Friday, November 6th, 1987. 

The sound of the alarm on my clock on my bedside dresser counter brings me out of my slumber slightly, I can see the sun shining through my window blinds. I feel warm and snug in my bed, and it’s really a struggle to even wanna get out of it. But I overcome my feelings of relaxation, I remember today is Friday anyways and I’ll soon get the weekend off anyways to sleep in all I want. Although I feel guilty if I’m still in bed any time past 9am, the way I was raised still lingers in me still. My father is very much the “early to bed, early to rise” type and instills  that onto me, his only son and only child in general.  Wasn’t fun being 15 and being forced to wake up at 6am on a weekend or a non-school day. Summer break was the only time I could kinda get around it though, if he was too busy getting ready for work to realize I was still sleeping. 

I start to get up and open my eyes, wiping the crust out of them. I slam my left hand on my alarm clock, hard enough to hurt my hand a bit and I cut my palm, there’s a slight leak of blood coming out of it. I wince a bit, and curse myself for slamming it that hard. I quickly turn off the radio as well, not really in the mood to hear any music right now.

I roll out of bed with my hand still ringing in pain from slamming it, in just my boxers and nothing else. I’ve never been the type to sleep nude, although some say it’s the ultimate relaxation when you do. I look at my studio apartment that I moved into this past summer, it’s not the biggest at only a little under 500 feet, and it’s barely furnished. A bed, a small old Antenna TV being held up by a cardboard moving box that’s upside down (I didn’t bother to get cable, never been much of a TV watcher besides the news or whatever movie of the week one of the big network stations might play on a Friday or Saturday night. Growing up, dad was pretty anti-TV besides an occasion or two ) and a kitchen table. My microwave and fridge came with the apartment, I typically go to the laundromat down the street to do my laundry, the laundry on site isn’t the best to say the least, feels too dingy for me. Despite how barebones my apartment is and how small it is too, I feel like it’s a damn good deal for coming out to Los Angeles to live.  I was told by the agency back when I was just about to graduate in D.C. that there’s decent deals up in the San Fernando Valley. My apartment’s right in Burbank, almost bordering North Hollywood. I was born and raised in San Diego so I already had an idea of what living out in Los Angeles was gonna look like from visiting so many times over the course of my life at this point, coming out here with my parents throughout the seventies and high school in the early eighties to get out of town for a weekend or whatever. Moving out to Los Angeles felt pretty much like crossing the street, I’ll occasionally drive down to San Diego for the weekend to see my dad. It’s only two hours or a little less, depending how early I leave. 

I get dressed and shower and trim my goatee and slight mustache and put on my Tag Heuer watch. I dress in my typical suit and slacks, my government agency ID being in my suit pocket. Working for the agency, this whole “shrinkage” agency has been something that I never knew existed. It’s crazy to think that it’s been around twenty years this past July they tell me. They’ve done such a good secret keeping it from the public eye all this time. I myself didn’t even know it existed until I told what branch I would be assigned to back in Quantico not too long ago, and even then I’ve been told it’s a rare branch to get assigned to.  The few months I’ve been here since May they haven’t really had me do much, just desk job activities like organizing files and going on the occasional collection to pick up some random shrunken from their home in the SoCal area and to bring them here and see if we can get them some benefits and get them back to size, if someone found them and didn’t accidentally step on them or worse. We also come up with fake death certificates as well too if they’re found and things go awry, to say the least. We can really convince those that they haven’t really seen what they’re actually seeing too, some good scare tactics will do that as well.  But I’ve never really been out in the field too much though, they say I’m not quite ready yet. Being “The Kid” of the agency at 23 years old, fresh out of training.

I head out the door and into the hallway on an empty stomach. It's about 9:04 in the morning when I check my watch, the Tag Heuer that my dad gave to me as a graduation present earlier this year. Him saying he saw it at one of the D.C. area malls he was visiting out there and thought to give me one as a gift. I’m shocked he did this still, dad wasn’t really the gifting type when it came to me to say the least. Mom was, though. I guess he showed his love in other ways, like taking me out to eat whenever I got a good report card in elementary school or occasionally lending me money for a date if I was going out with a girl in high school. 

I lock the door to my apartment and walk down the hallway, feeling my stomach gurgle a bit out of hunger. I probably won’t stop by Winchell’s and grab a glazed twist and a coffee this morning, I’ll just have to just bear with it until I get to the office and grab some coffee and hope they brought some donuts, it is Friday if I remember anyways. I make my way through the complex and quickly onto the street, the sky is brown and hazy with smog, you can really see it well up in the valley. This being one of the things I do hate about living out in Los Angeles, that and smog alerts  too and the traffic and how long it can take to get anywhere that’s not right down the street from you, everything so sprawled out in this city with all the different cities within L.A. and areas.

