"Many an hour has come and gone since the snow forced us to stop, God only knows where. Night time begins to darkly approach as the two of us snuggle closer together here in the front seat of old dependable Gurty. We've had her close to 15 years, she still purrs with the best of them, scooting down the road at 40 miles an hour. No doubt a blanket of white covers Gurty from the top of her roof to the ground, we are merely a bump on the horizon. Only the warmth of our bodies staves off the cold blizzard air as we are wrapped in the metal arms of Gurty. My loved one has fallen asleep, my own eye lids are slowly closing out what little I can see. Now it seems so warm, yes, it does seem warmer."
The groan of the rollers as a freight car door opens startles Candy. With half open eyes she views the standing, shadowed figure of Bird leaning into the dullness of the night. The combined stench of grain and human sweat rushes in it's haste to escape a previous prison, it's odor causes Bird to stretch further out to inhale the seemingly fresh air of the rail yard. The moon's faint glow slides past his figure and comes to rest, playing like, upon the full firm breast of sixteen year old Candy. A girl at ten, a woman at eleven when sadistic truth of the world was taught her by a persuasive sixteen year old Bird. No one else has known her since, or ever will.
Let me introduce you to "Man-E-Kin" sometimes billed as "Freddy The Freeze". "The living statue of flesh and blood, guaranteed to scare the YELL out of you." He was one of many characters I created over the years. As people watched me I was watching them and wrote articles in a local paper in Las Vegas about what I saw. This is one of the articles.
My eyes are focused on a barefoot boy about ten years old, wearing tattered clothing, reaching into a newspaper rack for a free copy of the Panorama.
A Maggie and Jiggs like pair walk past with a slight rumbling sound beginning to erupt from Maggie. Reaching curbside to await an ever changing stop light Maggie savagely swings her over night size pocketbook, clouting the top of Jiggs's head. With each swing she yells "I told you not to lose the whole five dollars." Jiggs attempts to reply, "But Maggie dear ---" BANG!! "But Maggie--" BANG!!! "But Mag--" BANG!!!!. The third clout causes Maggie's weapon to spring open, spewing it's entire contents, chips, dollar bills, coins, as if the slot machine Big Bertha was paying off.
Slowly a single quarter rolls toward the shoeless boy, quicker than some eyes can catch, his foot pounces on top of a new found gold mine. Rapidly opening the newspaper he appears to be reading. Maggie's temper is now hotter than a mother in law's tongue. On hands and knees Jiggs gathers the belongings, tossing them into the pocketbook as Maggie continues the verbal onslaught. After giving it some thought our boy reluctantly steps back, reaches down, picks up the quarter and hands it to Maggie who grabs the coin, tossing it among the debris.
With a hard hand on Jigg's shoulder they start to march across the street. Jiggs glances back to see a disappointed young man mentally questioning in his mind if honesty really pays. Jiggs makes a head motion for the boy to come up near him, as he does the boy spots a quarter in Jigg's hand. Reaching out the young man quickly gathers in his lost gold mine then scurries away with a smile on his face that would put Mona Lisa to shame. Jiggs smile too, as if to say "Maggie, make that five dollars and twenty five cents".
At 5:30 AM one crispy morning, after downing a plate full of mom's offering of flapjacks cousin Ezra, Uncle Zeke and I climbed into "Old Yeller", my 69' Dodge picup up truck and headed for our favorite spot at ye ole fishing hole.
While driving down a dirt road that was wide enough to let four jack rabbits pass each other, we joked about the size fish we each would catch. As we spoke the fish gained weight and length with each telling.
Cousin Ezra reached into his gear box, pulled out the brightest, flashiest plug I had ever see. "Yep, this here is what I'll get em with", he confidently declared. Not to be out done Uncle Zeke quietly giggled as he took off his ancient fishing cap, crammed full of six thousand four hundred and thirty seven lures(this is a fish story), plugs and whatumacalems. Searching past one then the other his fingers caressed, gently, one lure and plucking it out said, "this one here will do it every time". I wished them both luck but no way was I to be out done on this day of mine.
Bringing ole Yeller to a stop, putting her in park, I then reached, opening the glove compartment. Fumbling past the flashlight, nuts, bolts, old gas tickets, a pair of my wife's stockings and other items that had no business being there, I pulled out one tangled bundle of fishing line with a long sinker, one hook and the remains of an earth worm from last week's venture. "gentlemen, today is mine", I bragged with confidence. Both Ezra and Zeke near fell out of the cab with their laughter shaking em so hard. "Go ahead and laugh but you'll see" said I as Ole Yeller was shifted into drive and headed on down the road.
"Well here you go Ezra", Zeke said as we approached Ezra's favorite spot. "O.K. you two, stop back in four hours and I'll have the biggest fish you ever saw", laughingly Ezra said as he stepped away from the truck with his hands full of gear and a six pack.
A mile and a half down the road, with me hardly stopping, Zeke moved out the door toward his best spot in the sun, "see you in four hours" I yelled, scooting down the road. Three more miles and I pulled up, turned the engine off. As I stepped from the cab I stretched my back while reaching skyward with both arms, feeling life creep back into my bones.
After going to the back of the truck I dropped the tail gate, lifting the corners of a blanket I uncovered my surprise. There lying before me in a bed of ice was the largest, freshest, best looking big mouth bass God ever created. I know the description to be true for I had paid ten, count em, ten hard earned dollars for that baby. Confidently I covered up my prize catch. Walking with steps of pride I moved toward a big oak tree, laid myself down, slowly slipped into the arms of Morpheus.
Old man sun has a dull seance of humor, waking a comfortable man with it's heat of a summer's day burning a hole into one's eye lids. "O.K., O.K. I’m awake", I yelled up at him. Slowly I moved into the truck and started the trip back.
Three miles and sure enough there stood Zeke, beaming bright as the old man that woke me. He had a stringer full, one of which was 15 inch, four pounder, that looked good enough to eat right there. Boy was he happy, talking all about how he hooked em, fought em, reeled em in, talked all the way to Ezra's location.
I pulled up along where Ezra was jumping up and down happy as a bull in a field full of hefers. "You do all right?" I asked, "Alright? Ezra beamed, take a look at these". Sure enough big ones , little ones, skillet get ready.
As I sat in the truck I felt fantastic. "O.K. boys go on back of the truck, check out my catch and eat your hearts out". Waiting for their approval I smiled to myself as I watched them in the rear view mirror. As they went around the corner I was expecting their astonishment and surprise to reward me. Instead they both began to laugh so hard, their stomachs started acheing they could hardly remaind standing.
I followed the direction of their pointing fingers and "Oh! my God, NO! NO! I had forgotten to close the tail gate, laying before us was the skeleton remains of what once was my prize catch. Some where out there was one full bear, beaver or some other varmint whose stomach was carrying my 10 dollars.
A slight breeze was drifting through her long auburn hair as she worked feverishly at the washing tub. From early memory her life of 17 years was thus, work, work, work, from early morning till nighttime fell. Not that work could stop her dreams, wishes, hopes. No, nothing could stop her from feeling that somewhere, somehow, life would not always be as it has been. One day, one moment, things would change.
She did have one huge secret, that of her crush, puppy love if you will, on Brad. The one boy, young man, man in her mind who would one day end this dreary existence and together they would vanish from the face of all around her dismal town and go off to a never never land only existing in her mind.
As with most days her parents were off to work and the 2 brothers and 3 sisters were off to school, only she was left in the house to do all the chores for everyone, as usual.
A hard knocking on the front door shook Sally to reality, startled her hands went flying out of the wash tub with clothes, water, suds and all were sent heavenly coming to rest on the sink, table and edges of the tub.
