Soul Mates

Soul Mates

A Novel By

Thomas Melo

-To my loving wife, Heather, and to all of my grandparents:

This one’s for you.-

Tyler Swanson: The Child

Chapter 1

“Well, hello there! It’s so nice to see you again! The feeling isn’t mutual? Aww, well, I can live with that; I can live with that just fine, and 
have
 for quite some time, as a matter of fact. Fine as the hair on a babies arm, haha! That’s pretty fine isn’t it? Can’t say I blame you given your position, in all honesty. I can tell that you’d prefer I dispense with the pleasantries and aural claptrap and tell you what you’re doing here. Very well then
.
Hot? It 
is
, isn’t it? Well, I prefer it that way if I may be frank for a moment or tw
o–
and you should take advantage of my moments of candor because they aren’t in abundance, I don’t mind telling you! I typically prefer a guile approach. Yes, I love the heat. It keeps my powder dry, as they say. I used to live in Las Vegas, Nevada: Sin City, as the perceptive call it. Yes, I liked that city just fine. I mean, what’s not to like? There’s gambling, remarkable nightlife, women or me
n–
whatever your fancy may be, and among other things, the Super Chasm. Why, that’s the best attraction of them all…in my unpretentious opinion. I’ll tell you a fascinating story about it in a bit.                                                        

Anyway, there was a common misconception that I used to hear all the time when I lived in the glamorous and deliciously decadent city of Lost Wages. Care to guess what it is? Yes! You just earned yourself a hearty pat on the back! Of course: the myth of lawful prostitution. Yes, many people come to Las Vegas to dabble with ladies of the evening (or men for that matter. Why isolate half the population’s needs and desires in a capitalistic society; am I right? Of course I am.) Yes, within the confines of the Clark County provincial lines, prostitution is not, I repeat, NOT legal. But we all tend to do things that aren’t exactly within the sometimes ashen confines of right and wrong, don’t we? How utterly mind-numbing life would be otherwise, yes?              

Ok, ok! We’ll get to the Chasm, not that it needs any introduction
s–
as I’m sure you’re all aware, haha
!–
but it is a significant part of the story I want to share with you anyway. This story you’re about to hear is one of my favorites, well, in recent years anyway. I have a profusion of stories in my repertoire, as I’ve been around the block quite a few times. You would think I would have written a book by now! Anyway, this story is about man, a New Yorker turned Nevadan, in fact, named Tyler Swanson. Maybe you’ve heard of him. Ha! But of course you have! I’m afraid he is indisposed at the moment, but he’ll actually be joining us in a little while. Isn’t that exciting? It’ll really tie the whole story together, believe me. Good old Tyler. He really lived quite the Cinderella story…sort of, hahaha!”

Chapter 2

             
 
So, our ‘friend’ began to tell his (quite literally) captive audience the story of the infamous Tyler Swanson. I will share with you the same story, but spare you from the purely venomous tropology in which our “friend” will share the same tale with his obligated audience as much as I can. In some instances, however, it simply can’t be helped. Let us begin then.

Chapter 3

Ever since elementary school, little Tyler Swanso
n–
well, little in terms of stature; he had a few extra pounds on him as a young la
d–
although his handsome face and dark brown hair picked up the slack that his extra weight adde
d–
led the typical cruel life of a slightly introverted, somewhat overweight growing boy who was rising through the ranks of grade school. The name Tyler didn’t help his social life either. Even at the young age of eight he would be regularly reminded by his peers that “Tyler was a fag’s name.” Tyler’s parents, Ray and Cindy (Ray in particular) didn’t agree with the bully’s consensus of his only son’s name. One night when Tyler was lying in bed, waiting for sleep to wash over him and carry him on to a new day where perhaps things would be a bit better with the kids at school, Tyler heard his parents discussing this very issue.              “Tyler isn’t a
 fag’s
 name, Cin,” Ray proclaimed sipping a condensation spotted diet soda from the can.                                                         “I don’t think so either, but you know kids; they mock what isn’t familiar to them, or even what 
is
 familiar to them! Also, Tyler isn’t your typical boy’s name like Mike or John.”

              “I mean, it’s not like we named him 
Skylar
, you know? Little bastards,” Ray added and whipped up a carbonation-charged belch.              Both Ray and Cindy had a good laugh at that one, (the Skylar quip, not the belch) but prudent Cindy didn’t lose herself to the point where she forgot to remind Ray that Tyler was sleeping just upstairs, and that they should keep their voices down.

Tyler was the type of child you would love to have as your ow
n–
as long as you are the type of person who 
wants
 children. It may come as a surprise to you to find out that contrary to what society pushes, not everyone needs to have a child to reach optimum fulfillment in their lives. Truth be told, many people who have children should not, but I digress.  

