I wrote a book: self-reflection through fiction
Fall 2023 and Spring 2024, Fiction Writing Project with the guidance of a UC ProfessorLike 81% of Americans, I have always wanted to write a book and like 15% of Americans I’ve started writing one. But now I can say that am a part of the infinitesimally smaller percentage of those have finished one (well finished the first draft of one at least). What began a year ago in the summer of 2024 when I was wishing to do something productive during the slow hours of my remote co-op has become the largest project I’ve ever pursued.
My work falls as the odd genre boundary of fantasy westerns. There’s gunslinging, there’s battles, there’s sorcerers, but the goal behind the work is to deal with the questions of how technology impacts society, the gap between generations in a modern world, and what the children of today do when their futures were already used up by those before them. The goal is to land somewhere between pulp and actual meaningful meditation.
I have a particular sort of distain for the kind of talk about “what if” or “what if we actually did” or “I had this idea once.” I want to live of life of having done things not having started things. It was this fear that this would once again be something I started and dropped that come Fall 2023 made me resolve to wage war against the entropy that is human laziness. For that reason, I created my class schedule to give me time to write in the morning and made the project into an honors experience so that I was forced to find a mentor. And an amazing mentor I found.
In a move of uncharacteristic boldness, I cold-emailed the UC professor that taught the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writing course: Professor Anessa Ibrahim. What followed was eight months, 160,000 words, lots of meetings, and even more emails. In late March of 2024, I officially completed the first draft.
Now, Professor Ibrahim has become Dr. Ibrahim. Our monthly meetings have been replaced by bi-weekly meetings I attend with the Cincinnati Fiction Writing Group. My time spent writing ebbs and flows, now certainly an ebb as schoolwork ramps up, but soon it will flow again, and I’ll spend too much time typing on my keyboard.
The work is not done. In fact, it is very, very far from being done, but the truth is finishing it isn’t really a choice anymore. I have to do it, because then I can write another and another until the day I can’t anymore because writing has become a pillar of my life and for that I feel very grateful.
At the age of thirteen, Isidro had not the words to say it, but alone with his tools he felt closer to a god than a man. In that dusty back room of the Clementa family home he sat for hours over his workbench. His thin, puckish fingers danced across gears and springs, disassembling and reassembling the pocket watch until he could name every way it worked and every way it could break. The other boys in Alaxaco had started working the cattle ranch or taking up their family trade, but this one pocket watch presented enough mysteries Isidro was ready to commit a lifetime to understanding. Even then he was sure of that, as long as he had his work, he would be content in this life. His work and a place undisturbed to practice it.
KNOCK.
Isidro bolted up from his slouch, dropping the hairspring he’d been so carefully applying tension to. He was about to yelp but stifled the noise before it escapes his lips. Perhaps if I just remain quiet, he thought, they’ll think no one is here and leave. How wonderful would that be if they could just leave him alone.
KNOCK.
Then a second and a third then ten more in a rhythmic pattern. Whoever was no behind that door was no quieter. Isidro took a long breath, welling up enough courage inside of himself to face another member of the human race, before he grasped for his cane. As he eased out of the stool, the floorboard squeaked beneath his feet. As soon as he put any pressure on his bowed leg, it seized up. He should’ve expected that. Isidro dropped back onto the stool, grabbing his left thigh, and massaging as hard as he could until the cramp loosened.
KNOCK.
Leave me alone! he thought but didn’t dare say. Perhaps it just a delivery man at the door, a very zealous delivery man. Yes, by the time Isidro reached the other side of the room he’d open the door to find only a harmless package sat on the stoop. No talking, no interaction, just grab the package and get back to his bench. More likely though, it was someone here to complain.
Somewhere along the way, the townsfolk had gotten the notion that anything from dust storms to droughts to a bad bean in their soup was the fault of Isidro’s father. He’d had to handle more than a few housewives, who also had a penchant for aggressive knocking. It was a painful affair dealing with those, but at least there was a kind procedure to guide him from beginning to end in those encounters. There was something else that could be behind that door, something Isidro dreaded far more than any angry housewife.
KNOCK.
His bowed leg finally behaving, Isidro willed himself back up onto his feet. He made his way across the room in his three-step hobble, half dragging his bowed left leg, until he could reach a hand out and grab the knob.
“Please”, he muttered to himself, “Please, please, please let there be no one behind this door.” He cracked it open.
