Jock Murphy Words and PicturesThe writing and photography of Jock Murphy

Before the book, before the book was an idea, there was a short story called Goodbye. Unlike the book, and the travelblog, and the blog that came before this blog; Goodbye wasn't meant for publication. It was written as therapy. Something happened in my life and people I care for and I felt powerless to do anything about it (I am intentionally being vague, because to be more specific would get too close to betraying confidences I value far more than this blog). So I tried a little exercise. to write a little story to try and manifest the helplessness I felt.

The result was about 80% of a first draft -- about 5 pages. It involved Quinn (though he is unnammed) desperately driving though Portland trying to find Becks based on clues from their conversation. As I recall, it wasn't bad. I can't know for sure since it was lost. I know better. I really do. Save early and often is the catchword. Only I didn't. My laptop crashed, and it went the way of all things. I tried hard to recover the file, but to no avail. So I suppose I could tell you it was brilliant, you have no way of proving me wrong.

Except that I found the open fragment the other day. I had started to write it in a different document, and then moved it to its own file. I had completely forgotten about it. So when I had cause to open the other document, I found it there, like a bit of early Halloween candy.

So here it is, this little piece of what led to the rest. They really are the same Becks and Quinn. Obviously this takes place before the events of the book, and may or may not be part of the official canon. Only time will tell. It is interesting to see that I seem to have themes I seem to keep coming back too, suicide, ringing phones, music:

The top was down and the sun was shining. Papa Roach playing on the stereo, Broken Home. The volume up just enough, so the beat pounds though my chest with the lyrics "can't... go... on... living... like... this." The song is sad, but I'm feeling good. I feel a buzzing against my thigh. Do I answer the phone or not? Second ring, and I continue the debate in my head. Just before the third ring, I give in. Flip the phone open with one hand, and bring it up to my face. "Hello?"

"I just wanted to say goodbye," the voice was soft, hard to here over the road.

"Becks? is that you?" I asked. We had plans to have lunch, but she had never called, so I had decided to go for a drive instead. It had been to good a day not to do something.

"Yeas," her voice seemed a little slurred. "You've been a good friend, and I forgot to write a note, so I thought I should say goodbye." Alarms went off in my mind, there was no way this was going to magically turn into something good. I pull my hand off the wheel to slap my hand against the stereo to turn it off.

"Where are you?" I still didn't want to think about what she might be telling me, but I knew I had to get to her.

"Not sure," she sighed, "I'm in my car, and just started driving. It's s'okay, all be over soon..."

Where could she be? Would she have started from her home, or somewhere else? I wasn't that far away from her neighborhood, so that would be the place to start.