The Sammie Effect Pt 01

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

I set my suitcase on the bed and walked over to the window of the hotel room. It wasn't the ocean view I'd just left, but there was a good view of the river. I sighed as I watched the early summer sun sparkle on its surface and felt the tension start to leave me. I should have gotten a room here to begin with. I don't know why I thought my previous accommodations were a good idea. I'm just not a bed and breakfast kind of guy.

My thought had been it would be closer to shipboard life. Staying in a bedroom in the house and then sharing a meal with other people. The problem was, I'm an introvert...a big one. So, when I sat down for breakfast and people started trying to make small talk, I just gave one-word answers until people left me alone.

OK, I'll admit it. That was kind of how it went on ships too. I checked out after breakfast, mumbling apologies to the couple that were the owner-operators and assured them their house was nice, but I just didn't feel well. I even paid them for the rest of the week. I could afford it.

Don't get me wrong. I can interact with people when the situation calls for it. For me, that's almost always in professional settings. But on days that has to happen, the more I need to talk with people, the more I need a drink at the end of the day.

Looking back, I hadn't always been this bad. I'd say that growing up I was as normal as any other kid. I think part of it was that when it comes down to it, there aren't many people I like. But there is definitely a price to pay being like I am. I'm lonely. I guess I have been for a while now, but it's getting worse.

You see, I'm in my mid-forties, and I haven't had a serious relationship with a woman since high school, if that counts as serious. The sad part is, I wanted the same things out of life that most people do: a wife, kids, a house - happiness. I'm not the most religious guy, but lately I've found myself asking God to help me find someone...hell, anyone, that I could share my life with. I'm not necessarily talking about a wife here...I'd settle for a friend.

Part of the issue stems from the fact I was always the chubby kid growing up. Picked on a little, although my friends always stuck up for me. It never bothered me for long anyway. Then, two things happened. First, I started to notice girls and decided they seemed neat. Second, my family was getting ready to move to another state due to my dad's work.

Even at that age, I realized it was a good opportunity for a fresh start and I lost weight. By the time I started school, I'd reached my ideal weight, and my mom was so happy, she didn't mind that she had to get me new clothes. I ended up at my current six feet and around two-hundred pounds.

I met new people and made friends. And, as I mentioned, had a couple of girlfriends. The first one was for most of my freshman year and into the next. After we broke up, we stayed friendly, and I dated a bit. Then a new girl showed up at the start of Junior year and I found myself in the thick of the battle to get her attention. Somehow, I won...me.

So, we were a thing. We just clicked. Our parents even got along and started going out to dinner as friends. I think everyone was convinced we would be married. I know we certainly were. We were both talking about it. The plan was we'd go to college and marry after we got our degrees.

We lost our virginities to each other after we hit eighteen and were quite active...until we broke up. Looking back, the biggest reason was that we got accepted to two different universities. Mine was one of the best for what I wanted to study, engineering. Hers was great for marketing, which she wanted to do. I think youthful insecurities were mostly to blame. Both of us were worried about the attention we felt the other would get from the opposite sex when we were away in different states.

We were both upset, and despite efforts from the parents, we never got back together. She's married with three kids now and seems happy in her life. I certainly hope she is. She's a wonderful person. The pics of her husband look a lot like some of the old photos of me when I was with her. Deliriously happy and a bit puzzled over how that beautiful girl loves us. I know this because of Facebook.

God, how my mind can wander. Looking around the room, I see it will do. It's certainly a step up from some of the places I've stayed since I left for college.

Of course, I shouldn't be surprised at the old memories. I've come back home for the first time in about twenty years. I'm not quite there yet, but I plan on a road trip down to the old stomping grounds soon. Overall, it feels good to be back in Maine.

