[thekremlin]

I've always wanted to write a serial novel. Nubblies, you're in luck. This, in front of you, is the first chapter of my first effort at a serial novel. I would ask for constructive criticism only, but I am an adult and if you have something negative to say, I can take it. Its working title is "The Dual Lakes Symphony." Please enjoy.




I. Main Street, Howard

Ben Sloane sat in front of Howard Market, watching with slow eyes the quiet Main Street before him. A car passed, a ’96 Accord, and he watched it, just like he watched every car, person, or movement on the street in front of his market. Ben watched the car roll off, heard the tires grind against pavement as it turned right onto Bright Street. He took a long slow sip from his coffee, which had faded from hot to warm to lukewarm in the hour since the sun had come up. Soon it would be time to get up from the picnic bench in front of his store, soon it would be time to flip the sign in his door from Closed to Open, to smile as the early customers trickled in, but the last few minutes of the morning were still there, hanging slow in the morning.

The Accord came back around the corner from Bright and idled in front of the shop. The sun glared off the car’s windows, hiding the driver, but Ben could feel cautious eyes glancing over him. He distracted his own eyes from the car, instead stirring his coffee with a miniature spoon. Finally, the car’s engine stopped and the driver’s door opened.

The driver stood, his head poking over the car and glancing towards Ben. His eyes were nervous, his cheeks were red, soft, untanned. He wasn’t from Howard, Indiana. Or from anyplace like it. His haircut shouted city, the collar on his shirt was still crisp from starch.

“Excuse me,” came the young man’s careful voice. “Could you…”

“Good morning,” Ben smiled, letting the edges of his eyes squint into wrinkles that spread across his face.

The man paused. “Good morning.” He looked around, as if seeing Main Street for the first time. “Could you, ah, could you point me towards Willard's Road?”

Ben nodded. “You’re not far off. “ He gestured down Main with a lazy finger. “It’s the next right down this way, right where you see the Cap Theatre.”

The man grinned, visibly relaxed. “That’s good to hear. I’ve been driving all night, I’m looking forward to getting out of this car.”

“You’re moving to Howard, then?” The man nodded. “Well, then, I hope I’m the first to welcome you. I’ll let Bobby Feeney know to change the ‘population’ sign on the edge of town.” Ben grinned, happy, as only old men and market owners can be, to have a new face in the small town. “Where you coming from?” He nodded at the bench across his picnic table, and the young man slowly came around the car and carefully sat down, as if his pants had never touched hickory furniture before.

“Been outside of Vegas for the past few years. I went to school there, UNLV.” The letters meant nothing to Ben, but he didn’t let it show. No reason for it. “I’ve been driving all night.”

Ben glanced down at his own mug. “Coffee?” The man shook his head.

“I could use some, but I haven’t got any cash and I haven’t seen an ATM yet.”

Ben chuckled, a sound that was both wet and dry, that was knowing but not condescending. “If you’re moving in, I can start you up a tab. Everyone in town has a tab here, and I can tell right off you’re good for it.” Ben stood up slowly, letting his joints ease out of the seated position, letting his ligaments stretch as he stood. He turned towards his store, and before he opened the door, he turned to the newcomer. “What brings you to town, by the way?”

The man looked at him, and for the first time Ben noticed there was something in the man’s eyes that suggested a depth of character, a driven purpose. “I’ll be working at Dual Lakes High School. I’m the new band teacher.”