The Love Chronicles

Chapter three Jack gets a name

Chapter 3

Jack gets a name

Street names are often self-proclaimed or can be given by whoever thinks a name suits someone. Jack’s name came to him on his second day in the city. In his initial wanderings, he discovered several small coffee shops. No longer hubs for internet junkies these shops each were a world in and of themselves with such variety and strange sights they seemed to be the diversion of choice for most everyone.
The shops in River City were just another part of street life and like the street, another place to meet people. Often their popularity limited seating, as was the case this day. This building had become a victim of quirky earthquake standards that were only enforced for a few years. It was themed around massive wooden beams rooted in the floor, then further reinforced to the ceiling by various clunky shackles and cables to complete a rustic look. Other than the originality of some random pieces of recycled wood, inscribed with customer’s personal etchings, the general décor didn’t draw his attention like the colorful audience with their grungy clothing, piercings, and every type of loud behavior. In River City, old fashioned dressing up fell out to dressing down, the exception being eye make-up which generally tended to be overdone. In the case of women, revelation turned uninitiated heads via braless and loose droopy clothing. Many others chose behavior modification that was driven vocally or to even more outrageous exhibition, creating a sometimes loud atmosphere. Coffee shops offered much more than coffee.
Jack pulled Ruby’s name from her nametag to ascertain getting it right and ordered a coffee of the day knowing Greek, his normal choice, wasn’t available in this shop.
“Large?” Ruby asked. Her hazel eyes hinted a playful attitude.
“That would be fine, Ruby, thanks,” said Jack.
As Ruby poured, her eyes drifted up to connect with his. She smiled uneasily, “Sorry, we don’t have Greek; it takes a little longer, I guess if the owner liked it we would probably have it anyway but—“
“Oh no, really this is fine,” he said as he took the cup she slid to him.
Smiling to her, he thought about how nice people were here. His upbringing had taught him to fear bizarre looking people. That warning felt misplaced to him, his reception by the oddballs here felt strangely better than his previous associations. His general comfort with the counter-culture become culture still surprised him. People he’d here seemed to be some of the sweetest he’d ever met. Smiling back at Ruby, he turned around with his cup and saucer in hand.
Upon discerning that all the tables were taken, he barely hesitated to ask a bearded man with a checkerboard in front of him if he wanted to play a game.
“Would you like to play a game,” asked Jack?
“Sure,” the older man replied.
Settling himself into a padded wooden chair across from the man Jack placed his forearms on the mismatched wooden table. Jack tugged on his flannel sleeves until they bunched up to his elbows, then he pulled his long brown hair back cocking it behind his ears. His brown eyes studied his partner. Slightly weathered, but kindly looking, gray had worked its way into the bushy dark hair surrounding his face. His silver eyes looked like a blue that had seen better days. 
Jack said, “I’m Jack. You aren’t somebody I need to be afraid of, are you?”
“That depends on what you are afraid of,” said the older man.
“Not checkers,” he replied.
“Oh, we should be ok then. They call me the Prophet,” the bearded man explained.
“Oh great,” Jack said under his breath. He felt his eyes roll up slightly as he leaned forward and began sliding wooden pieces into place across the game board.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the Prophet asked.
“Smoke first, and yes, I got here yesterday. I’m still looking around, trying to find my place.”
“Searcher...” the Prophet said with an open-ended pause.
“What?” Jack asked.
“Your name, ‘Searcher’, it’s who you are,” the Prophet said.
“Searcher? Humm, I kinda like that.” He smiled as he pushed his black piece out.
“I’m not called to name many, but you are one… Searcher.”
The pause impacted Jack. He had assumed this would be just another polite conversation to pass the time, but it was obvious something else was happening. “Can you tell me what you’re after I don’t understand. What is it… Do you know something?” he asked.
“Very little, actually, I just got an impression of your name,” the Prophet replied.
“How is it that you heard my name?” Jack asked.
“The method of accounting doesn’t matter, one person hears differently from another. A messenger must only be faithful to deliver exactly what is heard in the fashion it is to be given. If proper order is kept, sensitivity becomes greater and sometimes more is given.” The Prophet pursed his lips as if there were more, stopped, raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You have an adventure ahead of you. Some good times, some sweeter than anything you’ve tasted, and some more bitter. But for now… you will be a helper of many.”
