GRIND (The Silver Nitrate Series Book 1) (27 page)

“That’s okay.” Zenith shrugged. “No big deal. So, my boss said you’ve already worked with these kinds of nickel alloys before. No need to go over that, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t need to go over that.” The older man waved him off as if that was an old hat he’d worn eons ago. “I had stopped welding for like ten years but just got back into it… I’m almost sixty years old.” He cracked a grin, yet it seemed misplaced, perhaps forced.

“Well, why would my boss say I need to train you then? If anything, you could tell me a thing or two, right?” Zenith spoke loudly over the noise in the shop. He swiped at the damn piece of hair again, tempted to yank it clean out with a hard twist of the hand.

“Nah, things have changed too much…” The man shook his head emphatically before reaching low and curing an itch on his ankle. His thick soled boots were worn down on the inner curve of his feet and the boot laces appeared stiff, tight with age. “I’m not as young, not as fit.” With an exasperated sigh, he got back to his feet. “I have to start over in some ways.”

“Why’d you leave the field in the first place?” Zenith sat down at his bench and the man followed suit, mimicking his stance.

“Had a midlife crisis and wanted to try something else,” he said in a light-hearted but sincere tone. “How old are you if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“I’m thirty.”

The man looked him up and down, seeming to come to some decision.

“You’re still young enough…”

Zenith wasn’t certain what the guy was driving at, but the air got thicker, and the dark got darker, and the mood became heavy, confusing, tinged with something unknown. Words became shadows, seen but disturbing. He stood a bit straighter and crossed his arms as they simply stared at one another. He imagined this was one of those moments in time his grandfather had told him about… when someone would come bearing gifts or curses, and sometimes you wouldn’t find out until it was too late.

“What else do you like to do?” the man pushed on, this time, his tone soft and gentle, like hair falling upon his forehead… but annoying all the same.

“Music,” he said curtly, looking at the man with his chin up, establishing his dominance, regardless of the fucker being his elder. Sharks came in all shapes and sizes, and age never mattered when it was time to feast.

“Music? You like it, huh?”

“I do.”

“Yeah? Most people like music. Never met anyone that didn’t like some sort of music… That’s kinda vague.” The guy rolled his tongue around in his mouth, pushing the prickly, dense facial hair that covered his right jaw like cactus spurs. “Are you passionate about welding?”

“In some ways I’d say I am. I like working with my hands. I’d never be happy cooped up in some office.”

“Yeah, I get it… but, when you wake up in the morning, what’s the first thing you think about? What’s on your mind?” the man pushed on, staring him in the eyes, not backing down. The sparks from a nearby flame and the gritty sounds of a blade cutting through hot sheet metal created ruckus in his ears. He never cared about the sounds before, but right here, right now, they were distracting him, causing irritation.

How my head hurts from a hangover. That’s the first thing on my mind most weekend mornings.

“Coffee.”

“And what else?”

“…And if I have time to practice for at least ten minutes.”

“Practice? Practice what?”

“Music. That’s what I meant earlier. The drums. I play the drums with a local band… some friends of mine.”

“Ahhh! Okay,” The man cracked a broad grin. “It makes sense now. You should see your face right now, you know that?”

“Why’s that?” Zenith forced a smile, still feeling a strange sense of uneasiness.

“You just lit up when you said you wonder if you have time to practice. I wish someone would’ve told me what I’m tellin’ you right now, back when I was twenty-five or thirty.”

Zenith sucked his teeth. Hard.

“I know you wonder why I’m askin’ you all this stuff. You don’t even know me. You look mad. Did I bother ya?”

“We don’t have a lot of time is all.”

“Alright, I’ll make this fast. Zenith, this job will break you,” he stated solemnly. “It’s the one skill I got though, that I’m good at, you know? But it will burn your body out. It will mess your muscles up. It will age you faster than almost any drug you could take, anything you could drink, and any stress from a woman you might love.”

“That sounds a bit dramatic.”

“I wish it were… Sometimes drama is the truth though. Do what you love, man, and if you don’t love it,
don’t
do it.”

