chapter.version

So I recently met with Barry Chetling, one of the main characters from my new book coming out, for coffee at Jupiter House Coffee shop here in Denton, Texas. He was in the area picking up some parts for his work and he was kind enough to let me turn on my tape recorder and ask him some questions. I haven’t talked with Barry in over a year or two since we first met, by chance, while I was in Dallas. We discussed the new book and how his life has been the past year. Here is that conversation:

Mark: “Barry Chetling, how long has it been?”

Barry: “I’d say at least a year and a half. When was we met? You were at that cafe in Bishop Arts in, what was it, 2008?”

M: Yeah it had to have been in the summer, because I definitely wasn’t in class. How are you? What have you been doing?

B: Well its hard to say. I’m doing management stuff over at Gary’s still. Capricia and I are doing fine. She is pregnant. It’s a boy.

M: Man, that is so great. When is he due?

B: They say we have about four more months. January 19^th is what they tell us.

M: and the rest of the family?

B: Pretty good I guess. Things have changed a lot since Dad passed. I see them more, especially on the weekends. I think we all kind of woke up after that.

M: Did you get the manuscript I sent you?

B: I did. I read it. Its not too bad, Apel. But you changed a lot, you know.

M: Yeah, I mean, I am a writer. That’s kind of what we do. I hope that didn’t get at you.

B: No its fine. I understand. A lot had happened around that time and its all fuzzy anyways. You know, they way memories are…you remember and then forget and then remember again. So, even though the book is different, it is still helpful. To remember the facts of it. It does feel that you left a lot out, though.

M: Well my hope was to be able to tell your story, or I guess your father’s story, without a lot of fluff and excess detail. Sometimes it is helpful to know a ton of back story, but I was trying to just give a snap shot. Does that make sense?

B: Yeah, yeah. Sure. I mean your the writer. You can do what you like, Mark. I just feel like our story isn’t that grand. It feels pretty stock when you compare it to other things, you know. And I’m not talking about your work compared to other stories at all, its just that I feel like my life isn’t significant enough to put a binding on, that’s all.

M: Well who’s really is, right? That sounded bad. I just mean that your story is simple and basic. You don’t go around shooting up villains, or die on a cross for a bunch of people, but you are still alive. I feel like your story is a lot of people’s story. You work hard to support your family. Your Mom and Dad have passed on and you have to come to terms with that. And I’m not pretending I even understand, I was just hoping that writing it down would help me.

B: Yeah, its weird moment when your parents are dead. My baby boy will never meet his father’s father. He wont understand that my humor was a direct copy of his. And that my weird phrases come from my mom. They were good people. I mean, they didn’t do everything correct, by no means. My dad drank a little too much sometimes. Mom smoked a pack a day for years. They had their fights. But all in all, they were nice. Now both of them are just memories. And that’s what hard. Like I mentioned earlier, the fuzziness of remembering. I can’t remember everything, you know. And its one thing when it is an event you are recollecting, but its much worse when its a person. They enter the same vault, just as memories. But I’m glad you wrote some of it down. Its helpful for me. To remember who I was a year ago and a half ago, when I told you about my dad, and you listened. Not much has changed, but the little things have.

M: Yeah I’m sure. I can’t begin to tell you who I was a year ago, much less a month ago. But you are right about recollection. It is strange thing when body and soul become memory and a gravestone. I mean who could someone possibly reduce a person to mere words. I would say that is impossible.

B: I would have to agree. Its hard to put someone you love under six feet of dirt and walk away. You miss seeing them and hearing them. Memories are okay, but aren’t sufficient. But I am glad you have made something for me to go back through and recall my mom and dad.

M: Have you seen Butch lately?

B: Well, Butch passed away about a month ago. He was living in an apartment close to us. Life was getting better for him, but I guess it was time for him to get out here. He lived a good life. His family had even made contact with him and even visited him a couple times. His body was pretty worn out. It was time. He went peacefully. Prish and I were honored to be in the hospital when he died. He said he was thankful and glad that he met me.

M: I’m sorry to hear about Butch passing. I know the past few years have been surrounded by death…

B: Yeah, but life too, Mark. All this has taught me to live life well. To invest my time in my family and my community. I stopped watching the news too. Everyone is panicked and worry about things that don’t matter. Its been freeing for me to narrow my scope of worry. My energy is spent within the confines of my city, my business, and more importantly my family and friends. I wouldn’t want my life to look any different. I am very happy.

M: Barry, thanks for your time. You are a closet philosopher. I know you are busy and have to get back to Dallas, but I am grateful for you letting me chronicle your life, even though I changed a few things to make it all fit.

B: My pleasure, Mark. Excited for you book to come out. I want the first copy.

M: I am excited to meet this new Chetling in four months. What his name gonna be?

B: We’re thinking Barry, or Bartley, or even Butch.

