Tiny Moments

All Rights Reserved ©


A romance born out of reality as opposed to overinflated day dreams from star struck lovers. Tiny Moments isn't a story involving what it takes to keep true love alive, but rather the pain that love can bring when people are forced to accept reality as opposed to what they wish could be.

Romance / Drama
Maxwell Trujillo
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

The people who say things like, “Age is just a number” are either really young, or complete fucking idiots. Age is age, and whether you like it or not your body is settling into its final stages one day at a time and you will soon wake up to find that your bladder runs on a different clock, you got polyps in your ass, gaps in your brain, and your bones start making these crunchy-poppy sounds every time you move a muscle.

It ain’t all bad though. You no longer have to do shit. Going to family get togethers is somewhat easier on account of everything thinking you are a useless old man who could break like a toothpick under the slightest pressure. So when it comes time to take the trash out, or move the cooler to the other room, all you have to do is make a motion to try and you’ll have a dozen different familiar morons griping about how you should be more careful and that they will do it for you. You’ll nod and you’ll grumble a little but then you’ll go back to your favorite chair and sip on your Coors Light watching everybody else do all the heavy lifting.

You have to pose for a lot of pictures though, that part can kind of get old. Everybody wants a picture with Grandpa. God forbid he croak and they forgot to get a family picture with the old geezer last Easter. Cheesy fake smiles all around. On top of that, they only make these damn phones smaller and smaller so it’s become a real bitch finding the darn lense so you look even more senile when you’re the only jackass looking off into space while everybody else is staring at the camera. It would be taboo apparently to just say, “Camera is over here, Gramps”. Nope, they just let out a sad sigh that you are losing your marbles and snap the fucking picture.

I let the truck give out a final little grumble before I turn the key and let her rest. She’s not as old as me, but she sure sounds worse. MIght have to tinker a bit with the engine after I get back. The door lets out a whiny creek sound as I kick it open with my foot. I’m usually alone at this hour, cept for the few other geezers out on the dock. My pole and gear are sitting in the bed of the truck so I snatch em up and slam the car door shut with my elbow. It’s chillier than I had anticipated, but Maud was smart enough to make me wear my jacket. God bless her.

As I walk up the slight ramp onto the pier I am disappointed by the groans that are let out between breaths. Too bad Kelly and the triplets aren’t here, if they saw me lifting anything above 2pounds they would jump at the chance to take over. Thankfully they aren’t. It’s just me and the pier.

For nearly thirty years I’ve been coming out here. I wake up early, gather my tackle box, bait, extra fishing line, the pole, and my thermos of coffee. I’ll toss my shit in the back of the Ford and drive my ass all the way to the Newport pier. past a certain hour you would be lucky to find a spot to park, but in the early morning hours you can usually find a good spot just close enough where you don’t have to hike a mile just to get where you’re going. I could throw on my handicapped placard, but in doing so I would solidify my position as a crusty old man. I’ve seen some of the old geezers putting around, all shriveled and barely able to see above the steering wheel, they have placards. I refuse to be one of those geezers. Once I make it to my favorite spot I rest my pole against the railing, set my tackle box down on the bench next to me and do absolutely fucking nothing. I’ll only move so much as to unscrew the cap of my thermos and maybe shift a little to let out the occasional fart, but for about 2 hours I do absolutely dick. Do I feel bad about lying? Hell no. Ain’t nobody getting hurt. Maud thinks I’m fishing, she gets to sleep in, everybody wins. I guess I could save my family some money, every year they buy me fishing gear and random knick knacks like a bass that you hang on your wall and will sing if you push a button. Crap like that just ends up collecting dust on the shelf. Maud never asks why I always come home empty handed, maybe she has her own thing.

Finding my usual spot I am surprised to find that it has already been taken. A younger man is resting his elbows on the railing looking out to the ocean. No fishing pole, no tackle box, just a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks pensive as they say, lost in thought.

“You fishing?”

He does a double take to make sure I’m not talking to somebody else. “Me?”

“Yeah. Are you here to fish?” I wave my pole a bit to let him know that I am here to fish, even though I am not really here to fish.

“Uh, no?”

“Is that a question?”

“No?” He sees the annoyed look on my face and can tell that he should try again. “Uh, I mean no Sir. I am not here to fish. Just trying to enjoy a cup of coffee.”

“Well if you ain’t here to fish then maybe you should find a different bench. This is my spot, I’ve been coming here for over thirty years.”

“Really? That tackle box looks brand new and you haven’t even set up the line on your pole.”

Long gone are the days when an older person would say something and younger people would just shut the fuck up and abide by your words. I look him up and down and figure that if we both just came to sip coffee then maybe that’s all we should do. “You a talker?”

He looks back to the ocean and takes a sip from his coffee. “Not really.”

“Good. I suppose there’s no harm in us both sharing this spot.”

I drop my gear and take a seat on the crusty bench. Can’t remember the last time I ever had company on this thing. Maybe ten years ago I sat next to a Hispanic fella who only spoke Spanish. Made for a nice morning actually, we just sort of sat there.

After an hour of just sitting and sipping our coffees the silence is broken when the young guy turns around to face me. “So why does someone carry fake gear to the pier and pretend to fish?”

I let out a deep sigh that he probably thinks is set up for me to go into some long drawn out old man story, but in reality it’s just me regretting not finding another bench. He takes a sip from his mug, I take a sip from mine. “Not much to it, the older you get the more creative you have to be when it comes to finding time to yourself. She has her things, I have mine.”

