe of the same wine was slammed down; it too was full. I looked up and was met again by Peter’s piercing eyes. A sly smile shot at me, as if he knew something that I didn’t.

“We love the gesture, but I’d really like to put in our own order,” Phil said.

“You won’t be needing them, trust me,” Peter said.

“Well, it’s just that, I have a thing about my food,” Phil said, his fist clenched in awkwardness. The waiter took in a deep breath, both hands clasped behind his back. He bowed and glanced at me once more. “I see. Right away sir.” He was gone in a second. Strange guy.

“Anyone else think this guy is a freak?” I asked. “Do you see the way he’s looking at me?” No one answered, but I meant what I said. Something was off about him. Or maybe I was the freak.

“I don’t know. He seems cool,” Brendan said. Plus, if anyone spits in our food, we know we can blame Phil for complaining about him taking the menus.”

We laughed and awaited the menus that never came.

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Heat radiated from the incandescent light bulbs screwed into the dangling fixture above the table. The black wrought iron bent into a chandelier gently swayed ever so slightly if you gave enough time to look. Brendan was explaining his new promotion. New car, bonus, and company credit card were his key words. The plum wine was humming through my veins, the sole reasoning for my being calm.

“I’m really happy for you,” I said to Brendan. On some level it was true, but I couldn’t help but feel jealousy silently creeping into my body. Maybe the wine wasn’t helping.

“Thanks, Will. It really means a lot. It’s hard work, but I’m dealing with it,” Brendan said.

Must be easy when money isn’t an issue, I thought.

“Seriously though, Will. Most of this wouldn’t have happened had we not spoke about your writing the last time we saw each other. I could feel the passion in what you were saying, and it was inspiring. It put a completely different perspective on what I wanted out of life, so I decided to take my life into my own hands. I’m glad to see you doing the same with your own dreams.”

He had to be joking, right? I shot a smile at my old friend and another glass of wine went down the hatch. My stomach hurt. It needed food to coat the poison bubbling inside me; the chemical reaction between the two acids was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

“I’m serious,” Brendan said. “Cheers to you.”

Why did he have to patronize me like this? He clinked his glass against mine, sparking a domino effect of more undeserved cheering on my behalf. Then, he somehow continued, “You know, day after our talk I wrote down the quote you told me on a piece of paper and stuck it on my fridge. It’s still there. I read it every morning before I leave for work.”

“Which quote?” I sheepishly replied, my mind tried to piece together what he could’ve been talking about. All I remember from the morning after that outing last year was a splitting hangover and a fight between Beth and I that had been drowned with more drink that evening.

“Oh, come on, man. You know the one.

‘There is nothing either good nor bad, but thinking makes it so.’

It’s so damn true,” Brendan said.

I poured my third glass, two ahead of the rest of the table.

“Who said that” Phil asked.

“Shakespeare.” Brendan and I responded in unison.

Burrowing through the haze of my memory I saw a faded green post-it note clinging to the wall of my childhood bedroom, the note barely hanging by the last remnant of glue. It was set just over my bed’s headboard, in view so I’d see it every time I left for school. I had obsessed over the quote ever since I read Hamlet in sophomore year of High School. It was kind of a free therapy for my teenage self. I could see my hand crumpling the note up and throwing it in the garbage when I moved out of my parents’ house after college.

“It’s all Brendan ever talks about,” Kyle said with a laugh. “You had this exact conversation with Amanda and I last night—I can even attest to the uncalled-for Will praise.” Kyle laughed, so did Brendan. It was the truest thing I’d heard that night.

“Speaking of Amanda,” Brendan said with a huge smile plastered onto his face. “I was going to wait and tell you this after dinner so it wasn’t the subject of the entire meal, but… I proposed. We’re tying the knot next summer.” His eyes gleamed straight at me like a lighthouse beacon breaking through a dense fog.

“What a coincidence,” I said. “Beth and I broke up last night.” I laughed. The faces of horror staring back at me from Kyle and Brendan only made my laugh hit harder. “It’s no big deal. Seriously. Sorry to steal your thunder, Brendan. Congrats, that’s seriously amazing for you and Amanda.” I held out my glass and the four of us had an awkward cheers.

“Where is this guy with the menus? I’m starving,” Phil said, breaking through the awkward silence that the table had succumbed to. As he said it, trays of noodles and dumplings materialized on the table. “This is exactly what I wanted to order…” Phil muttered. We looked up to see Peter beaming at us. Once again, his eyes locked with mine. Another stare held too long. “Enjoy the appetizers, gentlemen.”

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By this point the alcohol had begun to take effect. I kept noticing Peter our waiter staring at me over the course of the dinner—which did nothing to ease my paranoia. I excused myself after the main course and made a beeline for the bathroom.

