Stories/Novellas by Ralphd00d

Dinner Conversation

2010-03-31T05:26:00.000-07:00

This is one that kept me up all night one time. Just the opening line kept running through my head, like a movie, flipping between tuxedoed waiters and penguins... and I kept thinking 'So what?!? Where is this going?' Well, about 2 1/2 hours later, and revisions/editting/read-thrus this is the end product. I am hoping it is enough to let me get some sleep. And as always, who know where this could lead...

The small ensemble filled the air of the place with soft music that the tuxedo-wearing waiters danced to, like penguins going through the crowd with a meal for their nest. The soft sounds of knife and fork against delicate china mixed through the soft rumble of quiet conversations, masking the quick melodic clinks of crystal being touched lightly to one another. Occasionally, the entrance of another couple would divert the attention of the suited man sitting alone at a back table.

After a momentary glance, he would again turn his sights inward, to watch the mental projection he alone played. A glass held slightly off the table in one hand, tilted as if frozen in its journey to bring drink to his mouth. His lips but inches from its edge, parted slightly in preparation for the amber colored fluid contained in the glass. A flash of light, reflected off the inner front door catches his attention, and his eyes focused on the woman entering the room.

Soft, brown hair flowed down and slightly around her shoulders, glinting golden flashes as the lighting reflected from the trembling tresses as she removed her coat and handed it to the cloak attendant. Framed by her hair was a face that women would look twice at, and then be jealous. No age lines, and just a touch of make-up, accented the natural high cheek bones and penetrating gray eyes beneath lustrous lashes.

He gave her the once over as she spoke to the maitre d', who began to escort her in his direction. The dress she wore was black, and from one step to the next, he could not tell if it was skin-tight, or flowing, as she approached. The glass was set down forgotten as he rose from his seat.

Their eyes met with a quick intensity as she neared his table. A chair across from him was offered and accepted by her with a small smile. A brief nod to the maitre d' and he sat again, carefully adjusting the napkin back to his lap. She glanced to his glass, and then rose taking in the details of his suit, to his face, noticing the slightly showing age lines, the soft whisper of evening beard, and the crispness of his returning stare.

"It is good that you were able to make this appearance," he said in a soft baritone. He leaned back and gestured to a passing tuxedo. He pointed to his glass, and glanced to her questioningly, quickly dismissed by a brief nod to her. "Two ," to the waiter, and he turned back to the table. "You make such an entrance, dressed as lovely as you are. You look good in that black dress."

"It is said 'A lady always has a black dress for the occasion that warrants one'," she smiled.

"Ah, so you are one that has several black dresses, then?"

"No." Her eyes hardened slightly, and she gave her head a slight twitch, as if to slightly throw back a stray lock from her forehead.

"But you said a black dress for the occasions that need them. Do you not have many occasions to dress so nicely?"

"To complete the saying, 'A lady always has a black dress for the occasion that warrants one, but the whore has one for each day of the week.' Now, why would a man of your means, want to be talking about the dressing styles of ladies, such as myself, when said lady does not even have a drink yet?" She leaned forward, and placed her hands together in front of her.

A small look of surprise crossed his face, and he reclined in his seat. A glance to the side showed the waiter had arrived, placing their drinks on the table. The waiter glanced at each quickly then addressed the man. "Monsieur, Are you ready to order?" With a look of renewed study to the woman, he ordered for them both, and watched as the waiter left the area. He reached for his glass as he turned to the woman.

"Shall we raise our glass in salute for something? Or show how low we really are by just slamming them back?" she asked, as a smile crossed her face. She had raised her glass up halfway, waiting for him to do the same. The glasses chinked softly.

"To each their own," he softly said, and sipped softly. Her eyes held his, watching as he drank, then she followed his action, taking a small sip before setting it back on the table. “I see you do not want to rush through things. Shall we wait until after dinner to finish our conversation?"

She sat quietly in thought, studying the blank look on his face, and then she put a neutral one on her own. Her hand tentatively brushed against her cheek, a habit from years past when she is deep in thought. Finally, she laid her finger against her lips, and gave a short, firm nod of her head.

"That would probably be best." Their eyes met once more, and locked for a long moment. The arrival of the waiter with their meal broke the spell. Both kept their eyes on their food, and between glances to each other, and a sip of scotch, the meal was eaten in silence. He began to glance frequently to his watch, showing impatience with something. She took it in, knowing he was feeling some discomfort. He noticed her slightly gloating look, and realized she knew he is tense. He pushed his plate back and drank his scotch in a gulp. Catching her eye, he looked down at her plate only half finished, and glanced back up. Her eyes tightened softly as he saw her irritation, and quickly he turned, signaling to the waiter for drink refills. Reclining again, he smiled.

She slowed down eating her food, glancing his way with a smirk on her face. After several moments, the silence was broken.

"This is the parting of our ways," his soft, low voice barely reached her. "One would like to think that our parting should not be of such sorrow, but of joy, knowing that one day, we might meet again, and raise a toast to the time spent apart. Ahhh. But here we are, mixing what could be pleasure, with what we call our own business." A long sip of scotch went down, and her eyes have locked onto his. "Such as it is," he whispered.

Time seemed to have stopped. A muffled crash from the kitchen brought movement back to the room. With deliberate motions, she folded her napkin across her plate and raised her drink to her lips. Her tongue traced her lips after a slow sip, and soft sigh is released. She directed her gaze back to his again, and said in soft, husky breath " 'That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet'," she exhaled. "Oh, mince not your words with me."

"I applaud you, clever lady." Another sip of scotch was taken. "Are you ready to depart?"

"I am."

They sat for a moment in silence, sipping their drinks. At a glance to his empty glass in hand, he set it down and stood from his chair. A waiter appeared to assist her in rising.

"Arrangements were made previously for this encounter. Nothing need be done but through the door now."

He indicated that she should lead toward the cloak room. Both were quiet as their coats were returned to them. He held her coat for her in assistance. Their eyes met once more. Both saw the thoughts churning behind each other's eyes, but neither said a word. At some unknown signal, the door was opened and both walked out.

** Optional Ending **

The doorman saw the couple sharing an intense gaze, and paused a moment. He saw no one taking advantage of the moment, and opened the door, allowing a brisk breeze to enter, which interrupts the gaze of the couple. They walked out and the door swung slowly shut.

Maeslstorm - part I

2009-06-19T08:00:00.002-07:00

Prologue

The story has been passed to me to carry, of the times before my fathers' fathers' lives. Of the world long before the People we are, came to know it. From the stories, it is said that the grounds we live off of were once as barren as the skies when the clouds do not come across them. A land so desolate that only the sands covered them and the wind blew only to shift the grains.

The stories tell of a man that traveled those sands alone. A man that walked heavily with the burden he carried on his back, and what lay within his heart. This man many say did not have a name to be called by, yet others say that it was a name no one was to say again, and has been taken from our language. His journey carries him across the sands with no destination in sight, and the only purpose is to deal with the feelings of guilt and betrayal that were his burden alone.

This man, the One that brought a new world from the sands that thrived after the destruction; the One who traveled the sands that covered the Land as far as one knows; many call him Omanji, the Destroyer.

We called him Maelstorm.

Chapter I

The snow was falling fast and heavy, even though the wind was doing its best to blow it away from the ground. The trees had grown top heavy with the build up that he groans echoed as far as one could hear, intermittently with loud creaks and cracks of branches breaking under the stress. I couldn't open my eyes, but somehow in my exhaustion and weariness knew the sun was up, somewhere beyond the heavy cloud cover. As I lay there, wondering how did I come to be in this situation, my stomach made noises of hunger. 'Food,' I thought. 'What a wonderful item that would be.' At the same time, I recalled that my pack was empty, lost days ago in the days I have been lost in the hills. The cold was creeping higher up my legs, and I could no longer feel beyond my elbows. The blackness came over me again.

The past can be remembered in so many different ways between many people. Some may remember images. Other may do best with smells or colors. My first memory is of a sound. It was deep and reverberated against my chest, calming me. I could not open my eyes, but that sound was comforting, though it pulled at my heart with sadness. The next thing that comes to mind is of my father, Meelo, working the ground with a hoe ahead of me, sternly telling me how to drop the seed and cover it in the garden. I must have been about 4 summers at that time. All I can remember is that it was father and I. We lived in a one room shack on the outside of Tilston and raised a garden for most of our sustenance. None bothered us, and I don't ever recall anyone coming to visit.

