Blogger's Note: This is the second installment of my novel. Special thanks to C.H., a fellow aspiring novelist, who gave me some feedback. Thanks to the rest of you as well. Your feedback is appreciated! If you haven't read the first part, please read it before you read this entry. (The Ledgers, copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock.)
The thirteen stairs between each landing seemed farther apart on the way up. His legs burned as he past the fifth floor door and headed to the sixth. Adrenaline suppressed his old injury.
He grabbed the door handle and yanked back, but it wouldn’t give. It was locked. A safety mechanism during a fire. Now what?
The door popped open in the next second as two more weary guests pushed into the stairwell. Geoff broke between them and sprinted down the hall past the 650s and 640s. I wonder which floor the fire is on? The hotel was shaped like a horseshoe. His room had been in the northwest hall of the hotel. Room 608, it appeared, was going to be around the turn of the horseshoe and near the end of hall in the northeast hall. Geoff remembered seeing four stairwells diagramed on the back of his door. Why didn’t the couple come up the stairwell closest to their room?
As he headed around the curved hallway, he heard frantic banging from a stairwell door. He slapped the bar on the door knocking a dozen people onto the landing like dominoes. They found their feet and fell through the open door like athletic equipment from a stuffed closet.
They turned left and headed for the northwest stairwell. Smoke followed them.
One guy looked back and yelled, “It must be on five. We didn’t dare go down any farther!”
Geoff made it past the 630s and 620s before the explosion. The floor beneath his feet bucked up like the fin to a mighty whale tossing him into the air. He came down hard on his nose, dropping the leather portfolio. The pain came in sharp bursts and hot tears flooded his eyes. He rolled onto his back and felt heat radiating through the floor like an evil heating pad. He looked at the hole left by the explosion. A metal pipe was sticking through the hole shooting a six-inch blue flame at the ceiling. Every couple seconds, the flame sputtered with red and yellow. By the odor, it must have been a natural gas pipe that erupted.
Geoff got to his feet but struggled with intensified aches and pains. He grabbed the leather portfolio from the floor with a grunt. The sprinklers erupted above. The water was cold.
He found 608 and tried the key card. Upside down. He hated these things. Whatever happened to actual keys. He was nervous, soaking wet with sweat and cold water, and throbbing in pain. The card slipped and landed on the floor. It bounced and slid under the door. Geoff tried to crouch, but his legs didn’t want to bend. He propped the portfolio against the wall, then screamed and forced himself down on all fours. The artificial rain pelted his back. A sliver of the card stuck out from under the door. Geoff pulled his wallet from his back pocket and fished a credit card out. He used the credit card to pull the keycard toward him.
Keycard back in his hand, he used the doorknob to pull himself up. He inserted the keycard again. Finally the red light gave way to the green. He pushed the door open. It was like turning the volume up on the baby’s crying. The travel crib was on its side and the baby was on the floor. The explosion, Geoff thought. He lifted the baby. She squirmed and screamed louder with a stranger holding her. His soul was mixed with nostalgia for the days he held his son and anger at the parents for leaving one so little. Isn’t this illegal?
With a quick thought, he grabbed the diaper bag on the desk and headed toward the door. “Becca, you’re going to be alright. Your mommy asked me to come for you.” She looked at him and screamed again. Well, it was worth a try.
The door opened but it wasn’t the same hall Geoff had been in a few seconds before. Smoke covered the floor and would soon rise above his waist. The sprinklers were doing little. He turned right and headed for the stairwell at the other end of the building. He pulled an about-face and grabbed the leather portfolio. He shoved it into the diaper bag. Becca changed pitch.
He had to get to the stairwell door. Something didn’t look right. He figured it would be a mirror image of the other hallway, but it wasn’t. There were some letters on the door. Instead of a crash bar, there was a doorknob with a card reader. He tried the knob. No go. He shifted Becca to his other shoulder and searched his pocket for the key card. He found it and struggled to juggle the diaper bag, the baby, and the key. After four tries he gave up. He read the letters on the door. NO EXIT THIS FLOOR. PLEASE USE THE OTHER STAIRWELLS.
