Leverageland Challenge #3 - The Write Inspiration
Title: I Drink, Therefore I Am
Word Count: 2895
Prompt: 12. "Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."
Summary: Nate trying to get his head together on the boat trip. Kinda...all over the place
Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves. Nate paused, twirling the pen absently between his fingers as he groped for the citation. “Thoreau?” he murmured, brown furrowing in concentration as he tried to match author with phrase.
Thoreau, he decided abruptly, making the notation. It really didn’t matter if he was wrong, after all - nobody was going to see these entries when he was done. Okay, maybe Sophie. He wouldn’t mind Sophie reading them at some point. He was pretty certain he’d be able to trust her not to laugh directly in his face.
Of course, if she did laugh, that was probably something he needed to be aware of. Men like him needed a woman capable of knocking them down a peg and back several paces. Not capable, he corrected himself. Maggie had been perfectly capable of calling him on his bullshit, just like his mother had always known when his father’s ego was beginning to rage out of control. They rarely said anything though; both women had come from a time and a background where such things were tolerated rather than pushed against.
No, Nathan Ford needed someone willing to call him out on his less attractive traits. Maggie was willing these days, but ever since she’d started openly dating Jim Sterling, Nate had finally been able to acknowledge her proper role in his life…’ex’-wife. He was Sophie’s problem now, and as far as everyone affected was concerned, it was the best of all possible outcomes.
But I digress. Orienting the pen properly, Nate tried to focus on the blank pages in his lap. He’d promised himself he was going to use this trip for introspection - taking stock of his life - and part of that was keeping a journal. Unfortunately that meant looking at himself through the same filter he used on the rest of humanity with little to no concern for the consequences, and that wasn’t a pleasant prospect at all.
Why didn’t I kill Victor Dubenich? He was writing the question almost before he realized that was where he needed to start. Haverford Dam - he’d had the men responsible for his father’s death at his mercy. Five bullets, two targets, neither one of them denying their involvement with Jimmy’s murder. Oh they’d tried to pass blame for making the call between them, but once Nate had made them understand that this wasn’t an either/or situation, they’d gone silent.
He could have fired. Jimmy would have shot them - would have shot Victor, at least. After a lifetime of disappointing his father, it was the least Nate could have done.
Should have done.
Maybe this will make more sense once I’ve written it out, but I think seeing Hardison’s face was the turning point, he wrote at last. Coming so close on the heels of admitting that Sam would have been disappointed in me becoming a murderer, I guess it was normal to make the leap to that look on Hardison’s face, but it was also the first time I realized how much it meant to me to have that young man’s respect. He’s so smart - in so many ways smarter than me - that it’s a little terrifying sometimes understanding what it means that he listens to me at all.
Raising his head, Nate leaned back against the cushions and stared out across the still waters of the Pacific. His emotions had been so tangled in those first tense moments when he’d decided to put the gun down, to walk away from the edge of the cliff. Hardison had been the catalyst to get him moving in a better direction, but the whole business was just so complicated it ultimately required time and space for him to think it through.
I want so much to believe my father’s motives were pure, he continued, bowing his head and putting pen to paper once more. The idea that he really did love me at all, never mind enough to give up his life for me, is huge.
Nate exhaled softly, giving himself permission to write the next sentence - one of the ugly truths he’d taken this trip to exorcise from his soul. Too big. What would have been an entirely selfless gesture in any other parent feels like a pair of cinderblocks chained to my ankles, threatening to drag me down into the darkness with him.
The words came easier now, flowing out through his pen like poison draining from an open and festering wound. Crazy to think that a group of thieves would have even the desire, much less the power, to save me from something the ‘legitimate’ world would have seen as a selfless, almost noble, act. Together they did it though - Eliot would have picked up a gun - again - to keep me from crossing the line to murder. Sophie would have turned her back on everything we feel about each other.
Parker…I don’t know what Parker would have done, but I know things would never have been the same between us. Hardison would have left. Maybe not right away, maybe he would have taken Parker and Eliot with him, but however it fell out I would have lost him.
Two additional victims of Jimmy’s ‘sacriifice’.