What I knew of town was from one trip Father had made me partake with him. Though only a couple miles out, the entire day was spent there whilst Father did some trading with others for items we needed. I was mostly told to sit and watch, not to wander and play with some of the other children I saw. In my memories I was content. I felt no need to mingle. At near day's end, we would walk back home, and complete the evening chores. One day was like another for the most part. Until the soldiers came to Tilston.

It was late summer, and harvest time was near. Father and I were in the fields weeding, and deciding which crops were going to be the first to be picked. I was in my seventh summer and still not grown into the clothes Father had arranged for me. My brown hair constantly fell into my face as I weeded, causing me to look handicapped in some way as I shuffled through the garden. I would toss my head, flipping the hair back, and as I shuffled to the right, give each leg a short kick to empty the dirt catching in the folds of the rolled up pants legs. With a final wave of my arms above my head to slide the arms of the shirt back to my elbows, I would then again bend over to attend the next plant.

"Meelo!"
I heard the yell first. It was coming from the house front. I stood glancing that way strangely, as I had never heard anyone yell for my father before, let alone a visitor to the home.
"Meelo! Hurry, you must help!"
I glanced quickly over to Father, who had heard our visitor this time. Several emotions passed across his face, many I could not recognize. Only the main one that I knew to mean dreaded concern. Concern like if we lost half the crop to the bug, and how would we manage.
"Mal. Stay here and continue. Do not come to the house until I call. Understand?" father asked me as he moved quickly towards the home.
"Yes, sir," I answered and bent back to my duty, wondering what was happening.

Form the corner of my eye, I watched as father rounded the front and waited to see if he would invite the visitor back, or holler for me to attend. For many minutes I could hear nothing, but then the rise of voices in anger and fear reached my ears. I stood up, trying to find out what more I could. Father came back around from the front and stopped, catching me looking that way. His eyes fell to the ground, and his shoulders slumped. He looked more dismal than I had ever seen him, and it brought a coldness to my gut. For a moment, I knew not what to do, when father suddenly straightened back up, a determined look on his face, and a fire in his eye. He waved me over, and I jumped at the chance to find out what is going on.

"Mal. The time has come for us to move along in the world. With no questions asked, you must do exactly what I tell you, as quickly as possible. When there is time, I will tell you what is going on, but for now, we must move quickly. Back to the garden with the basket and harvest everything that is even a week close to being ready. Some of them you know can be picked early and will ripen as we go. As much as possible, in as many trips to the home until I say. Got it?"
"Yes, father," I said, eagerness for something new filling my voice. I jumped for the basket and headed back to the garden to follow his orders. Father disappeared into the home and I could hear the banging of the cupboards as he searched through them.

I brought in the one basket I had filled so far, looking down the path to see if the visitor was still here, but there was no one in sight. Father had spread out two blankets and was stacking items in the middle of each. So far it was few clothes, some salted meat we had traded for, and a plate and cup apiece. When he eyed the basket I brought in, he motioned me over.

"Split this up between both stacks here. There is no time to get more, so this will have to do." He glanced at me seeing the many questions upon my face."There is trouble in town and it is trouble we don't need to find us. Don't ask more now."
"What would we be in trouble for? We are nothing but farmers, and have done nothing," I stated though he asked quiet of me.
"Aye, we are only farmers and cause no trouble for any. There is more to this than I can explain for now. Do this and be ready. I must get one more thing." Father stood and moved off to a small sectioned off area of the room that I was never to bother. I heard a trunk opening and some metal rasping. Father returned with a sword that had definitely seen better days. My eyes widened in wonder, as I never had known such a thing existed in our home. But before I could say a word, father gave me that look, and I knew to finish what I was doing before a switching came.

Within moments I was done sorting, and with Father's help, we tied up the blankets into a pack of sorts. At the front door, with a heavy hand on my shoulder, Father glanced once more around the room, as if he were remembering where everything was, then out the door we went. Back through the garden, father grabbed and pocketed as many more foods as he could, up to the edge of the woods that started the easy slopes of the Endiback mountains. Father set a quick pace moving for the peaks, and I followed as fast as I could behind. Nothing was heard but the stepping of our shoes through the undergrowth as the sun went down into late afternoon.

A couple hours past sundown father stopped us for the night. As I found some deadwood, he prepped a campfire and laid out a small portion of food to eat. As we sat there eating, I watched his face for signs that I could ask some of the many questions going through my mind. Father sat staring into the fire for a while, then glanced my way. Seeing my questions, he exhaled slowly, then slowly leaned back against his pack, again gazing into the fire.

"The questions running through your mind are clear upon your face, Mal. I would wish we had the time to sit here and answer them all, even if I did have all the answers, which I don't. But I can start some of it now, and give you more each night when we stop. Is that fair?" With this last comment, he looked askance to me. This was a first I had seen this side of father, and it intrigued me.
"I understand father. But first, where is it we are going? Why are we leaving all behind?" More questions wanted to follow, but I snapped my lips shut as his face shifted into a grimace of great strain.
"I do not know where exactly we are going. I have heard over the peaks is another land, just as good as this one. As to why we are leaving, it has to do with the leader of this land. I had not planned on teaching you about this for another few years, so bear with me as I try to do it in easy terms. The leader has sent soldiers to our town to collect his share. These soldiers take our monies, our foods, our items of trade to their hearts content, and only give a portion to the leader. They keep and squander the rest to their liking. It has been many years since they have come this far out from the main of the land to do this. The last time was before you were born. We have nothing of value to give them, even if we would go hungry during the winter. If we do not give anything, we will be killed as examples. Does this make sense?"

I thought over father's words, and realized what he was saying. So we were moving on, in order to save our lives by going to another place. I felt peaceful inside knowing that Father and I could do this. Then everything sort of blanked when I realized he had mentioned about my birth. This was a topic never mentioned.
"Could I ask about my mother now?" I tentatively spoke. Father's eyes met mine, and I could see the sorrow he held inside at the mention of my mother. The tears started to fill his eyes.
"No," in a gravelly voice he answered."Tonight is not the night for that story. Time to rest now as tomorrow will be harder, and we'll be a bit sore." With that he used his pack and jacket to cover himself, and turned his back to the fire. I sat thinking for a short while and did the same. Pictures of far away lands, people I didn't know, and a beautiful woman that could be my mother all floated in my dreams that night.

Mind Freeze

2008-05-07T18:13:00.002-07:00

It took a couple moments for my eyesight to adjust from the bright glare of the outdoors as I stepped into the pub. I could hear a jukebox on low in the background playing some country twang music, and the clatter of a couple empty glasses being picked up to be washed. As sight was restored, I casually walked up to a an open spot at the bar, there were plenty. The bartender was right there waiting for me, and I ordered a bottle of beer. As she went to get it, I placed a $5 on the counter and looked around at who would be in here.

A couple of yahoo cowboys were over at the pool tables. You know their type. Dress up like city slickers, get a little dusty riding in the desert in their pick-up trucks, and say that they are true cowboys. These two looked like they had rolled in mud last night, woke up and started drinking. I ignored them, even though one nodded my direction.

The bar itself was a bit horseshoe shaped. Across from me was a elderly gentleman, with his hands clasped around a tall drink. His head was tilted back from watching a TV mounted above the bar I would guess. His mouthed and closed a couple times before he would raise the glass and sip some fluid down. I felt some air start blowing, but it wasn’t cool enough to deflect the heat from the outside air.

The bartender came back, placed a cocktail napkin down and popped the top off the bottle. Without a question, she took up the $5 and made change at the register. A nice smile came from her as she put the $3 in change in front of me.

"Anything else I can get ya?" she asked.

"Not for now. Here’s for you," I said leaving a $1 there and putting the rest in my pocket.

The little flair of curiosity went out of her eyes, and the smile lessened a bit as she said thanks. She turned and headed back to an office at the end of the bar. It was about 2 in the afternoon on a regular weekday, and this place was deader than Tombstone. I sipped my beer a bit and finished surveying the room. The tables and dance floor were all empty, but at the last end of the bar sat a guy with his nose in a book and a couple drinks in front of him. After turning a couple pages, he would sip a small drink from one glass, then follow with a swig of Budweiser.