Now what? Geoff slowly turned as he realized what he must do. He set his jaw and squared his shoulders as he looked at the hall in front of him.
“Well Becca,” he said to the screaming child, “It looks like it’s me and you against the world. Shall we?” She answered with a choked cough and more screaming.
Geoff’s stride was purposeful without a hint of hesitation or fear. His heart rate was another matter. He rounded the corner. There was the hole. There was the pipe. Smoke, steam from the sprinklers, eerie emergency lighting, and the brightness of the pipe obscured his view beyond the hole.
He turned his stride into an all out run. His bum leg ached so much. Becca let him know she didn’t like the way she was bobbing up and down. With his free hand, he braced her head and neck into his shoulder as he took his last three strides. He leapt past the torch into the murky unknown of the smoke. He wanted to land on his feet, but the floor was uneven on the other side. He fell to his knees and instinctively tried to roll so that Becca wouldn’t be crushed. The diaper bag came loose from his shoulder and landed against the wall spilling the contents.
Becca coughed more and squirmed more. She didn’t know enough to be in shock. Geoff struggled to his feet again. Every joint screamed for him to stop. But they couldn’t scream louder than Becca. He grabbed the diaper bag again then stopped. He painfully bent down to retrieve the leather portfolio and returned into the bag. He found a cloth diaper and tried to wrap it around Becca’s nose and mouth as a mask against the smoke.
His next fifty strides were not as powerful as before, but he was determined to make it to the faint glow of the EXIT sign at the end of the hall. The first coughs were light, but they got harder. The smoke increased. His steps slowed. His coughing grew constant.
Only a few more steps.
The door in front of him opened wide. A fireman in a mask charged through. His partner, the ax wielder, was on his heels. Becca’s mom must have told others. The first fireman grabbed the child and turned back to the stairwell, which was now filled with smoke. The axman came to Geoff’s side right as Geoff’s legs buckled.
“301! 301! I need assistance on six.” The axman screamed into the air hoping his voice activated radio picked up his voice. He dropped the ax and scooped Geoffrey onto his back. Somehow the diaper bag stayed connected.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Monday, April 24, 2006
Questions and Answers, Delta Style
Blogger’s Note: I love reading Sky Magazine on Delta Airlines flights. One of their new features is Q&A. A writer stops a frequent traveler in the airport, snaps a photo or two, then asks a few questions. I decided to pretend they stopped me. This entry was started in October 2005 and edited today. (And if anyone responds with feedback, I'll post the next segment of The Ledgers.)
W. Mark Whitlock
OCCUPATION
Senior Acquistions Editor
Nelson Reference, a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers
PURPOSE OF TRIP
Business
DESTINATION
Greenville, South Carolian
DAYS ON THE ROAD
Three
What is the most beautiful or striking landscape you’ve seen from the air?
The patchwork farmland of our country fascinates me. I’ve spent a few minutes looking at mountains, oceans, and cities, but for some reason, the farms oriented in simple rectangles with the occasional river or stream mucking up the works causes me to linger at the window.
Has traveling opened your eyes or changed your mind in some significant way?
People hurt. There’s no way around it. I hear them walking through airports, in the seat in front of me before the doors close, and in restaurants. They argue, they cry, they whisper. The universal human experience is pain—and the euphoric relief from pain. I pray more for folks than I ever have.
Where is your favorite getaway?
My imagination, but Delta doesn’t fly there. If I could go somewhere every year for vacation, I think I’d go to Montreat, N.C. in October.
Have you met someone particularly memorable while traveling?
Muhammad Ali and I were on the same flight once. But traveling halfway around the world to meet my daughter in Changchun, China trumps every celebrity sighting for me. Her name is Meileah and she’s a precious and amazing three year old. We adopted her in January, 2006.
What has traveling made you appreciate that you didn’t appreciate before?
My pillow. My wife always takes her pillow with her when we drive on trips. I’ve never worried about it. But over the last two years of frequent business travel, I long for my own pillow.