It was a sea of people all attempting to put on the performance of a lifetime. A husband and wife feigning interest in either of their lives as their three children’s eyes stood transfixed at their phones. All five of them would one day regret spending that time together so poorly.

At a different table a man stared at his date. You couldn’t miss her—big hair, big laugh, leopard print dress. She spewed rice particles at his face as she let out a guttural laugh. Somehow he didn’t so much as blink. Hats off to him; hopefully he would later reap what he was sowing at that table.

When I arrived at the line for the gender-neutral bathroom I was met by the big eyes of a pretty brunette with curly hair. I smiled at her; she smiled back. Did I feel a spark? Could there have been something between us so soon? The girl laughed. My humor really knew no bounds, after all. She laughed more. I was beaming now, just about ready to make my move.

“Stop it!” she screamed through her fit of laughter. “John, seriously!”

“Huh, my—” I panicked, I’m sure she saw it on my face. Blood boiling through the pores of my skin. On closer look, her eyes had been looking just past my left shoulder, to her date seated directly behind me.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. He,” she pointed to the date. “He’s so annoying.” Without a second thought she turned around and jumped through the door of the bathroom that had just lost an occupant. I stood in silence; my head hung down, embarrassed.

It was an eternity before she got out. I saw the server, Peter, walk over towards my direction just as I ducked into the bathroom. Through the wooden door I heard the muffled laughter of the girl and her boyfriend. “I’m gonna kill you. Did you see that guy thought I was talking to him!”

Ugh. I shook my head and washed up, splashing water on my face. Exhaustion was starting to kick in from the morning. When I wiped off the water I caught a glimpse of the person in the mirror, a stranger staring back at me. I exited the bathroom and ran right into someone.

“Hello,” Peter said. I pursed my lips and nodded at him, but his body blocked my escape. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I see pain in your eyes.”

“Excuse me,” I said. Maybe he was talking to someone else, like the girl from earlier.

“There’s an energy around you. It’s strong. Don’t you feel it?”

“No, I don’t. And, listen. I don’t know who you are but—”

“I apologize for the intrusion, but I felt a provocation to tell you that. There is change in the air. I’ve felt it around my own life. Perhaps you should prepare for change, too.”

“Thanks, pal,” I said and pushed through his blockade to get back to my friends. Something tapped my shoulder. I whipped around. There was no one there. Peter was already in the bathroom with the door shut.

Back at the booth, my friends were anxiously awaiting my arrival. Four fortune cookies were scattered across the red tablecloth. I sucked in air and held it. The interaction with Peter blew out when I released. I decided not to mention it to my friends. It would bring up too many questions.

The “fortune telling” commenced.

“The fortune you seek is in a different cookie.” Kyle read off the white slip between his right thumb and forefinger. “This is BS.”

“Don’t pursue happiness, create it.” “Don’t worry about money. The best things in life are free.” Phil and Brendan followed with theirs respectively. If only their words were true.

The yellow cookie shattered into pieces when I cracked it open. A flutter of hope in my chest. For some reason, I felt a sort of hopefulness in this, a sense of opportunity about to present itself. Pushing away the broken bits of cookie, I unearthed the little piece of dead tree with words printed in ink. Please, God. Help me out here.

“Don’t panic. What happens next will be part of your plan.”

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Mogwai

The bill was split and so had we. I was alone again, in a colder, darker night than the one I had arrived in. It was late. Past midnight. It would be a slow walk home.

A beheaded walking man blinked inside a yellow traffic signal. The wind picked up and the traffic signal shook as I crossed under it. I waited for it to come crashing down on me, fulfilling the prophecy the headless signal foretold. It never did; I continued my walk.

The sneaker on my left foot began squeaking with every step. It had rained during dinner and the remnants of water on the concrete seeped into the worn sole. Tap squeak tap squeak.

A clown’s face smiled at me from a lawn. Jagged and filthy teeth pointed straight for my throat. As I walked I heard the squeak of my sneaker and imagined it wasn’t the sneaker, but the murderous clown squeezing its big red nose. The faster I walked, the faster he’d squeeze it, until he’d finally rip it off his face with an ugly howl. Maggots and worms would be lying under the spot his nose had sat, suddenly squirming out into the clowns drooling mouth. He laughed at me.

I kept walking. The squeak of my wet sneakers persisted. Was the squeak even real? Maybe I felt the water seeping into my shoe and my brain just filled in the rest. Maybe that’s how things work. Does a tree make a sound if it falls alone in a forest?

The crescent moon bounded in and out of my reality, hiding at moments behind passing storm clouds. There was a roll of thunder. The moon’s yellow glow hid again. Darkness fell. I felt the presence of nothing consume the space around me. The sidewalk empty, no one in sight. All the Halloween lights had been shut off several hours early. It was just me and the streetlights above my head. Maybe if the homeowners knew I’d be coming down this block they’d have kept the lights on. Does a falling tree make a sound if no one is there?