Bitterness was starting to get the better of him. Nate set the notebook and pen aside, getting to his feet with a groan and stretching the kinks out of his body.
“What next?” he asked to no one in particular, going to the rail and watching the first streaks of red and orange bleed into the western sky. So much hatred and resentment still poisoning him after all this time - it was an obvious question that was going to need answering. If not today, then definitely before the end of this voyage.
Tonight though, he’d done enough. One more check to make sure the boat was secure, then time to start working on dinner.
***********************************
It was full dark when Nate came back up on deck, a high ball glass with two fingers of whiskey in one hand. Sophie had suggested that he consider leaving the alcohol behind; Eliot had immediately shot her down, pointing out that after all this time, Nate detoxing alone on the waters of the Pacific, miles from any sort of help, was as good as a death sentence.
He’d compromised by agreeing to limit himself to two fingers-worth with food. Hardison had done the math and Nate had sailed with enough whiskey in the hold to last him for the planned duration of his trip. It still required self-control on his part, but the idea of being drunk alone on the waters of the Pacific was a huge motivating factor. The last thing I need is to trip and fall overboard, he thought, forcing himself to sip the alcohol. Natalie Wood he wasn’t.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I summoned you here,” he announced to the sky arching overhead - more stars than he could have ever imagined looking back at him. He understood light pollution as an intellectual exercise, but Nate had never appreciated how much of nature’s brilliance was hidden by man’s presence on the planet.
Grinning, he nodded at the sky - understanding finally what sort of path his brain was leading him down. “Well done, sir. I approve.”
Talking directly to God. They’d lock me up for sure. In a strange way - okay, a very strange way - Nate was coming to realize that this was the heart of it all. He wasn’t going to be able to make his peace with Jimmy’s death any more than he had been able to come to terms with what happened to his son. It was all still bound up in the belief that God was trying to communicate with him, and either Nate was too stupid (unlikely, in his opinion), or the son of a bitch was too busy being obtuse (that’s where Nate’s money was) to get the point across.
“So what is it you want from me?” he asked, resuming his seat at the stern and propping his feet up on a nearby toolbox. “C’mon big guy - you’ve got my undivided attention here. Let’s talk.”
As the ocean breeze ruffled his hair, Nate let his thoughts drift back to his seminary days. He’d been lost then too, although he didn’t have enough perspective yet to determine if he’d been more lost than he was now, or less.
Then the church was safety; a place where the rules were still followed, and for at least a few hours each week the neighborhood men put aside their liquor and their guns, and unclenched their fists. Boys could earn extra money and their mother’s approval by assisting Father Patrick at the all too frequent funeral masses, although those did hold the occasional trap to catch the unwary. Scowling, Nate tossed off the rest of his whisky - remembering the time he hadn’t realized until halfway through Mass that the man in the casket had been put there by his own father.
Psychologically it made sense that a high percentage of boys in the neighborhood imagined some sort of calling to the priesthood. It was a way out of a life where any other sort of respectable job was laughed at, and the idea of college a pipe dream only few could take seriously. Priests had power and influence in the neighborhood. They were protected from the violence that daily haunted the streets, and they never had to pick up a gun.
One more glass, he thought, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. Half a glass. No one will know the difference - you can just compensate for it later. He actually entertained the idea for several moments before snorting softly and shaking his head - disgusted with himself.
“We’ll pick this up later,” he said, pushing to his feet and heading for the cabin stairs. “You don’t mind, do you?”
********************************
Nate had never been able to live up to his father’s expectations for a son. Every cut, every dig against his son’s intelligence, his unwillingness to embrace his father’s lifestyle, had been Jimmy’s way of making certain he knew that.
He supposed, as he watched the play of orange, red, yellow, purple and pinkish light over the clouds on the eastern horizon the next morning, that his washing out of seminary was somehow an extension of that relationship. In his head Nate had substituted a Father who was supposed to be universally loving and compassionate for the petty thief he’d been given, and in the end he’d disappointed that one too.
“For me?” he muttered as the sun finally broke through the clouds in a glorious stream of light. “You shouldn’t have.”