I glanced up at the ceiling above the bar, as the lighting seemed sort of dim where I was sitting, and it didn’t look much brighter where he sat. Just the fact he was sitting in a bar reading a book brought the urge to me to go over and question him. I took another sip to make up my mind.

Damn, at least the beer was cold.

I got up and moved down the bar to where he sat. As I approached, I sensed him start to tighten up. He raised his head for a quick glance at me. With steel in his gaze, our eyes locked, and time froze.

I mean, it literally froze. As his steel grey eyes locked onto mine, we were transported somewhere. It was like getting a mind probe and being injected with memories of people and places you ain’t never seen. Like that big ass headache when you eat ice cream too fast. Your mind starts to burn after just seconds of information from over years are pile-driven into your brain. I feel myself screaming out, but I can’t hear myself. Hell, I don’t know if there is anything left of myself or not at this point anyways. I forgot whatever my purpose was, let alone where I was or what I was doing.

After what felt like minutes I realized that these were my memories being viewed in front of me. What the hell was this shit? Then a feeling of pure terror came over me as all my fears were exploited. The rejections, the insults, the fears of spiders and snakes. Writhing all around my conscience.

Suddenly, those steel grey eyes were in the front of my mind. The pain had lessened somewhat, but I was still frozen. I could feel my body trying to shake in pure terror of what was happening.

A voice bellowed throughout my body "Leave me be. Find someone else to waste your time on."

With all thought possible I agreed, and found myself sitting at the bar where I first walked in at. The bartender was coming from the back room headed in my direction. A quick glance around showed everyone was at the same spots as before.

"Can I get you another?" the bartender asks. I tip my hand a bit to check the fluid level of the bottle. It was completely empty. I debate if I should order another, and out of the corner of my eye I see that book reader just shake his head once sideways.

"No, ma’am. I think I need to head down the road. Have a good one." I tip my hat at her, and head out the front door, blinding myself in the sunlight for a few moments before I start up the road.

Scared the Punks

2008-03-06T15:17:00.003-07:00

Note: This is just something I threw together in trying to get some more memories of my Dad down on paper so to speak. March 8th would have been his 60th Birthday. I miss you Dad.

Sometime not long after I was brought into this world, my parents moved into an old two-story home in Kirklin, Indiana. I don’t remember the year, but that would be dating myself too much. But I do know that I spent the early years of childhood in this home. It was peeling white paint, but had a huge lot size. My parents even had a couple horses in those early years. One was white, the other brown, and named Sugar and Spice, respectively. Spice, I am told, was supposedly mine. I only know this as Grandpa had some old 8mm film showing myself atop Spice, with my Dad walking alongside holding me up. I must have been about 2’ish then. Shortly after that filming, I guess due to financial issues they horses were sold. I never could recall any memory of them, excluding the film.

The house had been in the family for many years. I recall a time years later that Dad showed me a picture of his great uncle and aunt out in the front of the home. That picture had to been at least 50 years old, if not more, and the house still looked the same pretty much. Paint was peeling more, but the rest looked the same. That same uncle and aunt were the ones that adopted my Grandpa at the age of 12, and changed his last name to the one I carry now. But that is a story for another day.

I remember different things about that home that bring up different feelings. There was the front room that faced the street. My parents had set it up as a ceramics room. There they would pour, bake and paint ceramic pieces – same as my maternal grandma did in her home. The living room was carpeted with this awful green pile carpet. That was the room where I took my first drag off a cigarette. Another story for later.

Off the living room was the kitchen, which led to the back porch and exit. I remember us kids would always be running around asking Mom to make her special kool-aid. It was nothing more than cheap punch with some 7-up added to it. Out the back door the yard stretched as far as a kid could imagine. I know at one time there were several acres that Dad owned off the back yard. He would rent them out to a local farmer for crops. Halfway down the yard to the side was Dad’s firewood pile. Six feet high, 4-5 rows across about 20+ feet long. Definitely looked like we would never freeze in the winter. Beyond that was our swing set that had the rocking pony on it.

Back inside off the living room were the bedrooms. Sis and I shared one together for all those years. Upstairs was more of an attic than a second level, I guess, now that I think about it. Dad had a train set up there running N gauge. The track board was probably about 6x4, and it was rare that I ever got to see him run that train.

Yeah, my mind gets hazy trying to remember the important stuff of back then. But as I grasp these details, it helps drag me back so I can start the tale I figured I would share today.

My family had spent several years in that old home. I don’t know the exact details, but it was decided we were going to tear it down and replace it with a single level newer home. The house next door to us became available (for sale or rent I don’t know), so the family moved over to it, and we proceeded to dismantle the old home. It was old. Walls were the old plasterboard and slats, and the foundation was red bricks. After some time, the home was dismantled, and life went on.

Well, I guess Life sort of went on. Around that time is when my parents started their separation. That for sure is another story.

Dad had been working during this time a regular day job, and then also being one the four town marshals for the town. Eventually, it came down to just him, and he moved on up the road to be deputy in Michigantown. Now being the deputy there wasn’t too bad I guess, except it was like 15 miles, give or take, between towns. Dad got the wonderful job of patrolling the public High School football games. Needless to say, there were a few people, and HS students that didn’t like him doing his job. I can’t count the times he had to get a ride home because some one had sugared his gas tank on the truck. The town only had one patrol car, so Dad had to use his personal vehicle to/from the games.

Needless to say, being the small towns that they were, and my Dad’s involvement with the authorities, many locals knew him, and knew where we lived. Some nights kids would come by and toss rocks, or shelled corn at the windows. Easy to see how someone could get worried as to family safety. Never know how far teenagers are going to take things. Well, I remember one story Dad told me about, and that seemed to pretty much be the end of those incidents.

The new house going up next door was pretty much just starting. The crawlspace had been dug out, and cement block lined the hole. It was only about 3-4 feet deep. For a few nights in a row, some teenagers had been throwing things at the house late at night and yelling stuff that I shouldn’t repeat. Dad decided he was going to put a stop to it. One night after I had gone to bed, he loaded up the 12 gauge and went next door to hunker down in the crawlspace. Wasn’t long until here come them three boys again. Dad stayed squatted down and waited for them to start trouble. Sure enough, the rocks and words started flowing. That’s when Dad knew it was time. He jumped up out of the crawlspace, pumped a round into the chamber of the shotgun, and gave a blood-curdling scream like he was Rambo back in Vietnam.

There was a brief moment of silence. The next sound made was of rocks dropping from them boys’ hands, and the blood draining from their faces. They turned tail and ran as fast as they could. Dad said they took off like they had seen a ghost. Needless to say, I never heard Dad mention another night of people throwing things at the house. To this day, I don’t know if this was just a story he told me, or if it was true event. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. It was my Dad.

Rambo Ralph

2007-11-14T16:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-11-13T16:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-31T13:47:00.000-07:00

“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

2007-08-02T15:30:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-01T12:48:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-07-20T12:03:00.001-07:00

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)

2007-07-19T12:40:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-07-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-13T16:15:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-01T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-07T15:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-07T13:05:00.000-07:00

(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 ...

2007-05-01T17:22:00.001-07:00

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

2007-04-30T14:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-04-27T14:34:00.001-07:00

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

2007-04-27T14:32:00.000-07:00

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.’

Cake makes me wanna Barf

2007-04-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

How many people in the world say that they are NOT finicky eaters? Not picky. Will eat anything and everything. Doesn’t matter as long as it is prepared basically correct, and served at the right temperature it’ll go down the gullet. I used to be one of those. But I started getting picky when I was around 8-9 years old. One of those major life events that changed how I looked at certain foods.

My Dad and Step Mom (SM) got married in 1980. They had dated I am guessing at least half a year, maybe more. I never really cared at that age. Well, Dad had a regular job as a draftsman for Beard Industries. They made grain dryers for farms all around the country. SM had a job working in shipping/receiving at the only Peter Paul/Cadbury plant in the US. Which on a side note was located in Frankfort, IN. Boy, I sure remember the days when she would bring home bow of damaged Powerhouse candy bars … or Easter when they got discount prices on them Cadbury eggs with the crème in the middle. Anyways, I am getting sidetracked.