“I like it well enough; besides, playing drums every other weekend don’t pay the bills. I have a mortgage, light bill, a car note, shit I have to pay for.”

“
Find
a way to
make
it pay the bills or find something else you love almost just as much that does.”

Zenith looked at the man long and hard…

Where was this coming from? Why was he doing this to him? What made the man think he was in the mood for a lecture? For some sermon about living wild and free?

“You sound like you hate this.” Zenith shifted his weight a bit.

“I don’t hate it, just should have created other options for myself when I was younger.” He shrugged. “Now I
have
to do it. By the way, I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“I wasn’t late. I was watching you…”

“What, you want to take my place? Get my job so you’re trying to convince me to leave?”

The man burst out laughing.

“No. I was watching you work, man. It took me off guard. They walked me back here and pointed to ya, and just left me there. As I started to walk towards you, I just had to stop. You work fast. I’ve never seen nothin’ like that before. But you’re careful… I like that. You’re very good…
too
good. I didn’t plan to come in here and have this talk. That’s not even like me,” he said. “You don’t know me, and I don’t got no reason to waste your time or mine. Maybe I’m out of line but I was so impressed and what I’m tellin’ you comes from my heart, is all. I have a son about your age. He’s good at fixing shit, but he won’t do it. Instead, he’s at a job he hates and blames the whole goddamn world for it. Anyway, sorry about rambling… When you stood up and looked at the clock, I realized I needed to come on over to you, not keep you waiting any longer. But I don’t want your job, and I’ve probably overstepped my bounds.”

“You have a little bit, but I understand why now.”

“I know it,” the guy said good-naturedly. “But you’re too good at this to be doing this, if that makes any sense.”

“Not really.” Zenith looked up at the clock again then back at him.

He sure likes to talk a lot…

“What I’m sayin’ is that passion needs to be rolled into something else. Welding is a great profession in so many ways, but if you love somethin’ more, something that won’t tear you down while you try to love it up, then do it. Anyway, let’s get started but first I need to take a piss in the worst way. Is there a john in here?” He looked around anxiously.

“Yeah, right over here.” Zenith pointed to the far corner of the room. “It’s pretty grimy though. You might want to take the long walk to the front of the building. These guys go in there and miss the mark, piss all over the damn floors, or jerk off and don’t clean up after themselves.”

Larry laughed lightly and got to his feet. “That’s all right, I’ll just try to not to touch anything.” He disappeared, leaving Zenith to a collection of tightly coiled thoughts, tangling in his mind. The whole damn encounter was odd to its core.

Who the fuck is he? What the hell just happened here?!

He made a face, aware of the sparks of fire dancing all around him.

I’m good at this, he’s damn right. But I’ve heard all of that before, the fact it’ll burn you out. If I could drum full time, I would, but that just isn’t what’s going on right now. I have to be responsible. Life is not a damn joyride. It’s a bunch of bullshit and you get to smile every now and again during the not-so-fucked up days…

Flashes of the older man’s face wrapped itself around his mind. The creases in his skin that made him look ten years older than he actually was… How he’d confessed to leaving, but yo-yoed back because it was all he knew…

He could no longer feel the sweat meandering down his face nor the wayward strand of hair. He couldn’t feel, see, or hear anything other than his own brain tick-tocking. He brought his gloved hands together and drifted further in thought.

I daydream about making it big. I want it so bad, but nothing has happened. Maybe that’s why I’m mad… It isn’t his fault, but his timing was just so fucked up!

Zenith had woken up in a resentful mood that morning…

Paw had kept him up half the night with nonsensical delusions, the kind that caused the man to go out into the front yard with his pajama top on, but nothing else… The old man stood out there with his hands raised to the starlit sky, screaming in a language Zenith had never heard before. Some words were English, some sounded Native, while others seemed preposterous. The entire incident was beyond surreal, and he’d struggled to get him back inside, with the old man clawing at him to let him go. Paw had tears in his eyes as he lashed out, going through conniptions and breakdowns. He had finally gotten him settled, but when he tried to go back to sleep, he was riddled with nightmares. Flashes of his parents’ faces, his grandmother inside her coffin, his grandfather’s grief, and the stress of mounting unpaid bills from when Mawmaw had first become ill… Resentment was a man dressed in gold. That way, he looked more appealing to hold onto, to clutch close to the heart. If he revealed his true appearance, no one would want him around. No one would hold so closely to his garments, and enjoy the bounty of grudges he fed them on a daily basis.

