Rambo Ralph

When I first moved to Arizona when I was 14, I wasn’t sure how things were going to be. I was moving in with my Mom, sis and brother, but also a Step dad who I did not know that well. I remember only meeting him a few times prior to them getting married and moving out of state. I had only had time with them twice in the prior year. It was like getting to know a family all over again.

My step dad was a different type of person. To put it lightly, he was big about sports. Football, baseball, wrestling, whatever – he wanted you to play. Me, I was a chubby 9th grader who was more interested in playing tuba in the band than anything else. If you read here a bit, you’ll see a previous story about trying out for the freshman football team.

To get a bit more to the story, spring came along, as does baseball fever. I was not trying out for the school team, and so the step dad talked me into playing Little League. I was at the final age limit, so I said ok. An older guy named Chuck coached our team, and he had been doing this for years. He was cool, he knew what he was talking about and practices were always fun.

At the end of the season, I had made acquaintances with a couple of the guys that went to the same school as I, and some younger guys in Jr. High, we all had thought that would be the end of it. About two months later, just after Memorial Day, Chuck calls each of us at home and invites us out for a team camp out up north. I couldn’t believe it when my parents said yes, but I was excited about going!

The weekend came and all of us loaded up for the trip to Mayer. Chuck knew a place off the main road, back near some of the old mineshafts in the mountains. We set up camp just off a small stream, then he took us over to a mine that he had explored before and showed us around. We played hide and seek in there for hours that day. By nightfall we were ready to eat some grub.

After a good meal of hot dogs, hamburgers and smokes, us boys decided it was time for some more fun. A game called “War” was suggested that I had never heard of. Basically it is similar to hide and seek, but when found you are considered shot dead and have to return to base (campfire). Now the team in hiding can also “shoot” the enemy by tagging them without being seen first. In the dark, it makes it all possible, and a lot of fun.

My team was designated hiders first, and we were given 15 to go to ground. I sort of followed one of the other guys, as I had no clue as to what we were doing. We had probably about 8 per team. Once the hunt had began, I saw how things were about getting “shot” and doing the “shooting”. My team was done in about 15 minutes, and we switched roles. When we began our hunt, it didn’t seem to take long as most the other team was hiding near each other. Again we switched sides.

I took off right away to about 20 yards outside the firelight and swung clear back around the camp to the water’s edge. The water edge dropped about three feet from the edge, which was lined with old stones. I lay down against the rocks, holding myself out of the water. Soon I heard the hunters coming my way, and I let myself slide into the water, submerged in 2 feet of running water except for my head, and watched them cross the stream and head back to camp.

I slowly got up and headed back the way they had came, intending on a new hiding place, when I came running across one of the other team. “You’re dead” I hissed and tapped his shoulder. I must have scared him good because he jumped damn near out of his shoes. I waited as he headed to the camp and then I crawled under the bushes. Stupid me I never thought about scorpions, spiders or snakes this whole time, but I belly crawled over a ten minute period about 20 yards, and was 15 feet from the clearing where our camp was. I could see and hear everything that was going on. The guy I had “shot” was telling how I came up behind him and tapped him. “Ralph was soaking wet, and had old leaves sticking to his clothes. I thought it was a ghost at first!”

Chuck had laughed and said, “Ol Rambo Ralph got ya!! This is the first year I seen anyone get shot by the hiding team. This ought to be interesting!” The hunters went back out with intent. I spotted 6 of my guys down – that left me and one other hiding.

I backslid out of that spot until I could stand up inside the bush. Here came another one that I reached out and tapped, whispering “You’re dead.” As soon as he was more than 10 feet I would run off a different direction and repeat the same tactic. Slide under some bush for 15 feet or so, come up standing inside it and tap the next poor soul. Soon I knew it was down to me against 2 others. I would make some noise and sprint over about 5 yards, trying to draw them apart but they wouldn’t do it. I was getting desperate.

I was sitting there trying to figure out what to try next when a steer comes moseying my way. At first I was a bit confused, but I remembered Chuck saying earlier, the range farmers here let the cattle roam all over this area. I thought of the best thing I could, seeing how I was from Indiana and all. I ran up and leaped across its back, held on and slapped its butt. That steer went ‘Moooing” and running right towards my attackers.

I slid off about 10 feet from them and jogged behind the cow. As the cow reached them they shouted, and turned to run from the cow. I reached out and tapped both at the same time. “I win!” I yelled. I jogged back to the camp to tell everyone and earned a new nickname that year – Rambo Ralph.

My First Mexico Trip

I remember about 10 years ago, or so, I took my first trip out of the good ol’ USA down to our southern neighbors in Mexico. To be a bit more exact, it was down to Rocky Point, also known as Puerto Penasco.

At that time, I was working for a Mom & Pop shop of CarQuest, as was my brother, Stuman. Out of the twelve or so employees, about six of us guys had decided to get out of town and do something one weekend. One of the guys had an aunt that had a timeshare condo there, and it was her weekend, but she was going somewhere else, and gave him permission to use it. Can’t beat it! Six guys, in Rocky Point, with alcohol and who knows what can happen!

Friday morning we finalized plans. My brother, his friend Eric, and I would get the alcohol for all of us, and the other guys would get the food for the weekend. Part of us had to work Saturday, so we agreed to meet there Saturday evening. I don’t remember the unit number, but they gave me directions how to get there, and we proceeded to go shopping. Four cases of beer (24 packs – was before 30’s were available), large bottle of Jagermeister, Capt Morgan's and Black Velvet – yeah, that should be enough for us. I threw in a package of hot dogs, just because I might want something to munch on during the trip.

Saturday the three of us loaded up my 1985 Toyota Camry with the alcohol and headed south. I think we all had a good buzz on beer by the time we reached Why, AZ, and I know I was buzzing well when we hit the border. One case of beer gone by that point. Another hour found us in Rocky Point, downtown. I had no idea where the turn was I was supposed to take. We drove on looking for it before realizing we had driven all the way through town. I turned it around, and headed back. We stopped at some mercantile store so I could try to get my bearings. First time there, them streets get confusing. Of course, being as drunk as I was wasn’t helping.

Finally back north of town I recognize my turn. It was described as “an old ice factory that still has an ice sign on the wall”. Well, old was right – broken down walls, no roof, windows or doors. The ‘ICE” sign was on the ground, but still sort of leaning against the front of the building. So we turned down this dirt road, going about 10 miles an hour due to the washboard. It seemed like forever before we saw anything besides a dirt berm. It was a turn off for Sandy Beach Campground. Yep, one of road details, so we kept moving along.

The road finally ended up in a “community” of buildings. I use the word community loosely. These buildings were built all over, different floor levels, colors, and designs. There was no numbering system to them. We drove around for an hour, up every dirt way we could find before we found the right unit.

By now it is dusk. I pull it on up behind a truck that has got some people lounging against it. I nod and say “Hi. We’re here for this unit. Have you by chance seen the other party we are supposed to meet here?”

“What you mean you got that unit. That is our unit this weekend.”

I glanced at Stuman. He looked at Eric. We all looked back at the guy. “Well, sir, our friend (name here) said his aunt (her name here) said she had the unit this weekend and we were to meet them here.”

“Oh yeah. Okay, I know her. But she doesn’t have it until next weekend.”

I am at a loss as to what to do. I didn’t recall seeing any hotels when we drove through town – not that we had money for one anyways. I was getting pretty tired, since we had been drinking the past several hours of drive time heading down here. “Sir, would it be okay if we sat here for an hour or so to see if our friends show up? And if by chance they don’t, we’ll head on out.”

He nodded his head that that was fine. So we sat in the car off to the side, drinking beers killing time. After an hour and a half, I decided our ‘buddies’ (fast becoming enemies) weren’t going to make it and we needed to make other plans. None of us had a cell phone, besides there would not have been service where we were anyways. We headed back out the washboard road we traveled in on.

Once again we started to pass The Sandy Beach campground when I halted. Only $3 a night per carload. Might as well and sleep in the car. So we pulled in and drove until I couldn’t see anything in front of the headlights. I broke out the package of hot dogs, but we couldn’t find anything in the car able to start a fire with, so ate them cold. Then proceeded to drink hard alcohol until we passed out.

‘Bout quarter to six in the morning I woke up. Stu and Eric were still passed out. I got up to find somewhere to pee, but nothing was close, so I went behind the car. Grabbed a beer from the back seat and walked to the front of the car. I stood there looking in drunken amazement. The front tires were about 3 feet from a rocky cliff that dropped about 20 feet to the water. No wonder I couldn’t see anything in front of the headlights when we parked. I woke the boys up as a vendor was walking our way down the beach. Luckily he had some breakfast food, which we dumped a portion of our measly funds for.

After eating we wound our way down to the water and horsed around a bit. By 10 I was pretty tired and drunk all over again so went and laid on the sleeping bag by the car. I got a couple hours sleep before I decided it was time to head home. We loaded up, minus all the hard booze. I think we had about 8 beers left when we left the campground. Trip to the border was uneventful – nothing to claim coming back in. We stopped in Gila Bend where I spent the last $4 I had on 3 cheeseburgers for us to eat. Rest of the trip was made in tired silence.

Come Monday, I was ready to exchange words with them boys that were supposed to meet us. Turned out, the aunt told the nephew when he went to pick up the keys that she didn’t have it until the following week. So since there wasn’t any way to contact us, they just let us go. So we played it off like it was a good time. So much for a first experience.

Domino

“You’re fucked.”

I looked into his grey eyes, my mind still trying to grasp that this is what he really said. I tilt my head a bit to the side, turning one ear (my better hearing one, so you know).
“Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly?”

“I believe you heard me correctly. I am being straightforward with you. That’s what you asked me to do. You are fucked.” This time his gaze swept from mine back to the paperwork in front of him on the desk. His hands unclasped and he pulled one sheet from the open folder. “Your body is shutting down. Your liver is nearly cirrhosed, and your other organs are systematically shutting down. Quite frankly, I don’t know how you are able to function without other health problems. When was the last time you had a drink?”

