The Truth

It all started with a horrendously rainy night. There was no way I was making it home that night through the chaos. It was as if the gods were punishing us insignificant humans for all the destruction we have caused on Earth through the centuries. Or maybe, just maybe, it was a special punishment for me. Seeing as how I was tormented by the fact that I couldn’t write a single decent page all freaking day. I am a writer; therefore I have a lot of free time on my hands. I set goals for myself, a specific number of pages to be written every day. With this kind of discipline I was bound to come across my New York Times best seller wasn’t I? Well, as I sit here and write out this story for you strangers of the world, I can distinctly recall that day was one of the worst I’ve ever had when it came to writing. I sat in front of the computer in my writing apartment… Okay you’re probably reading this like what the hell is a writing apartment? Well, I quickly learned early on in my career that I was not going to be the type of writer who could write in bed. The only way I could get any work done is in the apartment I rent specifically for writing. Yeah, the extra rent can be a bitch some months where I’m tight on cash but I figure when I finally create that masterpiece the apartment will pretty much pay itself off. Just a sacrifice for greatness, as I thought of it. Now that I sit there writing what I consider my “masterpiece” for you strangers of the world. I must admit it was a pretty stupid idea. I have no idea what I was thinking. I could have just as easily sat in a Starbucks. It’s not like I had a 9-5 and had to be anywhere. If you’re wondering where I get this money from you are right…I come from the Monroe fortune….BUT I want nothing to do with my families money. I will make it on my own. I even write under a different name….Colton Baldovini as opposed to Monroe. But I digress… I sat in front of that computer in my writing apartment that day with nothing but frustration and writer’s block. Why couldn’t I find a better way to phrase that sentence? Why did I come up with such a mundane topic to write about? Where was the originality? I think the sound of me hitting the backspace button made a bigger impact than the actual crap on the screen I called writing. Now every time I tell this story to a close friend I always seem to think the gods have a sense of humor for this. As I sat there ready to throw that 1500 dollar computer out the second story window, I said with more conviction than Johnny Cochran, “I will not go home tonight until I have my New York Times best seller!” I struggled the rest of the afternoon and most of the early evening. I focused more on the music I had on in the background than the actual writing. I went back and forth between classics like “My Girl” by The Temptations and “The way You Look Tonight,” by Frank Sinatra. All in an effort to be inspired by love, heartbreak, ANYTHING! The supposed creative juices were as dead as all my childhood pets buried in my parent’s backyard. That’s what brought me to my car that night. I Figured I might as well go home and shake off whatever plague was preventing me from creating. Like I said it looks like the gods weren’t really feeling the idea of me going home that night without a masterpiece of a story. Sorry America….the greatest book you ever read just wasn’t born that night. The rain pounded against my windshield so hard that I thought the whole damn thing was going to cave in. That was just what I needed that night, broken windshield and to sit there and get soaked. I guessed the bar was a better option than being stranded in a piece of crap blue car, the size of a cardboard box, parked on a side of a highway on a rainy night. Walking into Tony’s Pub was destiny. I was meant to walk into that bar and meet Tonya. I sat on that worn out brown leather stool, asked Big Tony for a beer. The moment I pressed the glass to my lips and felt the foam on my top lip I heard a small black book drop right next to my foot. I slowly picked it up for the young, attractive, and mysterious woman sitting next to me. The rest I like to think was history. The history of how I found my New York Times Best Seller.

“Thank you Mr.…”

 “Baldovini and you’re welcome.”

 “Well thanks again Mr. B, without this no one would know the truth.”

 I stared into her dark brown eyes for what seemed to be the most fleeting moment as she looking down at the black book in the hands. She seemed to be drunk out her mind already.

“The truth?” I asked.

 “Yeah, I didn’t stutter, the truth. I wrote down every detail of the truth in this little black book. Otherwise no one would know what they did.”

 I looked at Big Tony, “Yo! big guy, how freaking long as she been sitting her drinking? Since July?”

 “Got me bub, could’ve been a couple hours. I’m not gonna lie to you I collect money I really don’t give a rats ass how long they sit here. I mean the broad still looks pretty damn good for being drunk out her ass don’t she?”

 The look on my face spoke for itself. Big Tony has always been a bit of a pig, ugh why do I even keep coming back to this bar?  Just as I took out my own journal to weakly give one last attempt at concocting some mediocre story idea that’s when she began the conversation that will forever be engraved into my soul and burned into my memory.

