Kindle Edition
Category:
Literary Fiction
Publisher: Harolds Press
Type: Fiction
Pages: 300
Copyright: 11/18/17
Price: $2.50 (eBook)
Ready to end his life, Charlie Owens gets a visit from a Chinese goddess to help him create the life he wants.
“I’m sure at the first sunrise, someone somewhere looked up to the sky and started questioning our existence. Why are we here? How does it all work? How do we get what we want? And the most famous, uttered when a flood wiped out the village, or the hunt didn’t go so well... where are the Gods when you need them?
“I’m Charlie Owens and in many respects, I’m a very lucky guy. I have a brother and sisters who love me dearly and help out whenever I ask. I have friends who believe in my future. In other respects, however, life sucks. So when my my younger sister suggested that I celebrate the Chinese New Year, you could say I was cautiously receptive. As she put it, ‘Every time my friend Joy celebrates it, she has a great year. And every time she doesn’t, it’s crap.’ Hey, how could you go wrong with her best friend, Joy, who’s about as Chinese as they come for someone born and bred in Hoboken, New Jersey.
“Realizing I had nothing to lose, I set out following my sister’s instructions for celebrating the Chinese New Year. And as fate, or the Gods, would have it, the next day was the worst day of my life. I lost my job, got in a car accident, got arrested by the police, learned my car insurance policy had lapsed, learned I had yet again bounced more checks. That was it. I just couldn’t take any more and knew the time had come to end this madness. And so, that night I set about to end my life. But even that went wrong as the oddest thing happened…”
That “odd thing” is the Chinese Goddess, Matzu, savior of lost fishermen, sent to help Charlie learn the skills he needs to create his life as he would have it. As Matzu puts it, in response to Charlie’s disbelief, "If you are in control of your life, why do you not have what you want?"
Together, Charlie and Matzu set out on a journey of discovery. Matzu’s lessons slowly teach Charlie the tools he needs to change his life. Charlie introduces Matzu, who was deified around 988 A.D., to 21st century Los Angeles and a little nectar from the Gods known as a Black Russian... oh, and western dancing. As their relationship blossoms, through Matzu’s teachings Charlie learns something that money just can’t buy. Especially when he realizes he’s fallen deeply in love with a Chinese Goddess.
"A Chinese New Year," is not about the experience of failure, but rather celebrates the art of life. It presents the possibility that the answers to our questions are right there in front of our faces. All we have to do is open our eyes.
Above all else, in a word filled with despair, "A Chinese New Year" offers a heartwarming tale of friendship, love and the nature of a perfect universe.
Excerpt
It was eleven-thirty that night by the time I straightened out the mess with the police and got home. The first thing I did was call my insurance company. Thank god they had a 24/7 claims department. “Good Guys Insurance,” said the reassuring voice through the phone. I’m sure they hire these representatives just for that reassuring quality. After all, they’re dealing with people who are already upset. “Hi, this is Charlie Owens, I had an accident today and--” “Policy number, please.” “HA76055B3” Before I could say another word, there was some sort of Geritol Muzak oozing into my ear. It sounded like a Hollywood Strings cover of an early Muse song, like the video where they’re zombies. A baseline plucked on a viola really doesn’t juice the beat. And who would do something like that anyway? A few minutes later she came back on the line. “Mr. Owens, did you say that accident was today?” “Yes, I--” “Then I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Your policy lapsed three weeks ago.”
“What?” “That’s correct, sir.”
“But I made that payment!”
“Yes you did,” she said with that reassuring ease.
“Listen, lady, I just spent twelve hours at the police station trying to argue my way out of jail because some stupid woman claims I whipped her stupid kid and--”
“Are you calling me stupid, Mr. Owens? I don’t have to put up with that!”
“I WAS HANDCUFFED!” I was fighting for control. “Really, she had huge tears.”
“Sir,” said my sympathetic and reassuring customer care person, “may I suggest Freak-to-Freak chat lines? They’re an Internet site for perverts. This number is reserved for current clients of Good Guys Insurance.”
“I am--”
“Was.” ‘
“Was?”
“Past tense.”
“You’re saying I’m a was? How can I be a was? I can’t be a was. She wants to sue me for a million dollars. That’s not a was. That’s an is.”
“Well, sir, if your check hadn’t come back, you might still be an is. But it did, and you’re not.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY CHECK CAME BACK?”
“Let me see if I can make this clearer for you, sir. Bounced is the correct term. Bad paper? The piggy bank is empty--”
“I get the picture.” My luck. I had to get a claims adjuster that channels Sam Kinneson. “Look, lady--”
Next thing I knew, I was talking to a dial tone.
I slammed the phone down. My face grew hot. Nervous sweat dripped from my forehead, rolling down my cheeks and onto my neck. The light on my answering machine blinked on and off. Someone wanted me. More than one someone, I suspected. My trembling hand reached out and pressed the button. The first was from the local market.