What can’t you leave home without when you travel? Is there an electronic accessory, gadget, or tool?
My PowerBook. It’s an extension of my brain, my emotions, my imagination. It’s a virtual comfort blanket.
Is there someone you particularly like to travel with?
My wife. I especially like it when we can get away—just the two of us. No offense to Delta, but I would prefer to drive with her. We have the best talks. We hold hands. There’s something intimate about being in a car.
What’s your next destination for fun?
St. Simon’s Island, Georgia.
Do you have a favorite sport? If yes, do you ever travel to see it?
My favorite sport to play is basketball, but I love to watch Major League Baseball. On business trips, I’ve taken in a few games. I’ve seen the Braves play at Turner Field and at Spring Training in Orlando. I got to see the Colorado Rockies during their first season when they played at Bronco field. I’ve seen the Rangers and Red Sox at The Ballpark at Arlington. I went to a Dodger game in Chavez Ravine. I’d like to make it to all the baseball parks in the country, but I’ll settle for games at Wrigley Field, Yankee Stadium,
Fenway Park, and The Field of Dreams used in the movie.
Is there anyone you want to give a shout-out to?
The guy who found a blue Mead notebook in 25C. Could you mail it to me please?
W. Mark Whitlock
OCCUPATION
Senior Acquistions Editor
Nelson Reference, a division of Thomas Nelson Publishers
PURPOSE OF TRIP
Business
DESTINATION
Greenville, South Carolian
DAYS ON THE ROAD
Three
What is the most beautiful or striking landscape you’ve seen from the air?
The patchwork farmland of our country fascinates me. I’ve spent a few minutes looking at mountains, oceans, and cities, but for some reason, the farms oriented in simple rectangles with the occasional river or stream mucking up the works causes me to linger at the window.
Has traveling opened your eyes or changed your mind in some significant way?
People hurt. There’s no way around it. I hear them walking through airports, in the seat in front of me before the doors close, and in restaurants. They argue, they cry, they whisper. The universal human experience is pain—and the euphoric relief from pain. I pray more for folks than I ever have.
Where is your favorite getaway?
My imagination, but Delta doesn’t fly there. If I could go somewhere every year for vacation, I think I’d go to Montreat, N.C. in October.
Have you met someone particularly memorable while traveling?
Muhammad Ali and I were on the same flight once. But traveling halfway around the world to meet my daughter in Changchun, China trumps every celebrity sighting for me. Her name is Meileah and she’s a precious and amazing three year old. We adopted her in January, 2006.
What has traveling made you appreciate that you didn’t appreciate before?
My pillow. My wife always takes her pillow with her when we drive on trips. I’ve never worried about it. But over the last two years of frequent business travel, I long for my own pillow.
What can’t you leave home without when you travel? Is there an electronic accessory, gadget, or tool?
My PowerBook. It’s an extension of my brain, my emotions, my imagination. It’s a virtual comfort blanket.
Is there someone you particularly like to travel with?
My wife. I especially like it when we can get away—just the two of us. No offense to Delta, but I would prefer to drive with her. We have the best talks. We hold hands. There’s something intimate about being in a car.
What’s your next destination for fun?
St. Simon’s Island, Georgia.
Do you have a favorite sport? If yes, do you ever travel to see it?
My favorite sport to play is basketball, but I love to watch Major League Baseball. On business trips, I’ve taken in a few games. I’ve seen the Braves play at Turner Field and at Spring Training in Orlando. I got to see the Colorado Rockies during their first season when they played at Bronco field. I’ve seen the Rangers and Red Sox at The Ballpark at Arlington. I went to a Dodger game in Chavez Ravine. I’d like to make it to all the baseball parks in the country, but I’ll settle for games at Wrigley Field, Yankee Stadium,
Fenway Park, and The Field of Dreams used in the movie.
Is there anyone you want to give a shout-out to?
The guy who found a blue Mead notebook in 25C. Could you mail it to me please?