“You see much and leave a lot else unsaid. Can you tell me more?” his voice sounded desperate, almost as if he were begging. He showed the Prophet with his uneasy body language that he knew how he sounded, then with a slight shift he eased his posture and cooled out a little.
“I can tell little else, except those you help will bring real passion to you for a life as you’ve never lived, it will awaken your spirit.” Now, Jack felt as if he’d been given more than he asked for.
Continuing, the Prophet added, ”You will have fun too. I’m telling you this because, as responsibility increases, we need to remember to have fun. It cuts down on craziness, something we all need to keep in mind.”
Jack held up his hand in a stop gesture, “Thanks so much, okay now that’s all I want to know. I’m adopting that name, but you’re starting to freak me out a little. Do you want to play checkers?” he asked nodding at the board in front of them.
“Sure, Searcher, that would be fun. You don’t seem to think I’m an ogre, like so many around here do. To be honest, most people are afraid of me and keep their distance. I don’t have many friends.” The Prophet nodded at his piece after he pushed it, “Go ahead, I’m out.”
“I love games, well I like to win; I guess that’s closer to the truth. I am pretty good, I hate to lose though.” Searcher pushed his piece forward and in a force jump, the Prophet took it with a smile. The pace was leisurely and friendly.
“I love sore losers, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Makes it a lot more fun to win.” Prophet winked.
Searcher felt like he’d seen some of the Prophet’s soft underside now.
“So you aren’t all that perfect are you?” Searcher inquired.
“Oh, no, no, no. It only takes a little mystery to make a name for yourself and I have my share of that. Often, it’s just the nature of what I do; I don’t always know what’s going on. So to an outsider trying to make sense of it all, it must seem very mystical. There are moments of that, but for me most of this is so ordinary, I don’t understand why most people see it the way they do.”
“People like to have heroes,” Searcher said.
“Oh, you’re good!” said the Prophet, a little surprised by his insight.
“It looks like you’ve got a double jump coming up,” Searcher said.
“I thank you.” The Prophet had good position for several moves because of his defensive strength and Searcher found himself down seven pieces very quick and in need of some offense to recover position. The Prophet worked the sides forcing Searcher into more bad moves and it soon became obvious that even kings wouldn’t help much because of the Prophet’s good strategy. There wouldn’t be enough mistakes to take advantage of.
“You’re creaming me,” Searcher said.
“I prefer to think of it as training you. This is one of my better games. I could see pretty deep, so as soon as you made a mistake I had a big advantage.” Prophet squinted a little, eyeing the pieces, mostly all his. Pushing in for a king he said, “That’s got to hurt.”
“Actually it does sting pretty bad.”
Stealing his opportunity to gloat Prophet asked, “You want to quit?”
“I concede,” Searcher said.
“I would too. I don’t give up very easily either. Normally I’d go down to the bitter end, but in this case, I’d hate to be on your side. I’d like nothing better than to spend more time with you right now but I have a few things to do yet, my recreation time is about up. Your manner interests me. But, I must bid you farewell for now.” Prophet said as he rose, “It’s always best to leave when you have the advantage.”
“My philosophy, too,” said Searcher.
The Prophet was both kind and gracious. Searcher liked him very much. Chiding the Prophet, Searcher called out to him as he watched him rise and start to turn, “Hey, shouldn’t you have a pointy hat or something?”
“No, I find the hood a lot more effective.” Prophet smiled broadly as he flipped up his brown hood upon leaving.
Searcher watched the Prophet weave his way through the crowded shop. Jack wondered to himself, he’d felt so witty. Something felt different to him, like the first real conversation he’d ever had. Maybe it had been the competition or the intuition. Searcher smiled as he stared down at the board. There rose a sense in him, pushing against the old self (the one he knew) enough for him to realize “Hey, I feel good.” Then another feeling worked into him, a new confidence that pushed him to a different plateau. Forever changed, he didn’t know how to walk in it. He thought of the times when he desperately wanted just to change his mind. Like those times you find yourself stuck in a groove, like the CD that skips in the same place, stuck in endless repeating mediocrity.