I thought quickly – about 2o minutes ago, before coming to the office for this meeting. I had stopped off at Big J’s bar and had a beer, followed by a peppermint schnapps to help hide the smell on the breath. No way I was going to tell him this fact though. “Been at least a couple days.”

“You’re not even sure when it was, are you? I would be safe to say you probably have imbibed already today, and here it is only,” a quick glance at the clock on the wall, “11:30 in the morning. How do you keep doing this to yourself, or better yet, why?” His eyes swept back up to meet mine, but there was no way I was going to win that match. I stared down into my lap.

“So what are my options, Doc? Transplants? Meds? Extreme rehab?”

His mouth pursed into a sour taste look. “This is the part of my job I hate the most.” My heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t sounding so good. “Quite frankly, there is nothing much medically that can help you now. We can prescribe medication, but it won’t improve your situation. May help alleviate it some – remove some pain. Transplant is out of the question. I am not sure I would want to put a new liver, and possibly other organs, into you considering the way you have treated what you have now. If you were to rehab, again that would only possibly slow down the deterioration, and with meds, still would not change the final outlook.”

“So you are saying I only have so much time left?”

“In a nutshell, yes. As to how much time, medically I don’t know how to begin even to try to guess a time frame. How you have made it here, as I said before, stymies my medical knowledge. Normally I would say you could be prepared for an extended medical stay for failing organs within the next month to 6 months. How long even with life and organ support is more than likely a few weeks more. In your seeming unusual situation, my best estimate is within the next year.”

“A year, or less.” That sounded so finite. Well, hell. It is Finite. It’s an expiration period. A movie ticket that is good for a whole year, until you remember to use it and it is now January first the year after. Pay full price for that punched ticket. “According to what you are telling me, there’s nothing you or I can do to change this, right? So what exactly am I to do for this time I have left?”

“As I have told other patients, that depends on you. Many try to do things they never had time for before, or spend extra time with family. I don’t know what your means are, or familial situation. First thing I would suggest, is clean up your habits. No drinking, eating healthier, exercise, but start slowly and work up to full routines. I don’t know what more I can suggest.”

I forced my head up, and met his gaze. I could see obvious sadness in his eyes, and I felt nothing but a small ball of fury starting in the pit of my stomach. No sense in getting pissed at the delivery boy. I rubbed my chin, trying to figure out what I should do, or say. I sighed deeply, and pushed myself up from the chair.

“Thanks doc. I need to think this over.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I can recommend a person that has experience in these type of discussions.”

“No. I just need to gather my thoughts and like you said, get something planned. So for future reference, my medical condition… just go on like normal? If it’s bad, go to the ER, if not schedule an appointment?”

“Yes. That would be best. If you need that number, I will leave it with the front desk in case you call back.”

“Thanks doc.” I reach out to shake his hand, and feel a clinical coldness when he touches me. I head out the door, and stop at the front desk to pay my co-pay, then head out the door to the parking lot. ‘Maybe a year. Maybe less. I really need to figure out what I am going to do. When did this all start happening to me?’ I had many questions, of myself, and nowhere to get the answers.

My mind wandered around in circles from the ‘why me?’ point to ‘It’s your own damn fault’ and careen into ‘I don’t feel near dead’ then back to GO square. Mentally distracted I paid no attention to where I was headed, until I heard a horn honk behind me. I glanced up at the mirror and see the friendly finger motion from the driver. A swift look at the light and I see it is green, so being the nice guy I am, I wave to the driver behind and pull a right turn. I shook my head to clear it. I needed to get home before I start thinking.

At home, I cracked open a bottle of beer and plopped myself into the easy chair. After a couple swigs from the beer, I realized it was not going to be enough. I set it on the side table and returned to the kitchen. The scotch was on top of the fridge. I never figured out why when I am drinking I put it up there. I think it is because I am worried about the bottle breaking and if up high enough, if I am too drunk, I won’t try to get it. Never seems to work that way. I grab the glass from last night and fill it halfway. A big swallow goes down as I reach the freezer, and then remember I used the last of the ice several days ago. I reach back for the bottle, refill the cup to full and take both back to the chair.

‘Now for the pity party,’ said I to the full glass. ‘Just you and me. Nothing else to worry about, except you being alone in the near future. Right Scotch? I knew another Scotch back in school. Scotch Domino or something like that. He was weird, but you ain’t too bad.’ My mind starting dredging up memories from a life formerly linked to me, so I sat and watched them on the movie screen in my head. And drank until Scotch, and everything else, was gone.

Memory - chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was bright out this morning, but the sun was at my back as I walked down the street. It felt good to stretch the legs this way, and my mind was working overtime as the sidewalk cruised by under my heels. The main questions I had I presume a person with amnesia would normally have: Who am I? Why can’t I remember past a certain point? I quick glance around shows me I could be anywhere in the US. The license had a Santa Monica address, but it wasn’t humid enough to be there. It felt warm enough to be California, just not near the coast. My guess it wasn’t California at all. ‘Let’s take this in baby steps,’ I tell myself. ‘Find out where you are and then get some food. Priorities.’

Perfect. Ahead I see a shabby looking Waffle House. Good place for information, a paper, and food. As I push open the door, I realize by the look and smell of the place, not very many middle class people come here. Hesitating, I wonder if I should even stay, but the need for info was dire. I walk over to the counter and sit, trying not to look around. As the waitress comes over with the menu, I ask for coffee, black. Seems I remember that I like it that way at least. Without opening the menu I decide on breakfast and push the greasy flyer away.

The waitress returns with my coffee, and I place my order. Her nametag says “Tina”, but she sure doesn’t look like one – like I would know. No smile as she walks away. I must have read too many novels where they always smile at the lone guy. When she comes back with my meal, I try some small talk.

“So, Tina, what brings you to work in a place like this?” Yeah, I am smooth like that.

“Three kids and an alcoholic husband that doesn’t work, plus the fact I like to keep a roof over my head. What the fuck do you care?” Now I get a pissed off look as she walks away. I decide my quest for info is going to have to go somewhere else. I finish eating and leave enough to cover the bill.

Stepping outside I see a newspaper stand. Through the glass I can see that it is Thursday, July 17th and I am in the delivery area of the Arizona Republic. Now I can see why it is so hot, and this is probably Phoenix. I glance around, and up the road yet I see something that changes my mind – Casa Grande Auto parts yard. Hmmm, let’s try south of Phoenix a ways. I poke my head back inside the Waffle House and catch Tina’s eye.

“How hard to get a cab here?”

“Where ya headed that ya need a cab? Most everything is in walking distance.”

“Need to get to the bus depot.”

“Might as well walk it. Two miles back the way you come from. It is quicker than trying to get a cab over this side of town.”

I nod my thanks and start heading back the way I had been from. Now I had part of a destination in mind, where should I go from there? I flipped through the wallet to see if there were any numbers I could call, but the ID card and cash was all it contained. Who was the guy that called me earlier? How did I get in touch with him? I looked up just as I was passing the hotel I had been at. Quickly I walked in the door.

“Back for another night?” asks the desk clerk.

“No, actually, has housekeeping been through my room yet? I forgot a duffle bag in there. Could I run up and get it?”

“Housekeeping don’t start for another hour. I suppose I could let you up real quick. Here’s the key.”

I pick up the key and head out the door. I am feeling like I need to rush, but I don’t know why. Maybe it is just eagerness to try my idea. The door opens nicely. I scan the room and see the duffle lying where I left it. A quick look verifies what I thought – empty. I sit on the bed, and rest my face in my hands. I need to figure out someone that can help me fill in some blanks desperately. Outside the door, I hear a payphone ring. After several rings, I wonder if I should go pick it up or not. Then I got a hot flash.

My eyes riveted over to the room phone. I pick it up and hit redial. Several beeps go off – too long to be a local call. Can’t tell if international or long distance though. Like I would know the difference I think… maybe I would. On the other end it starts to ring, and my heart starts to beat faster. Four, five rings. On the seventh ring, I hear it pick up.

Memory - Prologue - Chap 1

It all happened so fast. I have no idea where it came from, but I sure know where it ended up. Against my forehead, nice and cold. I could almost feel the emptiness of the barrel. I uncrossed my eyes from looking at the gun, and slid my sight down the barrel. ‘Nice black finish,’ I couldn’t stop myself from thinking. ‘Extended barrel; revolver; my guess would be a .357. And they’re not using hollow points.’ Now my view had reached the gunman’s, and I could see the uncertainty in his eyes; it was there, flickering in and out with fear and rage.

“Well, hombre. You and me here. What ya gonna do?” I asked slowly. I tried to keep my voice from breaking, and in the back of my head, the rest of me was trying to keep from releasing my bladder. I was always told to play tough if this were to ever happen. Be tough. Stay on topic. Confuse the shooter, then defuse the situation. Almost like every cop negotiation seen on TV. Things aren’t always that easy though. I should know. I was the one with the gun against my head.

“So exactly why are you holding this gun against my head? Do I know you?”

“YOU know what you did. And I’m a gonna put one in you to stop you from taking from me again!” His eyes are getting beady, and I can see the sweat starting to form on his forehead. I haven’t much time left. I slowly raise my left hand, and his eyes dart back and forth between it and my face. I start to reach into my jacket –

“Don’t do it! I will shoot you dead.” The sweat has begun to run down the sides of his face. The crappy long sideburns he has doesn’t stop them at all. I watch a drop drip off his chin.

“C’mon, boy. You don’t want it to end this way. Let me show you my wallet, por favore.” His eyes glance to my hand again, and I slowly slide it in my jacket. “We gonna end this just fine,” I say softly. His gaze switches back to my eyes. More sweat drips off his face. “Just watch,” I croon softly to him, “this!!”

At that moment I kick out, smashing the inside of his knee. The sound of the dislocation is huge in the quiet interior. I fling out and up my left hand, brandishing a collapsible baton. In smooth motion my arm deflects the gunman’s aim, and the baton slides open to slam against his forehead. Moving quickly I squat and leg sweep what is left of his right leg out, and the body falls to the floor. Before he can open his eyes, and start to scream from the pain, I am standing on his gun hand, and tapping his check with the baton.

