The Coastal View

By Thomas M. Willett

On a day like any other, Derrick wakes up to discover that something feels different. He is no longer attracted to bad habits such as smoking and being reckless. He'd rather sit down and mellow out to piano ballads than listen to punk rock. Over the course of one day, he contemplates his identity through key conversations with those that have influenced him

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas M. Willett
• Release date: Sep 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311106339

Thomas M. Willett

I'm a writer based out of Long Beach, CA who enjoys movies, TV, and getting inside your head.

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THE COASTAL VIEW

BY

THOMAS M. WILLETT

The Coastal View

© Thomas M. Willett, 2014

Smashwords Edition

Art Design by Thomas M. Willett

Photo by Andrew Schmidt (Public Domain)

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Dedication:

This short story is dedicated to those who wanted something dedicated to them. It’s your day. Celebrate. Go get some ice cream or shoot some craps with your friends. Don’t let me dictate how you take this honor. Revel in this occasion, for you are loved. When you grow old, look back on this occasion and know that for one moment, you mattered. Now top that. Dedicate something to someone else and recognize how we all influence each other. The world is full of oddballs. To ignore one is to sacrifice hours of material. For these reasons and many more, I dedicate this to you. Enjoy it while you can, because I’m going to start the story soon and I don’t want you interrupting me.

*Author’s Note:

The people and events depicted The Coastal View are fictitious. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental.

The Coastal View

Symptom 1: Restlessness

The sound of a motorcycle outside ran through my head like a jolt from shock therapy. Opening my eyes, I stared at the ceiling and found nothing of value, save for a fly that has been circling this room for who knows how long. As I wiped the seep out of my eyes, I notice that the world was dimmer. Even with my shades pulled shut, I could feel the sun piercing through them as the fan plugged into the wall kept moving things. It occasionally rustled my hair, causing me to shiver. Yet I didn’t pull the covers over my head. I took it like a man, sitting in this dark room and hearing the final cries of the motorcycle blasting generic 80’s rock. It could be Van Halen. It could be ZZ Top. I don’t know music that well. 

As the silence returned, my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. I saw the faint outline of my bookshelf full of random titles I bought from Once Read Books. I bought them to look professional. I needed to put up a front for everyone who walked into my room. My girlfriends would need to see the classics to think that I wasn’t a deadbeat horn dog. I liked to think that having some Jane Austen made me approachable. Maybe the teachings of the Bronte Sisters made me seem sympathetic. Don’t even ask me about Anna Karenina. That is an eyesore that I bought when my pal Josh said that it was at a great price. All that the book ever did was tweak my back when I had to carry it for five blocks to his house. 

There was plenty of excess in my room. Stuff that could disappear and I wouldn’t miss it. I think it came from being a curious teenager; which doesn’t mean that I was ambitious. I collected information just to avoid seeming stupid in front of my father. I remembered the days when I would come home and he was in his recliner with a mug of beer. He would ask about my day. I spent more time pondering what bullshit to tell him instead of having something to do. I was terrible with excuses. I could never