SM had always done some side business of making/decorating cakes for people. Most of the time it was for friends since she worked full time, but she would make exceptions for other people too. She had had one of them long ass classes from Wilson cake school on decorating and she is a very artistic person to boot. Well, as the goes, we moved into a 2nd floor apartment in Frankfort within a year or two. The 1st floor consisted of 2 empty “stores”. Well, SM and Dad decided to start of a cake decorating and supply shop since Peter Paul had closed and she was out of work. Sure enough they did start one up, and it did moderately well considering. One of the main things of the biz was taking cake orders. For anything. Parties, B-days, Anniversaries, weddings – I mean anything. I even saw her do one for a bachelorette party. So she got a good number of orders throughout the week, and even busier on weekends, and that would vary more with the time of year.

Guess who learned how to bake? Uh Huh. You betcha. From the time I got out of school I would be in charge of baking the cakes. Make sure of correct flavors, sizes of the pans, and then have to make the icing to boot! Gotta know how much for what sized cake, is it supposed to flavored or not. This went on for 2 years, basically until Dad got diagnosed with cancer and they closed the shop.

I learned to hate cake. I learned to throw up at the mere taste of frosting. I don’t even like the smell of it baking. You know how many times in a normal year you are exposed to cake as a dessert? My family still asks if I want any at Bday parties for the kids and always get the “look” from me, like I would puke on them if they came near. But sometimes, you just have to swallow your pride and try not to puke.

I had gone to a poker party last Saturday night, and had Daughter watch the 2 older boys. We arrived back home about 10:30’ish I would say, and of course they were still up. Well, I in the bedroom taking off my shoes when the Daughter comes in. Seems they had made a cake for the Wife’s and mine anniversary. Cake. Worse, chocolate cake, with store bought icing, in 3 different flavors. I about hurled. But, being the parent I am I said how nice it looked and to get it back in the kitchen before she dropped it or something. I can sit here and tell you how my 15-year-old Daughter has known from birth I hate cake, but it didn’t stop her. Or the boys who had helped.

God knows I love the thought, but next year, a hug will do just fine.

Why I hate Bugs

2007-04-27T14:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I believe it was my sophomore year, and yes, I had those outside chores to do. The attempt was being made to grow grass in the front and back yards. The front yard was fairly small, and had sprinklers, but they had to be turned on/off manually, and you had to watch how long they ran. Same in the backyard, but you were watering dirt patches more than anything else there. We were also trying to grow bushes and a couple trees in the front yard, One of my chores was to water the bushes and trees every Mon, Wed, Fri after school. It was a pain in the ass because the bushes ran along one side of the property, then around the front by the sidewalk, and would take forever for a teenager to get done (about 20-30 minutes actual).

So this one particular day I am in a hurry to get this chore done. I don't remember why. Maybe some television show was coming on I wanted to watch, who knows. I am out there in my bare feet, hose in hand, over by the side watering the bushes one by one, when I feel something tickle the top of my foot. It was a mild sensation, and my mind being elsewhere than watching what I am doing, I thought it was just some of the water splashing. After I had shifted a couple bushes I fell it now on top of both feet, and I determine it shouldn't be the water. I glance down, and damn near jumped straight on top of the roof!

My feet were coated with bugs! I don't mean little bugs like tiny ants, or aphids - we are talking large mutant ladybug-looking creatures!! Yes! Ladybug-like mutants! They were about 1 ½ inches long, and had their backs colored a rust-orange with black spots, and antenna that they could use to radio to the moon. There legs were black and reminded me of grasshopper legs, how they grip a bit to hang on to anything.

I dropped the hose, and moved faster than sound in wiping them off my feet. Just as I shivered thinking about how I was lucky to get them off before they bit me, I remembered the hose was still running and it wasn't on the bushes. I went to reach for the hose and saw the ground. I looked forward, left, then right, then straight down at my feet. I was surrounded by these bugs by about 4 feet to either side, and as far forward as the back fence (about 10 yards). They literally blanketed the ground, and they were starting to crawl on my feet again.

With a yell that broke sound monitoring equipment three counties over, I ran for the house. I ran to the backyard and on that side of the property, there was a mass of them back there as well, covering about 6 feet wide swath through the side of the yard, and over the shed. No where in the yard did I see them but that one side. At this point I am scared shitless since I have no clue if they are poisonous, if they bite, are they in the house?! I put on some boots and run to shut off the hose, taking big steps across the bugs and moving as fast as possible. Back inside I call Mom. She is getting ready to leave work and will check it out when she gets home. I am hoping I can survive until then.

Mom comes home and she has no clue what they are either. Same with the step-dad. They placed a call to the pest control company (who sprayed our place every 2 weeks). The guy that came out, our regular service guy, had no clue what they were either. So he takes a few for samples to send over to ASU's entomology dept (bug teachers). Within 48 hours we found out all about them bugs.

Seems they are not poisonous, and they migrate in these huge groups. Their migratory path is in a straight line, but what makes this line stay straight no one knows. They eat vegetation and should be out of our area within a week. Not near fast enough for me. Sure enough, within a few days they had migrated out the backyard and over to the next property along the way. They didn't damage the lawn like I thought they might, in fact you couldn't tell they had been there. Except for my Mom, to whom making fun of me for being scared of a few bugs was just the funniest thing. To this day I cannot stand any type of bug longer than like an inch. They freak me out.

The Other Night out at the Bar

2007-04-27T14:16:00.000-07:00

So I am sitting at the bar last night, had my semi-regular stool and spot, Jack with the Bud chaser, book in hand, minding my own business, when this well-endowed woman damn near tackles me off the chair. Actually, she was doing her best to hug me, I think, because the first words out of her mouth were, "Do you like strippers?"

What in the hell do you say to a woman that asks that. Funny you should ask. I told her. "Yeah, I do." (Imagine that Ray Stevens style like in "The Streak")

"You like the way my tits look?" as she pushes them against me more.

I look down upon her ample cleavage, and say, "Yeah, I do."

"You wanna come see me dance naked? I'll let you look at my pussy..." she says, trying to be seductive. At the same tie I am trying to disengage her arms from me and stand her upright instead of using my lap for a bed.

"Not tonight, Honey. I got enough for me to do right here and now. How about a rain check?" I give her the smile, you know, the one that is supposed to reassure people you know what is best.

She straightens up, shakes her breasts back and forth across my arm, gives me one of those fake puppy dog grins, and says "I will be watching for you. You better be front row on Friday."

"Not a problem. you best be careful going home now." She stumbles on over to the door, where another gal she was with, was waiting for her, and they staggered out the door. I was sitting in my chair thinking 'WTF was that?!? A proposition from a titty dancer to go see her on Friday night, and she didn't even tell me where!'

I shook my head.

Sipped my Jack.

Lit a cigarette.

Blew the smoke out of my mouth.

Turned to the next page in my book.

Mexico and Jack Daniels

2007-04-27T14:07:00.001-07:00

Late in the year of 2004, a few buddies and I had gotten together and decided to do a special trip down to Rocky Point. We decided it would be in January, and it was going to be a “Guys Only” trip considering we would go down once or twice of the year with the wives/girlfriends. Sounds cool! Guys only, in Rocky Point, for a good three day weekend.

Well, Friday morning started off well, and we car-pooled on down to the border. We always stop to get a few items from the Duty-Free store there, like smokes, and hard alcohol. I was debating on buying a bottle of Gentleman Jack, or to go with Crown Royal. Prices were good (and tax free) coming to about $28 for a bottle, when normally it would be well over $30 back home. As I was mulling over the dilemma of which would be better for the weekend, Don points out to a display case.

“Why not get that Jack, Ralph?” I turned to look and my jaw drops. There was a HUGE bottle of Jack Daniels sitting there. A sign on the bottle said $51. I looked at Don, and he starts laughing. I take a closer look, and realize that has got to be the buy of the day. A 3 liter bottle of Jack for $51. Now the normal “big” bottle in the stores runs around $40 - $45, and it is only 1.75 liters. I am getting 1.25 liters more for about $6 more. Do the math. It’s a good buy. I took the bottle to the counter.

All the boys were giving me some grief about buying the biggest bottle of Jack the world has probably seen, but I grin and think … mmm, gonna taste good. Meanwhile we move on down the road.