“Now then, shall we say, you owe me an explanation?” I coyly ask. He starts screaming and trying to grab his shattered knee. “Tut, tut. No manners.” I reach down for his revolver, and spin the chamber to make sure it is full. A snap of the wrist closes it, and I cock it, pointing at his head. “One last try, Amigo?”

Stifling a scream, he looks into my eyes, and I see the fear running rampant now. Sweat is pouring off his face, mixed with tears of pain. “They told me you was coming. They told me to stop you. I would get lots of money and my family would not be hurt if I stopped you. Let me go. I won’t tell them you are coming still.” The shakes take over his body for a moment, and I pondered what I should do.

We’ve all seen the movies, and the movies are almost always right. If I let him go, as soon as I turn to leave he will miraculously get a gun and shoot me in the back; or he will try, and I will turn and shoot him first. Either way he is dead, and I am slightly wounded, or maybe free from harm. But you always have to get the info from them first. So I needed info, then get rid of him. Some other way around this? Hmmm….

“No habla senor. I don’t know who “they” are, or why they want to off me. Do you?”

“I know nothing. I only want to protect my family from them. They are bad men. Please help me!”

“I sure will help you, muy amigo.”

“Oh, thank you, sir! Thank –“ The report of the pistol echoes briefly. I collapse the baton, replacing it in my pocket. I start to search his body until I find the wad of cash. Looks to be several hundred, and that goes into my pocket as well. I toss the pistol on the chest of the dead man lying on the floor. I never clean up the mess.

Chapter One

Someone always has questions in which no one will ever have the answer. Trust me, I know all about it. I am that guy. I searched for solutions in places a normal person would never dream of being. Studied religions and doctrines from around the world. Noting comes close to the answers I seek. People tell me God will answer them – and I ask them, then where is God. No man wants to wait for his death, and have his answer told then, if wins the lucky flip of the coin as to where his soul goes. If man has a soul. I know I don’t.

I look in the mirror and see a face that never seems to age. There is a haunting, flickering going on in my eyes as I study this visage. The water running in the sink starts steaming, so I bend over and rinse my face. Nothing feels better than to be clean after I have had to protect myself. That’s my full-time occupation: protecting myself. Has been for years, but I still do not know why or from what. It all started that day back years ago, when I woke up to the sound of waves …

… crashing on the beach. I was laying somewhere comfortable. I felt warm. I did a quick body check, and everything felt okay, so I slowly opened my eyes. It is dark out. I sit up partially, and a blanket falls down my chest. I am in a bed somewhere. Glancing around I see a radio on the bedside, where the sounds are coming from. I hit the off switch and swing my legs out of the bed. I see a faint outline on the wall that I assume is the door.

“Light switches are usually next to them,” I say to myself. I reach out and feel along the wall, until I reach it. The overhead light comes on. Sitting back on the bed I realize I am in some hotel room. From the phone, it looks like I am in the US, but I don’t recognize the area code off hand. I try to remember what I was doing, but nothing comes to mind prior to waking up just now. Realizing I am naked, I look for some clothes, or luggage, and find a duffle with one change of clothes in it. I quickly dress, finding the boots by the bed.

In the process of putting on the boots, I stop motionless as I hear the phone ring. A glance at it helps not at all, as only the message light flashes with each ring. I debate internally whether I should answer or not, after all, I have no clue as to where I am. Matter of fact, it dawns on me I don’t even know what my name is. Finally, curiosity wins out and I pick up the handset.

At first there is no noise. Then I hear a click of a disconnection. I place the handset back in the cradle and stare at the phone debating if this is a good thing to have happened, or should I be kissing my ass goodbye about now. After a few seconds, it begins to ring again. I pick it up on the third ring.

“Finally you answered. What the hell took you so long?” It was a man’s voice, but it rang no bells in my memory. I decide to play it safe.

“I was in the bathroom. You know – doing the duty. What’s up?”

“I’m telling you now, I am clean of all this crap. This is the last time I expect you to walk into my life.” The man is getting uptight and tense sounding. I still can’t put a name or face to the voice. “Don’t ever come around here again. Your carry items are in the drawer under the phone. There’s enough money to take a bus far from here. What you do the rest of your life, I don’t care.”

I quickly open the drawer and see a wallet, comb, handkerchief and crisp $100 bills lying there. Looks to be almost $1000 in cash. No keys or change. “So you just want me to leave here?” I ask, stalling for time, or information.

“Yes. Don’t try to contact me again after this time. I have washed my hands of you. You are nothing but evil incarnate walking the earth, and you drag your minions around killing everything you touch. I am marked for life, as you know, John.”

John? Is that my name? I grab the wallet and open it to a California ID card. Name reads John Doe. I don’t recognize the address but it is somewhere in Santa Monica – my guess probably fake as the name. I start the push for info. “Where am I? Who is this?”

“C’mon John. It’s always the same with you. You specifically told me to put you where you are, and to give you this call at this time. What you do now, and what you remember is all up to you. After this last time, I am not doing this anymore. You are on your own. I will help with one extra bit of info for you though…. After you pay the hotel bill, and you turn to the door and face the street. Turn right and start walking. That’s the direction of the bus terminal several miles down the road, and the best direction for you to get the hell away from me.” Slam! The dial tone comes back on, so I reluctantly hang up. I put the items in my pockets and do a quick walk-thru of the room to see if there is anything I forgot. Nothing worth taking. I even leave the duffle bag. I head towards the office, blinking in the mid-morning sun.

Walking into the office I smile at the guy at the desk. We settle up the bill – seems I was here only one day. I ask directions to the bus depot, and he points down the street, saying it just a couple miles. I walk out the door, and head the opposite way, pondering what the hell is going on with me.

Vacation to San Diego (Part 2)

Saturday – I woke up wondering what time it was, and if I had missed our ride to the Island. I checked my phone and it was only 6:11am, and at that moment, someone was knocking on our door to have us get up and get ready. We had a limo that morning to take the majority of us out to the island, while the others brought the truck. We had prepared this year and gotten a wagon and 3 coolers of beer. Smitty got to find out how my digestion works when I have done pretty much nothing but drink all day, and swears to this day something died inside me.

We had two teams competing this year, the rest of us being spectators along for the fun. As we were loading up the limo, a schedule check was done to determine what league started at what time. Uh oh. Don’s team was actually scheduled for the next weekend. They had just wasted entry fee and trip costs for the wrong weekend. I guess that would sort of classify as bummer # 2. The trip to the island was nice, and we were there plenty before 9. The first game the team was to play wasn’t going to be until at least 10. We sat there watching some other teams play, listening to the announcer call off team names, and drinking what beer we brought. I was watching the time as the Champions tent opened at 9, and I desired some whiskey.

Side Notes: For those that don’t know, the OMBAC OTL allows any team name – no matter the length, or wording, or swearing. For example, our team to play is named “If you have ever been to Phoenix chances are we fucked one of your relatives”. The team that mis-scheduled is “Arizona Beaver Eaters”. I had gotten a program so I would have the whole list of names. I will share some of the better ones later on, as again I was not fully prepared for posting.

Note: the Circle of Champions tent is a fenced off area that players can pre-purchase a ticket for entry, to receive free drinks and food throughout the day. This is where last year I had a table reserved for our guys as they came in from playing, or watching.

I was 7^th in the gate and wrist banded for the Champions tent. I made my best decision on table reservation, getting the one closest to the women’s restrooms. That’s right we are pervs, but best place to get some T&A pics. I had brought the camera, notebook, and program guide to make sure this day was a success.

The waitress came by, and I started to give her my order, and the $20 I tip to keep them coming all day, and got a nice surprise. It was the waitress from the Beachcomber the night before. Christy remembered me from the bar, and I thought that put things off to a very good start! And she even looked better in the tight shorts and low top she was wearing. I mean we are talking Campbell’s soup-type good – MMM MMM MMMM!! I found out she was getting off at 4, about when we leave, but she was too tired to party with us that night. (Bummer #3??)

From here the notebook does me no justice, since I never got sober enough to add more notes. The weather was perfect; there were lots of ladies around. I have a few pics of some; unfortunately, I could not get them to hold up my Boobies and Beer.net sign I had made. By 11am they were out of bourbon completely, and again, as I did last year, had to switch to scotch again.

Phoenix had its first official win!!! Their first game in 6 years of going, and got the first legitimate win. Jan decided to retire, Smitty was done for the day, and Eric was just happy as hell! When they’re 2^nd game came up they let OBJ, Bill and some others play instead. OBJ now has new initial of JCH (Just Can’t Hit) as after several attempts failed to make ball contact. As a gift for their first win, someone (not sure if was Monty or Steve or Pat) bought the three of them OTL hats (which weren’t cheap). The announcer even broadcasted that after 6 years they had finally won a game.

I think the only bad thing that day was at lunch, when this black gent and his g/f came and sat at our table. He wouldn’t shut up, and kept going on and on about how no one respects the black man, etc. Eventually he got loud and mouthy enough, he finally was escorted away, but for a while it was a pain.

Leaving the island, we all got on the correct bus this year. (See the OTL stories from last year if you missed the point about correct busses). At the drop off point we headed to Beachcombers for yet another night of carousing. Tonight was the dancing night, and it got to be tremendously crowded. I managed to get my barstool and kept at the bar so my service of drinks would not be slowed. I had Joe the owner serving me most the night, so the drinks were very nice sized. I know we ended back at the hotel late that night with some pizza … and I fell asleep watching some movie.

Vacation to San Diego (Part 1)

Don called and said they would be by my place to pick me up in 10 minutes. So at 5:30am I was outside waiting, and they were there pretty quick. Don’s SO was riding with us, and was our reason for getting to the airport so early. A few of the wives and SO’s of the boys going to OTL were doing a separate trip to LA area for the theme parks. The ladies flight left about an hour earlier than Don & mine did. We found our gate, then a bar. Two large beers each later, we were ready to board. Everything was going smoothly, the flight left on time and a double-Jack later we were touching down, then heading to the outside to meet up with Don’s friend Scott from Vegas, who had flown in a half hour ahead of us.

