Mean Mister Martyr (standard:other, 1862 words)
Author: Greggo	Added: Apr 16 2002	Views/Reads: 3215/2211	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
When two young lovers first meet: THIS STORY IS NOT A STORY ABOUT THAT! I just don't know what would best describe it. Read it and tell me...

Mean Mr. Martyr. The first and only chapter. 

God put me on this earth to be a hero. I somehow always thought that,
don't ask me why. I suppose it's my enormous ego but it doesn't 
altogether feel that way. I just sense a surreal importance to my life 
that nobody around me seems to feel about him or herself. 

I remember being young, eight or nine, and being hit by a minivan on my
rushed run to school. Already late, I hurried to cross the street at a 
set of railway tracks. A city bus had stopped for me in the nearest 
lane so, being a typical reckless youth, I darted into traffic. The 
lady never expected me, nor I her. As she passed the bus I hit her 
hood. I remember rolling up off the windshield and landing hard in the 
lane of oncoming traffic. Some man, clearly more stressed about this 
incident than me, demanded I be taken to the hospital, but I just shook 
my head. I found my feet, embarrassed for being the center of 
attention, and left the scene: running to school without looking back. 
When I think about it now, I can't imagine that lady going any less 
than 20 miles per hour; I can't explain why, during morning rush-hour, 
there weren't countless cars speeding over me in the opposite 
direction; I can't explain how I ever made it to class that morning. 
Shouldn't I have felt any pain? 

At seventeen, after graduation, I got drunk and climbed an impressive
tree. I sat up there all night and eventually surrendered to sleep in 
that old oak. I woke up hard. My body was dug into the ground and my 
joints ached (mostly from the alcohol). I got in shit from my 
best-friend, Josh, who found me dazed and sitting on the lawn of my 
parent's old house. In that tree that I played in as a kid I spent the 
night. It was, and always has been, right next door to Josh's house, 
where I was supposed to wake up that morning. They were looking all 
night for me, everywhere. I remember playing guitar in Josh's basement 
with a bottle of rum at my knees and, succumbing to bladder pressure, I 
got up and left. Apparently I went next door. Somewhere in my sleep I 
had fallen to the ground unhurt: I was protected! 

When my parents died I was supposed to be there with them. This was when
I was thirty-one and working late. I called from my desk to tell them 
that I would drive up to the cabin the next day. Every weekend we drive 
up to our lot on Big Faith Lake, three hours away. My dad always joked 
that the lake was named for him as he always had big faith that he 
would catch good fish there. I reminded him often that he wasn't funny 
but he kept telling that to people. He was fifty-seven and still hadn't 
had much luck with the fishes. That summer I had only made it to the 
lake a few times, partly because of work but also because it was one of 
those dry years when forest fire warnings would close down those rural 
city-life refuges. This rare weekend the campsite was open and my dad 
made it a priority to get away regardless of the dwindling height of 
the lake this year. 

I remember looking at the clock at six and done all my work. That
morning I had prepared to take towards Big Faith right from work so I 
was excited that I got before expected. I grabbed my briefcase and my 
coffee cup. I heard the elevator ‘BING' down the hallway and dashed to 
make it. Just as the doors were closing I jumped in. The only other 
person in there was a secretary but I couldn't place her name. I 
watched the numbers descend. Everyone must've left for the weekend 
since we were the only two in the lift. Fortunately we did not stop on 
the way down due to another person. Unfortunately however, the power 
went out somewhere between the first and second floor: damn we were so 
close! It took two hours before anyone did something about us in the 
elevator. Then it took another hour before the fire department arrived. 
At least it only took four minutes for one of them for one of them to 
pry open the door and lift us up to floor two. It was too late to drive 
towards the cabin so I made other plans. I asked my fellow escapee, her 
name was Mary Steiner I learned, if she would enjoy dinner. In an 
electrically driven, under-maintained elevator, God introduced me to my 
future wife. That night, the winds that knocked the power out between 
first and second floor also took a nasty turn north. Over night the 
fires that were ‘under control' at six that evening became unrelenting 
and unstoppable. They engulfed Big Faith Lake and all the campers, my 
parents included. 

Maybe I am Irving's incredible Owen Meany. Maybe there is some task that
only I can accomplish and that I have been prepped for since birth. 


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