"Hello, Hello," came calls from the front door, "Hello". "Yea, Yea, just a moment", yelled Sally, "be right there". As Sally grabs a dry towel, drying herself off as she walks to the front mumbling, "what now, what now?". She approaches the door noticing it was Brad she wonders to herself, "what is he doing out of school?, Why is he here?" as if to answer the unspoken questions Brad spurts out, "Oh! hi! I was hoping you were home, but then you always are", seeing a sad face form on Sally he stammers, "I’m sorry, it's just that I hardly see you anywhere else".
Sally could not help but notice the small suitcase by Brad's leg, with surprise in her voice she asks, "going somewhere?" "Well, yes, I graduated, and leaving home, got fifty five bucks and some change, my car, and well, yes I’m out of here". "And that's why I’m here, to ask you to come with me".
How? How is this possible Sally quickly thinks to herself, How out of the clear blue sky, today is what I have been waiting for, it's here, now. The word jumps out so fast Sally has no chance to stop it, nor would she want to, "YES, OH! my God YES" she blurts out". "Wait here, just wait here one second" Sally implores." "OK! Brad reassures her, be right here".
With Mercury like quickness Sally bounds up the stairs, flings open her bedroom door. With one hand grabs a small floral suitcase, the other hand latches onto what few pieces of jewelry she owns. The case was already open as it lands on the bed, into it go the jewelry, next hands full of clothes and socks, matching was of no importance at this moment in her life. Without taking the time to zipper the case closed Sally grabs it as if it were life itself and takes the steps three at a time, past Brand to the car she flys. Brad, just as quickly made it to the car just as Sally closed her door, key in, engine on, off they rode into their future.
The knife was still in his hand as he awoke from what felt like a stupor. A color of deep red seem to glisten in droplets of moist looking blood slowly falling from the knife's point onto Jack's forehead.
Before him lay Mary, his sweet angel like beloved. Her bare breasts are covered with what now are not droplets but pools of deep red glistening moist looking blood.
Panic grabbed at his mind and these few seconds seemed eternal. Visions of last night played in and out with translucent figures dancing, laughing, drinking, pot, pot everywhere but not one to cook in.
The frat house Jack belonged to was enjoying another debauchery like evening of enjoyment and excessiveness. With this being the night of March 31 they were calling it "The celebration of March", which had came in like a lion and they were going to make sure it went out the same way.
Reality tried it's hand at bringing Jack back from his trip down memory lane by allowing the knife to fall from it's previous position, quickly Jack moves his head as the knife ends it's fall, stabbing the floor an inch from Mary's head. The sound, so close to her ear caused Mary to jerk quickly and with startled eyes opened wide she yells, "April Fool",. All of the previous party guests leaped from their hidden places, yelling in unison, "April Fool, April Fool".
"Ok!, OK!, officer I admit she and I were arguing but everybody has to argue with that Mexican hell cat, just to get a word in edgewise I have to fold it up and slip it in to the conversation when I can."
I had not anticipated the force her tiny fist could emit until the second it struck my cheek. Backward I spiraled seemingly to ever twist until my face met the hardwood floor. Sprawled out like a floundering flounder I welcomed Mr. Sandman.
Time seems to pass slowly until my sleeping dreams were disturbed by a constant shaking of my body by Ebony, whose skin was darker than a black hole in space. "Paul, Paul, wake up, WAKE up", his shouts echoed in my ears. Slowly regaining my upright stance, while hanging tightly to Ebony's arm I muttered, "Did you get the license plate?"
"Yolanda was running like hell bent for glory as I came in, damn near knocked me down", Ebony says as his facial features come back in to focus. Realizing we were not alone I glanced behind Ebony and there stood the cop I been having a conversation with. "I want a warrant out for that bitch," I yelled at him. "Hit me from out of nowhere". "What was the problem?" Ebony asks. So I told him, "She wanted the taco recipe, the one from my grandmother, and I said no". "She never took rejection very Well", Ebony offered.
So here I was in a situation, A Mexican lady and a black man wanting to open a Mexican/Black restaurant called, "Nacho Mama's"
Claude was just putting his key in the lock as the still night air was shattered by the scream of a woman in distress, once again, louder, more terrifying as though struck by a tuning fork.
Rapidly Claude twisted the key, forcing the door to open faster than he expected as forward he fell, almost collapsing on the floor. With briefcase and newspapers flying in the blackness of the hallway he gathered himself, regaining his footing as up the stairs he flew, reaching the bedroom door knob he twisted it with force and pushed the door open.
There before him stood his wife, leaning against a post of the bed. A smile of enjoyment on her face, a relaxing sigh of pleasure emitting from her mouth. From her waist to thighs the body showed markings of having been confined for a long period of time. At her feet was a crumpled piece of clothing called a girdle. It too looked at peace with the world, relaxed and ready for the hamper.
Yes Claude's name was changed to protect the innocent, (me).
In Another World, they are the Young and the Restless, yet Bold and Beautiful, so As the World Turns during the Days of Our Lives,I was watching All My Children thru the Guiding Light while they frolic on the Sunset Beach of Port Charles near General Hospital, yet knowing if we only have One Life To Live, let it be in Beverly Hills 90210.
On this January afternoon a constant light rain with it's dismal, cold, wet feeling was a precursor of the balance of events yet to await Mrs. Wainwright. Unwillingly she turned away from the newly covered gravesite of her husband of 54 years. All others have left, she alone walks toward their Betsy, an antique car of 35 years. Many thousands of times she and Charles had floated down the road in this family friend. Vestiges of her youth hang on to allow her the slow movements of opening the door, sitting down, slowly twisting to a position of comfort and closing the door. With key in ignition she heads for her lonely home.
Trying to relax in her favorite overstuffed chair she is startled by the ringing of the phone on the side table. Quickly gathering her wits she picks up the receiver and speaks, "Hello, Hello", no answer, "Hello, Hello", a mechanical sounding voice replies, "the party requests you dial 487-2263, Mrs. Wainright says, "Oh!, I’m sorry, just a minuet, I have a pencil here, ok, what was the number? the mechanical voice repeats "the party request you dial 487-2263" the dial tone is all Mrs. Wainright now hears. Slowly
she replaces the receiver. With a question look on her face she reads the numbers as she repeats them,"487-2263, hmmmm, now who is that??
Still with her eyebrows in a quizzical appearance she picks up the receiver and begins to dial 487-2263, listens to the ringing, one, two, thr-- a male voice answers saying, "Hello Martha glad you called", it was Charlie's voice. Startled, half dropping the receiver Martha lets out a shriek of disbelief, "Oh! my God, Oh! my God". Martha regains her composure as Charlie attempts to calm her down, "Its OK Martha, really, it's OK, it is me Charlie, now relax, relax, take a deep breath". With reluctance Martha
replaces the phone to her ear and as she does glances at the phone number again, 487-2263 but this time she looks at the letters also, 4 H 8 U 7 S 2 B 2 A 6 N 3 D slowly she repeats the letters out loud H U S B A N D !!! "Oh! my God" screams Martha.
Until Martha joins Charlie in person their conversation will go on, and on, and on.
Several weeks ago the Emergency Room was a beehive of activity as was usual for a week end. The ambulance crew was bringing in a recent victim of a three car crash. On the gurney lay a white male 6'2" 180lbs of humanity near death. Having placed the gurney into the selected space the crew was leaving as the on duty nurse and doctor took over.
Only the few moments of his entrance till this second did it take for John Doe to die. Having already checked his wallet for identification the nurse spotted the fact of John Doe being an organ donor. Quickly her mind is focused on little Pam Albright, a 12 year old girl in room 202 needing a right eye replacement. Bringing this fact to the doctor, all is prepared for the possible replacement.