As soon as we get settled into the condo, I got that bottle opened and start pouring. Normally I drink a Jack with a Budweiser chaser, but being in Mexico, and the way we buy beer there, it was usually a Corona, or Pacifico instead of Bud. We had other stuff too, depending where we were at. I know I had some Sol and Dos Equis as well.

Well, the weekend went along, and I am drunk the whole time. I always tend to drink a lot when I am vacationing. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes bad.

Good: Mellowing in a chair out on the patio looking out on the ocean enjoying the buzz.
Bad: being so drunk when you lay on your back to give the dancer a dollar from your mouth, and your friends spin you like a turtle while trying to help you off the stage. Don’t Laugh! It happened – not that trip, but still.

As my friends will tell you, probably just about all of them, cannot keep up with me when drinking. For some stupid reason, I get a thrill out of that, but that is just wrong. However, there were many times someone would be up in the wee hours of the morning, and see me half asleep on the patio with cup and bottle in hands.

This particular trip, I think we all found out who is able to sleep with whom at night. I had warned all before the trip, but some people just have to be convinced, and Bo was the one who won that trip. I snore. Let me rephrase that. I snore – LOUDLY. Every time I went to bed that weekend, Bo was up and moving, no matter the time. Heck Saturday night he slept on the tile outside the bedroom door. It made a good laugh for most of the guys, and I just grinned and said “I told you so.”

So, come Sunday morning, I get on up out of bed and stumble towards the patio. Most of the guys are up and moving already, and one of them points out the bottle of Jack sitting on the counter. Now it had sat on the counter as open for anyone since Friday when we arrived.

“Hey Ralph. You gotta drink the rest of the bottle.” I glance over at the bottle. Damn! There is only about 3 inches of Jack left in it. I shook my head.

I groggily said,”Nope. Ain’t gonna happen. Did anyone else drink any of it this weekend?”

I believe only 2 or maybe 3 said they had had the equivalent of a shot of Jack earlier in the weekend, but no more. So I think to myself, I drank damn near that whole bottle. I sat there and thought about it for a few minutes, thinking maybe I should finish it off. My stomach kept saying no way.

I ended up bringing the rest of it home and actually finishing it about three weeks later. I held on to the bottle until it was decided that it did not need to be displayed where everyone coming into the house could see it. I still wonder on occasion, do they have bigger bottles, or is the next size a keg? How long would it take to drink a keg….

OTL and the Bus

2007-04-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

I don’t know how many of you have heard of the Over The Line tournament held every year in San Diego. It is a pretty big production bringing literally hundreds of people from across and even out of the country. Old Mission Bay Athletic Club has sponsored this tourney for the past 53 years. You can read more about it at www.OMBAC.com if you are interested. Quick basics are that it is a 3-man team, 20 minute game, double elimination event. Field dimensions are different than a regular field (see website for more info). Lastly, the team name can be ANYTHING you want it to be, no matter how long, how wordy, how vulgar, or anything. For example, if I remember the team names correctly of my buddies, there was “Phoenix Beaver Eaters”, “IF you’ve Been To Phoenix, Chances Are We Fucked Your Relatives” or something like that. I think I messed up a word or two. Lastly, this year’s new team “Two in the Pink, One in the Stink”.

My buddies had been doing this OTL thing for about three years, or so, and each year they bring along a couple more friends that enjoy it, and continue going. Well, this year was my year to be initiated and decided I would go and check it out. It would be good to be where it is cooler than Phoenix, and drinking with 8 of my buddies for four days. This first year, I would not be playing unless a last minute accident and they needed me.

Before I get too far into the story, I probably need to explain few things to you. The OTL is held on an island (Fiesta Island, to be exact) that has only 1 exit/entrance. There is VERY limited RV parking, and this is the only time of year the island officials allow even more limited parking. No biggee – we were doing car pools anyways as we had all flown into San Diego. At the OTL there are a number of sponsor tents, and food tents, etc etc scattered around the edges of the playing fields. One particular tent is called the “Circle of Champions” and costs $35 per ticket to gain entrance. This ticket has to be bought prior to the OTL start date by mail. What you get once you are in though, is free food, and drink (alcoholic or other) for as long as they are open. There are also no running water restrooms on the island and Port-a-Potties are prevalent all around. So a brief recap:

1. “Circle Of Champions”
2. only One entrance/exit to the island
3. limited parking
4. port-a-potties all around

It’s Saturday morning and OTL begins in about an hour. We all load up in the Limo (yes Limo. Friend knew a connection and we got a nice discount to have him drop us off at the island). All of us cram in and away we go. We are conveniently dropped off at the gate to the OTL. Since I was the only one there not playing in any games, it was determined I would get a table at the “Circle of Champions” and reserve it throughout the day for the other guys as they had breaks between games and whatnot. Perfect! Sit and drink and eat as much as I want! Well, I had to wait about half an hour before they opened, and I strutted my way in the that fence enclosed structure, admiring the red band on my wrist that gave me reign to come and go from this most honored establishment. I quickly ordered up the requisite Bud and a Jack. Glancing around I saw many tables still available (as I was like the fourth person entering) and quickly headed for one in the back corner, no more than 15 feet from about 7 port-a-potties (for quicker and easier access). The table is only 20 feet from where the food will be brought out, and has a good umbrella shade to protect me from the sun. I see a waitress start heading my way.

“Here ya go Honey,“ I say with a smile as I give her a $20 bill. “You earn that and maybe more, if every time you come by me, you bring a Jack and Bud, for as long as I am sitting here.”

She smiles at me and says, “No problem. You ready for one now?”

“Matter of fact, yes, just bring it on out, even if I have little still in front of me.”

That was the start of a beautiful relationship of the day. I do not think I could have loved anyone else more than that waitress at that moment. So I am kicking back, listening to the announcer call out the names and field numbers for the teams to play. Every now and then there would be a good one, like, “We were going to hang your black ass until we found you was our daddy”, or “Owie, Owie, get it out it hurts”. I wish I would have gotten a program so I could be sure I wrote those team names right, plus so I could seen the ones I don’t remember hearing.

So things are going along well and time moves on. My buddies came and went, and the drinks kept going down. About 10:30 or so I think (I had only been in here since about 9) the first piece of bad news arrives via the waitress.

“We are out of Jack Daniels. Is there something else you would prefer?” I asked for my choices and there were not many. All the alcohol had to be carted out to the island, so there was a limit to how much could be there as well. I settled switching to Jim Beam, and proceeded to enjoy the day.

Throughout the morning, I had had my share of pretzels, and a little later on there was nachos with some pretty spicy salsa. Around noon the good food started coming out, and the “Circle of Champions” started to fill up quite well. There were all sorts of lunch meats for sandwiches. Real good stuff and the slices were nice and thick compared to most places. My buddies have all played at least their first game around this time, when I hear the news that someone has been injured and taken by ambulance tot the hospital. That’s too bad, this was such a beautiful day and things were going well. Then I find out, that guy is one of my buddies. Seems he got hit by a line drive or fell on the ball, but ended up hurting his ribs (final tally was three cracked ribs). Well, the rest of us knew he knew where we were staying, and would be able to call some of us if needed. That was one team out, two to go.

Around 1:00pm, we have a nice crowd filling in the Champions tent, and I am eyeballing every pretty woman that I could see. My waitress was doing a wonderful job until she came to tell me more bad news.

“They are now out of Jim Beam. Is there something else you would like?” Again I listened to my options, which were obviously a shorter list than last time. I decided on the scotch. If nothing else, I doubt very many people would be drinking it, and I may make it the rest of the day with out having to change again. Bud is still flowing mightily.

Things after that did not seem to bother me a bit. From what I remember, our other two teams ended up losing their second games and near 4pm we decided it was time to leave. I do not recall the exact number of guys there was in our group, my main concern was that I was never left alone somewhere I was not familiar with. Everyone in our group, plus many other people that were attending today, were shuffling and staggering (limping & staggering in my case) towards the main gate. At the main gate were two separate lines for the buses to take you off the island. Since I had been slower than the rest of our group, I was a bit behind, and stood there trying to figure what line am I supposed to be in, when I was hailed from my buddies. They were ahead in one line about 8-10 people ahead of me. Well, after maybe 15 minutes in line, a bus comes up and they begin boarding. Wouldn’t you know it, but the cut-off for the bus was right in front of me. I am standing there, all my buddies are on this bus (all of them I thought) and I am alone, having to wait for the next bus. I holler at them to be sure to wait for me when they get dropped off.