I get my keys out of my suit pocket, my car being a beige 1981 Ford Escort that I bought not too long after coming to L.A. this past summer, I typically used the metro in D.C. when I was at Quantico for training. I used to borrow my dad’s ‘71 Stingray from time to time, he only let me drive it if it was for a date with a girl to pick them up in typically though and maybe if he was really in a good mood he’d let me borrow it to let me go to L.A. when I lived in San Diego. I usually took the bus or walked if the distance wasn’t too far if I couldn’t drive. I could have worked and bought a car during my teen years (dad made it very clear he sure as hell wasn’t gonna buy me one), but I was too exhausted from school during my high school years, all those honors classes and homework. I wasn’t the egghead type by any means necessary, but I can say I wasn’t one of those people who didn’t float through school and did kinda apply myself more than the typical teen. Although I had made it clear at a very early age that I wanted to become somewhere in law enforcement, wanting to be a cop at first. But I started thinking bigger as I got more into my teens and the FBI stuff you saw in movies and some of the TV shows I did happen to catch, seeing TV shows like I Spy and The Man From U.N.C.L.E. and those James Bond movies you’d see from time to time on TV really started to inspire me as well too. So I always took my studies much more seriously year after year as I got into high school especially, I will say this, my dad did find that charming about me, how devoted I was to getting great grades. Him typically being a man that didn’t really appreciate his only child, his only son as much as mom did. 

I put my key into the door key slot and unlock the door, and I hop in, and I close the door, and I crank up my car. Which cranks up pretty good today, it usually takes a couple of cranks to start it up. It’s a piece of shit car, but it’s MY piece of shit car. Which is how I see it. It’s got a couple of scratches on the back bumper from the previous owner, it’s a stick shift and it’s something that came pretty easy to me, my dad’s Corvette being a stick-shift and all I drove that if I ever did drive. I will say those new Camaros and Mustangs have been catching my eye these last few years, a chunk of the guys at the agency have IROC-Zs or Mustang 5.0s and a few with Firebirds I’ve noticed and they’re pretty nice looking, especially the new body style of Mustangs that just came out. I’ve had somewhat of an interest in cars, although my dad was more into that sorta thing than I am. He occasionally told stories of his hot rodding and just general greaser days in the mid to late 50s to me growing up, a few years before I was born. Mom got pregnant with me and reality started to hit him he’d always say. It seemed, I guess he was a little resentful of me and my existence. That's why he’s the way he is, he had to really grow up when I was born. Even though he was about 27 or so. 

I look out my side window and I begin to turn out into the street to make my way to the office, only a 45 minute drive from my apartment in Burbank to the Agency office right near Culver City, West L.A. area. I would have liked to live closer to my job, but rent prices and all. Maybe as I get more years under my belt my pay goes up and maybe I’ll move out near that area. I do like being close to a beach. Remembering all the beach dates I had with girls in high school, summer of ‘82 I’ll never forget. The year I graduated high school.  Losing my virginity in the borrowed station wagon trunk in the beach parking lot afterdark of this green eyed dark haired brunette beauty. I really thought I was in over my head with her, it’s funny I can’t remember her name, but I can remember her face as clear as day. She probably didn’t last long, as many of my high school girlfriends did. The girl I did last the longest with was a few months in 10th grade, and we only broke up because she had strict parents who didn’t want her nowhere near a boy so our relationship was a secret that she eventually had to call off at some point. I haven’t dated a girl since high school, although some could argue that night on the beach with that girl being the magnum opus of any high school relationship I had. 

I make my way through the streets and onto the I-5 freeway to get out of the valley and through L.A, I turn the radio on, playing a radio ad for a local tire shop. It’s on some local news station and I turn my radio down to mute.  I have a couple of cassette tapes, Chicago, The Bee Gees, Hall & Oates, Earth, Wind and Fire. The softer rock stuff and RnB I do enjoy and what my music taste typically goes to. Not a huge rock guy, there might be a Journey or Cheap Trick or REO Speedwagon song from my high school days that I might like, but that’s about it. I don’t really pay much attention or like any of the big rock acts these days that seem to be just mostly pouring out of the Sunset Strip or trying to imitate it, Mötley Crüe and Poison and Whitesnake, all the other little club bands that seem to be hitting it big these days. I don’t have cable meaning I don’t have MTV, so I just go with what I hear on the radio and what I see in day to day life, seeing promos for concerts and albums scattered around town and especially if I drive near the Sunset Strip, seeing the guys in their glam outfits and outside rock clubs, and they look kinda ridiculous to me for the most part. This glam metal stuff doesn’t really fit my energy and doesn’t really interest me very much in general, there might be a ballad every once in a while I might hear on the radio or in a public place that I might not mind like Cinderella's “Nobody’s Fool” and even Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”. Def Leppard and Bon Jovi especially have caught my ear a time or two with what I’ve heard on KIIS FM whenever I pass by that station. I do like Phil Collins’s solo records and many of his singles, I didn’t really care for Genesis though. ABBA’s a huge guilty pleasure of mine too. 