“Mornin’ Isi!” Another hand grabbed the edge of the door and swung it open the rest of the way. Isidro’s heart drop. His feet felt ten pounds heavier. This was it, the worse possible thing that could have been behind that door: someone his own age. The fact Isidro recognized the boy was just salt on the wound. His name was Carlos, a boy with peculiar compulsion to pick up buttons or stones or whatever he was at the right angle to see glitter. It was a famous habit of his around town, famous enough that even Isidro in his backroom knew about it, famous enough to have earned him the nickname of Crow.
“Got your stuff here,” said Carlos, “Don’t worry about pinchin’ coins, your pa already paid my ma for the lot.”
Isidro stared silently, forgetting to mask his feelings of annoyance and peril at being confronted with the debilitating burden of conversation. Like himself and most everyone who lived in the town of Alaxaco, Carlos was Valdish. His skin was brown, his hair black, and his ears had the notable feature among the races of man of growing in the pointed oval of a leaf. That, however, was where the similarities stopped. The boy on the other side of the door had fingernails full of dust, dirt, and the other foul things of that color. Life on the ranch had sucked his skin close to the bone and coiled muscle already grew on his arms. In comparison, Isidro looked a more sickly and gaunt thing than he already was.
“Thank you, Carlos,” he said curtly, hiding himself behind formality. His voice was little more a mumble. “My father will let you know if we need anymore…umm…”
“Chicken breast,” said Carlos, not even trying to stifle a snicker at the word breast.
“Right,” said Isidro, letting his words sit dead in the air, unsure if they could even be heard. Carlos just continued standing there, smile frozen as he tried to process the sudden icy distance between him and a boy of his same age. “You can just call me Crow, you know.” he finally said. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
“I’ll stick with Carlos.” said Isidro.
“That’s ok too.” There was a long silence. Isidro kept staring at his shoes. Carlos kept smiling, occasionally sticking his tongue through gaps where he’d lost a tooth.
“When’s your leg going to get better?” he finally said.
“What?” Isidro looked up.
“Your leg, you know the one that bows all funny.” Carlos pointed to make his point clearer. “Me and other boys are waiting for you to get better, so you swim in the creek with us.”
“My leg? Carlos my leg isn’t going to get better.”
“Oh. Right. I didn’t know.” Now it was his turn to look at his shoes.
Another long silence, a silence so grating on Isidro’s ears. This time it was Isidro’s turn to speak.
“You know I better shut this door I don’t want to let all the heat—”
“So, what do you do in there all day?” Carlos blurted out. He was back to smiling too. “For me I start the morning milking the cows, then usually the boss tells me to go pick up the eggs and feed the chickens. Sometimes I feed the pigs too. I don’t like that as much, those pigs ‘ill bite just about anything you put near their mouth.” He lifted a pant leg to reveal a bandage around his ankle. “A fat gilt me real good the other day. Anyway, what all you got in there?” Carlos stood up on his toes, peering over Isidro to get a better look. If things were bad, they were worse now. When did my hands get so hot and clammy, he thought. Isidro hesitated, too anxious to be blunt, too poor with words to handle it with grace, so he just stood there in same continuous silence.
“You alright Isi?”
The silence got to the point it was even worse than talking.
“I um…” His mind was too frazzled to lie. “I work on my pocket watch.”
Carlos’s eyes went wide.
“You got a whole clock in your pocket?” he said. “Man, I bet they don’t even have those out east!”
They do, thought Isidro. Everyone in the east does, everyone but our little town at the edge of civilization.
Carlos said nothing further, instead he walked right into the back room. Isidro went to stop him, but his run was slower than Carlos’s walk.
“So, you know all about clock then huh?” said Carlos, standing worryingly close to the workbench. “You know I found a few things in the dirt I think must’ve been part to some clock.” He dug in pocket and emerged with a palm full of bits of scrap and metal shavings.
“No, I don’t think those are clock parts,” said Isidro finally catching up. “That one is a bent nail.”
Carlos gave the pile a closer inspection.
“Oh. Guess you’re right,” he said, stashing the scrap back into his pocket. Then he did the unthinkable. He picked up the pocket watch. “So, is this is the tiny clock?”
“Put that down!” Isidro said, snatching it out of Carlos’s hands. “Careful! Ugh! Your hands are filthy and you’re touching the glass! And you’re…you’re…” Carlos was looking so apologetic; Isidro lost his grip on annoyance.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” said the boy. “I’m real sorry, Isi.”
“No,” said Isidro, letting out a long sigh. “You’re fine. It’s just…it’s my only one. They’re fragile. I’ve already nicked it in a few places.”