Geez! Just walking out the entry doors to the airport was like walking into a paradise. The temperature was 72 degrees per our pilot; the sun was shining, and the breeze coming off the ocean was just awesome. Man, a year was too long to be gone from this place!

The first bummer (and I say first because when writing this, I had no idea what else would happen) of the trip came when the three of us got to the hotel. We had had reservations for like four rooms for several months now, but in that year, the hotel had changed some of their policies, and now no reservations were allowed into a room until after 1pm. Here it is 9:30am and we all have a carry on bag. We asked if we could leave the bags there behind the counter, and was told no, that they had done that for some other customers and now had no room. There were four other guys that flew out before us, and they had gotten lucky to leave their bags. Nothing better to do, we grabbed our bags, had a cab called, and headed for Mission Bay. We met up with Eric, OBJ, Joe, and a few others at the Sandbar, across from the coaster. The rest of our crew were driving in from Phoenix, and were about 2 hours away still. They gave me time to have a quick bloody mary and a bottle of Bud, and then we started the walk to the Beachcomber, about a half-mile down the road.

One of the “virgins” of the OTL and youngest member of our party, Greg, was nice enough he bought all of us the first round at Beachcombers, and that set off the afternoon. Joe, the owner, poured my first drink, which was damn near a half pint of Jack (God bless this man!). As he was pouring my drink he made the comment, “I don’t let my staff pour them this much at a time, but you’re okay in my book drinking Jack straight up.” I tell you, the man knew the words to my heart. Sometimes my notoriety exceeds state lines, as Joe remembered me from the previous year, and the other guys, too. The last of our group finally showed up, and things really started to get moving.

The boys started up rounds of 3-ball on the only pool table. I sat at the bar trying to get all these notes down, as I was sure to not remember most the way I was drinking. A couple rounds of Golden Tee were played, where I ended up the winner, the only with a negative score. Worst score was a +39, but we all knew that person couldn’t hit a ball anyways. (Note: remember this for later). After a couple good drinks, we all cabbed back to hotel to get our rooms. Most of us were put on the 2^nd floor, though I requested 1^st due to having a cane with me, and I knew the steps would be hurting me in the next day or two. I roomed with Smitty, which seemed to work out well. He never complained once about my snoring. After dropping luggage off, we again called cabs and headed out to Fiesta Island where the OTL is played. We spent time there buying programs, shirts, hats, etc and then enjoying some beers and tunes. I got lucky and left on the first cab group out (Eric & Jimmy). We went to the hotel, and then walked down to Red Lobster for dinner.

After dinner, Eric & Jimmy headed to bed. I watched TV until Don & Smitty got back. They were headed down to the Red Lobster to eat, then wanted to go back out. I said I would wait for them. Five minutes later, Jan & Danny show up, and I left with them to head back to the Beachcomber. About an hour or so into partying, Danny & Jan had to leave, but Joe, OBJ and Greg had shown up, so I stayed drinking until late. I cannot even remember what time it was when I got back to the hotel. Smitty & I were having a smoke out side our non-smoking room, and security came by to inform us “Hotel rules require guests to be in their rooms at this hour”. SO they want us to smoke in a non-smoking room? He again repeated his sentence, so Smitty & I just waved him off, put out the smokes and went to bed. We knew that tomorrow we would be headed to Fiesta Island by 7:30am, and we would need our sleep.

Vacation to San Diego (Prelude)

I figured I had this vacation trip all planned out perfectly. I had the proper attire, notebook, camera, necessary items, and the ever needed money! I packed compactly into a nice Crown Royal backpack I had, and set it by the door. I went over again the clothing I chose to wear the next day, and added the ball cap of my choice (Budweiser Racing for Dale Jr - one of my lovely girls picked this up at Nascar for me - thx Ginny!). I thought over last year, and what I wished I had brought, and added my cane to the pile. Yeah, between my hips, knees and back, I am a walking nightmare for long distances. I wanted to be prepared better than the crab-swaggle walk I performed last year.

Okay. I am ready, I am pumped up, and it is only 9pm. I went ahead and headed to sleep, knowing I would be awakening at 5am to be sure I was up and ready when the ride showed up about 5.30. Need less to say, I didn't seem to sleep well. I tossed and turned probably caused for excitement and nervousness of going. I mean, heck, I was flying out on Friday the 13th. Either way, I awoke at the proper time and was ready when Don called and they were on the way to pick me up.

(Untitled Book) Chapter 4

He flipped the covers off and sat up on the edge of the bed, his head cradled in his hands. Moonlight flickered through the curtains as a soft breeze whispered into the room. A faint scent of desert foliage drifted on the breeze, hinting at another end of a day being scorched by a relentless sun. The man rubbed his face, then stood and headed into the bathroom.

A scream broke the stillness of the night, and suddenly the man was at the window, peering out from against the frame. A pistol was in hand as his eyes fervently gazed at the scene outside. A lightning bolt lit up the desert off in the distance, and in its glare he saw the coyote standing, staring in his direction. For a moment, it looked to be a standoff, but without a sound the coyote turned, tucked tail and ran.

Quickly, with as little sound as possible, the man pulled on his jeans and slipped some shoes onto his feet. At the room’s only door, he listened with an ear to the door, and reached to the handle. The pistol was now in his hand again as he swung the door wide open, and leaned to the side. A flashing “VACANCY” sign briefly lit the parking lot where an aging, rusted out station wagon was parked a few doors over. Behind him was a non-descript truck. The man ran back into the room and grabbed a duffle bag, threw on a T-shirt and headed to the truck, digging in his pocket for the keys.

The truck started up filling the night with the sound of tires spinning in loose dirt as the man turned the wheel and headed down the road. There was no other traffic to be seen in either direction. Open desert lined both sides of the road, with mountains in the distance. Off to the right, the lightning storm was still going in full force. To the left, the moon broke through a small scattering of clouds and lit upon the side of the truck.

“Where’s it at?” murmurs the man, glancing ahead on the road. “C’mon. C’mon! It’s here somewhere.”

Suddenly a coyote jumps from the left side of the road, and the man swerves the wheel as he hits the brakes. The truck sloughs off to the right and he corrects the skid just as the truck hits a dirt road.

“Bingo,” he says, a small smile reaching his lips, but his eyes stay cold. He casually wipes the sweat from his forehead with an arm, and settles back to drive for a while.

* * * * *

“The End is near! Repent to your Gods!” yelled the raggedy dressed bum on the corner. I kept my distance from him as I headed down the walk. I made sure I didn’t step in some of the slush the lined the edges of the sidewalks. It had warmed a little over the last few days so it took the bite off the chill, but left messes like the slush. I rushed down the street until I reached the corner store, where I grabbed a coffee and a paper. Without a word exchanged with anyone, I made my way back to the house.

I double-checked the door as it shut to be sure the lock was in place. My wife had left and taken the kids to her parent’s home for an extended visit. She had been gone about a week, though I hardly noticed anymore. Since the voice had started in my head, and I tried to tell her about it, things had just rolled down hill. There was no evidence of the stories I told her, and she thought I need psychiatric help. When I told her about the liquor store clerk, she just looked at me funny. That night she told me she and the kids were going on a trip to her parents, and that I was not welcome to go.

That damn voice. I don’t know what brought it on, or where it came from, but it hadn’t been back since that last episode. For that much I was glad. But still I hardly slept at night, for fear it would return. I jumped at shadows in my peripheral vision; loud noises and dogs barking sent shivers of dread up my spine. I was turning into a basket case. I sat down at the kitchen table and opened the paper.

I never read the paper, before. Now I scan every local article to see if somehow something had happened and that voice controlled me, forcing me to do something I didn’t want to do. Everyday was the same lists of basic crimes, occasionally interrupted by a drive-by shooting, or hit and run accident. I sat back and rubbed he stubble on my face, somewhat relieved at the lack of information I feared. I finished off the coffee and lit up a cigarette.

The smoke curled slowly up into the air from the embers. Hypnotizing, weaving, I stared at it, thinking nothing but the simple wonder at the way it moved.

It’s time. Get ready.

I jerked instantly awake, glancing all around. The cigarette fell on the paper and smoldered. “Christ! Fucking leave me alone! I don’t need this shit,” I yelled hoarsely into the silence. I began to beat my fists against the table. ”Leave me alone!”

Get ready, for it your time to move on and use what I have shown you.

A flash of color runs through my head. Red, no, darker than red, more of a deep maroon. Another quick flash, and I realize it is blood, on my hands. I am standing in a pool of blood that I have no clue of it is mine or someone else’s. Another flash, I see the faces. The faces of people I don’t know, and they all smile at me with bloody grins.

Do as I say, and this won’t happen. Prepare for a trip.

I lay my head down on my arms on the table. I can’t stop the shakes that rip through my body, and barely manage to not puke on myself once I have them under control. As another dry heave racks my body, I realize I have to leave here. But then remember the voice said I had to go on a trip. Like Hell if I was going to obey that voice. I sat up and started to head for the sink when I realized the paper was on fire.

I reached for a hand towel to bat at the flames, which only blew bits of charred paper everywhere. One piece caught on the curtains, and they started flaming. This was too much; I needed to call for the fire department. I ran over to the phone in the next room and dialed 911. Dead silence was all I heard once I had the receiver up to my ear. I tapped the hang up and dialed again – no sounds at all.

You must leave now. Gather what you need and leave. You have nothing here.

I look at the kitchen. The flames are roaring through the room, but somehow have not yet moved out the door or up through the ceiling. I stand and watch it for a minute, trying to think, to figure out what I should do. Finally I give up a loud sigh, and walk back into the kitchen. I grab the first chair I see and sit down. The fire is raging around me and I decide it is time to give up. I feel nothing as the sweat begins to bead on my forehead. I close my eyes and wait.