He resented his parents for dying…

He resented being raised by his grandparents, though they’d done nothing wrong and simply loved him…

He resented that most of his relationships failed, regardless of the fact, sometimes it was his own fault…

He resented that women seemed to only want him because he was in a band, and could play music…but he loved the attention all the same…

He resented working his body to death to get a check, regardless of whether he appreciated various aspects of the job and was grateful overall…

He resented not being able to travel the world like he’d dreamed…

He resented how in the past true love had evaded him, and now he had it, but the shit was complicated…

He resented, resented, resented…

His name wasn’t Zenith. Zenith, by definition, meant the highest point reached—it was celestial; planetary, galactic royalty. He didn’t deserve the name, for negativity was low to the ground. Matter of fact, he was the polar opposite; he was Nadir, at a point lesser than the lowest levels any one could obtain. Negativity brought destruction; it was inherently evil, designed to tear DOWN, not UPLIFT or ensure one reached their ZENITH. Negativity didn’t soar, but it soured and birthed festering sores in the soul…

I daydream about me and the guys touring the world. That’s just a pipe dream though, something that only happens to a select few. People say I’m really good at it. I’m good at playing, I know that, but there’s always someone better, maybe someone hungrier for success. Striving for victory all the time will kill you and age you, too; but maybe that’s worth it… Maybe that’s different… Maybe Paw is the one that’s sane and the rest of us are crazy. He is doin’ and saying what he wants… I’m mad at Larry for tellin’ me the truth. He’s a stranger, but what he said was right. That’s why I’m mad. Don’t even matter why he did it… none of it matters.

He looked around the shop, taking note of all the men of various ages, working their asses off in the dimly lit, daunting place. The noises seemed to get louder and louder, almost grating, haunting. There was no rhythmic beat, just a bunch of instruments playing, all out of tune. There was fire, but no passion. There was drive, but no pulse. And then, the strangest thought came to him.

Maybe because I expect the worst all the time, I think the worst of myself, too? Maybe I’m scared to step out on faith and see what happens. Is there a such thing as being too responsible? Maybe… Maybe if I tried a bit harder, put myself out there more, I’d get myself around people who could help me and the band get seen by the right people… Javier turns people off; people want to listen to me though. I know how to talk to people. These bastards not tryna listen to no damn mix tape of our music. I got rappers calling and emailing me all the time askin’ for free beats to give to their producers, but no one wants to invest in us. They just want to use us…

He felt his all too familiar negativity taking him over once more, but this time around, it didn’t feel as comfortable. Matter of fact, it was too fucking tight—restrictive. Resentment wore the emperor’s clothes, and the shit surely wasn’t gold…

Just then, Larry re-emerged to stand next to him, hands jammed into his jumpsuit pockets.

“So, let’s get started, Zen!”

“Don’t call me that. Only my grandfather is allowed to call me that,” he barked, standing up as well.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man looked genuinely remorseful.

“No… I am. Sorry about snappin’ at you. I just really don’t like it when other people call me Zen, because it’s special… his little nickname for me. But I also didn’t get enough sleep, so I’m a little grumpy,” he admitted, trying to soften the blow with a crooked smile.

“It’s fine, I understand.”

“Alright, well, let’s get started. First, let’s get you a helmet and some gloves.”

The man nodded as Zenith led the way.

At that moment, he felt like he was walking into the unknown. He’d been doing this shit for so long, he never questioned it anymore, and marveled at his own skillset. He had goals and dreams career wise that were coming true; why’d he ever want to pull the plug on that now? Truth of the matter, Larry represented what had been haunting him long before Paw ever moved in. It was like the older man had read his mind. As he’d driven to work, sleepy out of his mind that morning and pissed at how Paw had wailed for half the night, he’d thought to himself…