As the first bus pulls away, another is right behind it, so I am glad I won’t be but 5-10 minutes behind my buddies. I look over towards the end of the line and I see Joe, one of our group. I holler at him to get up here with me so we don’t get too separated. We load up the bus and it takes off. Everyone is feeling good after a day at the beach and OTL, and talking and whatnot.

After about a 10-15 minute ride (I think) the bus ends up pulling into this parking lot, in the middle of nowhere it seems. Everyone begins to get off, except me and Joe. About 5 minutes later, Joe, myself, three other guys we knew from Phoenix, and 2 others I didn’t know were still on the bus. Our bus driver was this short black woman that reminded me from the way she talked and looked like Nell Carter. She looks up in her bus driver mirror and says “Y’all gotta get offa my bus. This is the end of the line.”

Now, I had been drinking beer & whiskey, & scotch since about 9:15 in the morning, and it is around 4’ish in the afternoon. This woman made me sober so quickly with just that sentence. In the brief moment of silence, I looked at Joe, then looked out the window, and realized I had no clue as to where I was. There were no stores, buildings, nothing, but an overhead roadway. Again, the seven of us passengers all looked at one another as if to say “What do we do now?”

“Ma’am,” I say, being polite as I think I have ever been. “Isn’t this bus supposed to go over to Mission Bay Park?”

“No. You done got on the wrong bus if that was where you is supposed to be. This is my last stop” I can see her glaring at me in the mirror, and I began to fear. My chest began to tighten some, and that little voice in my head had dropped to the very back of my head saying ‘you’re so screwed’ that I almost began to believe him. Joe had started to get up to head out the door, and I reached out to grab his arm, having him pause what he was doing.

For those of you that know me, when I have been drinking for a time, my voice changes some. I start having a bit of a sort-of Southern drawl. I have been called Larry the Cable Guy on many occasions. Almost like Ray Stevens in that song “The Streak” – Yeah I did. Git R Done.

“Ma’am, is there some way that we can rectify this situation?” I heard this come from my mouth, sounding like a hick that had been educated at an Ivy League college. “Is it possible for you to at least drop us off at the island so that we may get in the right line for the bus we need?”

“No way am I doing that. This is my last stop and I am done for the day.” Man, I swear things can’t stack up against me any worse. My mind is still reeling about how I am going to get out of this place when I have no idea where I am at…..

“Ma’am, I am going to be honest with you. I am from out of state. I have no idea where we are right now. I do not have a cell phone with me to call for a cab, plus if I did, I don’t have any cab numbers with me. My friends were on the bus ahead of me, and we are supposed to meet at Mission Bay. What can we do to rectify this situation?”

There, I had laid it all out on the table. I am a simple person. I watched the bus driver, as she was studying my face in that wide bus mirror. The radio is playing in the background, but I couldn’t tell you what song, I only knew it was the only sound at that moment. She looks at her watch, looks back to me again. She raises her left hand and slaps it down on the steering wheel and lets out a laugh.

“Well, boy, it’s your lucky day! I guess I am going to get an hour’s more pay. I will take you on over to Mission Bay, but it gonna cost you.” My mental emergency brakes went on. I glanced around the bus real quick. Everyone is looking at everyone, not sure of what to do. I glance back to the mirror. “Someone gonna have to sing me a Commodore song on the way.” Again she lets loose with a big laugh.

I inwardly sigh – no problem. A song for the ride and I get to where I need to be. I start asking all the other guys. “Do you know a song by them? DO you? DO you?” All six guys tell me no, they have no idea of any Commodores song, let alone know one. I sighed. I only know one, so I let it loose and fill the bus with the sound of “You’re Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady” as the bus pulls out to the road. The bus driver is just smiling and singing along. I am not sure if I got all the verses in there, and I am not sure if all the words were correct, but after singing I made sure all the guys knew to be putting some money in her tip jar. I actually said to fill it up as it was about 2 inches from full. As we unloaded at Mission Bay, I was the last off, and placed a $5 bill over the now filled tip jar, and turned to the driver. “Thanks so much for helping me out.”

“Not a problem,” she said and gave me a hug.

I am happy. I am where I am supposed to be. Where is everyone else? A quick phone call found the other part of my group not knowing exactly where they were either, but they were bus-less. I told them basically that Joe & I were headed to Coaster’s, and they could meet us there, which they did within about 15-20 minutes.

Easter Bunny at the Mall

2007-04-27T14:00:00.000-07:00

Easter is a holiday that I never really celebrated. It means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, especially depending on their respective religions. Myself being basically raised non-denominational christian, things seem fairly easy. You dress up nice in your suits and dresses, girls get to put on Easter hats, and the little white gloves. Everyone in the family goes to church - NO MATTER WHAT! as Step dad would threaten us. Then afterwards you had the big family dinner. For us, it usually was just our family as all us kids were still at home. I always hated having to wear a tie - and to this day I just about refuse to wear one, except where is needed out of strictest need or out of respect. Another scar from this holiday, but will share that another time. For now, let me take you back about 15 years ago or so. I had recently graduated from high school, my brother was like a Sophomore I think. Now think about the commercials back on TV back then... one in particular, the M&M commercial.

M&M had had this commercial on for a number of years, and the normal person would tell you it is "cute". It has all these kids saying "Thank you Mr. Easter Bunny", and they hold a package of M&M's in their hand(s) (prior to ripping it open and smearing them all over I am sure). What I consider just another wonderful marketing tool to get people to buy, of all things, baskets of candies for their kids on a holiday supposedly reflecting the death and arising of a major spiritual figure. How does candy fit in there? Let alone a damn rabbit that lays eggs, in hidden places, for kids to find. I raised rabbits for years, and they sure as shit never left behind no eggs.... but I am getting off topic...

One Saturday prior to the Easter weekend, my brother, his friend Jason, and I were "cruisin'" the mall, "scopin' for Betties" as we used to say. We had been there a couple hours and were pretty bored with what little action there was going on. Outside one particular card/curio shop, the managers had decided to have someone in a bunny outfit handing little candies out to kids as they pass the store (another marketing idea exploiting a religious holiday). First thing that pops into my head is that old M&M commercial... I have no understanding why, but it does. With a wicked gleam in my eye, I turned to look at Stuart and Jason. They had seen the rabbit costume when I had, and didn't understand what I was thinking.

" I Dare one of you to go up to that guy in the bunny outfit, " I said.

"And what?" Stuart asks. "Wave to him?"

"No," I stated. " You have to hug him and as loud as you can, say 'Thank you Mr. Easter Bunny!! Thank You!' and then walk on til you are around the corner."

Jason is struck with the giggles at this point and says no way is he doing it. So Stuart agrees after a few minutes negotiating. As he turns to head down that direction, I called him back.

"There is one more catch, " I added, that wicked gleam in my eye surely is blinding him now. "You have to walk to him, say the phrase, and walk on down around the corner ... as if you were a retard, or autistic, kid. I mean, the stumble/shuffle walk, the funny speech. Add drool for better presentation."

Stuart is just looking at me. Jason is laughing his ass off. Finally he says okay - I think there was some money involved with it too, but I don't remember for sure. Anyways, I have him wait until Jason & I are just across the walkway so we can see the whole thing, when here comes Stuart.

- A brief note about my brother Stuart. Back in the day, he came up with some crazy ass shit he would do, dared or not. One of these acts he had worked up was exactly what I was having him do. Stuart was always good at it, and had at times, did the drop and pretend to have seizure - in the middle of McDonald's no less, while I am trying to eat. He used to be a crazy mofo.

So here comes Stuart down, shuffling and stumbling, one arm tweaked across his chest, mouth opening and smacking shut with a little drool down the chin. He's still like 3 doors down and Jason and I are damn near busting our gut watching him. People are stopping and staring at him and they pass by, or as they exit the stores. Stuart stops about 15 feet from the Bunny guy, and gets this look of awe, or maybe it is fear, on his face and just stands there staring at the Bunny. The Bunnysuit has no clue what to do. At this exact moment there are no shoppers close, and he has this teenage appearing retard standing and staring at him. It was almost like an old western stand-off.