That was then. Now the bandages are about to be removed for the last time, a time of reality, a time of success or failure. With very little light in the room the doctor begins to unwind the bandages, slowly one layer at a time. All are off, Pam begins to raise her eye lids, closing them, slowly opening them. Knowing the left eye is the good one she sub-consciously opens that one all the way first. Yes there before her is Mom, in a colorful flower designed dress. Pam feels so excited and yet hesitatingly begins to open the right eye. A questioning look comes over her face and she squints, reopens, squints, "What's wrong mom asks, what's wrong??? Not believing what she sees Pam screams, "I can only see black and white with my right eye," the scream is now death defying, "Only black and white"!!!!!!!!!!!!!
RACISM WILL LIVE ON IF IT IS NOT ENDED SOON BRYSON
(John Doe could have been a woman and/or a black person)
(depending on which eyes YOU are using)
26 Feb 1998
"VENTURE"
Once again the belt buckle finds a home on Johnny's back, staying there only a micro second, but long enough to inflict pain once more. That was the seventh time it struck him, not always on the back, at times on the legs or arms he used to protect him from his father's onslaught of a parent's punishment. When Johnny was younger it would just be the belt part, smarting more than outright hurting but now he is a teenager of 13 and his father feels he needs to hurt his son harder now that he is close to being a man, he deserves a man's beating.
There had never been an attempt by Johnny to do something just to make his father angry, for he loved his father so, admired him in his mind but feared him in his heart. More out of exhaustion than satisfaction his father stops, takes a deep breath, turns and walks out the door, slamming it as he states, "And stay the hell in your room". Curled up into a fetal position with only a few moist tears on his cheeks Johnny slowly stretches his arms and legs to bring life back into them. Twisting with uneasiness he stands up slightly and starts toward the window. With the quietness of a mouse he raises it and eases out of his previous confinement. Leaving it open in his haste he heads for the riverside he enjoys so much.
Reaching the moistness of the riverbank Johnny sets down while glancing into the liquid friend he speaks to each day. Not sure if he has fallen asleep or reality is present he quizzically stares into the water. There is a different face than his own staring back at him. With a wide smile, excited eyes and long reddish silky looking hair the female face appears to ask him to," jump in, come let's play, come on in the waters perfect". Without hesitation Johnny dives in like so many hundreds of times before when he was alone and seeking to enjoy some form of life that would give him pleasure, far away from the pain of his father.
Down he swam, realizing this time, things were different than before. The bottom was only maybe ten feet he thought, but down, ever further down he dove, following the smiling face. Glancing back he sees the daylight slowly closing, forming a circle as deeper, deeper he goes.
Not yet touching bottom he has cought up with the beautiful face which is now attached to a human like head and body of a teenage female and slowly one by one other children of all ages are coming over. All with smiles, pretty clothes and happiness shinning from their faces. Johnny joins them in a playful game of kick ball.
The riverbank now has another visitor, Johnny's father. He is here not with belt in hand but a bouquet of flowers which he slowly places one at a time on the liquid top of Johnny's one time only friend. Johnny now has what he wished for, a lot of friends and his father has what he did not want but earned all by himself, loneliness.
Mary is in the arms of Morpheus, deep asleep as clouds depart briefly allowing her to see her grandmother setting in that grand overstuffed chair she loved. Grama, as Mary called her has been gone for only three years so memories are fresh in Mary's mind and heart. She calls upstairs to her son yelling "Paul, come down, Grama is here". Going to the phone, picks it up and dials. "Hello Sarah bring Henry over to the house Grama is here and I want to get a photo of the 5 generations". "OK Mary, good thing we live so close, I'll bring George, he can take the photo". Paul's wife had passed away during the birth of Sarah and Henry was the last of Grama's line. During this time Grama has said nothing, just sat there as she had for so many, many years , appearing to be taking this all in.
Just as Paul entered the room, in the front door came Sarah, George, her husband and their son Henry. "Alright everybody, gather around Grama", instructs Mary, "Paul, you stand behind the chair, a little more to my right, good, Sarah you stand next to Paul, that puts you at the end of the chair, and Henry you stand right next to your mother". Looking it over from the front, "Yes that will do fine, now I will get on this end next to Paul and George you take the shot from about, lets see, hmmm, right here, Yes that will be a great shot". Taking her position behind Grama , next to her son Paul, Mary is all smiles so pleased to be able to have this done, "fantastic" she thinks to herself as George clicks the shot.
Mary is startled as she feels someone shaking her, "Mom, Mom" Mary hears in the distance, "Mom, wake up". Paul tries to bring her out of her deep, deep, sleep. "My goodness, boy what I dream I just had, about Grama, you, me and the kids, we all got together and had a 5 generation picture taken with Grama." "Yea, right mom, in you dreams", adds Paul, "in your dreams".
The following January when the photos of Christmas were viewed, there before Mary was that picture, full and complete the way Mary dreamed it three months before.
Angelo was trying to figure out what he was looking at.
That face was so familiar, yet different. This one had
such a crazy looking hat on, tipped sideways, almost falling
off. A Camel cigarette dangling from his lower lip just hung
there, still lit, with smoke swirling up to the brim of
the dilapidated looking hat, then curling around it to
reach for the ceiling.
"Yea him I've seen somewhere", things Angelo. Now he notices
the blood shot eyes, red, glistening brightly, like in a photo
taken last New Years Eve.
"That's it", That's it", shouts Angelo, "now I know him, hahahaha", he giggles, looking squarely at himself in the mirror,
"it's ME" hahahahahaha..............
He wanted to be so careful, sensitive. He read in the magazine that those were two ways of being sure nothing would go wrong, that she would want him to be that way. "Kind of tough to be like that, I mean after all I’m a male, careful and sensitive are
not our long suit", he mumbles to himself. Still he
would try.
"Gentle, yea that one too", he remembers. "OK, careful, sensitive, gentle. Not slam, bam, thank you mam tonight, he was going to do it the right way tonight. Slowly the cream slipped out of the container, gently he began to apply it. Up, down, all around, keeping in mind, careful, sensitive, gentle. He
heard a slight "Oh! so soft, gentle, nice feeling".
His mind was awash with enjoyment of the sounds of pleasure echo in his ears. His mind is to occupied to realize he just cut himself deeply,
Shaving for the first time.
Once was a distant land where a town had as it's citizens, people who had never smiled. All faces had the corner of their month appear to be eternally stapled down, never moving. Each of its households had little children who never knew the pleasure of having the edge of each mouth curl up, pushing their cheeks into plump little balls that to the touch seemed to be filled with marshmallows, soft springy marshmallows. Children, whose parents were sullen in facial appearance and wore clothing to match. Bright colors were no where to be found, only dark dismal shades of black and gray, with specks of unwashed dingy blue.
One day at town's edge appeared an unknown being, certanly not of this land for it had bright colors upon itself. The variety of clothing was a wide brim lemon yellow hat with a peaked top that stretched two feet up, a silk thin puffy pea green shirt covered slightly with a small mauve colored vest that was unbuttoned and swaying easily in the breeze. The being's trousers were loose as the shirt with it's own puffiness, and was a multitude of a rainbow's delight in choice of colors. The shoes were of a soft suede, bright red in color.
Near this being was a little boy who had been digging in the dirt, paying no attention to the stranger as it approached him. "Hello there". said the stranger. Startled the boy tried to get up and run but in his haste he fell backwards landing in the small pile of dirt he had dug up. Quickly he spoke, almost yelling, "Oh! you scared me". "I am sorry, but could you tell me who is mayor of this place?" "Mayor ??? Oh! you mean Mr. Wisamajiggy." "OK, where does he live?" asked the colorful being. "Next to the funeral home" says the little boy. "Thank you" offers colorful one as he turns to head for town. The boy jumps to his feet and scurries as fast as his little gray covered legs would carry him, heading for his father.
