Initiation

Tom diverged from his usual path home from work. Normally, he would exit the glass doors, making sure to hold it open for any cute coworkers leaving at the same time. He worked at the publishing house for seven years now, working his way up to an Editor-in-Chief position, of which there were only four. He had several employees working under him, but of course, there were still more above. Regardless, he had advanced along his career path, always coming home with the intentions of working on his own novel. But, after feeding his nine year old cat, Greg, walking on the treadmill for thirty minutes, and preparing supper, he was in no mood to continue the story of Hernando’s rebels in the Spanish plains. He had good intentions.

Normally, Tom turned right, passing the hot dog stand. He sometimes bought an overpriced hot dog, but today he turned left, seemingly in the opposite direction from home. Tom envisioned that new scenery and the lengthier walk would give him reason for bypassing the treadmill and diving into the life of a Spanish gang. When he turned left, Tom already found himself with new experiences. Sarah, one of the junior editors in his company, was going the same way. He momentarily thought about following her home and having his way with her. Then he swept the rude thought away and smiled at her.

“Are you sure you’re going the right way, Tom?” Sarah asked.

She smiled brightly, her spaghetti sauce hair overwhelming Tom’s mind.

“A change of scenery.”

“How about a change of scenery at Magellan’s tonight. I’ll be there with some friends. Join me?”

Tom found himself at a crossroads. He could drive ahead towards his goal of writing at least a chapter in his apartment. Or, he could make a sudden turn and see about having some human interaction outside of work.

“I’ll be there. At seven?”

“See you then, Tom,” Sarah said, crossing the street.

Tom grinned to himself, growing cocky. With a bounce in his step, Tom continued along his newfound path home. He took another left after a block, now running parallel to his normal trek. He would have been passing the hidden bookstore. He sometimes spent hours there, finding antique books on politics and mysterious societies. Then the owner would demand he buy the book or get out. He left.

On today’s journey, Tom walked past a graffiti covered asian restaurant. At first, he was appalled, but he noticed that the graffiti was pro-asian. There were crab rangoons and Chinese food containers. Chinese characters were painted across the restaurant walls. Tom appreciated the creative attention-grab. Just beyond the asian restaurant is a center for teens, to draw them out of gangs and bad neighborhoods. Tom looked back into his childhood. He entered the local gang at twelve years old. His initiation involved shoplifting from a mechanic.

When he was caught in the act, the mechanic sent Tom to a similar teen center. There, Tom weaned off of his violent tendencies. Still, even today, Tom noted that many of his stories tended to wander towards violence. Even Hernando’s gang was full of blood, vulgarity, and gunfights. Past experiences haunt us.

Even though Tom was only three blocks South-East of his regular route, he valued the changes. They were subtle. He found new people on the stoops of similar looking brick buildings. Children and dogs ran along the sidewalks. He felt happier, for some reason, like a new summer season was starting. And those were his thoughts when Allen from the Fretti gang ran up alongside him and put a .357 to Tom’s temple. Allen pulled the trigger, initiating a series of events, leading up to a chunk of lead blowing out Tom’s opposite ear and eventually slamming into a brick wall. Tom crumbled and Allen ran along, having successfully completed his initiation.