“Mr. Owens, this is the manager of Good Boys market. Your bank has returned yet another check of yours. Please come in and make good on it with cash. Fifteen dollars for the check and another thirty-five for the bank fees. And let us know in advance the next time you plan on shopping here so we can change our address.”
It was getting harder to breathe. What else could possibly go wrong? Well, the next message, for starters, which was from—
“This is Altman! You HIT my wife, you cretin! Didn’t you LOOK? I’m gonna hire the best ambulance chaser in the business! I’m gonna SUE you for a million bucks! I’m gonna make you sorry you were EVER born! In fact, I’m going to TAKE your FIRST born! Of course, if you want to handle this quietly, call me. We’re in the phone book.”
That was scary. With a lapsed insurance policy I was totally responsible financially. A million bucks! Where would I get the money to pay off? I was shaking. My head hurt. My heart pounded so hard I thought I was in cardiac arrest. I knew I was at the beginning of a walloping panic attack. I flinched
“Well, how’s it going?” Judee’s cheerful voice trilled through the speaker. “Notice that your life’s changed for the better? Let me know!”
“How’s it going?” I screeched to the empty room, my mind blasting through emotions faster than a Wall Street banker can steal your money. “How’s it going? I’ll tell you how it’s going!” I grabbed the machine from its perch next to the phone and ripped its chord from the wall. “This is how it’s going!” I spun and fired it as hard as I could across the room where it punched a hole in the wall, yet bounced off it unscathed, skipping across the room. Amazing. You buy them new and they don’t work. You try to break them and suddenly they’re indestructible.
I could take no more. I ran into the kitchen looking for something, anything with which I could end this misery called my life. I pulled my only knife from its drawer and slashed at my wrist. It broke. They don’t make plastic like they used to. Ant poison! The thought slammed into my head at gale force. In the cabinet over the fridge! I raced to it, threw the door open and grabbed the bottle. I tore off the top, tilted my head back, waited for the toxin to drip into my worthless throat. I waited… and waited… and finally… peered into the bottle. Empty. Nothing. Zilch. No wonder the damned ants laughed at me. Anger unabated, I threw it against the wall. It wouldn’t even shatter so I could slash at my wrists with a sharp shard. Damn those soft plastic, childproof bottles! I looked at the oven, but immediately ruled it out.
I looked at the oven, but immediately ruled it out. Electric.
I went through the other cabinets in a flurry, ripping out their contents and dumping them on the floor in search of a proper weapon. Plastic glasses. Paper plates. Rubberized storage containers. Didn’t anybody make anything out of glass anymore?
I was discouraged, but not beaten. I was going to be as persistent as my sister, Judee. And lucky for me, I lived on the second floor. I ran to the front door and threw it open so hard that the handle corkscrewed right through the wall.
“Ha, ha!” I screamed maniacally. “Something to remember me by, Chumley!”
I bolted to the iron railing and leaped atop it, the balls of my feet sitting it more surely than Nik Wallenda on a tightrope. A quick glance down told me if I did this right, I could splat on the patch of concrete between the pool and the plants. Head first. Maximum impact. This was going to be the mother of all temper tantrums.
“Victory!” I screamed to the dark sky. “You can’t keep a good man down!” I swung back my arms, but just as I was about to jump I felt something whiz past me, a rush of air accompanied by a compact package that sailed into the void. A meek voice faded as it fell. “AAAAIIIII!” There was a splash in the pool and a cry that sounded like help.
Well, what could I do? I mean there I was, standing on the edge of oblivion, on the cusp of my own suicide, when some asshole goes and spoils it. I hit the pool with a splash of my own and swam to the drowning victim.
From the size, I was pretty sure she was a woman, but not positive because whomever it was wore a large pointed coolie hat, like the kind you see Chinese railroad workers wearing in old movies. I threaded my arm under hers, a technique learned as a child in Junior Lifeguards, and that’s when I knew she was a woman. There was no mistaking those firm mounds on her chest. She thrashed and flailed at the water -- or me for my intrusion of her privates, I wasn’t sure which -- and the thought struck me that if she didn’t stop, we would both drown.
“Stop fighting me!” I screamed in her ear. “I’m not going to die for you!”
I dragged her to the side of the pool and heaved her up onto the decking. She struggled for air while I did likewise in the pool. I didn’t think anyone had heard us until Chumley’s door opened. He looked out and caught sight of me.
“Jesus, Owens, pool hours end at seven!”
Slam! went his door. So much for the cavalry.
And that’s when all hell broke loose. A door opened and a head stuck out. “Pool party!” he screamed. Doors opened around the building and guys came streaming out, cannonballing into the pool. Beach balls appeared out of nowhere and soon a dozen guys were playing half a dozen different variations of beach ball baseball.
She appeared to be unconscious, so when my strength returned I carried her up the stairs to my apartment. While I had no desire to spend my life with her, the thought occurred to me that I was in her debt. If not for her, I’d only be channeled through the local clairvoyant. Or that damn insurance customer care person…
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