"I don't know" says the boy to his father, "I don't know who or what it was, just a being with very bright looking clothing, never saw anything like it, near blinded me in the sunlight". "Well I'll head for the Mayor's house and check it out, you and mother stay here".
As the father approached the mayor's house he overheard the being and the Mayor talking. "What is your name asked Mr Wisamajiggy?", "You give me a name of your choice", said the being. "O.K. hmmmm, it will be Mr. Colorful". "Right then Mr. Wisamajiggy, that is who I will be, now what I would like to do is put on an entertaining show for the people in your town center, with your permission". "Well I don't know about that, we have never had such a thing here, what do we do?" "Nothing at all Mr. Wisamajiggy, I will do it all, you just get the word out that I will be there at 7PM tonight." Mr. Colorful says.
7:00 PM could not arrive fast enough for the people of town, almost everyone was in their places by 6:45 and waiting for the being, now known as Mr. Colorful, to put on a show . Right on time, as the town chimes rang out seven times, from behind a large colorful curtain stepped Mr. Colorful. "Ladies and Gentlemen" and with that announcement Mr. Colorful entertained the crowd for 55 minuets but at no time did even one smile break forth, not one. They seemed to enjoy everything, applauded, but not even one smile or laugh. Giving some deep thought Mr. Colorful asked for the young man he met outside of town to step to the front of the crowd with him. He with the sad face, corner of the mouth turned down as everyone else. Mr. Colorful reached down and grabbed the little boy by the ankles, lifting him up off the ground and held him upside down, and pointed to the boy's face.
There for the first time ever, the people of this forlorn town saw a smile for the upside down face of the little boy was now seaming to smile. It looked so strange, kind of funny and caused Mr. Wisamajiggy to start the first laugh ever heard here. As if it were a contagious thing, everyone began to laugh and smiles were on every face in the crowd. From that moment there were smiles day in and day out in this distant land.
"Well it has been 35 years that I have tried to paint a self portrait", exclaimed Robert, the 55 year old artist. "I know", states Jasmin, a woman of 70 that still maintains her once youthful elegance. She continues, "so your attempt at staying young looking in real life plus having the portrait as an example is not working ?". "No!", states the dejected painter. " It is amazing, as I grow old, so does the portrait, maintaining my present look, at that time, so I repaint it and it continues to age with me".
"My first one was at age 20, it was 20 looking also. I put it
over the fire place". " Each year as I aged so did the portrait."
"At age 25 I repainted the portrait, when finished it to
looked to be that of a 25 year old man". As before, each five
years I repaint it and each one continued to age with me",
states Robert with no understanding of it all.
With a quizzical look Jasmin asks, "are those the same brushes
you always use?", hesitatively Robert replies, "Well, yes, why?
"They look so new, don't they?????????????
Ghoulish gothic gray was London's color his eve. Lydia, whose midnight by candlelight
blue shade colored wrap was about to enter the ever foreboding listless gray abode of
her lover. When an electrifying bolt of, shocking yellow caressed in a field of blinding white, lightning thundered past her ear.
With deftness that would surprise a golden striped Tiger, Lydia turned the silver white
doorknob and fell against the heavy mahogany door. Her demure appearing weight was no match, for it took her head first into the palatial foyer, landing face down on it's bright red carpet.
Bounding down the flight of Royal damask blue covered stairs came Henry, the lover’s four year old son. Upon reaching the bottom step Henry stops to pick up a small package wrapped in a harmony of colors based on the huge face of a clown and his wig.
"It's for you", calls Lydia. With child like impish grin Henry unwraps his new found gold mine. A very large box of colorful Crayons.
A heavy morning mist lingers over the castle moat as William steers the car across into an old world
era he wanted to share with his new bride Janice.
Arriving at the door he turns off the engine of the antique rental car and exits to aid Janice on her arrival, with five suitcases. She never was one not to have everything with her as she traveled.
The scene shifts to an upstairs bedroom which they are entering. With the door wide open and knob still in William's hand he is startled to find a couple sitting on the huge bed. They are attired in 17th century clothing and both appear quite giddy, laughing and chatting away unaware of William standing in the doorway.
Oh! excuse me., sorry" stammers William as the couple abruptly stop talking and both jump up and away from the bed. " Sorry to bother you two", he says, as Janice joins the foursome.
"No problem", says the dashing young man. "You just startled us, thats all". My name is
Reginald and I would like to present my new bride, Gwendelyn".
"Nice to meet both of you", says William, "this is my bride Janice and I am William", as Janice nudges closer to his side. "Is there a mascarade going on today ?" he asks.
"Yes, later we will all be together down stairs and begin our usual festival, you have arrived at a great
time".
" I will leave these two bags here, Janice come with me to get the rest of the luggage dear".
"Of course darling", states Janice".
" Be right back", he adds, as they exit the room.
"Seem like a nice couple". Reginald comments.
"Yes they do", adds Gwendelyn, "shall we begin the fun right away".
"No, we will wait for the others to arrive" affirms Reginald, as the two walk hand in hand into the full length glass mirror.
"Cabby, hey cabby, you mother ^$#@*&^*$%% cabby, I’m talking to you,
Yea that's right, YOU". Foul words, as a man hailed a cab. That was my welcome to the "Big City" last week. The first words out of a human's mouth was a total toilet flush. How colorful a way to express one's feelings toward another human being, great, really great I thought to myself, just great.
Now wait a minuet, before you stop reading this voyage into an unknown land by me, keep in mind that I have never been here before. Where I come from expressions like that are unheard of. This is a totally new experience for me, sooooo kind of hang in there while I tell you the balance of this trip into a new never, never land by me.
With a back pack containing my worldly possessions I started to walk down the brightly lit boulevard of broken dreams in this Big City. I had only gone 2 blocks when I find that this place was becoming very friendly, several ladies were attracted to me from the shadows of alley ways, along with ones that were
holding up lamp posts. Those I could see easier, with their scantly clothed bodies gleaming from the light's brightness.
Just as I pass a black rooted, reddish blonde chick, the feel of cold steel was pressed against my neck. "Freeze", the deep Bogart voice whispered. I realized that to freeze would be a very operative pose at this time of my life, so I froze.
"Give me your wallet", whispers Bogie, I oblige, "Now your watch", and that ring too". With out asking Bogie grabs my back pack, with such force one of the straps breaks, yet he holds on to the other strap also, dashing back down an alley way. At least he didn't take my shoes, the one place I hid my money.<
I think to myself, how quickly we learn.
"Cabby, Hey cabby, you mother #@!$#$%^&*%~ cabby, yea I’m
talking to you., yea YOU."
"Bus terminal, I’m out of here". !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"I've got 225, do I hear 250?, got 225 do I hear 250?", chants the auctioneer. Words Charlie never though he would hear, not at least about his own personal property. This vase was the first item going up for bid.
A crowd of 175 had shown up for this well advertised auction. TV adds, newspaper columns, radio spots, all begging for "You all come" type of hype. An ad placed by Charlie's 2 children. Alex, a 45 year old tax collector, Alice a 50 year old spinster, showing their age plus 10 years. Their lifetime of cheating, chiseling, and scrooge like existence showed with each line of their face. Now they were truly in their glory, getting it all, taking no prisoners. Clamping their greedy fingers on all of Charlie's prize possessions. They have proven Charlie is unable
to handle his own life, he is soon to be headed for an old folk's
home.
