FACEBOOK FRIENDS

Howdy, *Jack Tide here.

I dated a girl once who broke up with me because I didn't have nearly as many facebook friends as her. To this day she'll tell you that wasn't the real reason she cast me hither but I know the truth.

Her name was and still may remain, Samantha. Samantha, ordinarily not too shabby of a name but I'm always cognizant of and a bit wary of girls names that can be abbreviated from the female to the male.
                                      Samantha-Sam
                                      Alexis-Alex
                                      Micah-Mikes
                                      Thomasina-Tom
etc.

Anyway the topic of my facebook friends would invariably show up at dinner or at coffee conversations among her friends. I never instigated it.

Example.

We were at a small cafe overlooking Woodland Park and Greenlake and the day was something out of a children's book, all colored in bright Crayolas. We were with two of Samantha's friends, Reuben and Charlotte. Reuben had made the mistake two years ago of somehow allowing himself to become engaged to Charlotte who thought it whimsical to go by Charlie. Reuben and Charlie. Sounds like a badly produced puppet show if you ask me.

Introductions had been made and we were sipping our respective drinks and eating our salads and breadsticks. I was trying to decide if if that was a piece of pubic hair on my salad. It just sat there curled up on my ranch dressing like a brown question mark.

"What do you think, Jack?" Samantha asked. She was looking spectacular that day with a trifle of wind through her hair.

"I think it is pubic hair."

"What? No I mean about what we were just discussing," she said, motioning to Reuben and Charlie.

"You see," I said, nodding down to my salad, "the barista or cook seems to have misplaced a-"

"I was just telling them that you've only twelve people as facebook friends," Samantha said. "They'd be more than happy to have you request them as friends."

Reuben nodded solemnly.
Charlie also nodded but I could tell her heart wasn't in it. Samantha had told me Charlie had over six hundred facebook friends already so she had commitments.

"It wouldn't be a problem," Reuben said.

"Gee," I said, "I mean we only just met."

Charlie shrugged.

"We've known Samantha for years," Reuben said, "and we trust her judgement. Her last boyfriend-"

"Dane," Charlie added.

"Yes, Dane. Dane was a great guy. Marvelous."

"He cracked me up he was so funny," Charlie smiled fondly. "And he was so charming."

"Smart too," Reuben added. "Remember when he changed my tire? In no time, Jack, the tire was off and the new one was on. Like a snap!"

Samantha smiled at me and nodded.

"Are you guys still facebook friends with Dane?" I asked.

Reuben and Charlie glanced at each other and then smiled briefly at Samantha.

"Um, yes," Charlie said, "but he rarely posts so it's like he's not even there."

Reuben changed the subject by pulling out his phone and scrolling. "What's your facebook name Jack? Jack Tide? Jacky Tide?"

"JacksonWTide," Samantha offered.

"Ah here you are," Reuben said, sliding  his sunglasses up. "Yes. Wow Samantha, you weren't kidding. Jack...what have you been doing? You haven't even added Samantha."

"You believe that?" Samantha said. "Don't even look at his relationship status. I'll get furious."

"Whaaaat?" Charlie whispered, a lilt of disbelief in her voice.

This little trio before me got quiet as I sat there contemplating the pubic hair in my salad. I knew it was a mistake to order it.

It was clear by their faces that I'd made some inexcusable facebook faux pas.

"Let's see here," Reuben said, examining my page. "Your last post was... two months ago!"

"You're kidding," Charlie said. I don't think she meant to say this aloud.

"It's a picture of a chimpanzee holding a gun," Reuben said, showing the image around, even to me as if I'd never seen it before.

"What a mean meme," Charlie said.

"It's an obscenely mean meme," I agreed with a smile, provoking a nudge of the elbow from Samantha.

"Ugh, I hate guns," Charlie said. "In fact I was just telling Baz at the Rec the other day" Reuben had been texting on his phone while she was talking and her phone buzzed. She read the text, smiled primly, glanced at me, and started replying. "-that guns are abhorrent. Baz agreed. Anybody who likes guns, we feel, are juvenile."

I thought about taking my Glock out of my messenger's bag and plopping it on the table with a 'Now What Chuck?'. It was already clear I was no Dane. Maybe I couldn't change the tires on Reuben's Mazda Shinari in a snap but I could sure blow them the fuck up. With my eyes closed.

"Jack just has to get out there and meet more people," Samantha said. "First thing he needs to do is change his profile pic. Get a picture of him up there and not one of John Cusack. Then change his relationship status and get some pics of us on there. Life's passing you by Jack."

Reuben and Charlie were nodding.

"Then friend request Reuben and Charlie."

"Well..." Reuben said.

"Jack?" Samantha said. "Jack are you going to eat your salad?"

"No, go ahead."

Long story short, Reuben and Charlie never added me.



*Jack Tide is a fictional character by Michael Callinglast. These events take place before the events shown in the book FEROCITY. Click here to check it out. Or you'll never have Jello again.

TAKE A PICTURE

Howdy. Jack Tide* here.

Best things happen when you least expect it. Worst things too, come to think of it, especially when you've a targeting dot on your chest.

I walked into this little cafe yesterday, the one called Tully's, over there the Redmond Town Center. I had a couple hours to chill so I decided to sip on a dark roast brew and work on some sketches.

She was standing behind the bar fixing a drink like she had done days prior and days prior. I'd seen her before and she was really the only reason I came here. I'd never talked to her and in the entire time I'd frequented the place she'd never waited on me. I think this is because she senses I'm a bit of an anti-hero or because she was clearly out of my league. Like Dirty Harry once said, a man's got to know his limitations.

She looked up and gave me a brief smile of recognition and I smiled back and was about to wave when she looked back at what she was doing. So I put my hand down.

