Sigh, Alaska: a short story novel

Craig O'Reilly

"I didn't like him, the moment I set my eyes on him." Craig O'Reilly said harshly, into his beer. Craig and Richard were tucked into a booth at the Starboard in Downtown, Anchorage. It was early afternoon, and on the twenty plasma screen TVs posted around the bar, you could see as each of the Iditarod competitors pulled into Nome, Alaska. To the locals, it marked the official end of winter. The end of the Iditarod meant Break-Up and summer was just around the corner.

"I get it, I do." replied Richard. After a moment's pause he added, "Actually I don't. Please, tell me what it is you don't like about him? He seems to have added quite the calming presence to the hostel, and not a moment too soon I should think." Christopher Harrison, the newest vagabond to the Northern Lights Hostel seemed to be a hot commodity, from Richard could tell. He had earned Ethan's trust quick enough, and Wendy could be found chatting with him more than hiding in her room and doing homework, these days. Richard didn't mind her doing homework, but it was nice to have a manager who seemed to genuinely enjoy the company of his hostellers.

"He walks in with all his 'Zen Buddha hippie shit' like his shit smells like fucking roses while the rest of us... whatever, man. He thinks he's better because he's all zenned out and shit. Fuck him!" Craig ranted. He wished he hadn't made it to the bar early, wished he hadn't already had those three pints before Richard showed up. There was a tone to Richard's voice he hadn't heard before, at least not aimed towards him. A hardness, maybe which marked his words a little sterner. Like wood inlaid with stainless steel. Craig knew he couldn't get his thoughts to turn into words in a way that would really make Richard see, see that this new kid Chris was just bad news. Craig didn't trust people who eschewed emotions, who claimed to have found balance and to never topple from it. He knew it was important to make Richard see, maybe more important now, than it had been this morning.

"Ah, I don't know if he really thinks he's better than the rest of us. Getting pissed because someone figured out how to curb their baser emotions?"

"It's not just that, Rich. It's," Craig paused, searching his brain for the right words. "It's that he can't keep his shit to himself, either. I wake up in the morning and find the asshole doing yoga in the room. How am I supposed to get dressed or get out even when he's all bent up in a pretzel, chanting weird Om, gha, ne, sha, me, shit in the room?" Craig shook his head.

Craig remembered the morning before. His alarm hadn't gone off yet, but it was light outside, another sign that summer was on its way back to the Last Frontier. He could hear Chris om'ing and chanting. Craig grabbed his watch; six forty-five AM on Friday. He didn't have to be up for another two hours.

"What are you doing?" He mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

"Nam-myho-rengye-kyo," Chris continued to chant, his voice soft, and calm.

Craig rolled over and looked at Chris. He sat in the middle of the two bunk beds, cross-legged and straight backed. His eyes were closed and his palms sat face up on his knees.

"Would you please keep your chanting shit to yourself?" Craig groaned, and rolled over.

He thought smothering his head with a pillow would help drown out the chanting, put once it settled over his head he realized it was rather difficult to breathe. All he wanted was two more hours of sleep before he started his day. It was going to be a long one. The high temperature was supposed to be forty, with a cloudless sky. During the winter that usually meant it was going to be very cold out, but he thought being in the sun might do some good. He planned to clean out all the storage units to get them ready for the summer hostellers. Though March had just started, the summer hostellers would start trickling in in April. Winter Collective would end next month, and in May people from all over the country, and all over the world would fill every bed until September. There was a lot of cleaning to be done. But it didn't need to start for another two hours.

Craig rolled back over and stared at Chris. If he could think objectively about his new roommate, he would admit that Chris was an attractive man. Tall, kind of lanky in a heroin-chic sort of way, but covered in lean muscles, probably developed and toned from his deep and apparent love of yoga. His face was heart shaped, and soft, softer than a man his age probably should have. Craig ran his hand along his own face and felt the wrinkles, and the sparkly white stubble growing on his chin. He definitely didn't have such a pretty face at thirty-three years old. Chris sat shirtless on the ground, and Craig had no problem recognizing the beauty and the work that went into maintaining such a tight physique. His muscles were subtle, made prominent from his lack of body fat.

When Chris' eyes were open, they were a clear shade of brown. Not that Craig cared. They had argued about the chanting the day before as well, and while he shouted into Chris' face, Craig realized he could see straight through his eyes. Abruptly he'd left the argument and the room, disgruntled by his realization.

Chris's eyes had opened while Craig watched him chant, and it took a moment for him to realize he was being stared at in return.

"Are you done yet?" Craig asked, his voice still rough, though feeling slightly embarrassed for having been caught. He was a grown man, for fucks sake. What did he care if he was caught staring?

"Have you had your fill of me, then?" Chris asked, his voice low, and soft.

"I just want to get back to sleep, man." God, that guy could being annoying, thought Craig.

"You can go back to sleep. I'll do my yoga in the living room, I guess." Chris pushed himself into standing, then grabbed a tank top and exited the room quietly.

Craig sighed, rolled over and tried going back to sleep.