Charlie stood behind the last row of chairs as the bidding began. His attention is drawn to the designs on the exquisite vase the auctioneer is holding. As the bids, request for bids dim in his ears, his mind drifts to the vase, again, again, trying to remember why it is of such interest to him.
Thinking, thinking, "That's it, that's it", screams Charlie, "that's where those papers are, in that vase". Unbelievably, just as Charlie let out his yell the auctioneer was about to look at the bottom of the vase, with it being tipped over, out fell the pieces of paper.
As the auctioneer placed the vase on the small table, he leaned over to retrieve the papers. Opening them up, beginning to read them, a look of unbelief came upon his face. Turning to the audience, he says, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I must call a halt to this auction".
A buzz of whispers goes through the group as one speaks out," but why???" Holding up one paper the auctioneer says, "This is a legal, notarized, binding document from Charlie's wife verifying that the children named Alex and Alice are not legally Charlie's children, therefore not able to even touch any of Charlie’s property . This other document, legal, notarized, binding is Charlie’s last will and testament giving ALL property to the State, upon his demise, to be turned into a Museum for all to enjoy". Charlie is so relived they were found.
Now 3 months later, a group of school children from Charlie's
old school is walking through his huge house, while Charlie is walking behind them, smiling, enjoying each step. As they exit, the last child in the group closes the front door, no problem, Charlie just walks through it.
An excessive taste of salt greeted Paul's tongue as he stirs, half wake. Once again his tongue is brushed against drying lips as he seeks to comfort them. This time the salty taste is to much, Paul moves his prone body, beginning to roll, catching himself with fingers gripping the sand Paul realizes he has fallen asleep on the beach. Early tide waters have been lapping at his face about ten minuets, yet he was so deep in sleep even the moisture of sea water had not disturbed him.
On hands, then knees, he slowly raises his six foot two inch frame. One hundred ninety pounds of muscular weight never seemed so heavy. At full height, stretching his arms outward, twisting at his waist left, right, moving each muscle back into place he leans over, brushing sand, small sea shells from his clothing, arms. All the while thinking," How the Hell did I end up here?"
Slowly moving his fingers through his hair, bringing some neatness to a rather scattered mass, the index finger presses a huge bump the size of a pomegranate. "Oh!", screams Paul, pulling his hand back to view crimson blood on this finger tips, "What the Hell?". Glancing at his watch, "1745 hours, hmmmmm, but what day?" that is the question he asks himself, "What day?".
His mental gyroscope is far from working well, as he stumbles away from ocean's edge. Stopping, making attempts to stay upright, he glances around an unknown area of beachfront property. "Where the Hell am I?" he utters to an invisible person, Paul stands with a quizzical look as if he expects an
answer to be forth coming, none is. This scene is repeated several times, until he reaches a two lane road.
There before him stands his classic T-Bird. What a welcome sight, a giddy laugh begins to replace sounds of sea gulls, moist white caps crashing onto his previous sand bed. Paul's collapse onto the hood catches him by surprise, yet he is very glad to no longer be standing. To relax, once again, taking away the strain of slinky like legs. He lays there, regaining strength enough to rise up, one hand over the other, one foot over the other, slowly moving to the driver's door, left hand opening the door wide enough for him to fall onto the seat. Slamming the door shut,
" Key still in the ignition, hmmmm", he says to his invisible friend, "great, off we go".
Visual silence of a foreboding night is broken in the distance by a flashing red glare. Paul continues toward what is becoming a more readable sign, beckoning him to "Stop at Ellen's
Gas/Eats Buffet", "great" he musses to his friend, "a pitch till you win joint". His memory is jogged by that statement, "hmmmm, haven't said that in a long time", he mutters. Sounds
of a Merry Go Round in the distance amuses Paul's memory. Pulling into the lot, parking, turning the key shuts off Myrtle. Myrtle! that' s her name, Myrtle, he thinks, "right, forgot that for a moment" he smiles, glad to be able to remember something.
Bright fluorescent lights of Ellen's place causes Paul's eyelids to close slightly in protection of yet unfully focused eyes. Heading directly to the "Drivers only" seating area of the cafe,
he hesitates as if to say, "why am I going there, here is a booth, right here", yet on he walks, as if by route, to the "Drivers Only" area. Setting down, scooting over to the center
of the bench, he reaches for the heavy bottomed coffee cup, turns it right side up, sits it back down, directly in front of him. Coffee first, before any food, coffee first. He has done
all of this before, just that way, just that way.
"Hi! Pauly", "Pauly!", "Paul!", echo of his name brings him back to the present. As he half looks at a female face before him, his eyes focus better seeing the waitress pouring a cup of coffee. "Welcome back to this world Pauly" she mumbles. "Enjoy your nap?" she asks. Her honey blonde hair, long, flowing downward, partially covering her name tag. Still visible was the name Alice. "Oh!, sorry Alice, dozed off there" stammers Paul.
"Having the usual Pauly?". Not sure what that was he decides, "sure, Alice, sure".
Just now seeing a folded newspaper at the inside end of his bench seat Paul reaches over to retrieve it. Unfolding it, his attention is immediately called to the picture covering almost the entire front page. There on a large sandy beach is the body of a man, down near the water.
An excessive taste of salt greeted Paul's tongue as he stirs, half awake.............
Bright sunny day this AM, soft billowy cirrus clouds seven miles high in tufts and feathery bands reach out, some lowering themselves to wrap the top of my beautiful Superstion Mountains in a warm brear like hug. How many times I have spent days, weeks there in the bowels of her, that magnificent mountain range of mine.
In the seventies we, my lady of the time, Georgie, and I would park the truck at First Water, about 3 miles off route 88. Walking through the Massacre Grounds area at the foot of Old Sup, then up the slight grade leading first to Little Knife. On up 100 yards to Big Knife, maeby 50 more feet to the foot of Priest Rock. The ascent up the front is steep, able to make it, but around the back of Priest Rock is easier access. The second choice was ours to make, we did.
Walking in front of Big Knife, we made our way eastward around it's base. On the backside we began the upgrade in a natural passageway between Big Knife and Priest Rock. It is about 75 feet slightly raising upward with each step as we arrived at the top of a level area between the two. There before us stood the oft time talked about Heart of Stone. Standing 15 feet high, 10 feet wide, 4 feet deep was a sample of Mother Nature's creation, a naturally formed heart shaped mammoth appearing stone.
We tarried there about 5 hours, setting, relaxing, eating, spending time looking off into the desert surrounding us. The "Lost Dutchman" was said to have uttered, "From my gold mine I can see the trail of soldiers, but they cannot see me". We stood in just such a spot, we could see the trail where a hundred years before there would be large groups of soldiers going to, fro, where Apaches would ride, where early pioneers no doubt rode, died. What a glorious view.
Evening time was fast approaching as Georgie began to put out the cooking utensils as I wondered off in search of dry wood, fallen tree branches, dead saguaro whose aroma would enhance the evening air. While making a fire as the Evening Star began it's nightly show I knelt down near Georgie, nudging her backside with my knee, she giggled like a school girl feeling a males closeness for the first time. This being 2 April 1979, we had been "significant others" for 5 years, Georgie and I, yet daily finding ways to tease, entice, please each other.
A small meal was always enjoyed by both of us, not being ones to gorge ourselves on anything, ok, maby on love making, that we both dearly loved. Call it sex, love, over zealous animals, what ever, we did enjoy pleasing each other in a reasonable variety of ways. No anal exploration type of activity, but an active imagination combined with a desire to please your loved one offers a variety of pleasures, these we searched for. So the balance of time was thus spent. Between howls of distant coyotes, calls of lonely birds blending with sounds of, well, you know, 2 humans, these melodies aided us in drifting off into realms of peace and tranquillity.