Thoughts of Maggie unexpectedly crept into his head, and Nate groaned - pressing the heels of his hands against his suddenly aching eyes. Give me a break. It wasn’t a hard segue - intellectually Nate understood that his history of disappointing people hadn’t stopped at his father - but that relationship with all the messy religious overtones was something he could spend the rest of his life deconstructing, and he’d only allotted five weeks for this trip.
Snatching up his fallen journal he wrote, I get it. I was never the husband Maggie wanted. We knew that about each other from the beginning though. Can’t get what you want - try sometimes, get what you need. She needed somebody her mother would approve of; I needed a mother and father that would approve of me. Win…win…
He paused, looking up at the horizon again. Needs change. It was a traitorous thought coming from his own brain, and it acted like a knife slid casually between his ribs. Maggie had needed him in the end to be stronger than his grief and sense of having failed his only child when it counted the most. She’d needed him to reach across the emotional gulf that had grown between them during Sam’s illness, to let him know that whatever else was going on in their lives she wasn’t alone.
Nate had no idea how long he stood at the railing, watching the water rush by, fingers flexing against the leather binding of his journal as he grappled with the desire to drop it overboard and forget he’d ever had the idea to take this journey of self-reflection. Finally though, he straightened and managed to walk back to where he’d been sitting - setting the journal down in a slow, controlled fashion.
There was a part of him that wanted to forget about the day at that point and just go back to bed. The rest of him recognized that while the boat could be handled by one person - pretty much the reason why he’d chosen it for this journey - it left him little room for slacking. Certain duties had to be taken care of every day in their proper order, so long as he intended to keep moving forward.
And deep down hid probably the only truth Nate had left to call his own. He wasn’t ready to die just yet.
******************************
Introspection was abandoned for a handful of days. Nate suspected it was four, but when it finally occurred to him to check his instrumentation he found it had been six. The weather seemed to be aware of what he needed though - winds high, skies clear, enough play in the water to require his full attention - and gradually he threw himself into the physical labor of keeping his ship afloat and moving forward.
It was healing in a strange sort of way. If it hadn’t been for the warped necessity of feeding his alcoholism every night, Nate would have described the experience as transformative. And when he sat down two nights later, intending to resume writing in his journal, he found the urge to dig into his psyche, to bleed the poison out of his soul once and for all, seemed to have left him entirely.
I’m missing something, he thought, flipping through the previous sheets he’d covered with his careless scrawl. It was all the deep introspection he’d believed he was going to have to endure to get to his answers, to be able to move ahead.
They felt like the words of a stranger now, somebody from another lifetime. Somebody from the road I didn’t take. Could it be that easy? All the guilt, the alcohol, the pushing everybody away, the self-fulfilling prophecy of his life…could he just put it all down and walk away?
Eliot did. Parker did. Hardison and Sophie had too, although for arguably less bloody reasons. Nate smiled wistfully as he realized that the case could be made Sophie put her past down and walked away from it on a daily - if not hourly - basis.
You’re just going to disappoint them, he thought, closing the journal and studying the cover. It’s what you do. It’s who you are.
He’d done that already though, hadn’t he? He’d figured out all the ways he could possibly disappoint them, force them to lose faith in him, and not only had they not run as far away from him as they could, they’d forgiven him. Forgiven him and welcomed him in closer, declaring him one of them with all the attendant craziness that entailed.
”You are my family…my only family…” Even in the midst of betraying them in the most heinous way he could, he’d held a piece of the truth in his hands. They were his family - the family he’d longed for his entire life. A family that valued him for himself, not some sort of unrealized dream or social expectation.
“But who is that?” Dimly aware that his late forties was a ridiculous time to be asking himself that question, Nate nevertheless set the journal aside and forced himself to really consider the question. Sun warmed his skin as the wind continued to tangle his hair and the different ways people had understood him over the course of his life drifted through his mind. Honest man…mastermind…drunk…thief…
Distill it all down, he thought, getting to his feet again and beginning to pace. All the trappings, all the roles, all the parts you play. Wash it all down to its purest essence and what’s left?