The storm clouds grew larger, hung lower. They traveled with the frozen wind toward the west. I felt another chill down my back. The wind thickened and I heard a low whisper gently swipe across my neck and up into my ears.

“Will."

Blinding white light shot around me, but my eyes were closed. I hadn’t seen anything. I snapped around to my backside and saw nothing. No one was there. Just an empty sidewalk and the black sky. Sweat broke through my forehead. The night grew even darker.

My strides became longer. I was speed walking—almost at a sprint. Above my head hung the stop sign from earlier, hanging by two loose bolts, shaking like a leaf in the wind. You and me both, I thought.

The hairs on my head were at full mast. I heard footsteps behind me. No one was there.

A frozen wind blew at my back with fierce strength. I almost fell forward and looked up. There was a tree ahead of me. Its limbs were rocking toward me, opposite the direction of the wind behind me. Something wasn’t right.

Then the wind whispered, “Run.”

Impossible, I thought. But who was I to argue at a time like that? I listened.

House after unlit house gawked at me. Their dark windows sat like eyes honing in on me as I went. Their doors like mouths, cackling at the pathetic man running for his life, the best entertainment they’d seen in years. Orange light flashed, then purple. The houses on the block burst in fantastic color, lighting the entire street in the glow of their Halloween lights. I saw no one. The lights surged off.

Two hundred feet ahead was the corner to Austin Street, just under the overpass, five more minutes to get home if I kept up this run. At least I had the streetlights to light my way.

That’s when the streetlight above me let out a loud pop. The bulb blew; its light died.

Like dominoes, every streetlight leading to the corner sounded with a pop and went out. My head snapped behind me, I watched the lights die one by one until there were none. The clouds above were darker than ever. I could barely see a few feet in front of me. The wind was wailing; I couldn’t hear myself think. I clasped my hands over my ears but it did nothing to muffle the horrific screams wafting around me.

My lungs were tired. I was sprinting, but it seemed like I was stuck in limbo on the sidewalk, unable to recognize where I stood, just bathed in total darkness. My heart pounded beneath my rib cage. The breath grew labored, struggling to keep up. Perhaps this was hell.

A light turned back on, a sole streetlight, the one just above the front door to my apartment building. I was almost there. The slamming of a door off in the distance snapped me into clarity. Next to me, a car’s alarm began blaring. A metal garbage can toppled over, a black cat’s green eyes flared as it darted across the sidewalk.

The night screamed louder. Tree limbs fell on the ground, the street signs rattled metal against metal, more car alarms set off, the wind let out its harshest howl yet.

In front of me was the door. I had finally made it and let go of my ears to grab at the door, the horrible wails around me would turn me deaf. Extending my arm, I glimpsed the entirety of the door washed in dull gray light, soaking from the evening’s rain. Just a glimpse before the streetlight behind me went out again. I reached, felt the knob, and began to turn it.

Two taps on my shoulder.

Terror flooded my entire being.

The wind suddenly stopped. The streetlights lining the block turned back on, one by one. The moon had returned from the clutches of the storm clouds. I was bathed in a yellow glow and accepted my fate. I felt the taps. Someone was behind me. No beats in the heart. A pin could be heard dropping on Austin Street. I realized I hadn’t taken a breath. I sucked in and turned around.

No one was there.

Not a soul was in sight. How? I snapped right, then left. It was impossible. I heard the voice. I felt the taps. Nothing. No one behind the cars. No one at either end of the block or in the bushes.

My heart was pounding. An indiscernible noise escaped my throat. A sign of relief? Had I imagined the entire thing? Impossible.

With a deep breath I turned back around and once again reached for the doorknob. Something just above the knob caught my eye. It looked to be a business card, bone white. It gently swayed in the returning breeze, its corner barely stuck in the space between the knob and the aluminum door frame.

This card hadn’t been there when I reached for the door. Unlike many things in my life leading up to that point, I was certain of that.

Every hair on my head was buzzing. I tried to stop my hand from shaking, but there was no use. I grabbed the card. It was thick, well made. Completely dry even after having been stuck to the still wet door. The side of the card facing me was blank. I turned it over.

The white space was occupied by but a single word.

NIM.

Confusion and anxiety washed over me again to join the plethora of other feelings coursing through my body at that moment. Again, I shivered. One hand turned the doorknob, the other clutched the strange white card, and finally I was inside.

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Thank you for reading. If you’re enjoying this book and would like to support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

You can also buy me a coffee. Or an order of dumplings from a nice Szechuan restaurant.

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