Saying Goodbye

It was always a weird feeling I got, down in the pit of my stomach, when we would walk through the automatic sliding doors and that first smell of hospital antiseptic hit the nose. Most times I would have to stifle a gag reflex, hidden behind my hand so my step mom wouldn’t see. I would push Katie, my younger half-sister in her stroller down the hall to the elevator. This was how the weekend would start.

Dad was in a room on the 4th floor – back then it was for cancer and mental patients. Offhandedly I always wondered why they would group two way separate types of ailments on the same floor, and came to conclusion because no one wanted to visit either kind of patient. I would get the chance to see Dad for a short while, and then be told to go play in the waiting room until I was sent for. I did a lot of reading back then, heck I had time for nothing else it seemed.

One Saturday, I remember it was in February, we did the normal trip to visit Dad. We walked into his room and he was asleep. My step mom tried to wake him up a couple times, just as a nurse came into the room. Immediately I was told to go to the waiting room. My sister had stayed at home with my step mom’s mother, and I had no book, so I spent what seemed a very long time waiting. Finally, the nurse came in and said I was wanted back in the room. I slowly walked down the hall, wondering what was going on. Things felt different. People were being different.

As I entered the room, my step mom looked up from Dad’s bedside, and I could tell she had been crying. She handed me her calling card, and told me to go call my grandparents (who lived about 2 hours or so from the hospital), and then also gave me some money and told me to wait in the cafeteria until they arrived. Dutifully I did as was asked, and spent the time in the cafeteria. I knew something was wrong, but no one would tell me.

When my grandparents arrived, we went back to the room and that is when we were told. Dad had not awakened that morning, and the doctors said he was in a coma. There was no chance of him reviving out of it, and they could not begin to guess how long he may live. ‘How could this be?’ I was asking myself. Dad was only in here for a blood clot on his knee. ‘What kind of hospital was this?’

Just over a year before, Dad had been in a major operation for a brain tumor. Doctors had estimated the cancer growth to be the size of a grapefruit in his front left temple area. After several hours of surgery, the diagnosis was they had removed what they felt was most of it, but tendrils of cancer were in too deep into healthy brain areas to remove completely. They said he would be lucky to live 6 months, and his speech and mannerisms would be affected. At first, the signs never showed up. Eventually there were some speech issues, and within 6 months, he was paralyzed right side arm & leg. From that point on it was Chemo & radiation treatments that literally would leave him green colored and wiped out. Handful of pills morning and night, 24 hour care needed (which we did in shifts).

Back to that day. Late in the afternoon I was given some time alone with Dad. As a kid, I knew nothing else to do but say I am sorry for all the wrong things I knowingly did and wasn’t caught at; to apologize for anyway I would have let him down; to beg him to just wake up and get better. And lastly that I loved him – something he and I never much said to each other over the years.

My grandparents took me briefly out to dinner – I can’t even remember where. I know between them and my step mom, there were phone calls made that they were trying to keep from my attention. I really didn’t care at that point. I know one call was to my mom, to let her know what was going on and that it didn’t look good. Preparing to get flights for my sister and brother from Phoenix. Everything is mostly gray to my memory right now of how most of the evening went.

I know it was late, past 11:00pm when I started keeping track of the time between breaths. About every 10-15 seconds, there would be a longer gap of time between intakes, until finally he didn’t breathe in again. I remember sitting there, and the tears falling down my face thinking ‘I am so glad he didn’t go hard.’ I don’t think I could have taken it if with that last breath had he gone into seizures, or whatnot.

The few weeks after that are blank. I know there was a funeral, where many of the people Dad had known were there, and talking to me, but I couldn’t tell you more than maybe five of them. Most of them I had never known, or didn’t care to know. My siblings were flown in of course, but I don’t remember spending time with them offhand. It took several weeks before the VA finally got his tombstone in place. Then I was down there at least once a week. The following year I left Frankfort, and have only been back a handful of times. I hope to be back soon to visit again.

(Untitled Book) Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1

Morbid illusions drift like dark blue and red smoke intermingling across the abyss of my mind space. I feel it prodding and asking me questions just below my hearing level as I sleep. My eyes snap open and the shadows that have lunged close to hear the answers suddenly snap back into place: the lighting on the door frame; the shirt and skirt hanging on the closet door. My eyes roam across the room, as I prop myself upon my elbow. It’s early yet, not even 3:00am. I feel the sweat roll off the back of my ears, and down my neck. Sleep won’t be back for quite some time.

I close my eyes and lay back flat on my back. At least I didn’t wake up shouting as I usually do, and the wife is still asleep. What was the voice saying? I try to bring back the moment in picture in my mind, but it is still slipping from my memory. There will be no capturing it tonight. Tomorrow I can try again, if it shows up.

I drift off to sleep, scenes of moral or ethical issues racing across the mind’s eye. Again that voice just out of hearing… “And this? React to this one by …” It’s like instruction given subliminally. Is it trying to change me… and if so, change in a good way, or a worse way? Before I have a chance to worry about it everything goes dark.

“What ya gonna do now you mother fucker?!” Eyes snap open. I am standing a few yards from a corner of a building. A white man, about my size is standing about 5 feet in front of me waving a pistol at my head. A pistol? Where am I? “Hold still before I decide to just end your fucking life, you sonuvabitch!” Saliva is dripping from his mouth. I see a body on the ground already, and I wonder if it is someone I know or not.

“Chill out dude. I ain’t got nothing to do with you,” I try to calmly explain. Keep him from shooting was my ultimate goal. “I don’t know what is going on here, but we can go our own ways. Just put down the gun and walk.” I have my hand s up partway, trying to help show him the direction to put the gun. There’s some blood on my knuckles I notice. Can’t tell if it is mine or not.

“YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY! You beat the shit out of my buddy and I am going to waste your ass now!!” Again the gun comes up waving, pointing occasionally towards my head. I step back a couple steps “Where you going? You ain’t going no where! We going to finish this!!” Saliva flies from his lips and he begins to step nearer to me. I take the chance and look down.

Sure enough, another male of similar build is laying face down on the sidewalk, sprawled out. I see from the side of his face that is upwards, there is some blood from the nose and mouth. I glance at my knuckles again. Could be. I see my wallet on the ground. At least it looks like my wallet.

“You and your buddy trying to rob me man? You want the money? I will give you the money. Just put that gun down.” The man just eyes me wildly, and the gun is not going anywhere but hanging in an elliptical orbit his hand is doing of its own accord. I start to bend down to pick up the wallet and the guy steps forward and presses the gun to my forehead.

It is dark. No, not quite pitch black, I can feel more than see, some smoke weaves across the space in front of me. I reach out my hand and feel nothing. No change in temperature, or sensation of touch. Are my eyes open. I think so, but I could not be sure. I reach for a pocket, but realize I have nothing on. Straining my ears, I hope for a sound of something, be it a scuffle from me, or a drip of moisture – something to put a limit to my boundaries. There it is! The whispers have come back. You can here the ss sss sss sounds but they are just low enough I still cannot make out what is being said, or asked, or explained. I feel the smoke wrap sinuously around me, giving the look of being clothed, but no one has presented them selves to me.

A flash goes through my mind. The man holding a gun to my head, as I am slightly stooped over reaching for the wallet on the ground – frozen in place.

How does it feel?

I swear I heard the voice, but there was not physical ness to the sound. Almost as if I heard it directly in my head. I am not sure anymore. “How does what feel?” I ask aloud, my voice seemingly to fill the area, and yet sound tiny.

To die. To die, for nothing.

I start to feel my breathing starting to speed up. I think it might be a panic attack, but am not sure. I never had had one before. Am I dead? I rub my hands on my forehead, over the spot where the gun seemed to be held – nothing. I feel my chest and arms – no wounds. I see no blood anywhere, or scratches. Did I die? Was it for nothing?

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, which flips open to reveal a couple one-dollar bills, and a loud roar as the gun went off – then darkness.

Heh heh heh….

I say nothing, but work on controlling my breathing. Slowly I get it back under control, but the voice doesn’t speak anymore. Time seems to have no limit here, and there is no feeling of standing too long, or hunger. Just a sense of being there, waiting for something.

To die … for nothing.

The scene again flashes through my mind, only this time it is going about 2x fast forward. I see my hand grab the wallet, then flip it off to the side. The eyes of the gun holder follow it. I reach up with my left and grab the gun hand, twist and remove the pistol from his grip. His eyes have turned back to match mine. I stick the barrel against his forehead, just above his eyes. His eyes. Red rimmed, watering, pupils dilated to nothing. His breathing started getting raggedly as if he had been running.

For nothing …

The eyes. I could see inside him. See his fear, what he had thought was power; what he had hoped he could do to me. My insides turned to ice. I pulled the trigger.

Click. I pull it again. Click. The once-attacker gasps then starts to back away, turning to his side to start running for his freedom. Click. I lower my arm. Sirens erupt around me as police cars come careening to a halt. I hear several voices yelling to drop the weapon, but I have no idea what they are talking about. What weapon? I hear another voice saying to raise my hands, which I do, and shots ring out. I feel the body twist in different directions, and amidst splashes of red feel myself fall to the ground.

To die … for nothing.

“Holy shit! I’ve been – “ I snapped upright in the darkness. My heart is beating like to come out of my chest. Sweat is rolling from my brow. A quick glance all around confirms I am in my bedroom, and it is barely 3:25am. The wife is still asleep. I sigh, and use one hand to wipe the sweat away from my eyes. ‘What is up with these freaky-ass dreams?’ I wonder to myself… knowing I will never have an answer. Then there in the back of my mind I hear that voice again “To die … for nothing.” I don’t have time for this crap to psycho-analyze some damn dream I am having, that doesn’t last but like 20 minutes, but feels like forever. I get up and head for the bathroom. I quick cup of water, and I head back to bed, quickly closing my eyes, and trying to clear my head. I feel myself slowly slide off to slumber.