“Why did you pick fishing? Maybe you should pick something where you don’t have to come all the way out here.”

“I like it here. It’s nice. I honestly gave fishing a try, but was never any good at it, just sorta felt like I was spinning my wheels.”

“I caught a trout once with my Dad.”

“Bully for you.”

I never was any good at hiding my sass. He must’ve picked up on my disregard for his side of the conversation as he turned back to face the ocean. Although he was a younger guy his jacket seemed worn and tattered around the edges. His hands didn’t seem as dainty as most of the young kids that I bump into these days, I spotted calluses on his knuckles and dirt under his fingernails. I rose up and rested my elbows on the space next to him. “What do you do for a living?”

“I work in a warehouse.”

“Oh yeah? Where at?”

“Around here, just up the one there’s a place called Delta Green. We specialize in fake potted plants.”

“You make potted plants?”

He lets out a chuckle and takes another sip from his coffee. “I don’t make shit. I just grab the pieces off the shelf, shove ’em in a box, then slap a shipping label on the box before I throw it onto the back of the truck.”

I think I am beginning to like this kid and I don’t quite like it. “I did the same for years. I worked in a warehouse in the Riverside area. We shipped truck parts.”

“Sounds exhilarating.”

Fuck this kid. “Oh yeah, really crazy stuff.” I laugh and pull the sleeve of my jacket up. “See this scar? That’s from a hunk of sheet metal falling off a shelf. My dumbass thought I could catch it and the damned thing cut me open like a can of beans.”

“Looks gnarly.” He smiles back at me and pulls up his right pant leg. “This is me beating you. You see that? That came from a forklift ramming into my shin. Some fucking punk ran into a shelf and his forks busted through the sheloves and slashed right into my leg.”

I swear it’s like looking into a mirror of my younger self. Not as good looking as I used to be, but he certainly had everything else. Against my better judgement I lean over and extend my right hand. “The name’s Russell.”

He must’ve been raised right because he takes my hand and delivers a firm handshake, the kind that you don’t really see anymore these days.


“Is that short for Marcus?”

“Sure is. Is Russell long for Russ?”

Holy shit, the kid actually made me laugh. “My friends call me Russ, yeah.”

“Good to know Russell.”

You think you know how to judge people and the one day you are completely wrong and not too ashamed to admit it to yourself. “So what are you doing out here? I was just out here last week and didn’t see you. Your shift starts early or something?”

“Nah. I was just gonna come out here, enjoy my coffee and then maybe hop over this fucking ledge and drown myself in that ugly fucking ocean.”

His words make me spit out my coffee. That hasn’t happened since Obama was elected. “Fuck you say, boy?”

“Don’t worry about me, Russell. I don’t think I’m going to go through with it, not today at least.”

“Fucking hell, just when I thought I found a normal person to fucking talk to and now you got to go all nutso on me. Jabbering about killing yourself. You got a sick sense of humor, kid.”

“You know, I’ve been told that by at least a few people. I was at a party once and a guy told me that I was ‘sardonic’. He said that it meant that I was trying to be sarcastic, but I suck so bad at it that it just looks like I’m telling the truth. Sorta leaves people thinking of me as an asshole.”

“I can relate.”

“People think you’re bad at being sarcastic?”

“No. I think you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, you aren’t the first and I doubt you’ll be the last. I think I’ll leave on that note. Nice to meet you Russell.” The boy tossed the remainder of his coffee over the ledge and dumped his cup in the trash can. I watched him as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and made for the bottom of the pier.

“Hey! You weren’t serious were you?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned towards me with a look of complete confidence. “Sure.”

“Why would a young guy like you want to do something stupid like that for?”

His eyes seemed to wander for a minute, staring off into the distance as if he were looking back at memories. “A woman.” His eyes met mine and I could tell he wasn’t making a joke. The conviction in his voice was alarming, but any man who felt the need to kill himself on account of a woman must’ve either been crazy or totally full of shit.

I waved him off like I didn’t believe him. “I’ll see you next week, Marc.”

He didn’t say anything. He just shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

My mind wandered for a bit as I turned back to the ocean. He couldn’t have been serious. So young, he had everything to look forward to. To think of all the bullshit that i had to put up with in my time and not once did I ever think about jumping over the pier. More than anything I’m just mad that I give a shit

Continue Reading
Further Recommendations

lelanikaram93: I enjoyed reading this book so much that I wished there was more.

Lisa Uyen Nguyen: The strong female lead character is a second change from the weak always needing saved type. Chaney is equally strong as her make alpha.

Maureen: I'm loving the story so far. My only wish is that it updated faster. But as a writer I also understand that life happens. Keep up the good work, it's a great story so far.

Tammy Carder: When is the next series coming out? Enjoyed the book

stephdk1139: I really like the series 1-13 it didn't leave u hanging leaving out charters that u were still wondering what happened to them

TheBronteSister: This one got me twisting and turning, a true emotional rollercoaster I enjoyed very much 💝💝💝

More Recommendations

Kirsty Queen: what can I say another amazing book cannot get enough of this writer

Ruthann: Different type of story. Has kept my interest this far. Can't wait to find out how the meeting goes

Racquel E Elliott: I'm liking the story but don't you think there are too many twists going on.I understand you have a plan but I'm like give them a break already

Jennifer Leigh Anne Ciliska: Wow!! Loved it!! Thank you for sharing your story with me

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered publisher, providing a platform to discover hidden talents and turn them into globally successful authors. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books our readers love most on our sister app, GALATEA and other formats.