Chasing Gatsby (part 1 )

Prologue

A Man Torn

The Climb to the top is long and treacherous no matter the peak being conquered. I’ve begun to ascend upon the mountain of goals, set forth by myself and have learned the hard truths of success. I have not yet reached my acme of the road before me, with time and a lot of grind, I know achievement is eminent. As I bask in the feeling of grandeur, I can’t help but feel remiss on things lost, some good, as well as the bad.

The repugnant, putrid inadequacies that equate my bad heralds a long and villainous list. Harsh words barked from my spectators from the sideline. Speculations made at my character, direction in life, even my sexuality. Many relationships severed in my attempts to climb to greatness.

On the horizon success, love, happiness for all times.

Toes to the line, Close your eyes……1,2,3 JUMP!!!!!

Chapter 1 – A-town Down

One last go-round in “A”-town, Aurora, IL the place where I had called home for the last eleven years of my life. A last hurrah before I headed to the dirty south, my dad needed some help with his general contracting business he was trying to get up and running in North Carolina, so before I left I had to do it only how I can do it, big. I had become accustomed to living an uncontrolled life, that at this point I was surprised I hadn’t died from an overdose or taken out in a deal gone wrong.

I was well known in local groups at various places throughout Aurora, mostly the bar scene, and tonight’s venue The Muddy Duck Inn, in Iowa I was Mike “the Tank” because of my ability to bong a beer or three at the same time. I was known of course for one thing. I had countless contacts all over the Chicagoland area for that fire yayo, cocaine. Not the best thing to be known for but nonetheless, it felt good being known. It was part of the reason I decided that leaving the place I called home for some time was for the best and could save my life.

I finished showering. It was getting later less than twenty-four hours before my flight left but the night had yet begun. I was meticulous as I got ready to go out, as always, I was referred to by most that knew me as a metro sexual, always put together. The night called for only the best. I selected my royal blue button down neatly pressed including sharp pressed sleeves, dark washed denim jeans, brown leather belt with western style buckle and for the shoes the all-white Puma racing shoe Ferrari Editions, you could say I had a style about me. The scent for the evening was to be Polo Blue by RL, this scent often got me fondled and nuzzled by just about every woman I encountered when I wore it.

I was still relatively young, only twenty-seven years of age five foot nine inches tall, broad athletic build although a little bit of a gut, dark dusty brown hair with the deep dark eyes that you could not make out if they were brown or as black as the pupils at their center. I wasn’t much to look at as far as I was concerned, but I had a draw to me that I couldn’t understand. I wasn’t loud or outspoken, most of the time quiet but I was respected by most. Maybe it was charisma or something I didn’t know, nor did I understand it. I fixed my hair with the signature flared up bangs, double checked my ensemble, splashed on some more cologne for longevity and exited the bathroom at my mom’s house.

I could tell my mom was sad but relieved that I was relocating to the Carolinas, she had witnessed my first fall from grace. My mom was a saint among mortal men, she got divorced from my dad after he cheated on her while on assignment in Vietnam with a local Vietnamese woman Rose. She left Hawaii with my younger sisters Tiffanie and Amanda and myself to start anew in Aurora where most of her family was located. We had very meager means after we moved back she made eight dollars an hour working in the mailroom at Caterpillar and had climbed her way up to roughly thirty dollars an hour with little to no help from my dad. She managed to buy a house on her own and raised my sister’s and myself quite successfully and willingly. Tiffanie, Amanda and I did not make it easy for her with my visits to jail, having my son at an early age, my sisters all bearing children and my mom assuming the responsibility to help her children as they struggled. She was my hero, although I did not voice it.

I stepped out onto the front porch of my mom’s house, took a cigarette from the pack of Camel Blues in my pocket, lighting it as I moved it towards my lips, with a deep inhale. Awaiting the arrival of my always partner in crime, Uncle Dave to arrive, he pulled up shortly after I had lit my cig he jumped out of his work truck a White Chevy fifteen hundred mid two thousand model equipped with diamond plated tool box. The truck also doubled as his personal vehicle, as he lost everything else to his ex-wife in a divorce, ironically enough Uncle Dave’s boss Woody was his ex-wife’s father and like Dave more than his daughter, which is why he got the truck and a townhome in Sugar Grove that was paid for by Woody minus the yearly property tax which Uncle Dave happily paid.

