Monday, April 30, 2007

Chapter Seventeen: On a Plain

Edwin Peters entered the Lit Snob reading room and sat down in front of everyone.

"Mr. Peters will be reading from his latest book," Todd said. "A tale of a troubled man who is struggling to find something in his life, but doesn't know what yet. Mr. Peters, whenever you're ready."


He was flying to San Francisco.

He hated planes. He never liked flying for his business' conferences. But he was happy to be where he was. Well, maybe happy. Definitely nervous - apprehensive.

He didn't bring much. One small suitcase with some clothes, deoderant, and his three-bladed razor. For the first time ever, he didn't have anything to check. He didn't even bring his laptop with him.

He checked his cell phone for the time, then checked again for messages. None. It was as if he quit his job, left his family and bolted for tahiti to start over. But he was just flying to San Francisco. He'd been there before a hundred times. For business.

He curses himself for now knowing who else was in that city during all one hundred of those visits. His son. His only son was now waiting for him at the airport in San Francisco. He'd been married before but divorced. He never knew his first wife was pregnant. She'd never told him. Then he gets an email from someone named Daniel Peters - the name of his brother, who died years ago.

Confused, he opened hit to find the message of a man desperately trying to find his father, taking one last long shot after finding the right name on internet.

After a few exchanged emails. A plane was flying to San Francisco carrying the father of Daniel Peters. It was definitely his son. He never had children with his second wife, they never wanted any. But now he's a father.

His life had hit a plateau. He had set himself up so that he couldn't fall from where he was, but had no way of climbing any higher. He was happy, but could've been happier. He was on a plain with no ups or downs in sight.

Until that email.

Now he's leaving that plain, as he enters the airport in San Francisco. He looks around anxiously, and sees a man in his late 20s who looks just like him. In one of Daniel Peters' arms is his wife, or girlfriend, he wasn't sure.

In the other arm was a boy about six or seven, who looks just like him.

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