Chapter Text
Pete McVries had been spending an awful lot of time in front of the bulletin boards as of late.
Art, being his closest friend, noticed it first. He would be walking through the local park and there would be Pete, staring at the board with great intent and stroking his chin in thought. Art Baker was observant as hell and had a keen eye for trends that were happening around him, like how there was a jogger who ran the same route every day at five o’clock or that there was a specific bench the single mothers group favoured to sit on during their Tuesday meetups.The most recent addition to the park's schedule was the tall man who stood in front of the notice boards.
Hank, his significantly less close friend, noticed it second (though he claimed he was first). Hank Olson was a bit like an annoying fly that you just couldn’t stop from hovering around your dinner, no matter how much you tried to swat it away. When he wasn’t boasting about all the cool stuff his girlfriend did, he was nosing into people’s business and making sure everyone knew his opinion on everything. The hottest topic on his gossip train was currently the tall man who spent all his time staring at the notice boards.
They lived in a small town, so it wasn’t difficult to spot when an irregular event occurred. Baker and Olson walked through the park daily, sometimes together, sometimes not, and it was fairly obvious that Pete’s behaviour was starting to scare the neighbours. He would stand in the same position every day, face full of concentration and eyebrows knitted together sternly. To Art and Hank, this was merely their friend going through a slight breakdown, but to the public… well, he was a little terrifying. Especially when it started to rain and he still stood there, fierce gaze remaining fixed on the board.
This wasn’t the first time Pete had behaved erratically, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. The trio had met when they started working on the same street, with Art handling the garage, Hank running the grocery store, and Pete handing out flyers for the cat café that no one wanted to go to because it was far too hip and trendy. Hank had heckled Pete, telling him that he was driving customers away from his delicious grapes, and Art had come out to diffuse the situation.
“Baker, no one is coming here with that loon out front! No one wants their produce with a side of loon!”
“Now, now,” Art had said, holding his grease-covered palms up in an attempt to calm Hank down. “He’s just here doin’ a job like the rest of us. No harm in that.”
Pete has also said some things, but they featured a lot of expletives and served no purpose in making the situation any better. By some miracle he was forgiven, and when he sat on the curb to have his lunch that day, he found himself sandwiched between Olson and Baker. He was even given some grapes as a peace offering. As Pete moved up in the world and started flyering on a different street, he found himself still coming back for lunch, and the three had been inseparable ever since. Pete often longed to be separated from Hank, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now; Art was too good of an offer to pass up. They lived a comfortable life in Wayport, enjoying their small town ways and never venturing far from what they knew. They had all done the city life whilst at college and now that the fun of that had dried up, they found themselves very happy living in a place where the residential community called the shots; But as the months went on, Pete found himself handing out less and less flyers.
See, Pete did have a job, he was just no longer with said job. Flyering could only get you so far, and the town was so small he was pretty sure he had flyered everyone at least ten times. He was also fairly certain there was a guy who would purposefully loop around multiple times just to get extra flyers. Sick freak. The townspeople had no need for more flyers and, as it turns out, they also had no need for a cat café. So Pete, with his shiny degree that he wasn’t using, lost his job and all the perks that came with it (cuddles with the cats and one free coffee a week). He saw it as a bit of a lucky break, because he knew they were inches away from getting him to wear a cat costume in an attempt to increase sales - God knows the flyer creep would’ve had a field day. He was overjoyed for about a day until he realised that he was now hopelessly, desperately and embarrassingly unemployed. He couldn’t even get a job with his friends, because Art had no real stake in the garage and Hank didn’t trust him with a brick.
“I would give you a job, you see, but I just don’t want to. Hope you understand, bud.”
Things were not looking good for McVries. There weren’t many jobs going in town, and his degree was far too artsy-fartsy to be of use to the locals. He knew he needed to make a change but in his opinion, he had absolutely nothing of value to offer people. He was smart, and he was kind, but he severely lacked passion. He needed something that made his heart skip, inspired his mind, encouraged him to get up and do his best; he had never found that, even during college. Sometimes he would get into a groove with his flyering, sending winks to handsome bankers and charming their pants off, but it wasn’t exactly something he could put on his résumé. He just couldn't find something he loved. Baker and Olson worked hard at their métiers and were constantly progressing, whilst Pete was the kind of guy that always had you worried he would end up selling vapes to teenagers. He was crying out for a purpose, and it was clear to his friends that this was affecting him greatly.
“I’m worried about him.”
“Who?” Hank replied, peeling off a segment of his orange and chucking it into his mouth.
“Pete,” Art answered. “He ain’t got a clue what to do. Hell, I don’t know if he’s even got a lick of an interest in that head of his.”