The day dawned bright but cool. I got in my little rental car and drove to a motorcycle dealership. They carried a few brands, but I didn't really have a preference in that way. I just knew the style I was looking for. You see, I picked up a love of riding in Europe. It started with scooters, and I slowly worked my way up. It was just a cheaper, easier way to get around. I'd even ride in the rain if I had to. Not that I enjoyed it as much.

I guess my look made the guy think I was looking for a Harley. I wouldn't have minded one, but they didn't have any in stock that appealed to me. My once brown hair had gone prematurely gray. It runs in my father's side of the family. I'd also let it grow out. I think I'll have to pin that on three things: a lack of caring, the fact that early on, the shipboard barbers were horrible, and I noticed more people avoided me when I looked scruffy.

I've been sporting hair down to my mid back for years and I usually wear it in a ponytail, especially when I ride. I also have a beard and haven't been the best at keeping it trimmed. At a glance, I look a lot older than I am.

I think the guy was puzzled when I left on a lightly used Honda Rebel 1100 DCT. All black. It had the optional passenger seat, not that I'd need it. I ordered heated grips for it and told him to call me when they were in. I picked up a helmet, leather chaps, some gloves and a bike cover, and paid cash, throwing in a little extra for him to have someone return the rental.

I spent the rest of the day exploring the city and surrounding area on the bike. Mostly to get used to it, but also to enjoy the wind and the feeling of freedom. And it was more than the normal sensation. I really was free because I was now 'mostly' retired at forty-four. I say mostly because I'd agreed to still consult for my previous employer.

I ate lunch at a mom-and-pop diner on the outskirts and stopped and picked up a light sweater. My old leather bomber jacket wasn't quite cutting it when it came to keeping me warm in the morning. I ended up back in the hotel before supper and ate at a small corner table in the hotel restaurant and bar. I'd changed into slacks and a shirt, but soon realized my jeans and sweater would have been fine.

The food was good, if a little pricey, and after the dishes had been cleared, I ordered a bourbon and thought about my plan for the next day. I was thinking of it as a scouting mission. Go down, take a look around my old hometown, and see if anyone recognized me. If they did, I wasn't going to stay. Otherwise, my plan was to find a hotel and lose myself in a bit of nostalgia for a while. I figured I'd just know when it was time to move on.

The nostalgia started sooner than I expected. Riding the coastal route was already bringing back memories. Traveling to and from the 'big city' with family and friends on this road, catching glimpses of the gray ocean in between the wind beaten evergreens. I was in no hurry and stopped a few times to just let it all soak in.

When I arrived, I was surprised at all the changes. I slowly cruised down route one, which doubled as main street here, just like it did in many rural areas. There were some new buildings, and a couple of fast-food places too. There hadn't been any twenty years ago. Some of the businesses had changed names, and presumably, owners. Some were gone and others looked like they had expanded. But when I looked closely, more had stayed the same than not.

After my pass through, I turned around and headed back, pulling into the Harborside Restaurant. It had been here for generations and was popular with both locals and tourists alike. It was a little past lunch, and I was hungry. The bonus was that eating in between peak hours meant fewer people to deal with. Even so, I sat on my bike for a few minutes before finally deciding to go in.

There was a 'Please Wait to be Seated' sign. That was new. The hostess, a pretty young lady, showed me to a table, but I asked if I could get the corner seat and given it was empty, she agreed and told me my server would be right with me. I sat down so that I could see the restaurant interior and entrance as well as a pleasant view of the water through the window.

The first test came sooner than I expected. I recognized her immediately as she strolled toward my table. She was a little heavier and her hair style was a lot different than I remembered, but styles change as much as people do. Yup, it was Carla. Carla Jacobs. At least that had been her name back then.

I knew from Facebook she was married but couldn't remember her new name. We had flirted once when I was between girlfriends, but never got around to going out. But we'd been in school for four years and I'd seen her at parties and around town the entire time. Kind of the norm in a small town. I realized I was holding my breath as she arrived.