“You know, Isi. This is a lot a more badass than milking cows.”
“Badass?” Isidro blushed a bit at the mention of foul language.
“Yea, it’s pretty badass you know about all this stuff.” Carlos said, studying the workbench from a distance with an aggressive squint. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Intellectually stimulating, satisfying complex, that’s how Isidro would describe his work. Badass though? To describe clockwork? He was at a loss of words and thankfully so. Without any of his usual verbal crutches he said something he’d never thought he’d say.
“I could explain some of it to you.”
Five years later and Carlos was still his only friend.
**********
The town of Alaxaco sat past the Monzula River at the far western edge of Ravidia, sometimes right on the border, sometimes a few miles within it, and other times a few miles outside of it depending on the whims of the cartographer. The border remained the same, it was the town that moved. That had always been the case for the Valdex region, the homeland of the Valdish people. Even after it was annexed by Ravidia fifty years before, no one had bothered to fully survey all of its dustland and chaparral. So, every year new maps were made, and every year some new cartographer took a guess at which two patches of bramble the town of Alaxaco sat between. It really made no difference; the land was flat enough that if one trotted on their horse long enough they were like to stumble upon the town one way or another. And if one was to go through all the bother of trekking out all of that, they might as well make the trip worth it by paying a stop to the storefront right between the town bank and drugstore. There sat Westman Tailoring, the finest tailoring shop in all of Ravidia.
“Are you excited young man?” said, Martz Westman, proprietor of the name stake establishment. He folded a piece of the ranger uniform and snipped it with his scissors.
“Well…” Isidro forced himself to smile. “I mean of course—"
“Sorry, dumb question. Of course you are excited! We’re all excited for you Isidro. Isn’t that right darling?”
Minnie Westman sat in the corner, sipping on a tall glass of sweet tea.
“Of course,” she said. “Very excited!” Minnie had a soft way of speaking and a habit of fluttering her eyes lids that made Isidro blush. Growing up a look at Minnie Westman had been all it took to teach Isidro the lesson that a person could be beautiful. Martz had made her a new dress, black with small dots on it, tailored to accommodate her growing belly. Any other time the pregnancy would have been the talk of the town, but in light of the recent news it was all but forgotten. Minnie seemed relieved if anything.
“Thank you again,” said Isidro from his chair. “The both of you. You didn’t need to do this.”
“Thank you?” said Martz, opening a draw and picking out a brass button. “Young man this is the least we can do! Plus, I must admit there is a bit of self-serving in it all. When people see a Stagwell Student in such fine clothing they’re like to ask how they’re like to get acquire some of it for themselves. You have to think like a businessman.” Martz tapped the side of his head. “You’re going to be our walking advertisement.”
The mention of Stagwell man Isidro’s stomach turn, but Martz still got him to crack a smile.
“Gladly.” Being stuck waiting around a talker like Martz was Isidro’s own personal version of hell, but somehow the tailor seemed to always get a grin out of him. All four of the Westman’s, soon to be five, were all like that: quirky. It made sense, though, to explain how a family of Nokans had found themselves living all the way out in the Valdex. For the Valdish it was their pointed ears that was their name seek feature, but for the Nokans it was their gray skin. Martz and Minnie had eyes like emeralds and skin the color of stone. It grew darker at her hands and feet where it ended in black nails, not pitch black, but the ashy black of charcoal and the same color of their coarse hair. Nokan were not native to this part of the world, let alone this continent, but ask any Alaxacon and they’d say the Westmans were as much as part of this town as the dirt under their boots and the dust between their teeth.
“Now I ain’t ever been to Blythewater,” said Martz. “But see I’ve got to keep up with latest fashions. I’ve heard a thing or two about that place and it just seems one step in the future compared to the rest of us. Rumor they’ve got some fancy new technology that pulls a cart no horse required. Minnie you grew up there you ever see anything like?”
“Oh, that was a long time ago,” she said, “but I don’t remember anything like that.”
Martz shrugged.
“Well, you’re just have to see for yourself Isidro and report back to us. I’m sure you’ll love it there, I’m sure. Food will be delicious, sleep in a feathered bead, brush elbows with the rich and powerful. Hell, you might even meet the Lord-President himself.”
“If I do I bet he’ll ask about my suit,” Isidro.
“Oh, now wouldn’t that be rich!” Martz laughed. “You know I heard a joke that went something like that once.”
