Archivist note: This post is from an older recovered archive.
The Scottie Chronicles – The Past is Prologue – May 19
((Posted by Scottie Melnik on May 19, 2010))
So it was suggested by the very lovely Miss Sky Netizen to start a journal. I thought it kind of silly at first since people can just ask me what I’m up to if they’d like to know. But the more I thought about it the more I could see the merit in it. It could help me mull over the day’s events or just offer a nice cathartic outlet. In a building dedicated to publishing books I was able to bind up a blank notebook and I’ll just keep it up in my living quarters once the renovations are complete.
It’s been just over two months since I moved to Babbage and setup my bookshop. Oh, how time flies. I’ve written a little book, attended several social events (what can I say, I love to dance with the ladies), and made many new friends. Lately I’ve taken to renovating the entire shop with the help of a couple very talented friends and slowly but surely piecing together the sequel to my book.
But perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Since I’m calling this a chronicle I may as well start at the start. I was born and raised in the Midwest of the United States, a product of a loving mother and father. But as was all too common in those days my mother and a baby brother I never got to meet passed away at the end of a difficult pregnancy. I was eight years old and I really don’t remember much. Even thinking back to it now I can recall my childhood before and after that day, but that spot in my life is just dark and I think I like keeping it that way.
My father was an emotional wreck and he withdrew from his only son, losing himself in work, wine, and women. The construction company he had built prospered under his new drive to forget his family completely. The nights of boozing and steady stream of “aunts” that he brought home with him put the distance between us that he wanted. I went to work with him at sixteen as an employee, nothing more. At seventeen I was the foreman of my own crew and trying to prove myself when a faulty brace brought down the scaffolding my father was on. I watched him die that day. For some reason I can remember that quite clearly.
I never really bore any ill will towards my father for his reaction to my mother’s death and I can understand that I was a constant reminder of what he had lost. What I couldn’t understand, and still can’t, is how utterly broken he was and remained until his death. I’ve heard of other people being so deeply in love they just can’t function after one passes on. It’s like a piece of them went with their beloved and they can never get it back. As sweet as a true romantic may believe that is I’ve never wanted to find myself so dependent on another.
For what it was worth, I was fortunate my father had turned his grief onto his company. It had done so well that I was able to sell it company for a tidy profit and after reviewing the family finances I discovered a few surprises that allowed me to get away. I didn’t know where I was going nor did I care, I just wanted to leave. I wanted to see what the world had to offer and so I did.
Wow, that’s a lot more than I had intended to put on paper. Maybe there’s something to this whole journal thing after all.
Time to leave the past in the past for now and get back to living in the present. Lots to do and little time to do it.