My commute from the Valley into West L.A. is typically kinda interesting to see I will admit, I drive by Dodger Stadium and I get a good view of the skyline as I drive into Downtown L.A., although the sky’s so hazy typically from smog. My car’s a stick-shift, and having to shift gears all the time in heavy traffic is a pain in the ass to say the least, but I just grit my teeth about it and bare with it. I’ll typically have one of my cassette tapes in or have the radio on the local RnB station, but this morning I decided to drive in silence. Mostly focusing on the hum of my car’s engine and the noise of the city surrounding me, from the sounds of horns in the background and police helicopters and airplanes in the sky, never a dull moment in this busy city. Traffic’s pretty thick as usual, but I’m moving pretty constantly and there’s not much stop and go as there typically might be. So I guess I’ll count my blessings. 

I eventually make it to the agency, my shift starts at 10:00, it’s about 9:53 when I pull into the parking lot, judging by my watch. The parking lot is a bit crowded even this early into the day, a few seniority and/or high in command agents have assigned parking, but for the rest of us normal agents, it’s a total free-for-all to find a decent spot after a certain time. Federal Budgeting my ass. 

I park my car not too far from the entrance, luckily someone was seemingly just about to leave as I was coming in. Seems like I’ve had an alright morning so far, traffic not being too bad and managing to find a pretty nice spot not too far from the entrance. I reverse back into my spot, I take a few tries trying to straighten up in my parking space, and by the time I do it’s already 10 o’clock. Shit.

I quickly shift into park into first gear and park and turn off the car and put my keys in my pocket and get out and slam my door, not locking the door behind me. The guys at the security booth when I came in do a pretty decent job at keeping out people who aren’t supposed to be here, and besides, what type of crook would be dumb enough to steal a car out of a government agency parking lot, and a shitty car at that? 

I make my way into the building, checking in. The receptionist up front tells me I’m supposed to report to the director of my department as soon as possible, and don’t bother going to my cubicle right now. My heart skips a beat and I make my way through the building, heading to the elevator to go talk to the director in his office. He’s a guy in his early 50s, one of the first agents hired back in the late 60s when the main branch opened in D.C. and then transferred out here when it first was established, the west coast branch that opened inside the FBI building in L.A. is a bit on the newer side compared to them, first opening up sometime in 1973. He's a typical stern older guy in his early 50s, the type you encounter in these federal jobs. Drinks straight black coffee, has a dry or sarcastic sense of humor if any at all. No-nonsense type of individual. Slightly overweight, although that’s probably due to the fact he’s been doing desk job stuff for about 7 or so years. He rarely goes out into the field. He’s starting to go grey lately and the black dye he’s been using doesn’t hide it all that well, no-one’s brought it up to him yet due to the fact they’re intimidated by him. They just ignore it, as ridiculous as it looks at times. 

“Take a seat, Tom” He says, in his stiff and commanding voice as I walk through the door of his office and close it behind me. His office is on the highest floor in the building, which is the 5th floor. Behind his desk is a long rectangular painting on the wall, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, seemingly a really good copy of the one out in Washington. 

"Yes, yes sir” I say as I begin to take a seat in front of his desk, crossing my leg over my knee as I sit down and try to get comfortable. My heartbeat is still going pretty fast. 

“We’ve decided that we’re going to move you out east, to the Boston branch. We’ve found it’s starting to get tight on room out here on the West Coast, and it seems like your name was on the list to get transferred” my director says. 

“Boston? Out east? Besides D.C. for training, I’ve never really been out east or left California, and I just got settled and everything being out here in L.A.” I say, sounding shocked and slightly upset. 

“There's a first time for everything, and besides, you’re young. You’ve got plenty of time to come back out west, kid. who knows how long you’ll be out there. Maybe it’s just a year or two and you’ll be back in Los Angeles by 1990 or whatever” he says,  I internally roll my eyes when he calls me kid. I hate when people do that shit. It’s so condescending. 

“I know it’s sudden, and I know you’ve just started your career off. But maybe things might go better for you out there anyways. You haven’t been doing much out here from what I’ve seen the last couple of months you’ve been here, maybe your career will advance quicker much out there” He says. I still stay silent.

It’s silent between us for about a minute or so, him staring right back at me, emotionless. 

“Look, I got you these” he says, opening the side left drawer in his desk and pulling something out, a ticket for American Airlines, a flight for tomorrow at 10:30am, a nonstop flight from L.A.X. to Logan International. First class seats, at least. Round trip as well.