It was at that point Isidro knew to ignore the tailor. Martz Westman had a reputation for talking about anyone to death. The only person who seemed able to sit through one of his “jokes” was Minnie. Isidro turned his attention to the glass front windows of the tailorshop to the porch. There in rocking chair was Martz’s father, old man Marv Westman enjoying his own glass of sweet tea and a cigarette to pair it with.
“There he is!” shouted Martz. Isidro turned to see Carlos step out of the backroom.
In the past five years Isidro had grown in much the same way the Mesquite trees did, longer and lankier. His dislike of eating had only added to that fact, but all those extra servings made Carlos much the opposite. He had grown well into himself with a broad chest and sharp features, features that made him look all the more a man in the maroon and navy ranger uniform.
“What do you think Isi?” Carlos couldn’t suppress a grin as he slowly rotated around. The Uniform of the Ravidian Ranger Corp was lighter than a typical infantry on account of the western climate. Carlos had been fitted with a navy-blue shirt and khaki trousers. His shoulder had two strips of maroon epaulettes and another maroon strip of fabric tied around his neck in a hankercheif.
“If I saw your riding up the border I’d turn around and go running back to whatever hole I came from,” said Isidro. “You look great Carlos.”
“They said I’ll get my boots and hat at boot camp.” Carlos panted his hip. “And my sword.”
Martz lifted his scissors and swung in a slow arc. “Have you ever seen a Ranger so dashing, Minnie?”
“I don’t think I have.”
Carlos looked away at compliment, turning a bit read. Isidro knew he felt the same way he did about Minnie Westman.
“Exactly,” continued Martz. “I say you’re like to put Captain Lewis and his boys to shame, Crow.”
“Why you don’t you head back now Isidro,” said Minnie.
“Yes, yes, mom doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Go on Isidro.”
Carlos reached down helped Isidro up out of the chair by the forearm, though Isidro insisted on going the rest of the way himself.
The backroom of Westman Tailoring was smaller than out front, only big enough for a raised platform in the middle in front of three mirrors in a triptych. Standing at the desk, laying out strips of fabric stood Mae Westman, Martz’s mother and the face of the Westman family. She was an older woman now, plump, with charcoal hair now mostly as gray her skin. Her black dress was simple, accented only by the yellow tape measure hanging around her neck. The real intrigue though were the two charms that hung from her ears, traditional Nokan braid work around two pieces of glassy stone. No on Alaxaco had seen anything like that and they weren’t like to see it again.
“There you are dear.” Mae took out a long ruler and tapped the raised platform. “Why don’t you go ahead and stand in front of the mirror for me.”
Isidro did as he was bid, though it took him a moment to get himself up.
“Thank you, Mrs. Westman for doing all this—”
“Save your thanks, dear. You’ve more than earned this.” Mae began to pace around him, looking him up and down. “The least you can do is look half excited about it. You look sour, dear.”
“Oh sorry. I’m…just nervous.” Isidro had forgotten to smile.
“Nervous, yes. You should be.” Mae took out her ruler and began to measure his arm. “The east is different world than you’re used to.”
“Martz was telling me about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure the man was. That man breaths through his ears.” Mae smacked Isidro’s butt with her ruler. “Stop slouching! Or else the measurements won’t be right.”
“Sorry,” said Isidro.
“Sorry? There is that word again. A bit of advice, dear. Lose that habit before you get to the city.” Mae wrapped the tape measurement around Isidro’s chest. “Breath out,” she said.
Isidro did.
“Martz has never been so far as east of the Monzula river, but as a girl I saw Blythewater with my own eyes. It’s where my family got off the boat.” Mae ran the tape measure down Isidro’s back. “What did I say about slouching.”
“Sorry— I mean…I won’t slouch anymore.”
“Mhmm,” said Mae. “As I was saying I’ve seen Blythewater. It is a different world there. A world of incredible opportunity and incredible competition. You may be a cut above Isidro, but nobody knows that until you tell them. I say brag, speak fast and honest. In a place like Blythewater, you burn a bridge, simply go find another one.”
Isidro was going from anxious about the whole thing to full of abject dread.
“What was it like traveling across the entire nation?” said Isidro, hoping to change the subject.
“Few things came compared to seeing the full stretch of this land. I was just a girl then and I still remember it. One day I’d like to see the rest of this continent, hopefully before they put me in my grave. I suggest you soak it all in.” Mae took a few more measurements then scribbled them onto a piece of paper and seal it into an envelope. “Here. Take this. They’ll fit you for a uniform at the University. They’ll want to take their own measurements, don’t let them. They’ll insist, you insist back. Say your own tailor took care of it and hand of this. Understand?”