Hank rolled his eyes and leaned further back in his chair, dangerously on the cusp off tumbling backwards but somehow never following through. He had the balance of a seasoned yoga instructor, which was odd for someone who wouldn't touch the gym with a ten foot pole.
“I don’t see what you’re concerned about.” He smacked his lips and continued to eat. “The guy’s, what, twenty-three? He’s got plenty of time.”
Worry graced Art’s features. “Naw man, It’s different. He’s like a… Like a ghost. It’s like he’s drifting around an’ shit whenever we see him. I don't think he’s happy.”
“Tell him to... I dunno, get a hobby or something. Not everyone can be businessmen like us, ‘ey Art?” Hank cackled, whacking him on the shoulder so hard a button on his overalls popped off.
That was the end of the conversation. It was not the end of it in Art’s mind.
Art cared deeply for Pete; They had a connection that many others couldn’t understand, one where they just got each other. Hank tried, bless his heart, but he was prone to say the wrong thing and often needed the treatment of a boot in his mouth. Despite his Hank-isms, they all felt very lucky to have each other; things weren’t bad in their town per se, but it was still smart to stick together as some of the only minorities in the area. It only took one bad banana to rot the entire batch, and the people of Wayport were as easy to sway as a limp branch.
Art and Hank had managed to break through the boundaries and make a name for themselves, but Pete just couldn’t seem to get anywhere. Despite the acceptance of the other two, Pete was still another black man trying to make it in a hick town. Everything was harder than it should’ve been, because he knew that whatever he was trying to do, he also needed to push through people’s unconscious bias and get them to actually see him as a real human being. This wasn’t helped by the fact he had a long scar running across his cheek, bright and always calling for attention. Something so small, so inconsequential, yet it became a massive stain on people’s perception of him. Pete McVries was born to be judged, life a constant uphill battle that never allowed him to stop walking, not even once.
Art, with his constantly churning mind, acknowledged this and longed to help. There was more to Pete than someone who just yelled swear words and handed out flyers. He was kind, and smart, and also very inappropriate at times - but people loved him for that. Art was so protective of the boy and he even felt a bit maternal towards him, in a weird way. He knew Pete had no one until he and Hank came along, and this clearly resulted in him having absolutely no idea how to look after himself. So Baker got to work, and Hank ate another orange.
“So, what’re you planning next, Petey-boy?” Art started, attempting to subtly plant a seed of encouragement into the conversation.
They had been enjoying another lunch together on the street corner, as they did every day, but due to his current lack of funds Pete’s sandwich was looking a bit more decrepit than usual.
“Ah, nuthin’.” He shrugged, picking at his questionable looking crust. “I mean, I’m sort-of looking, but mostly just holding out that something will come up.”
Baker and Olson shared a look. Or more, Art looked at Hank with concern, and Hank looked confusedly back.
“What’re you doin’ in your spare time?” Art proceeded.
“Oh, you know, this and that.”
‘This and that’ typically translated to fuck all. It seemed that a glimmer of distress finally graced Olson’s features.
“So what, you just sit around all day doing nothing? Ain't your house a shithole?”
Art smacked Hank on the shoulder and he laughed in response, raising it in a half-hearted shrug.
“I do things!” Pete exclaimed, looking exasperatedly at the two. “I’m out and about!”
“I’ve never seen you around, Petey.”
“Yeah, and that sandwich is crying out for help,” Hank said whilst chewing, displaying his own lunch in a way that no one wanted to see.
Pete said nothing and stared at the ground, uncomfortable with the fact his friends were trying to connect, or even worse, help him.
“I just think you need a hobby, or a group,” Art clarified kindly, resting his hand on Pete's shoulder in a much gentler way than he had just treated Hanks. “Get you out of the house. Or who knows, maybe you’d find somethin’ you really love.”
Pete considered that they may have a point. It was true; all he was doing at the moment was sitting around in his crap apartment, and his sandwich was looking rather desperate. He had made it using the butts of the loaf and filled it with barely refrigerated meat slices that he had picked up from the corner store. Perhaps it was time to make a change, like Michael Jackson always said. The only problem was Pete couldn’t really take a look at himself to do it because his mirror was all smashed up from when he and the boys were playing a pretty aggressive round of darts. But that was neither here nor there; Art had successfully planted his seed of encouragement, and Pete was eager to bloom. He was going to find something. If not for himself, he would do it for Baker.
Pete didn’t really do social media, and he most definitely didn’t do word of mouth. His options of finding a passion or hobby seemed reasonably slim. So, in a sudden stroke of genius, Pete started to go to the notice board.
