Mind Freeze

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My First Mexico Trip

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Domino

“You’re fucked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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