Finally the pressure breaks and Stuart starts loping/running towards the Bunny with his arms outstretched, hollering out loud "Thank you Mr. Easter Bunny!!! Thank You!!" and wraps up the Bunny in a huge bear hug. Bunny still does not know what to do, so he pats Stuart on the back. Stuart lets go after about 20 seconds (one of those hugs was like 15 seconds too long and embarrassing things). The Bunny actually hands Stuart one of the candies from the basket. Stuart looks at it - I think it was some sort of chocolate marshmallow thing, and looks at the Bunny and says something along the lines of "This not the candy you give on TV. I want M&M's. I want M&M's" He starts yelling this about 4 or 5 times. I am on my knees laughing so hard. All of a sudden. Stuart drops the candy, turns, and shuffles off the other direction like nothing happened.

By the time we caught up to him, Stuart had made it to a bench and was laughing as hard as he could as well. I couldn't believe he had pulled it off, but he did. And to this day, whenever I think of that commercial, or even see it as they still play it once in awhile, I bust out laughing thinking about the retard and the Bunny at the Mall.

Coffee

2007-04-27T13:59:00.000-07:00

Coffee. Some people feel that this beverage is like "Nectar of the Gods". I know. I used to be one of them. Years ago when I worked in the medical billing industry, I used to drink cup after cup, pot after pot. I drank coffee like I drink beer now, except I drank a lot more coffee. Then one day, I had to break my habit of drinking coffee. Doctor said I had an ulcer, and weirdly enough, the coffee was irritating it and causing me severe abdominal pain. I even had to cut back on soda due to the caffeine (which was the major irritant according to the doctor). Man, how was I to survive without my wake up cup, my go-go juice, my need for speed rush at the end of the month? And no Soda to help replace wonderful coffee? I don't know exactly how I did it, but I quit drinking cold turkey. I never had DT's, or other type of physical reactions, but to walk into the local convenience store, and smell coffee brewing - ye gods, what a nightmare.

After several months of no coffee, my abdominal pains disappeared, and I considered myself "healed" and went for the pot of coffee at work one morning. Oh, I placed the full cup under my nose and stood in quiet Ecstasy and slowly inhaled the aroma. Oh, coffee bean, thou art my downfall. Thou make me shiver in delight and work ye magics in me. I exhaled and moved to take that first glorious sip, and felt the hot, flavored liquid cascade down my gullet. YES! This was the magic moment, and I am able to partake in it.

The rest of the day - I don't remember much about it. I know I enjoyed several cups of coffee, and I noticed I was suddenly making more trips to the restroom. I didn't recall that aspect of my drink relationship to have been happening before. After about a week of return to life as normal (if you can call mine that) I was working at the desk, when the Abdominal Pains returned to haunt me. And oh, did they return with a proud vengeance, and brought tears to my eyes for all the attention they provided me. Yes, Mr. Ulcer decided there was a large influx of coffee in the diet very recently. Again I had to quit drinking the heavenly flavored drink.

Since that time, it has been about 14 years. I still imbibe a cup every once in awhile. Far enough days in between to keep Mr. Ulcer happy. But I still get twisted in my emotions whenever I smell a fresh brew being made, and my mouth waters for just the smallest of tastes.

Know ye that this day, yon gods have blessed me, and I have again, partaken of their nectar. And DAMN! It was good today.

First Wreck

2007-04-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

I think everyone remembers their first auto accident as an adult. Heck, I am sure some of you remember your first as a teen, and maybe as a child too. Anyways, I remember mine, and I don't think it is an easy thing to forget when someone dies.

It was about 15 years ago, and my wife was in the hospital as it was a day after my daughter (the first child) had been born. I was driving the second car I owned which was a 1980 Toyota Corolla wagon, 4-valve, stick shift, auto-nothing. It was about 9pm and I was headed home to get some sleep before heading to work in the morning. I was bout 3 miles from home traveling in the middle of three lanes headed north, doing 40-45ph. I had just checked the rear-view as I crossed over a major intersection, and the closest car was about 3 car lengths back on the left lane side of me. Nothing else was within blocks of me.

All of a sudden I feel a bump-push like someone had rear-ended me. I glanced up int he mirror and see some wreckage sliding on the road making sparks. "Shit. I think my bumper and back end has just fallen off," I am thinking to myself, when I glance left and see the other car, with the driver motioning me to pull over. I hurriedly pulled in ahead of her in the yellow emergency lane, and rushed back to make sure she was okay.

"I'm okay," she says, " But that fellow back there on the ground isn't I am sure." I looked back over to what I thought was the rear-end of my car, and realize it was a motorcyclist. By now there are a couple other people stopped and calling 911. I run out to the bike, and there is someone there trying to see if the guy is okay, so I head up traffic to help detour around since this is in the middle of the road. Police show up and send me to the curb, where I was talking to the lady of the other car. She had said this guy on the motorcycle was behind her, right on her bumper, when as she crossed the intersection, he decided to gun it and whipped out behind her, right onto the back of my car. Of course, if you've ridden bikes, a straight shot like that hitting someones bumper, very easy to close control, which is what happened.

So we are there over the course of a couple hours going over what happened with police, then detectives. The biker is rushed to the nearest hospital (which is where this lady worked). The biker, all they could tell us, was wearing tank top, shorts and flip-flops, so no protective gear at all, and that the prognosis was not good for him. I finally got around to looking at my car, and I had this indention on the bumper about 4 inches wide. I notice I cannot open the hatchback as the indention is up about 1/2 inch too much. "Great. Wonder how I am going to fix that," I remember thinking. I go on home, life returns to normal as I await any news about the accident. It never made TV news that night.

About 2 days later, I am at work and I get a personal call from someone I don't recognize, so I go ahead and take it. It is the other lady involved int he accident. I had mentioned she worked at the same hospital the biker was taken to... well, seems she had gotten a friend nurse to check the guy's charts and found out a couple things. 1) his Blood Alcohol was over 3.1% and 2) the doctors were not giving him much longer to live. Seems he had several severe internal injuries that hey could not fix or something. I thanked her for calling. About 2 days later she called me back to let me know he had passed away.

So, I have a dead guy, with no insurance info found on him or the body at the accident scene. I wait about a week, then take a sledge hammer to the bumper to knock down the indention so I can use the hatchback again. About 5 weeks later, an insurance adjuster comes to my door, and wants to look at my car. I show him, and told him that was the only damage, plus what I had done so I could open the hatch. He crawls under the back end, makes some notes, gets the other car info and hands me a check he wrote on the spot for $500.

I was like "What's this?"

He says,"That is the insurance settlement for the vehicle damage to your car from the accident that took place back on such n such date."

"Okay, I never though he had insurance." Wow, $500, right before Christmas - man I could use that! I am low paid, newly married, newborn at home.Then I think, for that much money, wouldn't I rather see that biker alive?

School Bully

2007-04-27T13:37:00.000-07:00

I think every male I know has had some kind of monster bully in his life, predominately in the early grades of school. We see them portrayed everywhere in movies, cartoons, stories, and everyone can relate to knowing one, and even fewer admit to have been one - but everyone one knows how they make life hell for the "smaller sized" person. This is a story of one, so let's go back a few years, show you how old I really am....

Moving to Arizona was my way out of what I thought was a bad situation. Dad had passed away in early 1985, and I spent the next year in what I felt like, was hell for a teenager, living with my step mom and half sister (who was about 2 1/2). My Mother had remarried several years before, and since she had custody of my sister & brother, had moved to California, then on to Phoenix, AZ by this time. So calling Mom and asking to come live with her was what I thought the best thing to do. I came out that summer, and prepared to start as a freshman at a new high school being built in the district.

I don't know if you need this background information, but since some people compare me to Cliff Clavin, the trivial facts gotta come out sooner or later. This school district (Deer Valley Unified) is the largest school district in the continental US. It covers most of N. Phoenix, plus up to 25 miles north. In 1986, there was only 1 existing HS, and Goldwater (my school) was in the process. Goldwater would take only 1/2 of the districts 9th & 10th grades, and as each year progressed, would open each successive year. My sister was a senior when I started, so we did not attend the same school, rode different buses, etc. And as a side note, cuz I think I am proud of it, I am of the First Full Graduating Class from Goldwater. Sometimes I can be such a braggart. On with the story ...