Uncle Dave was not a stereotypical partier by his looks, but I tell you what, looks are deceiving. Dave often wore a RL polo of varying colors; he had many, RL blue jeans with the polo tucked in with the classic saddle shoe, the manly kind. Dave was very put together and looked more like my dad than my friend, he had the pronounced receding hairline with the remaining light brown hair. He was former Air Force Pararescue, so he was in good shape for being mid-forties in age, he struggled with coming to terms with his age mostly because of his receding hairline. He also had somewhat of a past, his brother had drowned in the Fox River, one of the main flows of water that ran north to south and extended into Wisconsin. This added to his complex as he blamed himself for his brother’s death.

As we departed heading to the truck before closing the door behind us we waved good-bye to my mom, nieces and nephew. My mom yelled behind us, “don’t get into trouble, remember you got a flight to catch tomorrow afternoon.” This was her common dialogue whenever I left the house, she usually asked” what are you doing?”, to which I would reply sarcastically,” shooting black tar heroin, getting some hookers.”, she would just shake her head.

We drove down the street toward North Ave and hung a left toward Broadway also referred to as Route Twenty-Five. Broadway was the main thoroughfare to downtown, our destination was only minutes away from my home, seven to be exact. Left on New York Street past the glimmering gem of Aurora the Hollywood Casino, two more lefts and we park. As we walked down the street toward Leland Towers, where the Muddy Duck Inn was located on the ground floor right of Galena Boulevard. I remember when the bar was first opened by one of my former co-workers Malik, his associate Brad and a silent partner from Geneva, IL just a few towns north of Aurora. The bar had since changed hands to a new owner John, a big burly redheaded man name Kevin, Brad was gone, and Malik had ventured off to Atlanta, GA he needed a break from Aurora and a change of scene.

We walked through the corner door of the Muddy Duck Inn, we were met by my good friend Hugo and bottles of Bud light my beer of choice after being converted from Miller Genuine Draft. There were heralds from other people in the Duck, and now as I sit think they hold no significant bearing in the scheme of things, looking back they are more like faceless ghosts of a past removed. None the less I liked the attention my trio commanded, Hugo and myself were once competing factions in the bar coke scene but our friendship grew from respect, he was connected to a well-known gang in the Chicagoland area the Latin Kings by way of his older brother Abel who had taken a murder rap when he was seventeen. Hugo decided to partner up with me based on one event where people waited 2 hours for my bags to come even though there were two other dealers with bags on hand. With that friendship I was given access to places you just don’t go unless you are affiliated, I never had the need for any criminal ties. I was a lone wolf for the most part, Ronin if you will, a masterless samurai.

As we walked around the bar stopping at the many groups that all knew us, people that I once held in my inner circle for no other substantial reason other than they knew my name. Acknowledgment is a seductive drug that no one can resist. It makes you feel powerful, successful, loved and respected, having bystanders look at you in wonder, asking themselves, “who is this man, why does he command this audience?” It's intoxicating to say the least.

We drank and drank until we felt that urge, that tingling almost like Spiderman. We weren’t superheroes by any means, at least not yet. Uncle Dave made the call and we went on a mission. Growing up in A-town we could find any illicit substance our hearts desired. We wanted that much coveted “white girl”,” booger sugar”, and we found it in minutes. We went to see one of our friends , Joel, on the east side of Aurora. We walked up to the second landing of a duplex step inside, placed our order in minutes, it was ready, and we were on our way.

In the midst of our return Hugo called and told us that we were moving the get-together to his house he lived just minutes from where, uncle Dave and myself were, by Broadway and Ashland Avenue across from Marcley’s Gas Station. Hugo pulled in behind Dave's truck minutes after we arrived with cases of beer in hand. I grabbed a case from Hugo as we walked up the steps to his house. Hugo’s house sat on a hill with and ominous view looking west, it wasn’t a majestic view, but nonetheless there was a beauty to it with the vast view of the high-pitched roofs popping through the trees, the industrious view of closed shops, old apartment rivers with the Fox River setting mid gaze. We entered the house and walked to the back where the kitchen stored the beer in the refrigerator, taking a few from an open case, and cracking them open. Dave pulled the eight ball from his pocket, broke it into two even piles, one for me and one for him. We chopped out a few lines for the three of us lined up and snorted that fine powder, up, up and we were off.