"Welcome to Tully's," the blond barista said, stepping up. I'd seen her before too and though she was good looking, she was clearly the less shining of the binary stars.

"Just coffee," I told the blond.

"No," the dark haired barista said, walking over. "You always get that. Let me make something for you."

"Uhm."

"Do you trust me?" she asked. She rested her elbows on the table and looked up at me. "I know exactly what you need on a day like this."

"Er."

When I was a kid I somehow managed to catch hold of a magazine that one of my uncles left in the back shed. It was a pretty racy magazine and it stirred within me feelings of power and curiosity. There were lots of magnificent fleshy pictures stamped on those glossy pages and I memorized them all. This was when I was starting to practice my art skills. I had only one problem and that was I couldn't take the magazine with me. It was a dilemma. There was always that fear that my uncle would discover this important treasure missing from his Smaug Den. So I did the next best thing. One day I gathered my pencils and tracing  paper and traced my favorite ten pictures in sweaty detail with trembling hands. Then I ferried these riches away and secreted them under my bed where I planned to build a little nest egg for my future.

I had discovered a new dimension of happiness, one that I hadn't even suspected existed before.  This was on par with the kind of happiness Christmas Day always brought, only a little less...holy. Yeah. Even my child-like mind at the time recognized there was a fundamental difference between Christmas Day and sketches of naked women on motorcycles with goats. But I chalked it up to a 'who cares'. Trouble came when me mom discovered my cache.

"What the hell are these?" she asked.

I had just come in from playing catch with some of the neighbors and I was looking forward to some pizza rolls and lemonade. Instead I got her standing in the kitchen leafing through those sheets of paper that I recognized. I stopped and my good humor for the day was zapped dead. At first I hoped that she was looking at something else, like maybe tax returns or credit card receipts, some adult thing that had no relevance to me. Then I saw the gray outline of a breast that was struggled out in my handwriting and I knew I was doomed.

"What the hell are you drawing?"

"Er."

The moment that sexy barista said that I was instantly transported to that moment in the kitchen as all those strange and new feelings of horror and discovery came rushing back.

"It's on me," she said. "I have a feeling this is going to be your new favorite drink though." She winked and started her concoction. 

I found a table and pulled my art book out of my messenger's bag, careful not to let the Glock 37 drop out. That wouldn't make a good impression.

"Are you an artist?" the blond barista asked, walking by with a broom in her mitts.

"Why yes." Smiled. "Yes I am."

"Oh wow, hey, can I look?"

I positioned my sketchbook so she could peruse. Peruse she did and I had to give her five points for genuinely enjoying my sketches. She was a blond though and blondes have never really been my style. Kind of like Dockers.

Still, she did have nice perfume.

"How long did it take you to draw these?" she asked.

I'll admit I didn't particularly care for the wording of the question. I prefer the verb create. Ask da Vinci how long it took him to draw Vetruvian Man and see what kind of look he gives you.

"I must first find inspiration that is fueled by my passions," I told her, remembering my first foray into genuine art that was later censored by mom.

"I'm Claire," she said, extending her hand. Her handshake was warm and inviting but she had a slight flaw on one of her nails. I could overlook it though.

"Jack," I told her. I let my gaze linger a bit so that we could connect nonverbally and smiled the way that Bill Clinton or George Clooney might. "Jack Ti-"

"This one's my absolute favorite," Claire said, flipping to one of the lesser pieces. 

So she's an interrupter. This would mean that I would now have to keep my replies and questions to a bare minimum. I wondered what kinds of music she liked. She looked like a Seattle hipster pot-smoker which would put her snuggly in the Led Zeppelin/Dave Mathews/Jason Mraz category. This was fine with me. I don't smoke pot. Puts me right to sleep and-

"What's it a picture of?"

So she's not only a verbal interrupter but a thought-interrupter as well. Interesting. I could see how this was going to get tiring real fa-

"This one's pretty cool too."

"What are you guys looking at?" the dark haired barista asked. Her curiosity aroused she peeked over the steam machine and smiled at me.

"Keira! This guy's art is really awesome. You gotta come check it out."

Oh no.

It was when she walked around the corner, when I could see her fully, that things began, like a rapidly expanding universe a billionth of a second after creation. It was when she looked up at me with those blue eyes that time was born, stapled and now in tandem with space. What came before the birth of the universe? There are theories and up until that brief history of time I hadn't given the matter much thought.

She walked over and looked down at the art and the lesser of the two, the blond, naturally retreated.

"These are great," Keira said.

"Er."

She sat down across from me and then scooted her chair closer. She wore a white blouse, black slacks and just the right hint of perfume mist to never forget. She sat down and smiled while reading some of my writing, occasionally looking up at me.

I knew for a fact that my hair had seen better days and I tried casually and inconspicuously to search my pockets for my certs. Nothing.

Keira. I tasted the name. I'd never have guessed her name. Her name was beyond my imagination, beyond my galaxy. 

She stopped reading and set the book down carefully then slowly placed her whole attention on me. 

I'm a Big Game Hunter. It's what I do. I know over sixty ways to kill a man with a latte. I know how to rig a Tesla with an I-pod battery so that it'll blow the hell up once it hits 33 mph.

"I'm Keira," she said, extending her hand. 

I looked down at her hand.

I accepted her handshake and she felt as I had hoped. 

"Jack," I told her. "Jackson Wellesey Tide."

"It's good to finally meet you, Jackson," she said.

And that was how I met Keira Anastasia Mercile.




*Jack Tide's a fictional character from Michael Callinglast. For more of Jack check out his book FEROCITY to see what it's like to be a young hitman living in Seattle.