“Thought I’d sweeten things up, let you spend a week or so in Boston on our dime, get acquainted with the city, see where you might wanna live, and your pay will increase too once you move out there. You start work out there on the 30th. I already got the hotel and rental car setup, they’ll be someone waiting for you right outside of the gate when you first touch down” the director says.

“Thanks” I murmur, not really crazy about the idea of moving still.

“I’ll give you the rest of today off to enjoy yourself and uh, get used to the idea of moving. You’re gonna wanna buy some winter clothes, I don’t know if you’ve still got some from your time out in Quanico, but those East Coast winters aren’t something to fuck around with as you probably know.” the director says, digging into the same drawer he handed me the ticket out of and sliding me a Rand McNally paper map of Boston, it’s up to date, the year on it is 1987.

“I’ll do that” I say, with a sigh. Hating the winters of D.C. and how much it was a shock to me when it came October and November when I first started at Quantico. The humid late summer heat I didn’t adjust to all that well either. I did all my degree stuff right here in California, going to San Diego State University and just living at home with dad instead of living on campus. Dad did help out with financing my schooling, and that I do appreciate him for. I just went to class and went home, and that’s it. I might have gone to the on campus library to study a time or two, but that’s as far as I went. My major was criminal justice.

“Try to see the bright side of it all, Tom. There’s a world bigger than just California as you know, it doesn't hurt to get a change of scenery.” he says, I get up and leave his office and make my way to the elevator.

I think to call my dad as I walk through the building and begin to make my way out into the parking lot, but I figure I'll tell him maybe later today. I’m not too sad about living this agency out west though, I barely talked to anyone out here. I was pretty much the quiet guy in the months I’ve been here, more or less. Only spoke when spoken too, otherwise I kept my mouth shut and kept things at a basic “Hello” or “Goodbye” level. Never really had a lot of friends coming up, the girls I’d date would find this weird but they typically ignored it. I was the shy kid in the back of the class who didn’t wanna be noticed throughout all my school years, played by himself at recess, ate alone at lunch in high school. Never really bothered me that much though, I kinda like it anyways. I do get along with people typically though. 

I finally make it outside and into the parking lot, I look at my watch and the time’s only 11:04 in the morning still. I have an entire day to myself, besides trying to get everything ready before I’m sent on this impromptu trip by my superior. On my off days I typically head down the beach in Santa Monica or Huntington Beach out in Orange County if I feel like going out there in my shorts and my Polo shirts to look around and enjoy this weather I’ve loved all my life, maybe ogle at some women, chat a few up but nothing typically goes anywhere. I don’t drink so bars and lounges have never really been my vibe. Never been a huge fan of alcohol and the way it makes you feel. Rather stay sober. 

I walk through the parking lot, deciding I’ll take myself out for breakfast this morning since I’ve got plenty of time to kill today. I was thinking Du-Par’s but I think plain ol’ IHOP might do. I walk to my car and I get in, and I make my way out of the parking lot and into the streets of L.A. again, making my way back to the Valley, I change my mind about getting something to eat and I decide to go out for pizza instead. I end up getting a pizza for myself, eating inside a Pizza Hut. I’ll take myself out to eat from time to time, and this has been the first time in a few months. I was pretty hungry, and finished the entire pizza in one sitting. Somewhat shocking to the server.

The rest of the day I spent at my house after I ate, I mostly just flicked through the channels I have on my Antenna TV pretty much all day, it being Friday and all and that whole TGIF thing ABC has, mostly cheesy family shows that I don’t care for. None of what’s on TV really interests me, I’ll watch Miami Vice on NBC from time to time if it’s premiering a new episode and I happen to catch it but it doesn’t really catch my interest all too much tonight. That being one of the very few TV shows I’ve watched that’s been currently on these past few years. 

I call my dad on my house phone and get him up to speed about an hour before I go to bed around 9pm or so since I’ve got a travel day ahead of me, and he doesn’t react all too much to the information I give him. He’s so busy with his job as the owner of this hotel up in Big Bear that he managed to inherit from an old friend of his, he’s been involved with that thing for about 8 or 9 years now and it’s proven to be very lucrative for him. He was an Electrician with the city before that and he made a decent wage back then too.  He pretty much “uh huh” ‘s me off and doesn’t seem to care all too much about me moving away, but I imagine that’s just his reaction because he’s more focused on his work than anything else. It does make me a little sad that my own father, my only living parent, doesn't seem to care all that much about what his only son has to say to him, especially informing him on a major move. The conversation went on for about 5 minutes, with me taking up most of the airtime. We end the conversation with a simple bye, and that’s that. 

I fall asleep tonight around 9:30 or so, my clothes and everything already in my suitcase, I’ve still got a couple of puffer jackets and long sleeved shirts from my time in training when I went out east. Those will do fine, I hate how you have to always layer up in cold weather. It feels restricting. 

Boston here I come, I guess.