Isidro nodded.
“Good. Martz will deliver the clothes to your house.” Mae reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “And remember to smile tonight, dear. The whole town is cheering for you.”
My work falls as the odd genre boundary of fantasy westerns. There’s gunslinging, there’s battles, there’s sorcerers, but the goal behind the work is to deal with the questions of how technology impacts society, the gap between generations in a modern world, and what the children of today do when their futures were already used up by those before them. The goal is to land somewhere between pulp and actual meaningful meditation.
I have a particular sort of distain for the kind of talk about “what if” or “what if we actually did” or “I had this idea once.” I want to live of life of having done things not having started things. It was this fear that this would once again be something I started and dropped that come Fall 2023 made me resolve to wage war against the entropy that is human laziness. For that reason, I created my class schedule to give me time to write in the morning and made the project into an honors experience so that I was forced to find a mentor. And an amazing mentor I found.
In a move of uncharacteristic boldness, I cold-emailed the UC professor that taught the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writing course: Professor Anessa Ibrahim. What followed was eight months, 160,000 words, lots of meetings, and even more emails. In late March of 2024, I officially completed the first draft.
Now, Professor Ibrahim has become Dr. Ibrahim. Our monthly meetings have been replaced by bi-weekly meetings I attend with the Cincinnati Fiction Writing Group. My time spent writing ebbs and flows, now certainly an ebb as schoolwork ramps up, but soon it will flow again, and I’ll spend too much time typing on my keyboard.
The work is not done. In fact, it is very, very far from being done, but the truth is finishing it isn’t really a choice anymore. I have to do it, because then I can write another and another until the day I can’t anymore because writing has become a pillar of my life and for that I feel very grateful.
Exercept: Chapter 4
At the age of thirteen, Isidro had not the words to say it, but alone with his tools he felt closer to a god than a man. In that dusty back room of the Clementa family home he sat for hours over his workbench. His thin, puckish fingers danced across gears and springs, disassembling and reassembling the pocket watch until he could name every way it worked and every way it could break. The other boys in Alaxaco had started working the cattle ranch or taking up their family trade, but this one pocket watch presented enough mysteries Isidro was ready to commit a lifetime to understanding. Even then he was sure of that, as long as he had his work, he would be content in this life. His work and a place undisturbed to practice it.
KNOCK.
Isidro bolted up from his slouch, dropping the hairspring he’d been so carefully applying tension to. He was about to yelp but stifled the noise before it escapes his lips. Perhaps if I just remain quiet, he thought, they’ll think no one is here and leave. How wonderful would that be if they could just leave him alone.
KNOCK.
Then a second and a third then ten more in a rhythmic pattern. Whoever was no behind that door was no quieter. Isidro took a long breath, welling up enough courage inside of himself to face another member of the human race, before he grasped for his cane. As he eased out of the stool, the floorboard squeaked beneath his feet. As soon as he put any pressure on his bowed leg, it seized up. He should’ve expected that. Isidro dropped back onto the stool, grabbing his left thigh, and massaging as hard as he could until the cramp loosened.
KNOCK.
Leave me alone! he thought but didn’t dare say. Perhaps it just a delivery man at the door, a very zealous delivery man. Yes, by the time Isidro reached the other side of the room he’d open the door to find only a harmless package sat on the stoop. No talking, no interaction, just grab the package and get back to his bench. More likely though, it was someone here to complain.
Somewhere along the way, the townsfolk had gotten the notion that anything from dust storms to droughts to a bad bean in their soup was the fault of Isidro’s father. He’d had to handle more than a few housewives, who also had a penchant for aggressive knocking. It was a painful affair dealing with those, but at least there was a kind procedure to guide him from beginning to end in those encounters. There was something else that could be behind that door, something Isidro dreaded far more than any angry housewife.
KNOCK.
His bowed leg finally behaving, Isidro willed himself back up onto his feet. He made his way across the room in his three-step hobble, half dragging his bowed left leg, until he could reach a hand out and grab the knob.
“Please”, he muttered to himself, “Please, please, please let there be no one behind this door.” He cracked it open.
“Mornin’ Isi!” Another hand grabbed the edge of the door and swung it open the rest of the way. Isidro’s heart drop. His feet felt ten pounds heavier. This was it, the worse possible thing that could have been behind that door: someone his own age. The fact Isidro recognized the boy was just salt on the wound. His name was Carlos, a boy with peculiar compulsion to pick up buttons or stones or whatever he was at the right angle to see glitter. It was a famous habit of his around town, famous enough that even Isidro in his backroom knew about it, famous enough to have earned him the nickname of Crow.