Chapter 2

It was a simple pocketknife. Two blades, one a bit longer with a sharper point, yellow coloring on the outside. Plenty sharp, since I had spent the better of 2 days sharpening it correctly on a whetstone by hand. Nothing like good skill used correctly. I flick the hand up and spin the blade over end and catch it open-handed. A quick half turn and I fling it out side arm and it thunks into a dartboard at head height, just a couple inches under the bulls eye. I smile touches my lips, but not my eyes as I get up and pull out the knife. I close it up and slip it into a pocket. The other hand ranges along the belt and I feel the lock blade and the 12” Bowie. I check to be sure my jacket covers them well.

Walking down the street, no one notices me. Not many people out on a cold and cloudy day. The skies are looking like they want to drop rain or snow, but it is not destined to be per the reporter on TV last night. I call them reporters – they never guess the weather correctly enough to be a forecaster. I turn into the local corner mart; glancing back quickly to be sure no one followed me.

That’s always been a habit of mine. Since that one time two punks jumped me – but that is for another time, when I can remember what happened. If I start thinking about it now, the blackness will fill my head and I will lose track of what I am doing. I cross the street again and head up two more blocks. Turning left I see the police car coming from up the street. Lights not on. I tuck my chin into my jacket and pull the zipper higher. I head straight for the liquor store.
As I pull open the door, I see the patrol car turn down this street.

“Hey Pops,” as I unzip the jacket. “ How about a fifth of Jack?”
“You old enough to drink? I’ll need to see some ID.” He sets down the paper he was reading and gives me a look through his glasses.

A glance out the glass door shows the cruiser going by, not stopping. I reach back into my pants pocket and feel the knife. I give the old man a nice toothy smile.

“Sure Pops. Got ID right here,” as I pull up my wallet and show him a driver’s license. After a quick glance, he hands it back and turns to get my order. I hand over a $20 dollar bill and he makes change. I grab the sack and change, fastening up my jacket. At the door I turn and look at him. Already bored he has gone back to reading the paper, leaning against the counter.

The black cloud fills my mind. I try to get out the door, but my body has already stopped moving. How long is this going to last this time?

Ready to learn the next lesson?

It’s that damn voice again. What was it saying the last time I heard it. Something about being faster… I can’t remember. Now a pain starts to rip through my mind. My eyes open, seeing the old man leaning against the counter – frozen in place it seems. Suddenly my hand is gripping the Bowie knife and pulling from its sheath. Watching in a daze of confusion and fear, but with a sense of knowing what is about to happen, I throw the knife at the old man.

Everything moves in slow motion as the knife flips through the air to land point first in the man’s temple. Time speeds up to normal. I hurriedly reach out and pull the knife, side-stepping the spray of blood. Spinning around I get behind the counter and pop the drawer, grab the cash and turn to leave. The knife is still dripping blood. I go to wipe it on the man’s shirt, but instead I find myself plunging it in his back and side several times. I force myself to wipe it off and sheath it. Sweat is dripping down my face, and I am not sure if it is that or tears I am tasting. Definitely something salty. Quickly I step around the counter and head out the door, cramming the wad of bills into the coat pocket.

Did you learn the lesson?

Again I am frozen and the blackness swoops in. I think back to what just happened. I killed someone. I stole. Without thinking just violently killed and mutilated another human being. Someone I didn’t know, had never met before. And I stole money. Not like it was lying out for free, I made an effort to get the drawer open to take it. What lesson is this supposed to teach?

How do you feel about the power of taking a life?

What?!? How do I feel? Just once why don’t you show yourself? I feel the blackness darken and seemingly solidify near me. I start shaking in fear. I start thinking about how it felt to have the ability, the control to end someone’s life. It does feel sort of good deep inside – more that it was a person than an animal. Imagine if it were someone I knew, or better yet, was emotionally attached to – imagine the rush as I killed them! Yes, I learned a lesson.Was it the correct lesson?Yes. I feel the presence in the darkness move away somewhat. The feeling of power fades from me, and I slowly start to hope this can still be saved.

I am stepping out on the street from the liquor store. I stop and look around. I still see the cop car about a half block up the street. Should I go and get him? It’s to late. I quickly reach into the coat packet, grab the wad of money and run back to the door. Flinging it open I toss the cash in, and grab the Bowie. I wipe off hopefully all my prints and toss it by the body. No time to cover my tracks, as I take off down the sidewalk, mixing my steps in with the multitudes of others as I hurry home.

Chapter 3

As I lay on the couch to the side of the living room, I glanced over the mess. Miscellaneous small trash from potato chip bags, pizza boxes, napkins littered the floor as well as pieces of clothing that needed to be washed. I didn’t have time for that right now. I sat up and glanced out the window, seeing if anyone was coming this way. I saw nothing moving. Just house fronts with snow in the yards. Some had walks shoveled, others didn’t. The street had been cleared and was edged with dirty gray slush.

I lay back and think about what has happened the last day or two. The first thing was that weird-ass dream. I closed my eyes to try to remember what it was about. All I can grasp is I was supposed to learn something, but from who confused me. The longer I thought about it, the more I started getting a headache.

Then I think about what happened yesterday. I killed a man. OR rather, something in me killed a man. I didn’t do it, I never could have. I froze up and something made me move and do all that. Plus I robbed the store! The money was scattered from me tossing it back in. The jacket was across on the arm of the chair by the door where I had taken it off. I hadn’t been outside since – scared to be out there. Scared that the police will be here soon. I had tried to watch the news to see what happened, but nothing was said about the murder/robbery. It would all have been in my head, except for the memory…

… and the blood on my knife. I had tossed it by the body of the clerk. All I had left was the pocketknife and I had hidden it up in the attic access from the hall closet. No way I wanted it around on me in case that happened again. I wanted nothing to do with knives no more – they were trouble if I were to have another fit like that one.

I dozed off as the hour got later. A police cruiser drove by flashing his spotlight along the front of the house, but I was asleep and didn’t even notice. The car never stopped, continuing his tour of the neighborhood. I drifted deeper into the void.

Feel the power yet?

I jumped. I swear I jumped awake, but it was dark all around me. I swept out my arms feeling for anything solid. I kicked my leg thinking the coffee table had to be about there. ‘What do you want with me?’ I asked, trying to shore up the sound of strength. I began to sweat as no answer came back. I sat down. It wasn’t anything I could thin of that I was sitting on; dirt, grass, tile, wood. There was no feel to it, just solidness.

‘No. I don’t feel any power. Who are you? Why are you bugging me? I am a normal person, and if you don’t –‘ I hear soft maniacal laughing all around me ‘stop it, I am going to turn you in.’ the laughing continues for a moment more, or it seemed like a moment. I still can’t tell time here. Hell, I just want to wake up. A picture flashes before me – or is it in my mind – I can’t tell.

It’s a picture of me leaving the liquor store. You can see the door open, the clerk on the floor, and me taking the knife out of his head. The picture flips to another one. This one I am standing taking cash from the drawer. Everything goes black again. I think to myself how could anyone have taken those pictures? There was no one in the store, no one outside. I start shaking.

Get ready. The next step is coming.

‘Next step? I said I wasn’t going to do anything more with you.’ The pictures flash again in my head. ‘Why me? Can’t you just leave me alone?’

Suddenly there is a bright light and I startle awake. As I sit up, I see someone has turned on the living room light.

“Who’s there?” I yell as I reach for the knife at my belt. My hand felt nothing – I forgot I tossed it with the body.

“Just me, Hun,” says my wife. “You need to clean up that mess you left form the weekend while I was at Mother’s. Why are you all sweaty? Catching Cold?”

I glance at her concerned face from the doorway. “Naw, just a little fever I was getting over. I’ll clean this up later. I am going to bed.”

“Be up in a bit then. Take a good hot shower before you get into bed.”

“ – and the high today is going to be around 36 degrees. More snow expected tonight, expect about 3 or-“ I hit snooze. I roll over, but the wife has already left for work. I know the kids are still at her mother’s while on break.

Get up. We need to go.

Not the voice again. I think no way am I doing anything with that voice. I head to the bathroom and turn on the hot water. While it is running I am taking care of other morning chores. When I turn back, it is steaming. I add some cold water and rinse my face. Here comes the shave gel, and I pick up my razor. As I lift it to my neck, my arm suddenly stiffens and the razor digs into the skin. I try to move but can’t.

Get moving. We need to go.

At that suddenly I am released and bend over the sink. I look back into the mirror. There was no one behind me the whole time. I look at my neck. It is dripping blood where the razor had nicked. I am wondering what is this Voice thing that can do this shit to me.

I wipe off my face, not bothering to shave, head back the bedroom and put on some clothes. I slowly descend the stairs, thinking every minute I am suddenly going to fall and die. At that thought, I hear some soft laughing in my head. That’s it. I am going crazy. I am going to call the doctor and make an appointment.

I make a quick egg sandwich and reach for the phone to call my doctor. With the phone to my ear I reach for the phone book, but stoop when I realize there is no dial tone. I click the receiver a few times. Nothing. I hang it back up thinking the snow must have knocked the phone lines out. I grab my jacket, figuring to walk a few blocks to the store and calling from a payphone. As I start for the front door, the phone rings. I stare at it. No way, what are the chances?

I open the door, walk through, and shut it. As I am making sure it is locked, the phone keeps its shrill ringing. I turn to the front walk and try to think how to get a hold of my doctor. I head in the direction to down town, not really paying attention and turning when I get the mental urge to do so. This way looks familiar. It is! The liquor store is around the next corner. I don’t want to t see it!! I try to walk past the next street without looking or turning; against my will my body turns and walks towards the store.

I glance up quickly, and see the yellow crime scene tape across the doorway. I look down at my feet and keep walking. I hear a door open and some one walk out. I stop and turn back to look again. No tape. Someone had just walked out carrying a bag and was headed for their car. Light is coming from the window. Again my body is turned away and the walking continues.

What is going on? Did that happen? There was blood on my knife, I know that. That is why I hid them. My hand grasps my belt. Wait – no, nothing there. I stick my hand in my jacket pocket, and grasp something chilly. I pull it out and it is my yellow pocketknife. But I don’t remember getting it out of hiding. I really need to get to my doctor, or someone.