You know the type of child I’m speaking about. He was the type of child/student that would boast five-week progress reports from his teachers that informed his parents that he was “a pleasure in class” and who always “works conscientiously” but children like this also come with their fair share of baggage, don’t they? Children such as Tyler Swanson would often come off of the school bus with tear stained cheeks and with those, inflame
d–
crimson eyes from the constant mocking from their peers every so often; perhaps more frequently than that. The incessant teasing would more often than not come from a little piss-ant (pardon the language, but I despise seeing good kids picked on) that the teased (Tyler in our case) could make quick work of if he wanted to, but is too pleasant and polite a child to do so. Yes, Ray and Cindy taught him well as far as how a young boy should act, but left much to be desired when it came to teaching Tyler to stick up for himself. It’s not that they disapproved of it; it’s just that they didn’t really think to educate him thoroughly in that arena. 

I’m sure it will come as no surprise to learn that Tyler was not a member of the popular clique in school. That is not to say that he didn’t have friends; he did, but he and his friends were not going to be athletes or prom kings in the latter grades that awaited them. You could just tell even at that age. 

Even at the kindhearted age of eight, the constant nuisances that waited for Tyler almost every day at school took a toll on him. Tyler was raised by two wonderful parents, with plenty of love to go around, not only for him, but for each other as well. That is important when you are trying to shape the life of a growing boy such as Tyler. It is not only important that 
he
 receive unconditional love and attention, but that he is also in the presence of said love and affection even when it isn’t directed at him, per se. I don’t think it takes a team of Sigmund Freuds to reach that conclusion. 

Tyler took his licks in school just like any other child. You would be hard pressed to find a child growing up in modern times or the days of old who didn’t have a nemesis that would make them tip-toe around the halls of their schools and duck into hidden alcoves in the gym locker room that only “the bullied” had discovered out of necessity. If you believe the contrary, I have a bridge to sell you, and since you look like a nice person, I have a really special price I’d be willing to let it go for, if you’re interested. 

After coming home from school with one too many bruises, Tyler’s father suggested some martial arts classes so that his son could defend himself and perhaps build some self-esteem and confidence. There was only so much that phone calls from the Swansons to the parents of the “little shits” (Ray’s words) would do. After all, someone raised the child in a way to turn him into a bully (little shit), didn’t they? Of course Cindy wasn’t too keen on the idea, but even she could see the benefits in such a course of action. There are pros and cons in any endeavor worth doing. 

So, Tyler took jiu-jitsu for a few years. He did very well with it for awhile, too.  He earned a green belt, which is more or less an intermediate rank. He even broke his first wooden board with his bare hands in order to receive the belt.  Pride gleamed from him at that moment; so much, in fact, that he hardly felt the bruise that had instantly started to develop on the heel of his hand. Much to Tyler’s parent’s delight, the intended byproducts of martial arts training began to manifest themselves. His self-esteem and confidence increased significantly. Instead of walking to the bus stop staring at rocks he intended to kick down the street as he walked, he was always walking with his head up and shoulders back while surveying his surroundings. He no longer gave off the filthy stench of a mark, but exuded the air of a barely pre-adolescent who wasn’t going to be taken advantage of. No fucking way. Not 
this
 Tyler; not anymore. This is not to say that martial arts transformed Tyler into a hard (now) twelve year old who made a bully tremble when they simply heard the foreboding name: “Tyler Swanson” whispered through the halls of Neil Armstrong School District. Not at all; but bullies typically choose the path of least resistance because they are pussies, put directly. There’s some simple unadorned equivalence at its best, just for you. In other words, they choose to pick on easy targets; targets who would stand there and take it rather than fight back. Once the word was out that Tyler wasn’t just going to grin and bear it anymore, the number of bullies he had to tolerate dropped considerably. 

Tyler finally left the jiu-jitsu program when he was engaged in what was called 
kumite
 (simulated fighting) and his leg was hurt by his opponent. His sensei (teacher) had yelled at him to keep fighting when Tyler could barely put any weight on his leg until the pain had dissipated. He never wanted to go back after that lesson in humility. It wasn’t the pain of being kicked in the leg. No, surely he had endured more pain from bullies that were actually 
trying
 to hurt him in a 
real
 fight. What impacted him the most was the dressing-down that the sensei had given him in front of the entire class. He was humiliated, almost to the point of tears. It was the shock of a grown adult yelling at him, and the fact that there was an audience, which was something to which a boy of Tyler’s temperament was not accustomed. So that was it; no more jiu-jitsu, but he had already taken plenty out of the classes anyway. 

When Tyler turned twelve, he had received a bb gun for his birthday. Like most young boys, he had grown up playing War with sticks vaguely shaped like handguns or high-powered rifles, and tossed clods of dirt like hand grenades. He had been on his parent’s backs about finally getting one. This was another debate that Ray and Cindy had, and yet another debate that Cindy lost. 

“I promise that I’ll only shoot at cans and stuff in the backyard,” Tyler had negotiated.

“No ‘stuff’. 
Cans
 like you said, Ty; I’m serious! Remember what I told you about the rabbit when I was your age? Obviously I never forgot that, right?”

Tyler looked down at his shoes, feeling sorry for the unforgotten rabbit his father had told him about.

“What do you think, Cin?” Ray asked, as if he didn’t already know she was odiously against it.

“You know what I think already, Ray. This is your thing, not mine,” Cindy sighed.  “Just be careful and don’t fool around with it; and 
never
 shoot it in the house or your father will throw it away.”