“Got your stuff here,” said Carlos, “Don’t worry about pinchin’ coins, your pa already paid my ma for the lot.”
Isidro stared silently, forgetting to mask his feelings of annoyance and peril at being confronted with the debilitating burden of conversation. Like himself and most everyone who lived in the town of Alaxaco, Carlos was Valdish. His skin was brown, his hair black, and his ears had the notable feature among the races of man of growing in the pointed oval of a leaf. That, however, was where the similarities stopped. The boy on the other side of the door had fingernails full of dust, dirt, and the other foul things of that color. Life on the ranch had sucked his skin close to the bone and coiled muscle already grew on his arms. In comparison, Isidro looked a more sickly and gaunt thing than he already was.
“Thank you, Carlos,” he said curtly, hiding himself behind formality. His voice was little more a mumble. “My father will let you know if we need anymore…umm…”
“Chicken breast,” said Carlos, not even trying to stifle a snicker at the word breast.
“Right,” said Isidro, letting his words sit dead in the air, unsure if they could even be heard. Carlos just continued standing there, smile frozen as he tried to process the sudden icy distance between him and a boy of his same age. “You can just call me Crow, you know.” he finally said. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
“I’ll stick with Carlos.” said Isidro.
“That’s ok too.” There was a long silence. Isidro kept staring at his shoes. Carlos kept smiling, occasionally sticking his tongue through gaps where he’d lost a tooth.
“When’s your leg going to get better?” he finally said.
“What?” Isidro looked up.
“Your leg, you know the one that bows all funny.” Carlos pointed to make his point clearer. “Me and other boys are waiting for you to get better, so you swim in the creek with us.”
“My leg? Carlos my leg isn’t going to get better.”
“Oh. Right. I didn’t know.” Now it was his turn to look at his shoes.
Another long silence, a silence so grating on Isidro’s ears. This time it was Isidro’s turn to speak.
“You know I better shut this door I don’t want to let all the heat—”
“So, what do you do in there all day?” Carlos blurted out. He was back to smiling too. “For me I start the morning milking the cows, then usually the boss tells me to go pick up the eggs and feed the chickens. Sometimes I feed the pigs too. I don’t like that as much, those pigs ‘ill bite just about anything you put near their mouth.” He lifted a pant leg to reveal a bandage around his ankle. “A fat gilt me real good the other day. Anyway, what all you got in there?” Carlos stood up on his toes, peering over Isidro to get a better look. If things were bad, they were worse now. When did my hands get so hot and clammy, he thought. Isidro hesitated, too anxious to be blunt, too poor with words to handle it with grace, so he just stood there in same continuous silence.
“You alright Isi?”
The silence got to the point it was even worse than talking.
“I um…” His mind was too frazzled to lie. “I work on my pocket watch.”
Carlos’s eyes went wide.
“You got a whole clock in your pocket?” he said. “Man, I bet they don’t even have those out east!”
They do, thought Isidro. Everyone in the east does, everyone but our little town at the edge of civilization.
Carlos said nothing further, instead he walked right into the back room. Isidro went to stop him, but his run was slower than Carlos’s walk.
“So, you know all about clock then huh?” said Carlos, standing worryingly close to the workbench. “You know I found a few things in the dirt I think must’ve been part to some clock.” He dug in pocket and emerged with a palm full of bits of scrap and metal shavings.
“No, I don’t think those are clock parts,” said Isidro finally catching up. “That one is a bent nail.”
Carlos gave the pile a closer inspection.
“Oh. Guess you’re right,” he said, stashing the scrap back into his pocket. Then he did the unthinkable. He picked up the pocket watch. “So, is this is the tiny clock?”
“Put that down!” Isidro said, snatching it out of Carlos’s hands. “Careful! Ugh! Your hands are filthy and you’re touching the glass! And you’re…you’re…” Carlos was looking so apologetic; Isidro lost his grip on annoyance.
“I didn’t mean nothing by it,” said the boy. “I’m real sorry, Isi.”
“No,” said Isidro, letting out a long sigh. “You’re fine. It’s just…it’s my only one. They’re fragile. I’ve already nicked it in a few places.”
“You know, Isi. This is a lot a more badass than milking cows.”
“Badass?” Isidro blushed a bit at the mention of foul language.