"Hi! My name is Carla and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you something to drink? The bar just opened, and we have beer on tap as well as bottled, a good stock of spirits and wine and if you're not looking for anything like that, we have the normal offering of soft drinks."

"When did you start serving booze?"

I was a little surprised and asked the question before I thought. The owners had been religious and had never offered adult beverages in the past. For just a second, I thought she'd figured it out. She looked at me for a moment.

"Have you been here before?"

"A long time ago."

"Huh, your hair reminds me of my first husband's. Sorry, didn't mean to overshare."

"Hey. No problem at all."

I reminded myself to be careful about what I said and ordered my food and sparkling water. I made it through the rest of the meal with nothing more than the normal talk between a waitress and her table. I thought I recognized a couple other people, but no one gave me a second look. I got a few first looks though. I guess looking like an old biker will do that.

Either way, I decided I wouldn't be going back there anytime soon. There was no sense in pushing my luck. I just wanted to enjoy some memories, not catch up with a bunch of people who were no more than strangers now.

After I paid and left a nice tip, I mounted up and took off for the hotel, taking an inland route for a change of scenery. But my little test worked. Tomorrow, I'll head back.

Just to be sure, I checked Facebook. No posts about my return. Good. Despite my introversion, I did have an account. It was under 'KC', a nickname I'd had in high school. It was an abbreviated version of the nickname I'd had since my mom gave it to me, and my last name, Kip Campbell. Regardless, it was enough for people to accept me as a friend, but I never posted anything. Still, it let me more or less keep up.

"This will do nicely."

The manager smiled and nodded as I walked past him into the cabin, my eyes immediately drawn to the view of the ocean. A quick scan of the room verified that it was just as advertised. It was a cozy space complete with a full bathroom, kitchenette, small living area with a stone fireplace, and a loft with a queen-sized bed that you got to by way of a ship's ladder. It even had wireless internet.

It was the only one he had left open. When he found out I wanted it for the whole summer, I could see his wheels spinning. He had it rented out for part of that time but told me he could shuffle some people around and manage to pull it off.

After he left, I went out the sliding door to the deck, sat in a chair and just soaked up the view and the sunshine for a while. Finally, I explored a little more. There was a small gas grill tucked under an extra-large overhang as well as a small supply of firewood. A look up and I saw a sea kayak hanging up in the eaves. I eyed the space and realized I could get my bike under here and keep it out of at least some of the weather and sun.

The place was in a village a few miles to the east of town, and I didn't recognize anyone, and no one recognized me...perfect.

After enjoying the tranquility for a while, I decided I'd go back into town and grab a bite to eat. My memory served me, and I found the small place I remembered on a side street. It's still called Irma's. It looks like it's in need of a refresh, but I hope being off the main drag there will be less of a chance of bumping into someone.

The food is still great, and the place was quiet. I decided that this would be my daily place for a meal. The plan is to cook breakfast at the cabin, eat here for a late lunch and then have a snack, drink, or both, later in the evening back at the rental.

The next day, I almost scrapped my plan when I walked in.

"Hey Mister! Sit anywhere you like. I'll be right with you."

This had burst forth from a young woman behind the counter where she was topping off the coffee cups of two old men, both of whom gave me a glance when I came through the door. Typical small-town behavior. They were just curious. I walked over and sat at the corner table. There were no views here, other than the street. But I considered it a fair trade for the anonymity.

I looked at her when I sat down. She was chatting up the two old men, who seemed to enjoy the attention of a pretty young thing, even though they knew she was just being friendly, not flirting. She was average height, my guess is five foot four, probably one hundred and twenty-ish pounds. She had a nice figure, if a little top-heavy. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I guessed it would be shoulder length if let down. Soon she was headed my way. As she got closer, I saw she had green eyes like I did.

I saw those eyes briefly scan me.

"What can I get you Pops?"

Pops? Really? She caught me off guard and I guess noticed that I looked a little incredulous.

"I'm..."