"Okay, I get that you find Chris annoying. But did you really need to deck him in the face?"

"You weren't there." Craig muttered in reply. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He wasn't really sure when it had happened, but sometime during the winter he discovered there was more grey hair than the sandy blond it had been of his youth. While he kept his jawline clean-shaven, his handlebar mustache was definitely more on the silvery side these days. His blue eyes had been getting milky, he noticed, and his lean body didn't seem to metabolize his beer quite the same anymore. Craig might have been handsome once, but lately he just felt the way he looked; old.

When Christopher Harrison came into the hostel, amid the drama Lacy had continued to besiege the hostel with, he presented himself as a friend and ally to Seth and Ethan immediately. Though he was maybe ten years or more older than the former, Seth had quickly turned to him for advice regarding Lacy. Ethan also had found a friend, someone who could discuss politics, music, and metapsychology.

"Chris is the one who started all that drama with Seth and Lacy in the first place."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure Lacy had a pretty firm hand in all of that."

"I meant that Chris was the one who told Seth that she fucked Howard. Seth was just a kid; they should have worked that out for themselves. I mean, I heard them down there that night. They had just finished planning out their lives together."

"That's adorable. Really. Tell me more." Richard said in a deadpanned voice.

"Look, all I'm saying is this guy comes in, says he's all emotionally balanced because of the Zen and then takes about forty-eight seconds to destroy a relationship-"

"Which had no hope of surviving anyway," interrupted Richard.

"-and throws the hostel into this crazy drama house again. I've been here for nine years, Rich. This level of crazy has never happened."

"Yeah, well, you should have been there a few years earlier, before you showed up. Had the call the police on Christmas Eve because one of my employees cheated on her hostel boyfriend with the new guy. They didn't stop talking about that one for two years."

"Seriously, you should just kick Lacy out. She has a job, she can find a real place to live. She's going to have to soon enough as it is."

"Look," Richard started, "I'm not kicking her out. She's young and she can't help herself. I remember being nineteen and all the crazy shit I started. I'm not saying it's okay, but the thing is, she could be doing this in a relatively controlled environment or she could out in the wilds of Alaska, where it's a whole hell of lot less safe. I'm not saying I'd take her back a second year, but I'm also willing to bet she won't be back."

"Yeah, well. You always did have a strange sense of compassion." Craig looked down into his empty glass and wondered when his fourth beer had gone away. He signaled for a waitress and asked for another round. It's not like he was Lacy's father; he didn't owe her a safe environment so why let her stay? Richard's sense of compassion always startled Craig. Sometimes he was mean as a snake, not letting even the smallest shit through, other times he just leaned back and let it fly.

"No one's left early because of her. Pete was leaving anyway; he was all paid up. So was Seth. The rest of you, you're still here. No ultimatums from you guys. If I'd been given one, then maybe I'd consider it." Maybe, he thought to himself. Mostly, Richard thought, the hostel needed someone around to keep it from getting too quiet. People needed a reason to bond together in the cold Alaska winters, even if it was bonding over their mutual dislike of the local jezebel. It kept things interesting. During the summer, they had stories -that had morphed from the truth into something a little more palatable- to tell their new friends who would then decide that a winter at a hostel in Anchorage, Alaska sounded like just the thing. Nothing warmed the cockles of Richard's heart than good business.

Craig sighed into his new beer. "Look, I didn't mean to hit the fucker, and I'll apologize. If we could switch me out of his room, that'd be work well enough. I'll stay out of his way, he'll stay out of mine and he'll finish out the last two months here."

"Craig," Richard started, and then took a long drink from his new beer. "You gotta go."

Silence.

"What?"

"You gotta go," repeated Richard. "I can't have my guests being punched in the face. It's bad for business."

"Wait, what? It's bad for business? So it's okay that this asshole caused a public humiliation at eight AM on a Sunday morning, but I can't punch him in the face for calling me a faggot?"

"Nope. I can't have violence on my property. It's bad for business."

"It'll never happen again, I swear." Craig replied, desperate now. He felt his world crashing down. He'd lived at the Northern Lights Hostel for nine years. Suddenly and with little warning, his home was being taken away from him.

"You're right. It'll never happen again." Richard agreed, though it was clear from his tone that he meant something different from what Craig was promising.

Craig stared out the window, desperately wishing he'd sober up a little more quickly. "I can't believe this. You're just going to throw away fifteen years of friendship over some bad fucking business? You can't do this! " He shouted.

"I'll give you 'til the end of the week to make new arrangements. But on Saturday, I want you out." Richard scooted out of his booth and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Opening it, he pulled out a couple of twenties. Craig searched his old friend's face for any hint of remorse, but only saw a shuttered gaze as the twenties hit the wood table soundlessly. "I'm sorry that it's gotta be like this, Craig."

Craig didn't reply, staring out the window of the bar again. A thousand thoughts rushed through his head as he tried to figure out how to make it better. He listened as Richard walked out of the door, and then watched as he crossed the street, hopped into his truck and drove off. He knew someday he would have to move on from the Northern Lights Hostel, but he never thought it would end like this.