Now being in the "Big City" was a bit different for me. The HS was only about 4 miles away - easy bike ride distance for early morning band practices - but the number of students was shocking. There was usually more than 30 kids in each of my regular course classes, where I was used to like 15-20. Of course, about 90% of the students knew of each other as they had attended Jr High together, and I being new and from out of state, felt very uncomfortable...I was never fast at making friends anyways. The first few weeks are typical - settle into a scheduled routine, pretty much figure out who to avoid, who the jocks are, who are the class gov't types, etc, etc. Me, I was a band geek. I didn't care what they called me, because I knew I was doing more than they, as I marched with a 45 pound marching bass held upright in front of me for 20 minute performances. I don't see football guys doing that... maybe carry a 3 pound bag of leather and air for 5 yards then put it down. Anyways I am getting off track....

New schools opening mean many new teachers coming into jobs. One such new teacher was my 3rd period, General Science teacher, Mrs. Kelly. She was from Scotland, and had an accent that you had to think twice when she was talking to you to understand what she was saying. She spoke slowly enough for general class teaching, but otherwise would slip and speed up. So, I'm new, the school is new, and my science teacher is new. And so is the trouble that started that 9th grade year.It was that fateful day in October of 1986 that I remember when the world went off-kilter, and I became open game to the carrion beasts. I sat in front of a giant of a student named George Duker. This guy stood 6'2" as a 9th grader, was on the JV football team, played almost last chair trumpet in band with me. We sorta knew each other. More like I knew he was a dumb-ass jock that had other people do his homework for him, and that he sucked playing trumpet. He knew me as excelling in all my classes, especially science, and decided that that particular day was to start my life of hell. The classroom is quiet as we are in the middle of a mid-term exam on what we have learned so far. I feel a pencil tap and a whisper "Ralph!". I know it is coming from George sitting behind me. I know he is wanting an answer for a question on the test. I ignore him. "Ralph!" I hear again just a tad louder. "Give me the answer to #2." I look up to see where the teacher is, she is sitting in the front middle at her desk, we are on the far right. Again a tap on the should er from behind. I shake my head no emphatically. "Ralph, you better help me with some of these answers. Now I need #2." I quickly risk a half-turn towards him and whisper back "No. Now leave me alone." As I turn back around, I feel a huge hand grasp my shoulder, and pull me backwards. About that time, Mrs. Kelly looks up and around - the hand drops. As she goes back to her grading, or whatever, the hand comes back up and the voice speaks, "If you don't help me, I am going to beat your ass after school."

What would any normal, scared, smaller-sized person do at this point? I think we all know. I bowed my head in resignation, then I thought, 'Fuck this. Let's see what can happen.' I stood up, turned around to face George square, and sentenced my life. In a voice loud enough to fill the room, so everyone could hear, "George, I am not going to give you any answer on this test. So you can quick poking me with your pencil, keep your hands to yourself, and leave me the fuck alone!" Yes, I really did say the F word. Mrs. Kelly of course stood up and was asking "What is going on here"

George turned redder and redder in the face, and I could sense it was time to move. I grabbed my backpack and test, and headed to the front. As I took that first step, I felt the shirt on my back start to stretch as we tried to go separate directions. George grabbed me and shoved me into the storage closets along the wall. I dropped the book bag and test. I turned, prepared to do battle to the death. My dad had taught me how to fight, and I was not immune to it in my younger years. All I could see was a mountain, with an arm going backwards. Then my salvation (or so I thought) came in the form of Mrs. Kelly. From out of nowhere, she appears next to George, reaches past him and grabs his ear. Yes, just like you see old grannies do to their misbehaving kids. Mrs. Kelly drops George to his seat, holding his ear to keep him from moving, and demands to know what is going on. So I told her. George was wanting me to give him answers on the test, and threatened to beat me up after school if I did not. George denied it all, but I think Mrs. Kelly knew from his academics what was really the truth. She escorted him out the door to the office. I never got in trouble for anything. The next day, class went on like normal, but George had been moved to another teacher's class.

So all is well that ends well? It didn't end there. George was in band also, and he tried to cause problems there, but I had enough back-up there was no trouble. He ended up dropping band because he would fail since he was playing football. We also had PE together, and in the winter wrestling was the agenda. At George's request, the coach put the two of us against each other. Yeah he was 6'2" and I was like 5'8", but I weighed over 200 (I was a butterball). I won that match, which only infuriated George more, especially when the coach asked me to join the wrestling team for the heavyweight division. I declined. For the next 2 years, I never had a class with George, we would only see each other passing the hallways, where he would always try to trip me or push me into the walls.

My senior year, my brother was a freshman at Goldwater. My brother was very small at this stage. He looked the size of a 5th grader, and I in pure Senior form, had been teasing him at home for weeks about how if my friends or I saw him we would stick him in a trashcan, etc. Pure terror to a freshman, and especially to him, as he thought we really would. The lockers in the halls were small squares about 2'x2' and stacked about 4 high. Stuart, my brother, had a top one, that he couldn't hardly reach. Turns out, George had a middle one, and they "traded lockers, and George found out Stuart was my brother. I don't know all the details to this day, but George agreed to "protect" my brother from my friends & I. George also ended up in my Gov't class for the year.

Nothing much happened that year. Stuart would run the other way anytime he saw me int he hall or around school. George never bothered me, anywhere, even in class. I let it all pass thinking maybe he finally matured. Bullies never do. We were in the final 2 months prior to graduating, when George decided it was time for revenge. One day after school, I was headed to the bike rack to get my 10-speed and head home. As I am wrapping the chain around the seat rack, I hear a voice ask me, "Got a problem there Ralphie?" I look up and see George. I quickly lock the lock and start to pull the bike out. "Looks like a couple flat tires, Ralphie." Sure enough, somehow both tires were flat. George drops his books and starts to close in on the 3 steps between us. I kind of tossed the bike to deter him, but he just shoved it aside. I am thinking, this is it - no one around, no teachers, I am getting my ass creamed. George shoves me hard in the chest and I stumble back about 3 steps. "I been waiting a long time for this Ralphie. Ever since 9th grade. you are dead meat." and he starts to pull back to swing. I don't know what to do at this point, my mind is blank, and all I can think of is I do not want to get hit by that punch. I turn as he swings and the punch hits my book bag, which has a few textbooks in it. This doesn't phase George, and he draws back again, reaching to turn me around with the other hand. As he turned me, I spun and kicked out as hard as I could...hoping for the groin shot. Instead I hear a scream from George, and he falls to the ground. I quickly step over to my bike, and start hustling down the road to home, never looking back.

For the next week, George had a crutch. Seems I missed his crotch by quite a bit, and ended up kicking his knee out. George never came near me the rest of the school year, and I ignored him as I always had done. Graduation came, and that was the last time I saw George. I figured he probably went to some Community College and ended up as some manual labor worker in some warehouse. Never cared. The 10 year reunion came up, and I attended. Friday night was basically a cocktail mixer, and I had went alone. After a couple hours of mingling, George sought me out. I had seen him earlier, and was just avoiding him as I did in school. He caught me by surprise as I was sitting at a table. After basic pleasantries, I asked him point blank - What do you want? George startled me by saying to apologize for harassing me for the years of HS. He said he never realized what a bully he had been until he got into college, and wanted to say sorry for those 4 years. I accepted, and asked him if the knee injury ever kept him from playing a football scholarship, to which he had said no. He had lost interest the senior year, and wasn't really good enough for scholarship anyways. We shook hands, and parted company. My buddy Scott comes up about then and asks what happened. I told him nothing, George and I were just reminding each other of the HS days.

Welcome to a Different Place!

2007-04-27T13:22:00.000-07:00

YEs, this truly is a different place - this is my imaginarium! Here you will find stories that have been placed to disk from some of the darkest places of my mind. Some are true life experiences, and others just might be too good to be true! You decide! You critique! You applaude! YOU READ! Inspire yourself!!

This will only be updated as I have new material. As many of us know, the monster Writer's Block sometimes hits us, or LIFE does, and prevents the flow of creativeness. Watch my regular blog for updates to here.

PeacE