“My name is Nate Ford…”
“…and I am.”
Word Count: 2895
Prompt: 12. "Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."
Summary: Nate trying to get his head together on the boat trip. Kinda...all over the place
Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves. Nate paused, twirling the pen absently between his fingers as he groped for the citation. “Thoreau?” he murmured, brown furrowing in concentration as he tried to match author with phrase.
Thoreau, he decided abruptly, making the notation. It really didn’t matter if he was wrong, after all - nobody was going to see these entries when he was done. Okay, maybe Sophie. He wouldn’t mind Sophie reading them at some point. He was pretty certain he’d be able to trust her not to laugh directly in his face.
Of course, if she did laugh, that was probably something he needed to be aware of. Men like him needed a woman capable of knocking them down a peg and back several paces. Not capable, he corrected himself. Maggie had been perfectly capable of calling him on his bullshit, just like his mother had always known when his father’s ego was beginning to rage out of control. They rarely said anything though; both women had come from a time and a background where such things were tolerated rather than pushed against.
No, Nathan Ford needed someone willing to call him out on his less attractive traits. Maggie was willing these days, but ever since she’d started openly dating Jim Sterling, Nate had finally been able to acknowledge her proper role in his life…’ex’-wife. He was Sophie’s problem now, and as far as everyone affected was concerned, it was the best of all possible outcomes.
But I digress. Orienting the pen properly, Nate tried to focus on the blank pages in his lap. He’d promised himself he was going to use this trip for introspection - taking stock of his life - and part of that was keeping a journal. Unfortunately that meant looking at himself through the same filter he used on the rest of humanity with little to no concern for the consequences, and that wasn’t a pleasant prospect at all.
Why didn’t I kill Victor Dubenich? He was writing the question almost before he realized that was where he needed to start. Haverford Dam - he’d had the men responsible for his father’s death at his mercy. Five bullets, two targets, neither one of them denying their involvement with Jimmy’s murder. Oh they’d tried to pass blame for making the call between them, but once Nate had made them understand that this wasn’t an either/or situation, they’d gone silent.
He could have fired. Jimmy would have shot them - would have shot Victor, at least. After a lifetime of disappointing his father, it was the least Nate could have done.
Should have done.
Maybe this will make more sense once I’ve written it out, but I think seeing Hardison’s face was the turning point, he wrote at last. Coming so close on the heels of admitting that Sam would have been disappointed in me becoming a murderer, I guess it was normal to make the leap to that look on Hardison’s face, but it was also the first time I realized how much it meant to me to have that young man’s respect. He’s so smart - in so many ways smarter than me - that it’s a little terrifying sometimes understanding what it means that he listens to me at all.
Raising his head, Nate leaned back against the cushions and stared out across the still waters of the Pacific. His emotions had been so tangled in those first tense moments when he’d decided to put the gun down, to walk away from the edge of the cliff. Hardison had been the catalyst to get him moving in a better direction, but the whole business was just so complicated it ultimately required time and space for him to think it through.
I want so much to believe my father’s motives were pure, he continued, bowing his head and putting pen to paper once more. The idea that he really did love me at all, never mind enough to give up his life for me, is huge.
Nate exhaled softly, giving himself permission to write the next sentence - one of the ugly truths he’d taken this trip to exorcise from his soul. Too big. What would have been an entirely selfless gesture in any other parent feels like a pair of cinderblocks chained to my ankles, threatening to drag me down into the darkness with him.
The words came easier now, flowing out through his pen like poison draining from an open and festering wound. Crazy to think that a group of thieves would have even the desire, much less the power, to save me from something the ‘legitimate’ world would have seen as a selfless, almost noble, act. Together they did it though - Eliot would have picked up a gun - again - to keep me from crossing the line to murder. Sophie would have turned her back on everything we feel about each other.
Parker…I don’t know what Parker would have done, but I know things would never have been the same between us. Hardison would have left. Maybe not right away, maybe he would have taken Parker and Eliot with him, but however it fell out I would have lost him.
Two additional victims of Jimmy’s ‘sacriifice’.