A few other people showed up to the house for my final night in town, no one of any consequence. We reminisced on all the times we had in Aurora, the night of our big house party at Uncle Dave’s that one hundred twenty five people as speculated by The Beacon News article written about it, the random girls that myself and Hugo managed to go home with, the hot tub hotel party with Uncle Dave, my girlfriend Brittani, Jessica Brittani’s friend and Uncle Dave and our times at The Office our original watering hole. We continued until the wee hours of the morning until about four-thirty in the morning, when I had Uncle Dave Drop me off at home.

I walked upstairs to the loft bedroom in my mom’s house for a short nap and to pack all my things prior to my five PM flight to Raleigh. As I packed my things I thought about all the reasons I was leaving, to get out of my rut in life, to gain some direction. The main reason was to give my son Bryan a less tumultuous upbringing, my son’s mom Bree and myself had a very adversarial relationship constantly fighting over Bryan. The final straw on my end occurred when I received a phone call from Bree’s brother Ricky antagonizing me calling a piece of shit father, also relaying some new information to me on the health of Bree,” That kid has been in the hospital watching his mother fight for her life.” he said, this was news to me as I had been calling every weekend previously asking to see my son. “Just disappear you, MOTHER FUCKER!!!! Don’t ever come back.” Those words resonated through me without hesitation. I replied,'' That's what I’m doing, don’t call or contact me again, my son will want to know the truth and will seek me out on his own one day.” Those words still echo through my ears 'till this day and have haunted me ever since.

My sister Tiffany arrived home from work, she was going to drop me off at the airport, my mom wanted to but as always was working. I loaded my red and black duffle bag into the trunk of her black sedan, hopped in the passenger seat and we were off to O’Hare Airport traveling up I88. We spoke sporadically throughout the drive, I was still hung over from the night before, but wanted to take in all the places that I hung out at and made so many memories along the way, we passed Oak Brook where The Bamboo Room was located, dollar you call its every Friday and Sunday night for hospitality industry night. We moved on to I294 towards O’Hare Airport going under the McDonald’s where I stopped with my former boss Jerry and the manager of the Dunkin Donuts & Baskin Robbins Garfield or “G” as he was known, when I worked at Umberto’s Pizzeria in the mall when I was seventeen. Shortly after my sister pulled up to curbside check-in at O’Hare Airport, curbside was bustling as always, people jostling one another for position in the kiosks to get checked in for their flights. I was always extra early for everything, so this was no different, I had two and a half hours before my flight departed.

I moved quickly to get my bag check-in, the security checkpoint moved at a decent pace, and the militant style at which it ran was much needed due to the volume of O’Hare Airport. I made my way to gate C-17 and put my headphones in. Jesse McCartney” Leavin” began to play, as I watched the crowd pass my head moved to the sound of the music in my ears, I would catch myself singing aloud. I loved music and loved to sing out loud, it may have to do with my Asian side or the fact that in my younger years I spent quite a bit of time singing in church with the youth choir.

I meandered over to one of the restaurant’s store fronts and ordered a quarter pound combo meal complete with my soda of choice Dr. Pepper. I sat and consumed my meal, within a record time I ate like a soldier at chow in basic training. I was always eating my food fast, so I could get back to the important things or what I thought were important things. I finished my food and grabbed my cup, dripping condensation as I walked back towards my gate forty-five minutes ‘til boarding. I sat quietly looking out the window towards the gate hypnotized by the blinking lights of the runway wondering what this new venture would bring.

A voice came over the speaker, “Flight 4162 to Raleigh-Durham, now boarding.” I gathered my things into the pockets of my jeans and moved toward the boarding doors. I was tired at this point and was looking forward to my seat and the two-hour flight to catch up on some much-needed sleep. I worked my way down the narrow aisle of the Boeing 737 to my seat, I sat looking out of the window as the plane backed out of the gate heading out toward the runway, the engines cranked up to full throttle and the plane tore off down the runway as I heard the wheels pull up and the plane steered toward the east, I was out like a light