Saturday, April 22, 2006
A New Experiment
Blogger's Note: If you've read my profile, then you know that I've been working on one of my novel ideas, The Ledgers, since 1995. Allow me to make a confession: I haven't worked on it as hard I as want to. Like most writers I've met, I've spent more time fighting discouragement than crafting metaphors. Could my six readers please do me a favor? Could you read along as I post parts of my novel and give me some feedback. Speak the truth in love, but let me have it. I'm hoping this process will give me an added dose of adrenaline to push me to finish it.
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The Ledgers
Copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock
Geoffrey Patrick guarded secrets in his heart, his soul, and his mind. Those in his heart would wound. Those in his soul would heal. Those in his mind would change his son’s life forever.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Is that the alarm already? He groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows to look at his clock. It was only 1:47 a.m. The alarm wasn’t supposed to erupt until 5:45. Geoffrey never slept well in hotels. HE sat up and rubbed his eyes, wiping the dream off his imagination. Large orange coffee beans from Starbuck’s had been chasing him through his television.
The repeating drone continued. But the sound was not coming from his alarm. The hallway was beeping. Some kid must have pulled the fire alarm, he thought.
Reaching for his glasses, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and pushed them into well-worn slippers. He struggled to stand. His back injury still crept up at odd times like this one. This must be how the Tin Man felt in Oz. The siren stopped. The vacuum of silence froze Geoff in mid-stretch.
Then, a voice boomed from the hallway. “This is not a drill. We have a fire in the hotel. Please follow the instructions on the back of your door to the nearest fire exit. This is not a drill.” As if the announcer needed some help, the alarm returned.
Geoff was fully awake now. He quickly grabbed his khakis from the desk chair and tried to put them on while standing up. His wallet, car keys, and a handful of change weighed the pants down. He hopped a few paces as he slipped his left leg in. He tripped and slammed a shoulder into the wall.
He whispered a curse. “Sorry, Lord. I know.” The voice repeated its ominous message.
Once the pants were zipped, he exchanged his houseshoes for dress loafers. The back of one shoe folded down and pinched his heel. He snatched his keycard from the desk and hobbled toward the door feeling every month of his sixty-seven years. He reached for the knob and let go. It wasn't hot. He had just forgotten something--the folding leather photo frame that he displayed in every hotel room from Atlanta to Zurich. The light brown calfskin was worn from years of handling.
When he opened the door, half-awake zombies marched right to left. The glowing red exit sign had lured them into a trance. A baby cried a sleepy wail summarizing everyone’s thought: “Why in the world am I awake in the middle of the night!?!”
Moderate politeness held the stairwell door open to the chaos and heat beyond. Women trudged. Men shoved. Children stumbled. Houston's humidity added to the horror. Geoff couldn't tell what was hotter--the temperature or the anger.
Geoff counted the stairs to keep his mind sharp. And to keep himself from complaining. There were thirteen stairs from the eighth floor to a landing and thirteen more to the seventh floor where merging traffic heated the stairwell more.
The menagerie of human experience snaked down to freedom somewhere below. One night owl tried to raise the sprits of everyone around. An angry-at-the-world walking profanity dictionary argued with a cynic.
The door to the third floor, Geoff guessed, popped open. A man in his mid-twenties with a set jaw pushed his up through the mass moving down. He had as much success as a man treking through jungle underbrush without a machete. A nervous woman stuck her head through the door and watched. "Honey! Hurry!" she yelled. Her face was flushed and wet from tears. The man pushed, shoved, and mumbled an “excuse me” here or there. After eight or nine steps, he shoved Mr. Profanity Dictionary.
“Where are you going?" The string of words gave the stairwell an "R" rating.
“Why do you care? Get out of my way.”
"You got toilet paper for brains? There's a fire up there. Turn around.” The dictionary insulted the man's lineage, mother, and children in one profane breath.
The man answered with a lurid description of a body part.