So i haven’t updated this site in a very long time. But i thought i would break out of my web coma to share that i have a book coming out very soon. I cant really give a date yet, not because its a secret, but because i don’t know when it will be done. 

The book will chronicle some of the culture and characters from Texas suburbs. I had begun writing most of this when i came to college. In those four years I wrote all that will be in this book. 

The title will be The Legacy of G.F. Chetling and Other Works. So be on the lookout. It will be available for purchase online and hopefully in stores in Denton. If you cant find it there…find me. I will have several. 

Also I’ll give a shout out to my publisher, Senda House. They are brilliant dreamers who have been such a blessing along the way. Much love, Senda.

Keep an eye out for Chetling and I’ll be sure to share the release date as soon as I know it.

Good luck out there….

Mark

The trees were changing

Bronzing their fruit

Sedans crushing leaves to powder

On their route home

A dusky afternoon

With a phone call

Brothers were there

And frowns of joy

“Times are changing”

Shouted the grey grass from outside

Us feasting because its possible

Wondering because its necessary

The new years will be newer

Holidays bitter-sweeter

Waiting for the trees to be greener

Only to hope then for the next winter

philosophy mixed

with something more than words but

a true devotion

“Where were you when it happened?”

“Happened to be looking at the stars.” She said. I could tell she was once beautiful.

 “The university had just let out and the town had emptied. Everyone had gone home for the holidays, you know. But I have a house not too far from the campus and was going to be in town for a few more days before traveling. The weather was decent and I had spent most of my day outside. One of my girlfriends was driving through town so we met for coffee off of the city square. The town was barren. Like a sad movie. Like a sad child, you know. It does this around holidays and summer breaks. But our conversation was bland and forced. You see, me and Jen hadn’t talked in about 6 months due to her busy schedule and her new life as a married woman. Our relationship wasn’t the same anymore. We couldn’t laugh like we used to. Everything was serious. She left harried and all out of sorts and I was left alone for the remainder of the day. I drove home feeling very alone. I remember distinctly thinking that I don’t belong anywhere. You know how it is when you leave for school and it’s new and the new town is definitely not home. But you go to visit family back home and it’s nice and all but something is different and it isn’t home anymore. But you drive back into your new town and it’s like seeing an old friend. A friend waiting expectantly, you know, and you feel at home. But it’s not home. It’s a halfway place. A commuter’s check point. No one settles here. I remember feeling that I didn’t have a home. After dinner I had a tradition of going out to the curb to think and process the day. That is when it all happened.”

“What did you see? Did you see fire? Everyone seems to have seen fire.”

 “Well like I told you. I was looking at the stars when I saw the sky change. It was well after sunset, mind you, and the stars were piercing that night. Winter nights have the best stars.”

“Winter nights do have that strange feeling to them don’t they,” I interrupted.

 “It’s true,” she said. “But suddenly the black sky changed to a muddy brown. Then to a leather of sorts. Like an old man’s jacket. Then I saw a small rip in the sky’s hide and a piercing light came through. I guess I could see how people might say it was fire because the rays were so powerful. It was as if they had no color and all color at one time. I tried to look away but I felt I wasn’t supposed to. My neck stood stiff as if someone were holding it in place. The rip became a hole and the hole became a new sky. The leather melted away and the new sky was there.”

“Was this when you saw him?”

 “It was like looking into forever. I remembered everything. Even the things that hadn’t ever done, I remembered. Every memory was on the forefront of my mind. Every memory recalled by everyone that ever lived. I thought I was going to explode. The rays turned to sound. Like trumpets and loud tympanis. I was seeing music and hearing the light. Like something off of the TV, but better, you know. It was then I was able to look away. What was my empty street was now full of figures roaming about. I was crying now. I saw my neighbor almost falling out of her window as she forcefully gazed into the audible sky. The kids on the playground had stopped playing and were huddled together underneath the jungle gym. There was a small hum in my bones. My entire body was shaking and I remembered home and Jen. I thought of my ex-boyfriend and wondered if he was seeing this. I felt sorrow and joy in the same moment. Death and life together. The figures drew nearer to me and I could what they were.”

“Demons? Were they demons?” I shouted. I had heard so many accounts of demons attacking the suburbs.

“ Demons! I had never seen demons before. Oh! And angels. They fought like warriors. I had new eyes now. There was a loud blasting of brass instruments and it was then that I became nothing.”

“Did you recognize him?

“Who? Jesus?”

 “Yes. Did you realize this was the ending?”

 “Not at first. But I had a strange peace. Like he was going to kill me and that it was ok. But I knew it was him, you know. He was heaven. His existence was thick and the fact that I could partake was paradise. It was clear that He was the end we had all been striving for. I could hear and smell and taste his love for me. He was the God he said he was and that we all doubted so much. Where were you?”

“Well, I was here above the leather and the molten sky,” I confessed. Her face changed. I watched her realize that I had seen all of it. “It was quite the scene,” I said loudly. “Quite the scene.”