My mind is reeling and I have no idea how far I have walked. I find myself in an alley, and there is a brown car up ahead. A 4-door, older model. I am so cold I just want to get warm. The front door is locked, but the back door isn’t so I climb in and stretch out best I can on the seat. Someone had just been in here because the residual heat was still good. I lean back to rest for a moment and fall asleep.

How We Met

(Names have been changed to protect those I didn't ask prior to using them. Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but better be safe this way. I don't like lawsuits.)



She was a looker. Right from the Book Of Ralph I swear she was … lean legs, shaven, and a slight tan look to them. Well proportioned and toned, no sign of cellulite, dimples or crazy pores. Rounding up to the bottom of her shorts. Okay, ass is appearing firm in clothes, no obvious jiggle in the walk; not overly plump, but she does have hips so she’s a breeder. Straight back, nice long hair to the middle; posture is good, as is the side view of breasts. Yes, we are talking C’s or better, nice neckline, not showing any cleavage today, but that’s okay. Gorgeous face, nothing out of place or deformed. Yeah, she’s a 9 in the book. Wonder what she is doing here?

Here of course being the parking lot of the church my parents force me to attend. At 17, I had been “attending” since I was 15. I never cared or it, but hey had a pretty decent youth group, so I did a lot of the activities to get out of the homestead. This particular weekend, it was a trip to Casa Grande for an All-State Church of God Youth Volleyball tournament. Yee haw for sure. All I was certain about was I was out of the house for the whole day!

My buddy, George, nudges me. “See the new girl over there by Jennifer?”
“Of course. I have already checked her out. Who she with?”
“Jennifer. It’s here best friend from school. I guess her parents are out of town on a convention and she is staying with Jen until they get back.” He smiles at me. “So you know what that means?” The smile turns villainous.
“No. Why don’t you tell me?”
“You’re going to be around her a bit this weekend. Since Jen and I are going out, maybe you should be the good guy you are and help me get some time alone with Jen. You are my wingman, right?” That smile is getting more and more vicious looking.

I paused, and thought. George and I were same grade – different schools. We lived like 2 miles from each other and usually did a lot of hanging out together. We had hiked the Grand Canyon, rafted some rivers, and gone camping many times over the last couple summers. Recently he had started dating Jen, and I was usually a tag-along. ‘Well, she ain’t bad looking at all. What could it hurt?’

“Ok, G. I’ll try to help you out. But if she is a total brain dead, you are going to owe me.”

We mosey on over to the girls. The bus was getting ready to be loaded, and everyone was standing around. I put on my shades (80’s style Ray Bans knock-offs) and turned to the girls. We made brief introductions and I found out her name was Roseanne – Rose for short. Through info George had given me, we knew she was my age, and same grade. So here I was nervous for two reasons 1) she sure was pretty and 2) I wonder if she could hold a decent conversation about a normal topic.

The bus loaded up and Rose and I ended up sharing seats across from each other. George and Jen were seated behind Rose. I was my usual self as we rolled along the interstate. Cracking jokes, playing my radio/cassettes, being ‘cool’. There was quite a bit of ‘safe’ conversation going on between the four of us, and I learned she could hold a conversation, and actually had some of the same likes as I. It was turning into a not so bad thing to play wingman.

We arrived in Casa Grande, and ran a couple practice games before settling in to wait our turn. It came; we lost, and moved on to other things. We had a whole afternoon before heading home. George and Jen decided to disappear for lunch, so that left Rose and I looking for some common ground to talk about. Of course she shared she was with Jen for the week, which was spring break for them. There was a pause.

“Why don’t you take off your sunglasses?” she asked me.
“Because it is sunny out here.”
“ You have not taken them off since I met you this morning at the church. Not once. Not while playing or anything. I want to see your eyes.”

I am suddenly thinking, I got this girl liking me. This ain’t so bad after all! “ Nope. No can do. If I were to take them off, then you could see into my soul and that would just not suffice.”
“Why,” she smirks so nicely,” afraid I might see the REAL you?”
“Of course you would. Then I would probably have to do something evil like kill you so you don’t let anyone else know.”

She laughs and playfully reaches to take my sunglasses. I jump up and dodge away and we play this game for a bit. Then tiredly, sit back down and start discussing other topics. It was so easy talking to her, and her smiles were like day brighteners – another reason I kept the shades on.

Eventually, all things come to an end and we headed back to the bus. George and Jen had been looking for us for a couple hours, obviously not very hard. The girls sat together on the ride home, so George and I sat in the back.

“Get along ok?” he asks.
“Yeah pretty much. We got some things in common so it wasn’t too bad.”
“Cool. Jen and I are going to the movies this week.”
“And? So what?”
“Well, Rose is staying with Jen, and maybe you could ask Rose out to the movies with us.”
“I’ll ask to see if I can. You know how my parents are. I’ll call you.”

The next day was Sunday, so I got to see her again when she came with Jen. We didn’t get much time to talk, but I did get her phone number. Good thing I was attendance taker for class, and we always ask for the phone number of new persons to call and invite them back. Nothing was said about the movies, and she and Jen had to leave right after class.

Wednesday came around, and I got to see Rose again. This time she had driven herself and we were able to talk a bit after class. I mentioned the movie that George and Jen were going to the next night, and asked her if she would like to go. She agreed (with a pretty smile) and so we made plans for her to pick me up (as I had no car – thanks parents).

The next night was nice. We all met at the theater, and I paid for her ticket, but she refused to let me buy her snack food. “After all” she said, “this isn’t an actual date is it?”
I being shy said no of course not. The movie was “K-9” with Jim Belushi, and about ¾ of the way through, she held my hand. So much for it not being a date. After the movie, she dropped me off at home, and “Nice eyes. I finally got to see you without your dumb sunglasses.”

I had no idea when I would see her again.

Come Sunday, she was in class at our church. Seems her parents were back, and they let her decide which church she wanted to attend. Wednesday she was back again for class.
Both times we talked a bit, and she would sit with George and Jen in the row ahead of me (I always had to sit with my family). After that first week, I decided I would call her. What followed next is hard to remember, but I know we talked on the phone for an hour at a time, not saying a lot. We would meet at church and youth events. And by the end of summer we were dating.

Two years later, outside her college dorm, I proposed using my class ring until I got her an engagement ring. She said yes, and 7 months later we were married. That was just over 16 years ago from this date, and she hasn’t changed. She still has them sexy legs, firm ass, nice posture and pretty face. After four kids life hasn’t ravaged her, and at times she still turns to me and says,

“Take off them shades and let me see into your eyes.”

Them's two important things in my life ...

Many people around me – friends, co-workers, etc. – have been talking to me a lot in the last year. My wife has brought up the topic, and we have semi-seriously discussed it. I even almost called and got it. But I didn’t. Why? Because I am scared. Yeah, I know. It’s not that big a thing to get – but I am yellow-bellied when it comes to even thinking about it. Vasectomy.

I have four wonderful children that my wife and I are very happy to have brought into the world. Fortunately, between the two of us, we do live comfortably even with the costs so far in raising the kids. They have necessities they need and lots of extras, food, roof over their heads, clothing, etc, etc. Do I want more? I always answer with an emphatic “Hell no!” So why don’t I call the doc and have him do the snip-snip?

I get goose pimples just thinking about it. Snip. Snip. So … final. So easy and quick. Even sounds almost painless. And I have been assured it isn’t as painful as one would think. But each time I get serious about it, that thought runs through my head …

“d00d, that’s your balls they are cutting off.”

Remember when we were younger boys, I am thinking like 3-4 years of age, and the two most funniest things in the world were farts, and some unfortunate guy getting hit/kicked/damaged in the ‘nads. As we grew older, being like 1st grade for me, we actually made effort to get the other guy, before he got you. “What’s the capital of Thailand?” “Bangkok!” Whammy!!! We never heard about ruptures. We only knew it would hurt for a bit, and while you laid there groaning, holding your nuts, you did nothing but swore merciless revenge in the same kind of punishment to that guy that got you. And if you were the lucky one that got the other guy, you had like minutes of pure laughing freedom.

So now I am thinking, yeah, it’s not like getting hit there; they are not physically removing your testicles. It is simply a couple supply lines being cut and tied off to prevent them anxious and fertile soldiers from doing any possible adventures. Sounds like a good idea. What’s the pro’s about it?

- Don’t have to worry about safe sex to prevent pregnancy.
- It is not major surgery – usually out patient
- Insurance covers it
- Fairly painless procedure.

What are the con’s?
- No more children unless you adopt

So we see Pro’s outnumber the Con’s. But there are questions still – like, will I be like a dog and lose the urge to have sex? Not that I get it often as it is…. But still! Why do I have to do it? I know it is more of an operation for the wife to have it done, but why me?

I am going to have to do a lot more thinking about this thing. I know the Wife is going to be bringing it up in conversation soon. She usually does about every 3 months. I usually get her to drop the subject by saying one simple phrase….

“So if I ain’t gotta worry about getting you pregnant, then I could fuck around and not have to worry about that with any woman… hmmm, this is thinkable.”

Of course, she responds, “You do, you die.”

Yeah, gonna think about this one for awhile.

Typical Morning at my Home

I woke up. What for? Did I need to cough, or go pee? It's plenty dark yet, wonder what time it is.

I sit up on the edge of the bed, let out a little yawn and rub my hands across my face. 'Pee or what?' I ask myself. Hmmm, body heard - pee it is. I get up and stumble the few steps to the restroom doorway, flick out the hand along the wall for the light and wince as the single bulb comes on. Two steps forward - complete business - shake, shake. Turn around, be sure to get the light. Pause for the eyes to adjust and glance over towards the Wife's head for the clock. A nice bright 5:25 stares redly back at me. 'Sigh'. I sit back on the bed then decide it isn't worth sleeping over. I stretch out on my side and watch my wife.

She's so soft looking there in the early morning light that barely penetrates the drapes. Evidently she was warm and has kicked her blankets off, and I reach out gently to rub her leg softly.

