Bad Reputation (2007–2009): The First Chapter of My Novella In Progress

I don’t want to keep you all waiting, so here’s the first chapter of the novella I’m working on 😊

If you have no clue what I’m talking about, you can read my intro here : Writing My Way Through Memory: The Novella That Found Me

However, I did fail to mention in my intro post that the chapter titles are going to be referencing song titles for various reasons. You’ll see!

Without further ado…


Image created with Gemini

Chapter 1 : 2007 > 2009 : Bad Reputation

I’ve never been very good at making friends. I was an only child growing up, and I was always a little “weird”, so that doesn’t help.

That’s probably why I liked gas station jobs so much. Nobody expects depth from you there — just a transaction, a smile, maybe a joke if the moment feels right. You meet everyone: the kids with loose change and sticky fingers, the wealthy guy in a suit barking into his phone, the quiet woman who only buys scratch-offs, the old man who needs company as much as cigarettes. In those fleeting moments, you get the entire spectrum of humanity. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get to leave a spark behind.

“The Apple” was the fourth store I worked at, but my first in a city. The sheer volume of feet walking through the doors was exhilarating – The constant noise of chatter, cooler doors opening & closing, receipts printing, people complaining. Some people would hate that chaos. I found my zen.

That day, the line was brutal. I was dealing with a woman who suddenly decided she needed everything within reach — chips, gum, batteries, a lighter she’ll never use. Her pile on the counter in front of me grew by the second. I plastered on my polite smile, though inside I was trying to figure out where I could bury her without getting caught.

Then I noticed someone peeking around her. Over the course of what felt like a million glances between us, I’d noticed arms covered with vibrant ink that looked like stories etched into skin, a NOFX shirt worn soft at the edges, camo cargo shorts, and the kind of stance that said he was comfortable in his own chaos – my “type”, wrapped up in an adorable little package.

Then our eyes met.

“Oh, shit,” I thought, as goosebumps covered my arms. His eyes were the most dangerous shade of blue I’d ever seen: sharp, alive, sparkling with beautiful trouble. Something about him felt familiar, like we’d been circling each other across lifetimes. Married in another universe, maybe. Strangers here. I was officially intrigued.

My coworker called him over to her register – “Camel Wides,” he said. A million more glances between us for those few seconds while she cashed him out.

He glanced at me once more, the shy smile of a kid with a crush this time, then walked out the door.

I told myself that was that. A fleeting spark. Something to tuck away and smile about later.

Still, curiosity gnawed at me. As soon as my line cleared, I leaned toward my coworker.

“What’s his deal?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s just Jack. He flirts with everyone.”

“Noted,” I muttered, pretending I didn’t care. But I kinda did.

A couple hours later, the store phone rang.

“Hi, is this Sally?”

“Yep,” I replied.

“I was just in there a little bit ago, I don’t know if you remember – bald guy with tattoos? I think I forgot something while I was there.”

“Where, on the counter??” I said as I started looking around.

“No, I forgot to ask for your number.”

There it already was – the infamous “flirts with everyone”.

Part of me wanted to laugh, part of me wanted to give him my number, and part of me remembered my reality.

I took a steadying breath. “Well, I appreciate the offer, but… I’m in a relationship.”

A soft pause. “Fair enough. Worth a shot.”

We said goodbye. I hung up, convinced that was the end of it.

Holy hell was I wrong.


Next thing I know, I had a friend request on Facebook.

“How’d you find me on Facebook?!?” I asked.

“Well, you’re the only Sally who works at The Apple in town. So…it wasn’t that hard,” he chuckled.

“Better question I guess would be why did you find me on Facebook?” I was mildly creeped out. Still intrigued though.

“I want to get to know you. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”


Over the course of months, we got to know each other a little bit.

One night, we went outside the store to hang out for a few minutes.

“Everything kinda sucks right now,” he said with a duller tone than usual. “So I signed up to go to Iraq in November. To get away from ‘normal’ life for a bit. Maybe get some perspective. Or at least some distraction.”

“You’re in the army?!?” I asked.

“10 years and counting!”