Morning light was gentle as we were on the westside of Priest Rock. Softness of morning shadows greeted our slowly opening eyes, she still in the crook of my shoulder/arm pit, head resting near my neck, hair being blown slightly on/off my right ear like wings of a humming bird. A sleeping bag for two is fantastic since it presents no way of sleeping except close, very close to your partner. Our naked bodies were moving as one, as a single butterfly arising from its cocoon.
Now, refreshed from our sojourn of 24 hours with Mother Nature we return to whatever the world wishes to send our way.
A single rider's silhouette etched against a full moon hauntingly
Recalls story's of the headless horseman. Yet this is a female form riding astride a 15 hands tall palomino, head still on her shoulders, full long strands of hair flowing. With horseman's knowledge yet grace of a queen she glides toward her destination.
There to greet her she felt would be her lover. Although they had never really met, up close, personally. Several months earlier she had been seated at the third story window of Castle Birdsnest enjoying a cool breeze passing her soft cheeks ever so gently. This was often her place of relaxation, where she could gaze over the ever-present small white caps of her watery vision of a lake.
As she sat there, in the background, she heard slightly a song being sung, accompanied by rhythmic sounds in a mono scale. Closer the music came, a male figure approached, lyrics more understandable, clearer. Lyrics, sweet as nectar which humming birds desire? Were he female his name would be Polymnia, the muse of song and oratory. For several months he would appear, often unannounced, there it seemed just when she needed that which he openly gave.
Now she approaches his foreboding castle, slowing from a forceful gallop to a gentle trot, she continues toward an impressive moat, covered by a large bridge upon which she advances to the door. Sliding from her English saddle she strides to her future
Just as she lifts the heavy knocker, she begins to sway, left, right, left. Feeling hands tightly holding her arms to her side, she is now being shaken, "Mom, Mom, wake up, Mom Mom". Her eyes slowly focus in on the face before her, it is, her daughter. "Mom I’m going down stairs, be right back, Mom, you ok?
Grey was not a color he wanted in his forest of beautiful hair. It was not a bright, radiant, lively, choice from Mother Nature's Crayon box of pleasing colors. That one little independent skinny formation of protein was not about to ruin his crowning
Glory. "Out damn spot, OUT", he vowed, as with tweezers in hand he began to pluck.
Beautiful may not be the normal word for a male's head of hair, but tell that to a lion about his mane, for just as proud was Raymond about his locks of majesty. Almost a sexual expression occupies his face just by running his fingers through this massive pleasure zone. At six foot, one hundred eighty pounds, Raymond had the physique to attract enough attention to keep an average looking male busy for a year. Now preened to his own immaculate concept of perfection Raymond heads out the door toward tonight's own joys.
Las Vegas has always offered everyone a good time, rich, poor, ugly, handsome, matters not in this town of gayety, sadness, good, and evil. This is Raymond's town; he owns it, lock stock and blackjack. Glitter Gulch is where he enjoys his trolling. There he finds enjoyment in many ways, gambling being one.
Approaching Binion's Horseshoe Casino he trips over the extended foot of what appears to be a bum. In Raymond's eyes a low life creature with no incentive to work and ugly to boot. He with shabby clothes draped over a useless body dares darken Raymond’s world? He with a stench that would make a maggot vomit dares be in Raymond’s presence? This vile person who has enough gall to speak to Raymond babbles away with, "Son, coming to see mom and
Me this week end?” "Yea dad, I'll be there", assures Raymond.
Joyful midway sounds echo off the wall behind my 10 foot by 10-foot display area at this week's fair grounds. It is the 3rd year to be opening at Cedar Rapids, Iowa for a 4th of July weekend.
It takes an average of 1 hour to set the stand up, lay out today’s shinny jewelry to be sold. My sign says it all, "FREE ENGRAVING". Every teenager and under in this metropolitan area must have bought something from me, sometime in the last 3 years, they all want their names engraved, throw in a little heart with an arrow through it, plus the name of this weeks "true" love.
My eyes are visually lowered toward my engraver, which I am cleaning the dust off from last week's gig, when a shoveling of feet cause me to raise them upward enough to see, perhaps a 6 year old boy, shifting back and forth as if to decide which bracelet to buy. This is a major decision I’m sure, one all macho men have made at one time or another, that of buying something for a female, hmmmmmmm. My eyes return to my engraver.
"Excuse me", he says, I, looking up reply,"Yes, which one young man?” "I'll take that one", pointing to a small ladies double hearted bracelet" he informs me. "What name do you want on it?" I question, as I place it in the engraver in preparation to set the type, "My name", with pride the boy states. "OK", says I, "Capitol M, little y, capitol N," I start, "WAIT", he screams, "WAIT", I quickly stop, look at him, he is panicking, "NO! NO! I want my name", "Oh!, no problem", I assure him and begin, "Capital M, little y, "NOOOOO! He yells". "What now?" I ask. Totally confused the young man stammers "I want MY name on the bracelet". Calmly I state, "that is what I’m putting", as I spell out," My Name". "NO!" He exclaims, "I want Henry on it" "Oh! Now I see", as I spell out "Capital H, little e, n, r, y."
Attempting to calm down Henry is understanding it was all a little joke and begins to laugh, as if his fingers are in the cookie jar and he just got cought.
Henry's eyes are big as saucers, watching his name, like magic appear on his new gift. With a young man's sheepish grin he asks, "Can you put a name on the other heart?" "Sure can", I assure him, "What name?" I ask. "My girl friend's" he beams. "No problem, Henry, let's see, Capital M, little y, "Hey! Yells Henry, "Let's not start that again". I reply with a slight grin, as he also responds. "Ok Henry, what is her name?" "Mary, he blushes, Mary". I finish, taking a soft cloth I rub off our fingerprints and hand it completed to him.
It was as if Henry had a Midas touch, for to him it turned pure gold. Glistening in the sunlight, shinning like nothing he had seen before. His eye's reflected happiness few children get a chance to enjoy.
Only now did I get a really good look at the young man with whom
I had been teasing, getting him to laugh and really feeling good for once in his life. His clothes were early Salvation Army, shoes to match. Full head of curly "toe head" white, last washed God only knows when. How many other brothers and sisters appearing just like him were there at home???? There but for the grace of God, etc. etc.
I take the bracelet back saying, "here let me wrap it in some tissue paper for you. As I do so, Henry starts to reach for the money to pay the $3.95 charge. Out of his pockets comes many coins, pennies, nickels, dimes, only one quarter, it took both hands to bring the change onto my tabletop. All spread out, Henry begins to count, "let's see, ten, twenty, thirty, just then I put my hands over his counting hand and said, "look Henry, make you a deal, you take this bracelet, like as payment for you telling all your friends I’m here, but don't tell them about our deal, ok?" "Well, sure", Henry hesitates, "OK, great, sure I'll do that, thanks, gee, thanks" he stammers as he garbed the bracelet all his change and off he ran.
I could not have bought newspaper adds enough to match the
Sales of that one little act of enjoyment for me and happiness for one little guy named Henry in Cedar Rapids, Iowa.
Her left ear lobe was gently becoming wet as he kissed It with an open mouth, moist, tongue flicking softly. "How can I be here? She thinks to herself. It is against All I hold dear, all I preach, all I teach. How???".
She has a right to question this. She is a woman teaching The rights and wrongs of this earthly world how dare she Compromise away all of this. Yet here she is, enjoying the delicacies of an illicit relationship, with a man that Others also trusted.
So for 32 days two humans delve into a world they each
Refused till now. Who on earth is worthy to judge them? Of wanting to share the physical side of their existence, The driving need in each of us. Were those feelings not also? Given to us by the creator ?