“Yea, it’s pretty badass you know about all this stuff.” Carlos said, studying the workbench from a distance with an aggressive squint. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Intellectually stimulating, satisfying complex, that’s how Isidro would describe his work. Badass though? To describe clockwork? He was at a loss of words and thankfully so. Without any of his usual verbal crutches he said something he’d never thought he’d say.
“I could explain some of it to you.”
Five years later and Carlos was still his only friend.
**********
The town of Alaxaco sat past the Monzula River at the far western edge of Ravidia, sometimes right on the border, sometimes a few miles within it, and other times a few miles outside of it depending on the whims of the cartographer. The border remained the same, it was the town that moved. That had always been the case for the Valdex region, the homeland of the Valdish people. Even after it was annexed by Ravidia fifty years before, no one had bothered to fully survey all of its dustland and chaparral. So, every year new maps were made, and every year some new cartographer took a guess at which two patches of bramble the town of Alaxaco sat between. It really made no difference; the land was flat enough that if one trotted on their horse long enough they were like to stumble upon the town one way or another. And if one was to go through all the bother of trekking out all of that, they might as well make the trip worth it by paying a stop to the storefront right between the town bank and drugstore. There sat Westman Tailoring, the finest tailoring shop in all of Ravidia.
“Are you excited young man?” said, Martz Westman, proprietor of the name stake establishment. He folded a piece of the ranger uniform and snipped it with his scissors.
“Well…” Isidro forced himself to smile. “I mean of course—"
“Sorry, dumb question. Of course you are excited! We’re all excited for you Isidro. Isn’t that right darling?”
Minnie Westman sat in the corner, sipping on a tall glass of sweet tea.
“Of course,” she said. “Very excited!” Minnie had a soft way of speaking and a habit of fluttering her eyes lids that made Isidro blush. Growing up a look at Minnie Westman had been all it took to teach Isidro the lesson that a person could be beautiful. Martz had made her a new dress, black with small dots on it, tailored to accommodate her growing belly. Any other time the pregnancy would have been the talk of the town, but in light of the recent news it was all but forgotten. Minnie seemed relieved if anything.
“Thank you again,” said Isidro from his chair. “The both of you. You didn’t need to do this.”
“Thank you?” said Martz, opening a draw and picking out a brass button. “Young man this is the least we can do! Plus, I must admit there is a bit of self-serving in it all. When people see a Stagwell Student in such fine clothing they’re like to ask how they’re like to get acquire some of it for themselves. You have to think like a businessman.” Martz tapped the side of his head. “You’re going to be our walking advertisement.”
The mention of Stagwell man Isidro’s stomach turn, but Martz still got him to crack a smile.
“Gladly.” Being stuck waiting around a talker like Martz was Isidro’s own personal version of hell, but somehow the tailor seemed to always get a grin out of him. All four of the Westman’s, soon to be five, were all like that: quirky. It made sense, though, to explain how a family of Nokans had found themselves living all the way out in the Valdex. For the Valdish it was their pointed ears that was their name seek feature, but for the Nokans it was their gray skin. Martz and Minnie had eyes like emeralds and skin the color of stone. It grew darker at her hands and feet where it ended in black nails, not pitch black, but the ashy black of charcoal and the same color of their coarse hair. Nokan were not native to this part of the world, let alone this continent, but ask any Alaxacon and they’d say the Westmans were as much as part of this town as the dirt under their boots and the dust between their teeth.
“Now I ain’t ever been to Blythewater,” said Martz. “But see I’ve got to keep up with latest fashions. I’ve heard a thing or two about that place and it just seems one step in the future compared to the rest of us. Rumor they’ve got some fancy new technology that pulls a cart no horse required. Minnie you grew up there you ever see anything like?”
“Oh, that was a long time ago,” she said, “but I don’t remember anything like that.”
Martz shrugged.
“Well, you’re just have to see for yourself Isidro and report back to us. I’m sure you’ll love it there, I’m sure. Food will be delicious, sleep in a feathered bead, brush elbows with the rich and powerful. Hell, you might even meet the Lord-President himself.”
“If I do I bet he’ll ask about my suit,” Isidro.
“Oh, now wouldn’t that be rich!” Martz laughed. “You know I heard a joke that went something like that once.”
It was at that point Isidro knew to ignore the tailor. Martz Westman had a reputation for talking about anyone to death. The only person who seemed able to sit through one of his “jokes” was Minnie. Isidro turned his attention to the glass front windows of the tailorshop to the porch. There in rocking chair was Martz’s father, old man Marv Westman enjoying his own glass of sweet tea and a cigarette to pair it with.
