Can a man stop himself from becoming that which he despises when life leads him down the path? If he realizes what he has become, can he change? When presented the chance to turn away from it, is he strong enough to do so or does he do it unknowingly?
These are the questions that Alexander Hendricks faces in my novel, The WifeCycle. Life deals him blow after blow and slowly he slides from the man he wanted to be to the man he despises. As he travels through life he never truly realizes the price he’s paid for his actions. But should he have to pay or is his enlightenment enough? After having some people read it I’ve found out that women, more than men, connect with the story and the characters.
The completed 55,000 word manuscript is available upon request. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
I am an American writer living and working in Prague, Czech Republic. I have done numerous years of professional IT, English teaching and freelance writing. At one point I was a nuclear technician in the US Navy and I am an alum of the NASA Astrobiology Academy and have a Bachelor’s degree in Molecular Biosciences and Biotechnology.
Quotes from early readers:
“I got to page 13 and it tore my heart apart…it made me cry, laugh, long for love…” –Miranda Kay Levy, Artist
“A story full of hope, searching and loss…it made my heart bleed and made me cry…” –Hana Hauptvogelova, Language Services Provider
The Excerpt (pages 1-8):
1987 – Wisconsin
It is a beautiful day. The sky is that blue that only shows up in movies or dreams. That dark vibrant blue accented by only thin wispy clouds, like cotton balls that have been stretches to their limits. The sky is offset by the green water indicative of warm climates and normally found on postcards and travel agency posters. It quietly washes up against the light colored sand. A sand that is not quite white like bone yet not quite yellow like the sun that lazily hangs overhead illuminating the entire scene. The beach is barren of life except for a few birds at the edge of the water digging with pointed bills for a quick snack. The peacefulness of it all is interrupted by a lone man running across the sand. He wears a white linen shirt, dark shorts and sandals that scoop the sand and fling it into arcs with each hastened step. He does not run for his health, he runs with the urgency of someone attempting to preserve their life.
The sweat pours forth from his forehead and streams down into his eyes. He quickly wipes at it with his hand in mid-stride before frantically looking behind him. Fear makes his heart pound in his chest, echoing in his ears, drowning out the peacefulness of the day. His legs are driven hard by dread of his impending doom. Exhaustion finally overcomes self-preservation and he comes to a stop and bends over gasping for air. His hands on his knees he stares unseeingly at the sand before him until he finally turns in the direction from which he was running. The grim light of recognition shines in his eyes as he draws himself upright still panting. A gun shot rings out startling the birds from their snack. As they take flight the man drops to the ground and another shot rings out. His blood colors the sand which hungrily consumes every drop.
I wake with a start, my t-shirt sticking to my body which is soaked with the sweat of fevered dreams. My eyes are wide and dart around the room searching for a phantom gunman. After sixteen years of life one would think that nightmares become mundane and routine, but they do not and are still terrifyingly real. The mind is indeed a powerful enemy with everything imaginable in its arsenal to throw at you. My breathing begins to slow as realization awakens me to the fact that it was only a dream. I lay back and close my eyes hoping to get back to sleep when a knock on my door startles me back to a rigid sitting position, smashing my skull on the cross support for the bunk bed above me.
“Argh!” I yell grabbing my head in pain and slumping back to the bed.
“Time to get up for school,” my mother says opening the door allowing sunlight to stream into the room and intensifying the pain in my head. I shut my eyes and cover them with my hands.
“Oh you’re already awake. That’s a surprise. Well get up, you have to get to school soon.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time,” I mutter as I probe the rising knot on my head with one hand while still covering my eyes with the other. I can already tell it’s going to be a shitty day.
2000 – Arizona
“I don’t know if you’re wandering, searching or running away. Nor do I know what it is you’re running from if that’s the case.” Dave leans back in his office chair looking over toward me as he speaks.
“A loaded gun?” I say staring blankly at the computer monitor in front of me and the list of unread emails awaiting my attention.
“Huh?” He looks quizzically at me as I turn and smile weakly.
“Ever since I was sixteen I have had the same dream over and over. At first I just thought it was odd. I didn’t recognize the guy in the dream. I only ever saw that one guy.”
“Weird. So what’s this dream about?” Any diversion from our mind numbingly boring work is welcomed in the office.
“Well there’s a picturesque beach like a Travel Channel special.”
“Sounds nice, I could use a vacation there.”
“Yeah, except there’s this guy running down the beach. Exhausted he stops and doubles over trying to catch his breath.”
“Running on the beach is difficult; I did it when I was in the army back in the day.”
“Back in the day?”
“Just an expression man. So what’s the dude’s deal in the dream?”
“Well he’s not exactly running for health because when he stops and turns around he looks at someone. That’s when the gunshots begin.”
“Whoa! Not healthy.”
“He drops to the ground and blood begins to color the sand when another shot is heard. That’s when I wake up.”
“And you say you’ve had this dream how long?”
“Since I was sixteen, so thirteen years now altogether.”
“And you don’t know the guy in the dream”
“Well at first I didn’t, but over the years I’ve seen myself age and I am now certain I am growing into the man in the dream”
“Oh shit dude, that’s creepy.”
“Yeah but in the dream I’m thirty-four or thirty-five and apparently I get shot on the beach.”
“Way creepy. But it’s just a dream right?”