“Hey, Mr. B? Why do you have such a need to because this huge amazing writer? Don’t cha think the world has enough blabber mouth’s that just never know when to shut the hell up?”  Now to any writer reading this story, I’m sorry, I told you she was drunk out her ass. “Well Tonya, I don’t know what hack-job writers you have met or even what God awful books you have read but we aren’t all like that.”

She let out a veracious laugh, “We? Have you even had anything published or do you always sit around bars looking this pathetic?”

“Jesus lady, I don’t know what side of whose bed you woke up on, I don’t even know if they gave you decent enough sex but don’t take your crappy unsatisfied life out on me. You can go fuck yourself. You don’t know the first thing about me to try and sit here and peg me.”   She continued to laugh like the little asshole she was. Granted she was hot, I mean what guy isn’t going to take a minute to check out the ass on this chick, God you could’ve ate a meal off her perfect ass, but damn that wasn’t the point she was a big old douche and she was ruining the buzz from my beer. “Mr. Baldovini, What do you want to be your legacy when you pass?”

That definitely was a morbid question and the weather outside definitely fit the morbid theme. “Well… Tonya, I’d say I’d want the world to remember me by my writing. I want to create a masterpiece. A New York Times Best Seller that will forever engrave me in the history books. Something spectacular, hard hitting, a huge phenomenon.”

“Well Colton, the world will know your name anyway, with the butt load of family money you have. Isn’t that enough for you? Or are you like all those other tortured souls that need to prove to the world that they are their own person…blah blah blah…it gets a little boring after a while Colt I gotta say.”

“What the fuck?! How the hell do you know about my family money or anything?! Are you a freaking stalker or something?” As you can see people she was a REAL creep.

A smirk spread across her face making a crack through all that caked on make-up she had on that night. Like seriously chicks let’s stop for a second, please someone tell me what in hell makes you broads think us guys actually like that much make up? We don’t…just reminds of creepy clowns. You basically remind me of a creepy Stephen King novel.

“Sweetie, I’m gonna just put this out there for you because I got a LONG commute back home and well let’s just say my superiors aren’t going to be too happy with what I’m about to do. My actual name is Asteria, I am a goddess and well for the last thirty years of your life, I’ve been your little guardian angel from the elders. I have saved you from eternal damnation with the way you have disowned your family. Family is the most important things to us gods besides loyalty. You possess neither of these qualities.”

I looked around to see if anyone but me was seeing how far gone this chick really was. I kid you not these were her exact words. I stood there bug eyed but somehow found a way to write down her name and the word goddess. I mean hey the chick might be off her rocker but this could have been a pretty decent story, maybe I could’ve sold a short piece to a magazine to rake in some cash. She once again stared into my eyes as though trying to read my thoughts, or even implant a thought maybe? A smirk once more took over her face, “Look Colt, I don’t got time for this, with what I’m going to show you and the rest of humanity. Like I said, I’ve been protecting you for the last thirty years and now the elders have found out. They have taken my powers and condemned me to death. I no longer have anything to lose here so why not just tell you the truth.”

She pushed the black book across the bar over to my hand. Although she was drunk out her ass this whole I’m a goddess crap was kind of intriguing. I let her pass her little gibberish to me and let her be on her way.

“Now remember, when you read this manual no one can be around. This is the material you have lacked all these years. I am finally giving you all you have ever wanted, don’t abuse it, and for the love of all gods stop being such a pretentious douche, you come from money waaa waaa. Get over it! I just want you to know one thing, I’ve seen you grow up, I’ve protected you as if you were once of us. I am the last goddess to be with man, you are the last man. That will be your legacy if you follow the instructions in this book the way I meant for you to. Through my damnation comes your legacy.”

 I looked down at the book and back up to her brown eyes but she was gone. I looked at the door but it was long closed behind her. I looked around to see if anyone noticed the book besides me. I opened the hard cover and each and every page was poor gold. Right before my eyes was an expose on the gods we have come to blindly follow. What they are really like, what we don’t know about them. That my dear friends is how I came to be known to you today as New York Times Best Selling author of “The Gods We Follow,” Colton Baldovini. I never did see that Tonya woman again, I guess with the making of the book the other gods really did say ‘Off with er head!’ That was 40 years ago now, and there is not a day that passes that I do not think of that mysterious, reckless, and overall pain in the ass goddess. There’s not one day that passes that I don’t thank her for my little gift of the knowledge of the gods.