“There he is!” shouted Martz. Isidro turned to see Carlos step out of the backroom.
In the past five years Isidro had grown in much the same way the Mesquite trees did, longer and lankier. His dislike of eating had only added to that fact, but all those extra servings made Carlos much the opposite. He had grown well into himself with a broad chest and sharp features, features that made him look all the more a man in the maroon and navy ranger uniform.
“What do you think Isi?” Carlos couldn’t suppress a grin as he slowly rotated around. The Uniform of the Ravidian Ranger Corp was lighter than a typical infantry on account of the western climate. Carlos had been fitted with a navy-blue shirt and khaki trousers. His shoulder had two strips of maroon epaulettes and another maroon strip of fabric tied around his neck in a hankercheif.
“If I saw your riding up the border I’d turn around and go running back to whatever hole I came from,” said Isidro. “You look great Carlos.”
“They said I’ll get my boots and hat at boot camp.” Carlos panted his hip. “And my sword.”
Martz lifted his scissors and swung in a slow arc. “Have you ever seen a Ranger so dashing, Minnie?”
“I don’t think I have.”
Carlos looked away at compliment, turning a bit read. Isidro knew he felt the same way he did about Minnie Westman.
“Exactly,” continued Martz. “I say you’re like to put Captain Lewis and his boys to shame, Crow.”
“Why you don’t you head back now Isidro,” said Minnie.
“Yes, yes, mom doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Go on Isidro.”
Carlos reached down helped Isidro up out of the chair by the forearm, though Isidro insisted on going the rest of the way himself.
The backroom of Westman Tailoring was smaller than out front, only big enough for a raised platform in the middle in front of three mirrors in a triptych. Standing at the desk, laying out strips of fabric stood Mae Westman, Martz’s mother and the face of the Westman family. She was an older woman now, plump, with charcoal hair now mostly as gray her skin. Her black dress was simple, accented only by the yellow tape measure hanging around her neck. The real intrigue though were the two charms that hung from her ears, traditional Nokan braid work around two pieces of glassy stone. No on Alaxaco had seen anything like that and they weren’t like to see it again.
“There you are dear.” Mae took out a long ruler and tapped the raised platform. “Why don’t you go ahead and stand in front of the mirror for me.”
Isidro did as he was bid, though it took him a moment to get himself up.
“Thank you, Mrs. Westman for doing all this—”
“Save your thanks, dear. You’ve more than earned this.” Mae began to pace around him, looking him up and down. “The least you can do is look half excited about it. You look sour, dear.”
“Oh sorry. I’m…just nervous.” Isidro had forgotten to smile.
“Nervous, yes. You should be.” Mae took out her ruler and began to measure his arm. “The east is different world than you’re used to.”
“Martz was telling me about it.”
“Oh, I’m sure the man was. That man breaths through his ears.” Mae smacked Isidro’s butt with her ruler. “Stop slouching! Or else the measurements won’t be right.”
“Sorry,” said Isidro.
“Sorry? There is that word again. A bit of advice, dear. Lose that habit before you get to the city.” Mae wrapped the tape measurement around Isidro’s chest. “Breath out,” she said.
Isidro did.
“Martz has never been so far as east of the Monzula river, but as a girl I saw Blythewater with my own eyes. It’s where my family got off the boat.” Mae ran the tape measure down Isidro’s back. “What did I say about slouching.”
“Sorry— I mean…I won’t slouch anymore.”
“Mhmm,” said Mae. “As I was saying I’ve seen Blythewater. It is a different world there. A world of incredible opportunity and incredible competition. You may be a cut above Isidro, but nobody knows that until you tell them. I say brag, speak fast and honest. In a place like Blythewater, you burn a bridge, simply go find another one.”
Isidro was going from anxious about the whole thing to full of abject dread.
“What was it like traveling across the entire nation?” said Isidro, hoping to change the subject.
“Few things came compared to seeing the full stretch of this land. I was just a girl then and I still remember it. One day I’d like to see the rest of this continent, hopefully before they put me in my grave. I suggest you soak it all in.” Mae took a few more measurements then scribbled them onto a piece of paper and seal it into an envelope. “Here. Take this. They’ll fit you for a uniform at the University. They’ll want to take their own measurements, don’t let them. They’ll insist, you insist back. Say your own tailor took care of it and hand of this. Understand?”
Isidro nodded.
“Good. Martz will deliver the clothes to your house.” Mae reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “And remember to smile tonight, dear. The whole town is cheering for you.”