" -neath the light of a neon moon. Ohhhhh if youuu looosee your one and only - " Damn! I can't reach the alarm. I let it play out at 3/4 volume for a minute, then reach over and nudge the Wife. A hand rises from the shadow of where she lays and flops on the snooze button. I know she has got 10 minutes until she gets up to make sure the daughter is up and getting ready for school. Which means I can nap for about 30 more before I take her to school.

I reach out again and softly rub my hand against her thigh. "Stop it." I freeze. I move my hand down towards her knee, and rub again. "I said stop it." Uh oh.

"Why hun? I just miss being able to cuddle with you, " which is technically true. I have been on the kids the past 4 nights about being in bed on time so Momma can come to bed. As it is, she doesn't come to bed until after I am asleep.

"You ain't wanting cuddling, and I want to rest as long as I can. You can't fool me with your ulterior motives." I glare at the lump on the other side of the bed. She has not once raised her face to the sky, or moved except the arm to shut the snooze. "If you're good, maybe tonight." What? A consolation prize? I don't need no steenkin' prize!

"Sorry, but by then that will be too late. Today is the last day of that sale down the street from work. You know, the one at Benji's Boob-a-rama ...." I let the voice fade and decide it is time to just be quiet.

A muffled sound. I swore it sounded at first like the first rumblings of a lioness' roar as it would build through the throat, but as you could tell, I hadn't watched enough of them nature shows to know better. "Ha. Ha. Do and die."

I rolled over to my back. Whatever happened to one of the most primal urges that help separate homo sapien from some of the lower class mammals? Has our generation just retarded those tendencies so that they are no longer necessary? I feel like I have lost part of actual being by not being able to get that growl -from-the-gut UGH! UGH!UGH every now and then! The feel of the fist as it pounds on chest of the muscular male!! Let that Bull Ape Yell ring free from the midst of your being - (insert favorite Tarzan yell)!!!

Aye, it has been thwarted; diverted; pushed to the wayside. And all she had to do was move one arm. Sigh. If I hurry, maybe I can still get 20 more minutes sleep. Then again, there's always a chance for tonight....

Library Card

Frankfort, Indiana boasts some older buildings in the “Courthouse Square” area. Many of the buildings are from the 1920’s or so, and some have been restored to keep that look. One such building located a couple blocks to the west of the courthouse, was the public library. This was a huge building on almost a complete block of land, and had lush green lawns with trees and benches scattered throughout. My 9th birthday was my first trip into the mysterious depths of this landmark. My Dad had given me an Adult library card, meaning complete access to everything available. For a 9 year old, it’s a ticket to the exotic world of adult literature.

My early visits consisted of shyly going up the huge curving stairway to the second floor, and veer right to the Juvenile book area. This was the best place for me to start, and I read plenty just sitting there in beanbags, or stretched out on the couch. Very rarely did anyone ever venture into my world in this section. Maybe once in a great while another youth (who surely did not have the Adult card) would come in and select a couple books then leave. The librarians would stop by once an hour to be sure I was fine, and if I needed any help. By four o’clock, I was usually ready to head home, and would take one or two books to check out for the next couple of days. Then I would be back, wondering about the Adult section.

I never was sure what the librarians would say if I were to just go straight to the adult areas. I imagined embarrassment if I were to be carded, or even rejected, and the card be taken away. Or worse, they compile a list of adult books I perused or checked-out and presented it to my Dad so he would be aware of the material I was reading. Would they monitor what I even looked up in the card catalog? What if they caught me with something “Mature” that kids shouldn’t be looking at? Would I be banned from the library? What would my Dad say? These worries clouded my mind every time I thought about using that access.

Finally the day came when I had no choice but to venture into the world of Adult Literature. I strolled into the library, nonchalantly was the best I could describe my steps. I placed the few books I had last checked out into the return bin, and took a quick glance around. I only saw the one librarian (there were usually two working at a time, and sometimes a third that was part-time) and she seemed busy checking in returns, or preparing to shelve books. Either way her attention seemed diverted. I walked on past her desk and headed immediately to the Fiction section. Paperbacks were there in front, where I could be seen from the desk, so I took my time appearing to browse through the selections, keeping a wary eye out for the librarian.

She glanced up in my direction. I froze. She got up and started walking over in my direction. What was I to do? I furtively looked for somewhere to run, but the only out I had was deeper into the library. I heard her steps across the tiled floor grow louder, then stop behind me. Here was the moment I had been dreading since I planned this venture.
“Is there anything I can help you find?” She asked me.

“No. I am just looking.” I replied, my voice cracking out of the dry throat.

“You usually read books on science fiction and fantasy in the juvenile section, don’t you?” Again with a question, and she remembered I regularly was upstairs. Was this a preparatory question prior to checking my library card?

“Yeah. But I have read most of what interests me there, so I came down here to find some more.” Geez! I sound like an idiot.

“Come over to this section,” she says as she turns and walks over a few rows of books. “This is the adult sci-fi area. These two shelving units listed alphabetically by author, and around on the other side you’ll find the paperbacks. Does that help?” A smile appears on her face as she folds her hands. I looked at her, and I swear I felt like I was being tested. Did I know the proper response to her encoded request for a pass phrase? Could it truly be this difficult?

“Yeah. I hadn’t gotten that far yet.” No shit, Sherlock. I think she knew how far you had gotten. You only have been in here five minutes. I stand there, waiting anxiously for he next step in this crazy dance.

“If you need any more help, you can ask me anytime.” Another smile. Then she turned and headed past me back to her desk. I followed her with my eyes, until I saw her sit down and once again started on whatever she had been doing. Wow! That was it!?! The Adult world was now mine to explore! Greedily I stepped over to the books and started browsing.

After several hours of browsing, and re-browsing, I had selected a few books. There are no comfy looking sitting arrangements in here though, just wooden tables and chairs. I head towards the stairway, when the other librarian appears heading towards me on the stairs.

“Finding ever thing okay?” What is up with the smiles?

“Yeah. I am just going upstairs for comfortable seating to read for awhile.” Quick, dodge the second attack!

“Okay. See you when you are ready to check-out.” She moves on past, and I run up the remaining steps.

Later that afternoon, I steadily walked to the check out counter and the librarian came over to stamp the cards and register my name. I casually handed over my card, the regular white one (no yellow for “kids only” books). She quickly checked out my selections, never once making a list of titles, or giving me any looks. I tossed them into the duffel bag and went out the door as fast as I could. I did it! Whoo! Adult books were now available to me!

Every trip I made back always had me downstairs in the adult areas. Be it Fiction, or sci-fi, westerns or whatever. The only time I got questioned was when I started reading Mack Bolan books, and that was eased over with a simple “Not as brutal as some of the westerns I have read”.
After a few years, I moved out of state, and gotten a library card elsewhere. Even when I took my daughter, years ago, to get her first card, they never once asked if she should have that access. But I remember this story every time I walk into a library, and always do a look around for a librarian, as she may prevent me from the Adult area.

Regular Day

The drinking had started early that day. By early, I meant when I awoke, mid-afternoon, fuzzy from the libations I had partaken of the night before. I tossed off the blanket haphazardly, barely registering the tinkling sound as the bottles on the coffee table fell against each other. It didn’t matter – they were empty. Hell, the way I felt nothing mattered. I stumbled to the bathroom to do the morning duties.

Within a matter of minutes, I was once again dressed to kill in the style if Me: T-shirt, denim shorts, Budweiser ball cap and sandals. Without this essential gear, I could not relax properly. I loaded the pockets with the usual small change, wallet, cell, keys, and lighter. The lighter was important. I had a bad habit of leaving them at the bar, causing me no end of fits when trying to smoke that last cigarette on the way home late at night. The other half of the time, I leave them in the car, so I know where they are, and the sun heats them up until they explode. I once actually saw the small fireball as I approached the car one summer day. I am surprised that the car has not caught fire yet.

‘What are the plans today?’ I ask myself. ‘Reading day or other? I think I’ll read today.’ I look out in the car to see if the current novel I am enjoying is still in there, or if I had taken it in. It’s there, cool. Nothing else to wait for, so I start down the road to Jimbo’s.

How do you define a good bar? I have spent years deciding what is most important to myself, and searching for the “perfect bar” which I know will never be found. Or worse, it will be found and going out of business/closed down/bought out the next day. I like the more “Little hole in the wall” places, where the crowd is usually gray/silver headed gentlemen, where the beer is priced decently, and they pour you a double when you order a shot. Where the bartender knows what everyone there drinks, and doesn’t have to ask. And most importantly, everyone leaves you alone unless you join their conversation. Perfect ambiance for reading the novel.

After a few hours (more like 6), a change in the bartender shift, two trips to the restroom, half a pack of cigarettes, and too many drinks later (I lost count around 8) it’s time to head out. I tab out, and go sit in the car wondering what am I doing now…. Home or another bar? Karaoke starts at 9 up the road…. But I am sort of tired. Home is straight down the road about 4 miles…. But this place is only a mile – just one mile – up the other road. New meaning to the phrase “Decisions, Decisions, Decisions”, eh?

Okay, home it is. I start the car and turn down the road towards the abode. I carefully thread the car into the drive, missing both the garbage can and the post for the carport. Shut down the engine, turn off the lights, and I sit there for a moment. Good night or bad night? Let’s see how fast I fall asleep and think about it in the morning. I get out of the car, stumble to the door, and enter the house. I lock the door and head to the couch, making a mental note to clean up the mess of bottles in the morning. I sort through the mess of empty Cheet-o’s bags, Jack Daniels bottles, ashtrays with the cigarette butts overflowing, and miscellaneous ashes that never made it to the ashtray. There it is, the fabled TV remote. Power is pressed and the large screen comes alive in bright colors on some infomercial for better abs by pretending to ski. Just four easy payments, and if you order now… Quickly I peruse through the available channels to discover there is nothing of interest with which to entertain myself. Off goes the television, and the overhead light. Damn! Will need to replace that bulb tomorrow. I lay back and light one up.

Inhale.

Exhale.

‘Yeah’, I say to myself. ‘Wasn’t a good day. Wasn’t a bad day. Just another day.’