The Dictionary answered with the force of an interrupted night's sleep. The punch sent the man down the stairs through the arms of people like they were branches from trees. He back hit the landing below at the same time his head dented the wall. The nervous wife slammed open the door screamed when she saw the blood oozing from her husband's nose. He wasn't moving.
The woman’s scream silenced the stairwell and stalled traffic. Nobody helped them. Some stepped over them, others around them. Geoff began snaking his way through a dozen weary souls to the woman’s side.
“Are you okay?” he asked with no wind left in his body.
“She’s… she’s… Oh my God, she’s going to die.” The panic in the woman’s eyes made Geoff shiver.
“Slow down. Who. Who is going to die?”
The crowd shoved by. The Dictionary stepped on his chest on his way down.
"Idiot!" Geoff called after him. The man replied with the international sign language for displeasure.
“My baby!" the wife yelled.
Geoff turned back to her. "What?"
"Our daughter. She’s in our room. All we wanted was a cup of coffee.” She buried her head in husband's chest. the chest of the man who must have been her husband and sobbed.
Geoff took his pulse. The man was out, but he was going to be okay. He saw a baby monitor receiver on the man’s belt.
“I’ll help you. Where is she?”
The woman looked up. The panic in her eyes was now mixed with a tinge of hope. Their eyes locked. Someone's knee hit her in the middle of the back jarring her back to reality. She stuffed her hand into her pocket and removed her key card. “608. She’s in room 608.”
Geoff grabbed the card and turned into the waves above. He pushed past several people.
The wife called after him. “Her name is Becca!”
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
The Ledgers
Copyright 2006 W. Mark Whitlock
Geoffrey Patrick guarded secrets in his heart, his soul, and his mind. Those in his heart would wound. Those in his soul would heal. Those in his mind would change his son’s life forever.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Is that the alarm already? He groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows to look at his clock. It was only 1:47 a.m. The alarm wasn’t supposed to erupt until 5:45. Geoffrey never slept well in hotels. HE sat up and rubbed his eyes, wiping the dream off his imagination. Large orange coffee beans from Starbuck’s had been chasing him through his television.
The repeating drone continued. But the sound was not coming from his alarm. The hallway was beeping. Some kid must have pulled the fire alarm, he thought.
Reaching for his glasses, he swung his feet over the side of the bed and pushed them into well-worn slippers. He struggled to stand. His back injury still crept up at odd times like this one. This must be how the Tin Man felt in Oz. The siren stopped. The vacuum of silence froze Geoff in mid-stretch.
Then, a voice boomed from the hallway. “This is not a drill. We have a fire in the hotel. Please follow the instructions on the back of your door to the nearest fire exit. This is not a drill.” As if the announcer needed some help, the alarm returned.
Geoff was fully awake now. He quickly grabbed his khakis from the desk chair and tried to put them on while standing up. His wallet, car keys, and a handful of change weighed the pants down. He hopped a few paces as he slipped his left leg in. He tripped and slammed a shoulder into the wall.
He whispered a curse. “Sorry, Lord. I know.” The voice repeated its ominous message.
Once the pants were zipped, he exchanged his houseshoes for dress loafers. The back of one shoe folded down and pinched his heel. He snatched his keycard from the desk and hobbled toward the door feeling every month of his sixty-seven years. He reached for the knob and let go. It wasn't hot. He had just forgotten something--the folding leather photo frame that he displayed in every hotel room from Atlanta to Zurich. The light brown calfskin was worn from years of handling.
When he opened the door, half-awake zombies marched right to left. The glowing red exit sign had lured them into a trance. A baby cried a sleepy wail summarizing everyone’s thought: “Why in the world am I awake in the middle of the night!?!”
Moderate politeness held the stairwell door open to the chaos and heat beyond. Women trudged. Men shoved. Children stumbled. Houston's humidity added to the horror. Geoff couldn't tell what was hotter--the temperature or the anger.
Geoff counted the stairs to keep his mind sharp. And to keep himself from complaining. There were thirteen stairs from the eighth floor to a landing and thirteen more to the seventh floor where merging traffic heated the stairwell more.