"Just teasing! Now that I'm closer I can tell you aren't all that old. Nice hair though! I'm Sammie! Short for Samantha. ..."

I never did get a chance to tell her my name. The girl just went on and on as if she felt it was her personal responsibility to fill the silence with words. A responsibility she apparently took seriously.

I'll give her credit though; she was still doing her job. Somewhere in all that, she got my order. She kept cups full, shuttled food out, empty dishes back, and talked to everyone. And when she was away from a table, she seemed to talk to no one in particular...maybe the cook? ...everyone? ...herself? Who knew?

More than once I had to consciously shut my mouth because it was hanging open in what I'd have to admit was a bit of awe. There was a whole wide world out there, and I had seen a bigger portion of it than most. But here she was. The person who was spewing out conversation trying to fill the void my lack of it had left. I think it was working.

Amazingly, I realized I wasn't annoyed! People like this normally drive me crazy! I actually smiled. She was so good-natured I couldn't help it. With that, I realized that my initial instinct to run had been overruled. I'd be back.

The next couple of weeks fell into a routine. I'd wake up, go on a run, or walk, do some exercises, and eat breakfast. The rest of the day was spent reading, hiking, riding, and thinking. Of course, everyday brought me back to Irma's...usually about two in the afternoon.

Sammie was like therapy for me...exposure therapy. You know, the kind where the shrink figures out what you're afraid of and then exposes you to it. Like people who are afraid of heights climbing a ladder, one step higher each time. Or arachnophobes holding a tarantula.

She didn't work every day, but always five or six out of seven. I found myself looking forward to it. I liked this kid! She worked hard without serious complaint, although her mock grievances usually brought a chuckle out of the diners and even the other staff. Also, she was clearly bright. She would stop talking when others talked, especially if you were answering one of her questions. And her follow-up questions showed intelligence. But no matter what came out of her mouth, she made everyone smile.

I learned she was twenty years old and actually lived in a small apartment above the restaurant. She was single and apparently unimpressed with the local assortment of men and was taking a night course at the local college when she could afford it. I knew it would be a long road for her at that rate but was impressed by her determination.

"What about you Pops? You have any higher education?"

Yes, she had continued to call me Pops. I'd managed to tell her my name was Alistair, but she never used it. I didn't want to give her either of my nicknames. Too many people around her might remember Kip or KC.

"I do. Like you, I worked my way through school, but near the end, I picked up the pace to finish it off."

She pulled out a chair and sat with me as I was the only one in the place. She started doing it about a week ago. She didn't ask, but I didn't object. She absent-mindedly grabbed a French fry off my plate and wagged it around while she asked,

"What did you get your degree in? Do you use it? What do you do anyway? Are you on vacation or something?"

She took a breath and then popped the fry in her mouth. I couldn't help but smile and I pushed the plate so that it was in between us and she grabbed a bottle of ketchup and poured some on the plate while I answered.

"My degree is in computer science. Yes, I use it sometimes, but more as a foundation. I use my experience most of the time. I'm a systems analyst. And I guess you could say I'm on a vacation of sorts."

Her brow knit at my answers. She had already figured out I wasn't as old as I appeared from a distance, although I still think she believes me older than I am, and I don't want to try to explain my semi-retired state to anyone right now.

There was something that tickled my brain when she got that look on her face. She looks familiar to me somehow. It shouldn't be surprising; it's a small town. She's probably the daughter or niece of someone I knew. Although I'd never heard her last name, Bivens, used around here.

I didn't ask at this point though; she asked the questions. I learned a lot about her because she would just randomly volunteer information. For instance, she didn't have a car. She graduated from the same high school as me. She had no memory of her father, but still maintained loose contact with one of her three stepfathers. She was more or less estranged from her mother, who she referred to as 'the Slut'.

It was my turn to knit my brows. There was a lot of emotion in that statement. I noticed her staring at me for a moment then the look was gone. Maybe I'd imagined it.