He went on. “I got a TBI a few years ago, on duty. I don’t even know what happened, other than I was knocked out for a few minutes. Apparently nothing too serious, but I do get symptoms of a stroke sometimes. Nobody knows why – Nothing shows on MRI scans.”

Where was this coming from all of a sudden? He’d never really opened up to me before – always just passing conversation when he’d stop in for gas or whatever. I couldn’t help but wonder what brought this on, but I wasn’t about to pry.

“I’m not gonna lie, you really don’t seem like the ‘army’ type to me…whatever that means,” I admitted.

He shrugged. “I’m also a corrections officer. And I used to be a cop.”

My heart jumped into my throat. Maybe he’s not so much my “type”.

“Why the hell would you do that?!?” I said half jokingly. He always seemed so chill, & fun. I could see if he were an EMT or something like that. But law enforcement?!?

“I knew I could.”

I laughed. “Well, I could’ve been a prostitute, but that doesn’t mean I should!”

“Good point,” he smiled.

“What else should I know about you?” I asked inquisitively.

“Hm. Well…I’m divorced. I have 3 kids with my ex wife. We were stationed together in Washington, and then she ran off across to country with the kids. That’s how I ended up here – I’m not about to let her keep them from me for no good reason.”

I was shocked. Why would she do that to him?!? She must have had her reasons, but I can’t imagine he could deserve that. There must be more to know…

“3 kids!? How old are you?!?” I asked.

“35. How old are you?”

“23” I giggled shyly. “Zero kids…so far!”

“Don’t rush it, trust me!” he smiled & shook his head at himself.


November came & went. He never gave me the chance to give him a hug & wish him well before he left, so I assumed I’d never see him again.

Again.

An opportunity to work at a hospital and make more money came along, so I took it.

And I didn’t hesitate to look back. At least, that’s what I thought at the time.


What did you think of Chapter One? I’d love to know if any moments stood out to you — drop a comment below or share your favorite line.

Stay tuned for Chapter Two — and hit “like” & “subscribe” if you’re along for the ride.

Rock on. 🤘

I’ll Never Fucking Know

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Sometimes grief doesn’t come from death — it comes from silence. From a friendship that once burned bright and then vanished without explanation. This poem spilled out of me in still trying to process the loss of someone who once felt like home. It’s messy, raw, and probably imperfect… but so was our bond.


“I’ll Never Fucking Know”

What the fuck happened?

Seems I’ll never understand.

Like a whirlwind of emotions;

your sleight of hand.

Mutual love, compassion,

freedom of our fucking souls.

Someone to lean on in a storm—

bestie goals.

Is it really worth it,

to be so mad?

Is it really worth it,

to throw away what we had?

Your silence is deafening;

none of this makes sense.

We could’ve figured it out

with a bond that intense.

What could be, would be, should be,

before it’s too late.

This animosity wasn’t written

to be our fate.

But nothing’s changed;

what more can I do?

Just keep on keepin’ on,

without you.

I’ll stitch up my heart,

just like before.

Burn bright in your darkness—

I’ll always love you more.

What the fuck happened?

Where’s your vibrant fucking glow?

Your stubbornness knows no bounds.

Guess I’ll never fucking know.


Losing someone you love — whether a friend, a partner, or a soulmate of any kind — can feel like a death without a funeral. Writing this helped me grieve, rage, and remember.

Fuck it — grief is messy, love is messy, friendship is messy. But maybe we don’t have to process it alone. Drop a thought, a rant, or a poem of your own in the comments. Let’s build a little corner of honesty together.

Rock on!

PS — What sparked this?

For a few years, my family was caught in chaos, and I was the one holding it all together. That kind of weight leaves you drained in ways you don’t even notice until later.

I think that’s why memories of this friend hit me so hard when they resurfaced – We once leaned on each other & lit each other up when we had nothing left.

I tried reaching out — not out of selfishness, but out of hope. Hope that maybe we could move forward, even just as friends. But silence was my answer.

So I’m left with this strange space: not fully grieving, not fully heartbroken, just carrying a fire I once borrowed from him. A fire I’ll keep tending, in the life I’ve built.