Words of Jesus, "Who say you I’m?” cascade into her ears as she speaks them out loud to 3,000 fellow worshipers. They were all here at her circle designed church to seek the truth of rumors that are persistent in many articles of the newspapers.
She, holding her ever present small bouquet of flowers, is defending her, story of a kidnap, torture, existence for 32 days in the area of Douglas, Arizona.
So this story is left here, unsolved, undecided, except for each in their own way to determine what truth is or is not...........
Slate gray is the color glistening in the mirror. That object I had so wanted the past two weeks. It was then I decided a way for me to go was with a gun, pointed at my head, my temple, there is where the bullet would enter.
State gray, glistening, as the moon light reflected against it, rebounding into the mirror. My eyes shifted to view themselves in that cracked mirror, taking in the full face of a loser.
I had not always been a loser. A winner, yes at one time I had been a winner. Top in my granduating class, a millitary officer from a raw recruit, a CEO in a major company, yes a winner in life............ but a loser in reality.
Because of drugs, my life is shattered, body broken, looking back at me is the zombie I have become. The stench of the urine rotting mattress, roaches playing tag on a table top, shadless light bulb's piercing glare emerging from the hallway. These are witness to my demise.
Russian roulette, the last game I play. A single chamber holds the hand of death, which I shall clasp momentarily. But the other five chambers, each holds the terror I place upon me for self punishment. With each ............ CLICK!!!!!!! I shall feel pain, terror, like that which I have given my loved ones over the years, yes this I deserve....
"Hey !!!! get your extra, here, paper here, read all about it, Man dies in slums, Hey!! get your paper here "
Metal to metal sounds made by keys being extracted from Richard's coat pocket brought him back to reality. Being very selective to obtain just the right key brings a lowered right eyebrow into focus of his peripheral vision. Down he looks, into his shaky hand as it is raised toward the keyhole. Insertion made doorknob in hand, one slow twist, one even slower activated shove and the door is opened. A fast glance around the hallway to insure being alone. With dexterity of a dancer Richard moves into a vacant room. Vacant except for the female form stretched across a darken section of the floor.
You all just relax, set on a bail of hay, the handle of that their wheel borrow or just fancy yourself
Setting on some part of that worn out old fence. I'll give you the take on Rattlesnake Jake, a man I have always admired.
A toboggan ride down Mount Everest would not offer terror enough to match being married to her. This page and connecting pages: Copyright © 1996-2005 by Jack Leroy Bryson. All rights reserved. This site may be freely linked to but not duplicated in any fashion without my consent.
At first, he thinks his tied eyes are playing tricks on him, so he patiently waits for the image to disappear. It does not. He stares rather stupidly at first, for the form should not be there, then blinks to erase the illogical vision from his mind. But, it does not go away. Yes, there is something there. His mind slowly absorbs the reality of it and, ever so hesitantly, he eases gingerly closer to get a better look. He sees now, that the girl is a young woman, no more than nineteen, strangely serene, like it was the most natural thing to find her there. Afraid she might not be alive, he is afraid to touch her, even though some deep forgotten desire pulls him to do so. He lowers himself to one knee, just inches from her still body. Mustering all the bravado he can find, he is about to touch her cheek, when she suddenly moves and jerks into a sitting position. Startled, Richard recoils in fear, falling backward. Now it is his form that is stretched across a darken section of the floor.
“Just what the hell are you doing here?” he asks, while trying desperately to regain his standing position.
“I came to see Richard Powers”, is her reply. Now standing directly over her Richard takes in a visual inventory. Five foot two, eyes of blue, “I’m a poet and don’t know it”, he half heartily whispers to himself. “Blonde, except at the roots, or is it the lighting”, correcting his thoughts. “About 110 pounds soaking wet, and I’d like to be in that shower”, his thoughts continue.
Extending a helping hand towards her he offers to aid her in removing herself from the floor. She in turn reaches out clutches his hand and pulls herself up to a demure statue of five foot two.
“So, are you Richard Powers?” she demanded, with no attempt at introduction or explanations.
Richard stood there trying to decide how to respond. Of course, he could say yes and find out what she wanted, but he was not sure he cared. He was tired, had been for a very long time. Being a criminal lawyer did that to you. And, years of dealing with man’s inhumanity had taught him a thing or two about human nature, and she wasn’t offering anything good.
In a professional detached voice, all he allowed himself to say was, “Look, it’s been a long day, and ………
B
Richard was about to out and out lie, just to end what was already beginning, when something about her eyes invoked that forgotten desire again. He accepted his fate and whispered “Yes”.
“Well then, the first thing you had better do is fix that damn floor, I tripped over that stupid nail and that is why I was sprawled out over your stupid floor”.
“Stupid nail? It’s so dark in here I can’t see any stupid nail, lady. If it wasn’t for the streetlight glaring into this abyss a person couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. NO! The first thing is how did you get in to this office?”
“No problem, the maintenance man was just being a macho male and I warped him around my finger, He was very willing to let me in to wait for you.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I want to hire you. I hear you are one of the best and the best is what I can afford”, she says with arrogance of a blue blood.
It was obvious the girl was used to ordering people around and getting her own way…. Just like all the snobby rich he has the misfortune to encounter in this business. People who believed that having lots of money gave them the right to treat others any way that suited their whims. Richard had grown weary of the type, even though they constituted much of his clientele over the years, and who had provided a comfortable, well to do existence. Yes, indeed. Criminal Law had its advantages, and there were worse things than being a lawyer. But, that didn’t mean he had to like the attitude that sometimes came with it.
Slightly irritated now, Richard retorted, “This couldn’t wait till normal business hours?”, all the while mentally telling himself, maybe the maintenance man could be manipulated by this waif of a girl but he certainly wasn’t going to be. Even as he thought it, his instincts told him, he was lying to himself.
For a long moment the girl just glared into his eyes, seemingly making some evaluation… Then abruptly said, “This is your office, business hours or not, and I’m a client in need of a good lawyer. I’m not leaving here until you take my case, whether it’s in the next few minutes or when your office opens at ‘normal business hours,’” then she turned and slowly began feeling her way around the room.
Richard stood for a moment, then reached out and flipped a nearby switch, illuminating everything in a soft, warm light. Including the girl, who, by now, was sitting resolutely in the middle of a large, luxurious, leather sofa. By the tilt of her head, Richard knew she was not going to budge. Normally, he would have enjoyed a battle of wills but tonight, he just didn’t have the energy. Moving about the room as if he was alone, he concentrated on doing the usual things he did when working late in the office. Unfortunately, his mind seemed capable of registering only one thing…The soft, rhythmic breathing coming from the sofa.
After what seemed like hours, the stillness was broken with a little girl voice that softly declared, “My name is Lindsey Sinclair, and I’m afraid”.
“Afraid? Of what?” Richard asked.
"That I am involved with the one thing that all my money can't buy me out of, big trouble", little blue eyes relates.
"What kind of big trouble?” comes the natural question, "tell me about it".
"Well you see, there is this guy...
"Figures", Richard breathes softly to himself.
"I got involved with the son of a mob boss. Of course I did not know it at the time, but one night, at a Hugh party, there he was, there I was and Mother Nature sort of took over".
"What's this character’s name?”
"Vincent, Vincent Sardino, Sal Sardino's oldest son. You have heard of the Sardinos haven't you?"
"Heard of them? Who hasn't? Of course I know the whole damn Sardino Family, up close and personal like".
"Personal like?"
"Yea, I have had the younger son Dominic as a client, several times". Richard's memory reflects back on some of the times. Times when he wished he were in another line of work. Work that didn't cause him to get such scum bags off easy. Work that didn't make him needs a long hot soapy shower after each case just to wash away the mental grime that covered his mind.