The menagerie of human experience snaked down to freedom somewhere below. One night owl tried to raise the sprits of everyone around. An angry-at-the-world walking profanity dictionary argued with a cynic.
The door to the third floor, Geoff guessed, popped open. A man in his mid-twenties with a set jaw pushed his up through the mass moving down. He had as much success as a man treking through jungle underbrush without a machete. A nervous woman stuck her head through the door and watched. "Honey! Hurry!" she yelled. Her face was flushed and wet from tears. The man pushed, shoved, and mumbled an “excuse me” here or there. After eight or nine steps, he shoved Mr. Profanity Dictionary.
“Where are you going?" The string of words gave the stairwell an "R" rating.
“Why do you care? Get out of my way.”
"You got toilet paper for brains? There's a fire up there. Turn around.” The dictionary insulted the man's lineage, mother, and children in one profane breath.
The man answered with a lurid description of a body part.
The Dictionary answered with the force of an interrupted night's sleep. The punch sent the man down the stairs through the arms of people like they were branches from trees. He back hit the landing below at the same time his head dented the wall. The nervous wife slammed open the door screamed when she saw the blood oozing from her husband's nose. He wasn't moving.
The woman’s scream silenced the stairwell and stalled traffic. Nobody helped them. Some stepped over them, others around them. Geoff began snaking his way through a dozen weary souls to the woman’s side.
“Are you okay?” he asked with no wind left in his body.
“She’s… she’s… Oh my God, she’s going to die.” The panic in the woman’s eyes made Geoff shiver.
“Slow down. Who. Who is going to die?”
The crowd shoved by. The Dictionary stepped on his chest on his way down.
"Idiot!" Geoff called after him. The man replied with the international sign language for displeasure.
“My baby!" the wife yelled.
Geoff turned back to her. "What?"
"Our daughter. She’s in our room. All we wanted was a cup of coffee.” She buried her head in husband's chest. the chest of the man who must have been her husband and sobbed.
Geoff took his pulse. The man was out, but he was going to be okay. He saw a baby monitor receiver on the man’s belt.
“I’ll help you. Where is she?”
The woman looked up. The panic in her eyes was now mixed with a tinge of hope. Their eyes locked. Someone's knee hit her in the middle of the back jarring her back to reality. She stuffed her hand into her pocket and removed her key card. “608. She’s in room 608.”
Geoff grabbed the card and turned into the waves above. He pushed past several people.
The wife called after him. “Her name is Becca!”
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Opening Day
Tonight, the President will stand on a pitcher's mound and, for a few minutes, won't worry about Iraq, immigration, or the Katrina aftermath.
Tomorrow, rookies will not be able to wipe the smiles off their faces. They'll button up crisp uniforms too nice to get dirty. They'll chomp on gum or spit sunflower seeds to quell their nervousness. And when their names are called, they will leap to the field faster than a Hank Aaron home run flew over the left field fence.
Tomorrow, fans will sit on new seats in Chavez Ravine--seats that match those when Dodger stadium first opened.
Tomorrow, last year's disabled list players will wonder anew if they've got what it takes. Will the hamstring hold? Will the rotator cuff snap again? Will this be my last season?
And tomorrow, I will tear up occasionally as I remember my dad. And I'll miss him.
For more on my dad, go to The Greatest Season or Remembering My Dad.
Tomorrow, rookies will not be able to wipe the smiles off their faces. They'll button up crisp uniforms too nice to get dirty. They'll chomp on gum or spit sunflower seeds to quell their nervousness. And when their names are called, they will leap to the field faster than a Hank Aaron home run flew over the left field fence.
Tomorrow, fans will sit on new seats in Chavez Ravine--seats that match those when Dodger stadium first opened.
Tomorrow, last year's disabled list players will wonder anew if they've got what it takes. Will the hamstring hold? Will the rotator cuff snap again? Will this be my last season?
And tomorrow, I will tear up occasionally as I remember my dad. And I'll miss him.
For more on my dad, go to The Greatest Season or Remembering My Dad.
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