At first, it seemed like a fruitless endeavor. The notice board, though so aptly named, didn’t seem to have much to notify about at all. He went there everyday, and barely a thing changed. He still looked at each notice with curiosity and gave them the respect he felt they deserved, even if he was never going to try it in a million years. At least these businesses were trying. There were sometimes ones he considered, like:
Want to learn Spanish?
Pete felt he would seem very worldly if he learnt a language. Ladies loved that shit, too.
For children aged 5 and up.
That made it significantly less appealing. Sure, he was older than five, but he’s not sure that meant he was still part of the target demographic.
Clarinet teacher available.
Pete could imagine himself tooting around, becoming a busker and seducing the townsfolk with his velvety notes. Maybe he’d swoop up a fella with his sultry tunes.
Must have own clarinet. $100 per hour.
He didn’t quite have the funds for that. Or the clarinet.
Other things popped up, but they were just people advertising their services or looking for missing pets. Pete pondered for a bit that he could be a pet whisperer, becoming some sort of local super-hero, but then he remembered how often he lost his keys (and how often he was unsuccessful in finding them). Pete didn’t let this dishearten him, for he was incredibly used to rejection after all the long, embarrassing days he spent on the street begging people to take a piece of paper from his hands. He still showed up every day without fail and spent his time analyzing the board and thinking about what he wanted in life, as opposed to his regular scheduling of rotting in his dirty bedroom. The sun was doing wonders for his skin. It was nice to hear the birds chirping. He was unsettling the townspeople. All good things.
It had been about two weeks of this before Olson had clocked onto Pete’s strange behaviour. Baker, being Baker, had already picked up by the third day.
“Whatchu think he’s doing?” Hank murmured as they passed by Pete on their way home from work.
“I bet you he’s finding a hobby.” Art grinned, already so proud of the fact that Pete had taken a step in the right direction.
Hank snorted. “I wouldn’t call standing around in a park a popular pastime.”
Baker was about to reply before Hank stopped and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“OI, MCVRIES,” he shouted. “WATCHU DOING OVE-MMPH,”
He had barely had a chance to finish his sentence before Art slapped a hand over his lips and dragged him kicking and mmph-ing out of the park. If McVries needed to stare at a bulletin board to find his purpose in life, so be it! That’s what he was going to do, and Art was most certainly not going to let Olson get in the way of that. His thought process was interrupted by said scoundrel licking his hand, causing him to pull it off in disgust.
“What’d you do that for! I was just asking a simple question.”
“Don’t break him out of the zone.” Art pointed a finger at him warningly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him do something that’s not handin’ out flyers or muckin’ about with us.”
“Fair-dos, man.” Hank shrugged. “I just don’t see what's taking him so long.”
“Not everyone is born with a passion for groceries, Olson.” Art grinned, and the pair continued walking, not before he put Hank in a headlock and aggressively ruffled his hair.
*
Pete didn’t expect this Thursday to be any different to the past two Thursdays he spent at the board. He had woken up and shrugged his jacket on, heading out with his keys firmly in hand and not much else. He didn’t have a phone and he often left his Ipod at home, choosing instead to hum his own tunes and make up lyrics as he walked. Now, he even imagined himself playing a little clarinet to go alongside it.
As he made it to the park, he took a moment to appreciate how the leaves looked at this time of year and how they swirled at his feet as the wind blew. In times like this, he considered how little time he actually spent in the countryside. The town was on the cusp of being rural, but he never found himself accidentally running into a cow and he could only see hay bails if he went to a high point and squinted. It was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, being brought forward whenever he took a deep inhale of smog or stood in dog crap that was carelessly left in the middle of the street. He quite fancied himself as a country boy. Then he could stand in sheep crap, instead.
He approached the board and assumed his usual position, finger itching to be resting on his chin in deep consideration. There were missing pets, as per usual. A new gardening service had been added. It seemed the scamming clarinet teacher had finally given up. Nothing out of the ordinary, Pete thought, and he felt himself deflating a little. How long could he really keep this up? As he began to spiral into a pit of self doubt, he noticed a striking flash of green in the right corner. It didn’t catch his eye at first, his brain probably dismissing it as another child gunning to mow some lawns. He leaned forward and brushed a neighbouring notice out of the way, revealing a hastily scrawled advertisement written in bright blue pen. It read:
Interested in learning how to fish?
Ray Garraty’s Fishing Experience teaches you all you need to know about fishing in one tailored weekend, from understanding the rivers to learning which bait is best. This course is ideal for any fishing novice who is looking to reconnect with nature and find their wild side.
So, what are you waiting for? Book an experience for your next available weekend and head to the rolling hills of West Wilhelm. There’s no place quite like it!