Bitterness was starting to get the better of him. Nate set the notebook and pen aside, getting to his feet with a groan and stretching the kinks out of his body.
“What next?” he asked to no one in particular, going to the rail and watching the first streaks of red and orange bleed into the western sky. So much hatred and resentment still poisoning him after all this time - it was an obvious question that was going to need answering. If not today, then definitely before the end of this voyage.
Tonight though, he’d done enough. One more check to make sure the boat was secure, then time to start working on dinner.
***********************************
It was full dark when Nate came back up on deck, a high ball glass with two fingers of whiskey in one hand. Sophie had suggested that he consider leaving the alcohol behind; Eliot had immediately shot her down, pointing out that after all this time, Nate detoxing alone on the waters of the Pacific, miles from any sort of help, was as good as a death sentence.
He’d compromised by agreeing to limit himself to two fingers-worth with food. Hardison had done the math and Nate had sailed with enough whiskey in the hold to last him for the planned duration of his trip. It still required self-control on his part, but the idea of being drunk alone on the waters of the Pacific was a huge motivating factor. The last thing I need is to trip and fall overboard, he thought, forcing himself to sip the alcohol. Natalie Wood he wasn’t.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I summoned you here,” he announced to the sky arching overhead - more stars than he could have ever imagined looking back at him. He understood light pollution as an intellectual exercise, but Nate had never appreciated how much of nature’s brilliance was hidden by man’s presence on the planet.
Grinning, he nodded at the sky - understanding finally what sort of path his brain was leading him down. “Well done, sir. I approve.”
Talking directly to God. They’d lock me up for sure. In a strange way - okay, a very strange way - Nate was coming to realize that this was the heart of it all. He wasn’t going to be able to make his peace with Jimmy’s death any more than he had been able to come to terms with what happened to his son. It was all still bound up in the belief that God was trying to communicate with him, and either Nate was too stupid (unlikely, in his opinion), or the son of a bitch was too busy being obtuse (that’s where Nate’s money was) to get the point across.
“So what is it you want from me?” he asked, resuming his seat at the stern and propping his feet up on a nearby toolbox. “C’mon big guy - you’ve got my undivided attention here. Let’s talk.”
As the ocean breeze ruffled his hair, Nate let his thoughts drift back to his seminary days. He’d been lost then too, although he didn’t have enough perspective yet to determine if he’d been more lost than he was now, or less.
Then the church was safety; a place where the rules were still followed, and for at least a few hours each week the neighborhood men put aside their liquor and their guns, and unclenched their fists. Boys could earn extra money and their mother’s approval by assisting Father Patrick at the all too frequent funeral masses, although those did hold the occasional trap to catch the unwary. Scowling, Nate tossed off the rest of his whisky - remembering the time he hadn’t realized until halfway through Mass that the man in the casket had been put there by his own father.
Psychologically it made sense that a high percentage of boys in the neighborhood imagined some sort of calling to the priesthood. It was a way out of a life where any other sort of respectable job was laughed at, and the idea of college a pipe dream only few could take seriously. Priests had power and influence in the neighborhood. They were protected from the violence that daily haunted the streets, and they never had to pick up a gun.
One more glass, he thought, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. Half a glass. No one will know the difference - you can just compensate for it later. He actually entertained the idea for several moments before snorting softly and shaking his head - disgusted with himself.
“We’ll pick this up later,” he said, pushing to his feet and heading for the cabin stairs. “You don’t mind, do you?”
********************************
Nate had never been able to live up to his father’s expectations for a son. Every cut, every dig against his son’s intelligence, his unwillingness to embrace his father’s lifestyle, had been Jimmy’s way of making certain he knew that.
He supposed, as he watched the play of orange, red, yellow, purple and pinkish light over the clouds on the eastern horizon the next morning, that his washing out of seminary was somehow an extension of that relationship. In his head Nate had substituted a Father who was supposed to be universally loving and compassionate for the petty thief he’d been given, and in the end he’d disappointed that one too.
“For me?” he muttered as the sun finally broke through the clouds in a glorious stream of light. “You shouldn’t have.”