“So, what kind of trouble are you having with this Sardino, that requires a lawyer,” Richard asked, dreading the thought of another distasteful encounter with mob types.
“Vincent likes things his way. When he found I had no serious interest in him, he got very mean and said I was his until he said so. I told him he was crazy and he threatened me with something from my past.”
“What are we talking about here?” queried Richard, “dirty pictures, adultery, what?”
“I wish it was so simple as something that vulgar,” Lindsey almost spat out, “at least I could deal with that. No, it’s much more serious. Look, you haven’t even agreed to help me. I’m not saying anything more until I’ve got your assurance that you’re going to help me.”
Richard really had no reason to turn down the case. And, curiosity was beginning to rear its ugly head. What could this innocent looking woman/child have done so dark and ugly anyway. Knowing the decision was already made, he made it official, and “You’ve got yourself of lawyer And, I want my retainer up front.”
Lindsey rose with the grace of a gentle breeze and walked around Richard’s desk to face him, slouched like a rumpled robe, his chair swiveled to confront her. Opening her purse, she deftly pulled a stack of bills from her purse and plopped them on the polished wood of his desk. Her confidence returning, she said. “That do for starters?”
Looking down at such a large stack of future bill paying pieces of paper Richard seems very satisfied, saying, "That stack my dear would start anything." Reaching to gather in his new found wealth he stands, places the gold mine into his inside jacket pocket as he asks, " So what is the deep dark secret he holds over your head?"
Slowly turning away, heading for the comfort of the sofa she relates, "Well you see Vincent and I were a major number a year ago." Reaching the sofa she turns, slowly sets down. "Sal was hoping that Vincent and I would make it all legal, get married, have kids, you know the whole bit. Since you have been close to the family you know that Sal has no grandchildren, anything to do the macho thing and carry on his line. That is one important agenda in his life, a grandchild."
"Yea that's right. Everyone knows that kid will have it all and Sal is just the type to feel a need to continue his line and he wants to be here to see it all happen, be a major part of it."
"Well I took all I could from Vincent, the physical abuse, mental torture, the whole nine yards and there was no way I was going to continue and be part of that style of living. Especially when I became pregnant."
That one word screamed into Richard's mind, "Pregnant? This tiny fragile looking child, talk about children having children." Her continues talking brought him back to reality.
"So I did what I had to do, I got an abortion, did away with the child, removed it from my life, I was not going to be part of his family and their style of what they call living. Just the way the get their money turns my stomach. Drugs, prostitution, human weakness of any kind are what that whole family thrives on and I will have no part of it. If Vincent ever told Sal that I had killed what could be Sal's only grandchild he certainly would kill me. Not slowly but with pure enjoyment just to be sure I hurt as much as he would".
BRYSON
1999
"Rattlesnake Jake"
By now he would be older than dirt. That also was about the color of his leather like skin. Yet his hand
Offered a gentle touch, when it was open. But get him riled, those fingers would close and offer a
Battling ram that would cold cock a moose.
As a child, long before they were called "Little Britches" rodeos, old Jake would ride a full-grown sheep till almost sunset. He would tell me, "Always like to ride em when their coats were full, prior to shearing, A llot softer on my back side", nudging me as if to say, "get it kid? did you get it?"
Continuing to nudge me with the point of his elbow, right into my side, under the arms where it would
Tickle like hell.
It was 1982 and I had just turned 50, far being a "kid", but to Rattlesnake I was still a kid. I had been on the rodeo circuit for only three years, so in that respect I was still a kid and perhaps that is what Rattlesnake felt. Coming from him it was not a big deal, he could have called me anything, except
Late for supper.
That brings me around to what he was doing in 1982. He had been around rodeos many years. Tried
His hand at all the action. Was a "header" for a roping team, two years in the barrel as a clown, three
Years trying to get eight seconds on a bull. But his heart and soul were the bare backs of twisting
Cyclones known as Bronx.
"Those bastards just had no regards for what I was trying to do", he would say. "All I ever wanted was
Just eight seconds of their time, but noooooo, not them". "I was on and then off, faster than on my
Wedding night", here comes that elbow again, and again, and, Oh! Well you know.
Busting broncos were not to be his good fortune, even for eight seconds. Busting bones, now there
is something old Rattlesnake was great at. Look at any skeleton, there is hardly a bone that you see
Which was not broken on the body of dear old Jake. At different times in his life he had ridden some
ornery, unforgiving, future piece of Elmer's glue which broke this or that of this very willing body. "My idea is that rodeos are the original school of hard knocks!” he would brag.
Now he was a "cookie". He would say, "kind of like the Galloping Gourmet goes western", here comes
the gleam in his eye and OH! yes the elbow. At this stage in life he was riding the range, in the kitchen.
"It takes a lot of grub to feed all them there cowboys at these rodeos". "The ingredients would stagger a bull. For starters consider 600 pounds of assorted cuts of beef and 500 pounds of pinto beans, 150
pounds of onions and sugar, 300 pounds of potatoes, 7 gallons of cooking oil, 4 cases of canned
tomatoes, 20 packages of dry yeast and 20 dozen eggs.
"Add 10 boxes of salt and 10 cans of pepper, 9 pounds of shortening, 500 pounds of flour, 10 pounds
each of cheddar cheese and margarine, a case of 1/2 gallons of Crisco oil, a case of cream of mushroom
soup and 5 cases of coffee. It takes a big pot to cook for those boys".
"A cook puts his own personality into it. I enjoy seeing them eat." He excels at the old ways, but prefers a typical menu which might combine grilled steaks, mashed potatoes, toss salad and a fruit cobbler with old timey beans and sourdough biscuits. "Crown that meal with my special pudding called "Speckled Pup" (because of the raisins in it), calls for thirty eggs and a gallon of milk. "It's the best pudding I ever put in my mouth,"
"Sometimes the old timers would kill a beef, render up the fat, heat it in a pot until it "went still" or
stopped bubbling, then drop pieces of meat into the fat. It only took a minute for it to cook, and the hot tallow intensified the beef flavor."
Another method called "Son of a Bitch Stew", used a young-suckling calf. They'd get the milk solids
out of the marrow gut or cut it in rounds. Then they added organs to make a big stew. Legends say the
first cowboy who tasted this stew cried, 'Son of a bitch, this is good,' That's how the stew got its name."
Yep! There he stands, in my mind,
just as if I were back in time.
He would still be old as dirt,
perhaps under some, but no hurt.
I'd play him a ditty on a delbow,
watch him ride a calf,
Come on Jake, use the elbow,
come on, make me laugh.
29 Nov 1999
Glistening green eyes set within a face an angel would envy beckoned me toward her. Must have been
thirty couples on the dance floor that I weaved in and out of, crossing toward her that first night. Reaching
my destination I stood for hours, or it seemed so, as I visually drank into my mind the vision before me.
"Do you care", was all I could say before her hands were in mine, dance position assumed, and in a whirl
we were dancing. That was the speed she seemed to do everything at, fast, quick, here, now. Thus within
24 hours we were married. Las Vegas can do that to a person, for it is like her, fast, quick, here, now. Just as quickly a dream becomes a nightmare.
That was all just a week ago. During that time she drained my bank account, my checking account, my soul,
had sex with my brother, my best friend and even an old girl friend of mine, rang up twenty three thousand six hundred and forty two dollars worth of credit, and tried to steal my Cadillac. I said TRIED to steal my Cadillac. That she did not get away with. She is sitting along side of me at this moment.
"No! she will not answer any of your questions officer, those cheating ruby red lips will never again speak, those glistening green eyes will never again shine. Officer, I'm ready for that toboggan ride.................
just click on the Angel.
She will carry your message to me.
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