Email Ray at [email protected] to enquire.
Ready, bait, fish!
Pete grinned, noted down the email, and sped off to his local library.
*
On the way to the library, Pete made a quick pit stop at a nearby phone booth. As it rang, he impatiently tapped his boot on the floor and chewed an already shredded nail. Pick up, pick up, pick up. He heard the click of it being answered, and immediately leapt into action.
“Baker’s dozen! I need to use your email!”
“Wha? Petey, whassis about?"
Despite already being at work, he was clearly still trying to wake himself up. After all, Pete clocked into his shift of staring at the board very early. Baker’s accent always got more prominent when it was early in the morning or late in the evening; Or when he was excited, or sad, or angry, or happy.
“I’ve found something. I need to sign up- I need to send an email,” Pete replied, gripping the receiver with two hands in an intensity he hadn’t had in a long time.
He could tell Art was smiling down the phone. It bled out in each word he spoke.
“Go for it, Petey. You know what it is.”
“Thanks, I- Just, thank you, Baker.”
“Hey- ‘EY! Is that McVries on the line? Tell him he needs to-”
But Pete had hung up before Hank had a chance to finish his sentence. Oh well, such is life. He only had so many quarters.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and exited the phone booth, turning a few corners before he ended up in front of the library. Pete liked it there; he could do stuff for free. Before his miniature breakdown he would spend hours amongst the shelves, devouring whatever random book had caught his eye that day. He opened the door with his shoulder and smiled at the librarian before beelining towards the computers, the only other occupant a balding man who had his face pressed far too close to the screen. He sat down at one and flexed his cold fingers before he started typing away, signing into Art’s email. He had to delete a couple of spam messages and block a few senders before continuing on; That boy just couldn’t help but sign up to things. Pete then began to compose his email to one Ray Garraty.
From: [email protected]
Hi Ray,
I hope you’re having a good day. I would like to sign up for one of your fishing weekends. I would like to do one as soon as possible. Can you do this weekend?
Just a quick question. How much is it? That was missing from your ad. Also, do I need to bring anything? That was also missing from your ad.
I hope to hear from you soon.
Pete McVries
P.S. Please ignore the email address. It’s my friends.
Pete felt jolts of electricity shoot down into his fingertips as he pressed send. He couldn’t believe he had actually gone and signed up to something, and that it was fishing, nevertheless. But it made sense to him; he imagined himself sitting next to a peaceful river, beer in hand, basking in the mediocre weather and feeling content. Maybe he’d even catch a fish or two, but that was hardly the point.
He was fully prepared to spend the rest of the day camped out in front of the screen, obeying the strict sign behind him that said ‘absolutely no talking!!!!!’, when the computer pinged. He let out a gasp and was promptly shushed by a nearby patron who was pacing far too close behind him. He scowled at the person and hunkered closer to the screen, suddenly feeling very private. A gasp hardly counted as a talk, anyway.
From: [email protected]
Morning Pete,
I am having a good day. I hope you are well too! I do have a session running this weekend, and it would be amazing if you could come.
RE: your questions, this session will be completely free. I have just started out this business and due to the fact I am figuring things out, I can’t in good conscience charge people for it. I hope that doesn’t put you off. In regards to your other query, you don’t need to bring anything, just an eagerness to learn! And waterproofs. Never go fishing without waterproofs.
If you are still interested, please send through a confirmation of attendance. I will then send you over the address and timings, along with my number in case any issues arise.
I eagerly look forward to your reply.
Ray Garraty
Founder of Ray Garraty's Fishing Experiences
P.S. It’s okay. It made me laugh a lot.
Pete couldn’t believe his luck. Exactly what he was looking for, and it was free. Sure, the guy was just starting out, but he couldn’t fault him for that. Pete was in exactly the same boat as him. Maybe, if he became really good, he could become his apprentice. He could just imagine himself now, shooting the shit with a bearded old guy, laughing and casting their rods.
He shook his head. He was always getting ahead of himself. Ray had said there was already a session running, meaning there would be other people around and he would have minimal time to impress the dude with his newfound fishing prowess. Pete felt himself get a little disgruntled at the fact he would have to meet new people, but he shrugged it off quickly. This was the whole point of what he was doing, right? To find himself? Exclusively hanging out with an old man named Ray was hardly going to be the soul searching experience Baker had tasked him to find. Either way, he was trying a new thing, getting himself out in nature, and maybe even ending up with a skill that gave him free dinners. What more could Baker want? He scanned over Ray’s email again, and typed out his reply.
From: [email protected]
Hi Ray,
I’ll be there.
Pete