Thoughts of Maggie unexpectedly crept into his head, and Nate groaned - pressing the heels of his hands against his suddenly aching eyes. Give me a break. It wasn’t a hard segue - intellectually Nate understood that his history of disappointing people hadn’t stopped at his father - but that relationship with all the messy religious overtones was something he could spend the rest of his life deconstructing, and he’d only allotted five weeks for this trip.
Snatching up his fallen journal he wrote, I get it. I was never the husband Maggie wanted. We knew that about each other from the beginning though. Can’t get what you want - try sometimes, get what you need. She needed somebody her mother would approve of; I needed a mother and father that would approve of me. Win…win…
He paused, looking up at the horizon again. Needs change. It was a traitorous thought coming from his own brain, and it acted like a knife slid casually between his ribs. Maggie had needed him in the end to be stronger than his grief and sense of having failed his only child when it counted the most. She’d needed him to reach across the emotional gulf that had grown between them during Sam’s illness, to let him know that whatever else was going on in their lives she wasn’t alone.
Nate had no idea how long he stood at the railing, watching the water rush by, fingers flexing against the leather binding of his journal as he grappled with the desire to drop it overboard and forget he’d ever had the idea to take this journey of self-reflection. Finally though, he straightened and managed to walk back to where he’d been sitting - setting the journal down in a slow, controlled fashion.
There was a part of him that wanted to forget about the day at that point and just go back to bed. The rest of him recognized that while the boat could be handled by one person - pretty much the reason why he’d chosen it for this journey - it left him little room for slacking. Certain duties had to be taken care of every day in their proper order, so long as he intended to keep moving forward.
And deep down hid probably the only truth Nate had left to call his own. He wasn’t ready to die just yet.
******************************
Introspection was abandoned for a handful of days. Nate suspected it was four, but when it finally occurred to him to check his instrumentation he found it had been six. The weather seemed to be aware of what he needed though - winds high, skies clear, enough play in the water to require his full attention - and gradually he threw himself into the physical labor of keeping his ship afloat and moving forward.
It was healing in a strange sort of way. If it hadn’t been for the warped necessity of feeding his alcoholism every night, Nate would have described the experience as transformative. And when he sat down two nights later, intending to resume writing in his journal, he found the urge to dig into his psyche, to bleed the poison out of his soul once and for all, seemed to have left him entirely.
I’m missing something, he thought, flipping through the previous sheets he’d covered with his careless scrawl. It was all the deep introspection he’d believed he was going to have to endure to get to his answers, to be able to move ahead.
They felt like the words of a stranger now, somebody from another lifetime. Somebody from the road I didn’t take. Could it be that easy? All the guilt, the alcohol, the pushing everybody away, the self-fulfilling prophecy of his life…could he just put it all down and walk away?
Eliot did. Parker did. Hardison and Sophie had too, although for arguably less bloody reasons. Nate smiled wistfully as he realized that the case could be made Sophie put her past down and walked away from it on a daily - if not hourly - basis.
You’re just going to disappoint them, he thought, closing the journal and studying the cover. It’s what you do. It’s who you are.
He’d done that already though, hadn’t he? He’d figured out all the ways he could possibly disappoint them, force them to lose faith in him, and not only had they not run as far away from him as they could, they’d forgiven him. Forgiven him and welcomed him in closer, declaring him one of them with all the attendant craziness that entailed.
”You are my family…my only family…” Even in the midst of betraying them in the most heinous way he could, he’d held a piece of the truth in his hands. They were his family - the family he’d longed for his entire life. A family that valued him for himself, not some sort of unrealized dream or social expectation.
“But who is that?” Dimly aware that his late forties was a ridiculous time to be asking himself that question, Nate nevertheless set the journal aside and forced himself to really consider the question. Sun warmed his skin as the wind continued to tangle his hair and the different ways people had understood him over the course of his life drifted through his mind. Honest man…mastermind…drunk…thief…
Distill it all down, he thought, getting to his feet again and beginning to pace. All the trappings, all the roles, all the parts you play. Wash it all down to its purest essence and what’s left?
“My name is Nate Ford…”
“…and I am.”