“I’m pretty certain it’s the real deal at this point. Thirteen years is a long time to have the same dream and not have it mean something. I mean at first I wasn’t sure because I didn’t know the guy. But over time I’ve caught on and I finally realized that it’s me. Later I picked up other things like my age in the dream. Not really from any evidence, just from a feeling I get when I have the dream.”
“So where is this beach? I mean if you knew that you could not go there when you’re thirty-four or five.”
“I don’t know where the beach is; I just know what it looks like and how old I am. I never see the shooter or any other person. I’ve never had any insight into why I’m being shot either.”
“Well that sucks, but you’ve still got several years to figure it out and change it. I believe we can change our future. It’s not a preordained thing; every action opens a multitude of possible futures.”
“Thanks Confucius. Well it’s time for me to get out of here man.”
“Oh yeah? Hot date with Big Tits tonight?”
“Yep, that’s the plan anyway. I’m supposed to meet her out at her place.”
“Good luck, hopefully you’ll have another good story to wile away our time together.” He gives me a grin that says he wants to hear something about sex, living vicariously through me I guess.
I jump in the car and light a cigarette because she doesn’t like me smoking. So I do it when she’s not around. The CD player kicks up Metallica and I tear out of the lot and head for the highway. Driving west on I-10 through downtown Phoenix in the evening is always touch and go. After sitting in traffic that moves with the swiftness of a Galapagos turtle for thirty minutes the steel and glass of the city finally give way to the dark sand and scrub grass of the desert. The distance between light posts becomes further and the sun settles in behind the mountains in the west. The air cools quickly as dusk quietly assumes dominion over the southwestern states.
“Big tits,” I say and chuckle quietly to myself. While it sounds derogatory I find it amusing and rather appropriate. At 37DD they are practically as large as my head and the most memorable feature about her. Granted, the five foot ten inch frame they are attached to is hard to forget as well but it’s the big fake breasts that everyone sees when they look at her. Hell it was really the only thing that I saw when I first met her. I should almost be offended by the nickname as her ‘boyfriend’ but one of the funniest conversations her and I had revolved around the very topic.
“Oh they’re big enough for now I suppose.”
“For now? What do you mean for now?” My eyes flicked back and forth between her eyes and her cleavage.
“Well after I have a child I’ll need to have them enlarged to double Es. That way they won’t sag.” She says as she lifts her breasts the way a porn star might do for a DVD cover.
Typical Jennifer, always concerned about appearances. Well, whatever. I’m certain she’ll manage to have her husband pay for them either by continuing the ‘financial relationship’ or by getting the money included in alimony. That is if she ever bothers to get a divorce from the poor sap. I still find it hard to believe he really knows the deal and I suspect that he doesn’t in fact know what happens when he’s not around, though he certainly isn’t around much. Personally, I’d be suspicious if my wife attempted to persuade me that taking a position overseas ‘would benefit us both’ especially when she planned on staying in the states. What-if scenarios run through my head as I veer onto the exit ramp, downshifting in lieu of brakes and only tapping them lightly at the stoplight before darting onto the empty main road through the underdeveloped suburb. Another five minutes and the dusty wastelands sprout development signs with enormous pictures of computer-modeled versions of what the shopping malls, subdivisions and apartment complexes will look like when all the work is done. After that it’s another three minutes of run-down homes and crumbling structures that contain what are the soon-to-be-displaced people that can’t afford to remain in the area and will be forced to find new low-cost housing.
Finally I hang a right at the lights that seem to divide the ‘haves’ from the ‘have-nots,’ a classic example of urban sprawl. On the right are empty lots or dilapidated ranch-style brick houses. On the left are the new two and three-story monsters that the quickly-rising middle class are buying up in droves replete with fenced in areas, electronic surveillance and well-landscaped common areas. I slow and pull into the first subdivision, gateless as of yet, and keep to the speed limit not wanting to call any sort of attention to myself as all the neighbors know she’s married and I really would rather none of them inform her husband that I visit so often and so late.
Pulling around the corner I notice that the beat up Dodge pickup is out of the garage, where she keeps it out of sight because it’s not up to her standards of appearance. I also see that her shiny red Corvette sits in the driveway in its normal position which would indicate that the truck was out of the garage before she got home. I decide to continue on my way when I see all the lights in the house are on and the normal disorganization behind the still open garage door has been settled into sorted piles, as if someone’s been working in there. I continue to the other end of the subdivision and turn onto the narrow road that splits two clover fields before it meets the main road. Making one big circle I end up at the gas station on the side of the ‘haves’ and pull in to give her a ring. Heh, there’s something I don’t think I’ll ever be doing…giving her a ring. I pull my car around the side of the station where I know the pay phones are and shut off the engine. Don’t really want my name showing up on any caller ID if there’s an unexpected guest in the house today, it’s one of the things I have learned to avoid while dating a married woman.
Man I sound sleazy. I sit in the car for a moment before I reach up and pull the rear view mirror so I can look myself in the face.
“Hi there,” I say to the smiling, scruffy chinned reflection. We stare at each other for a moment taking measure of each other and I decide I can still look myself in the eye so I haven’t turned into what I despise.
“It’s all good,” the reflection says to me, “it’s not like they’re ‘together’ anymore. Remember, it’s just a ‘financial arrangement’ she said.” My reflection nods knowingly, and I follow suit. I know all about that type of arrangement, I was in the Navy at one time as well, just like him.