Sitting and pondering. Life is so short when you look back. With my three score and ten coming up in four years the time to look forward is gone and there is only looking backward at a life flown so fast. When I was young it was not a contemplation that came up often. The future was ahead in endless years. I could do whatever I wished. But time has a way of entangling the feet causing one to fall directly into the wall that separates here from there. It approaches making itself known by those around you who have disappeared and those who are slowing to avoid the head on collision.
Taking stock, I wonder of what significance was this life? Whom have I helped? Whom have I ignored/? Did I feed the hungry? Did I provide water to the thirsty? Or did I simply allow the years to spill through my fingers like sand without providing anyone with relief?
Are there accomplishments? I worked. I earned a living. I allowed my son to raise himself. I contributed as much as I could to my daughter's journey into adulthood. Did my time at my job offer any improvement to the hospital or profession? I can think of nothing. I fought being in my profession the entire time. I never gave myself to it. All I can say about it is it provided a good living for me and mine. But I never allowed it in. There was always a wall between that and me. It wasn't me and I wasn't it. There are some who are quite happy to allow themselves to be their profession. I wasn't one of them.
The Air Force was my first step into the world. My only comment for four years was "Who do I have to kill to get out of this mess?" I never gave into it either. It was a rite of passage that everyone my age, at that time, had to pass through. It had to be borne in order to get on with one's life.
The next rite of passage was marriage. I never gave into that either. As I look back I see that I never properly engaged my life with any of the life affirming activities I had to go through as "rites."
So that's why I ponder, now, with four years left in my three-score-ten. There is tomorrow, the good Lord willing. Perhaps it will become evident then.
I'm adrift. The ocean is vast. My vessel is small, insignificant, and quite vulnerable.
My Mind
This is my mind
Friday, June 8, 2012
Saturday, June 2, 2012
I see by your beret that you're from Paris...
The year was 1963. We were young and naive. We were full of wild oats. We celebrated the moment and we were bad. Yeah, right. Our lives revolved around girls, cars and booze, though not necessarily in that order. A car to drive along with freedom of time and space led to many a night of drunken revelry. This one was no different.
It was quiet on the back streets of Charleston at one in the morning in those days. Our town was a backwater village of quiet Southern simplicity. A time of order that would be shattered in the years to come. Now? Only we shattered the calm as we whipped around the corner on two wheels, tires crying out in squeals of agony accompanied by laughter from the four occupants bouncing in our seats. The car had slammed back onto four wheels only to jump again when I hit a garbage can lid lying in the street.
"Watch out, dipstick! How you expect me to drink outta the bottle if you keep whipping around corners and hittin' bumps where ever you see 'em?"
"Sorry. Didn't see the lid. You finished with that bottle?" I asked reaching into the back seat.
"Hell no. I ain't even started." I could see J... lifting the pint to his lips in the rear view.
"Well save me some! I bought the damn stuff!" Clyde had shown me around town one Saturday afternoon. All the shops that sold a bottle under the counter were on his route. Some of the shops were in areas I'd have been scared to enter. He felt no such fear. Why should he? He knew everyone by their first name. The place I frequented was on Wentworth. It was a news stand. Clyde usually parked in front and I ran in to purchase the Calverts Extra for the two of us. The guy behind the counter was always amenable to my money and Clyde's wave from the curb. I often went there without him as I had the previous evening to get us this pint that J... was hogging in the back seat.
"So what if you bought it?" J... yelled back at me. "Your're drivin'. You don't need it."
"I can always stop the car and you can walk." I knew that was the wrong thing to say but it just popped out. J... lowered the bottle, looked directly into my eyes in the rear view and said, "Yeah? you gonna make me?" He smiled knowing the answer.
I had slowed down to make my threat more valid but seeing his smile and movement toward the front I threw it into second and hit the accelerator. The momentum slammed him back into the seat.
"Yeah, I thought so," he said after which he took a long pull of the bottle. I watched the amber liquid lower in the upturned bottle. He stopped with a choke and cough covering his mouth and shoving the bottle into his neighbor's hand.
"Smooooth," he coughed.
"Come on guys hand it here. I should get a slug."
"Yeah we know," said G...
"You bought it!" they said in unison.
From G.... it went to I... and then to me. I eyed it as it was placed in my hand. It was enough to give me a buzz. Upending it my eyes closed with the burn in my throat.
"Watch out!"
I opened my eyes. I hit the brake. The car squealed to a stop in the center of the deserted street.
'What? What is it?"
"There! That fellow needs help."
"Come on! Let's go help him!" The doors squeaked open but G... said, "Wait."
We all looked at the intersection as we leaned on the doors half in and half out of the car. There under the street lamp in front of the wall that shown the girl sitting on the crescent moon advertising Miller Beer was one soldier surrounded by six burly miscreants. He was in a crouch watching them carefully as they closed in on him. His head moved from side to side as his body became a coiled spring. The circle of toughs moved slowly in his direction. One of them finally jumped at the soldier swinging his fist. We were rooted to the spot spellbound by the activity before us.
The soldier moved swiftly to the side and threw his fist with accurate speed. The crack of nose cartilage was like a firecracker. The attacker staggered back his hands over his face. The blood poured freely.
Two at his back stepped forward, their curses echoing off the Miller girl. The soldier's foot flashed around in an arc cracking their heads, laying them out. Their heads bounced on the pavement with loud reports and they crumpled on the asphalt.
We were speechless with amazement.
Three of the attackers were left. They looked at each other and charged.
The soldier popped the one on his left with the flat plane of five fingers to the windpipe. He backhanded the one to his right startling him and kicked high into the third's groin which sent him tumbling into the street clutching his groin. Four of them lay in agony. The two standing took off sprinting down the dark street.
It had taken a minute, a minute and a half.
We jumped out of the car and raced over to him. Like a wire recoiling he returned to his stance as he saw us approach. He shouted at us, "Come on you bastards! Come join your friends. I can take you all on and take your car there before you know what hit you."
'Whoa, man. We're not with them. We thought you needed help."
"Hell no, I don't need your help. I'm a f...ing Green Beret. I'm a f...ing trained killer. Why would I need your pansy ass help?"
We stood a ways back. He was drunk. Very drunk, but poised to unleash his training. It was apparent he didn't believe us.
"It's OK, really. Maybe we could give you a ride?
'Yeah," he said rising to his full height. He was about 5'9". His was a solid frame with a heavy chest and a slim waist. His arms were the result of much work with weights. He could have lifted me over his head I'm certain. His sleeves carried sergeant stripes. His tailored uniform was unpressed with his shirt tail half in and half out. He staggered as he took a step. As he gathered himself together, his foot lashed out connecting with the ribs of a moaning attacker. The man rolled into the gutter then lay silent.
"Sonofabitch," he mumbled. He began to search the ground with his eyes.
"Whatcha lookin' for?" I asked.
"My beret.. My green beret. I gotta find it," he mumbled as he stumbled around eyes to the ground.
"What does it look like?" I asked. "You from Paris, France?"
"Hell no, I ain't from Paris. Ain't you seen an army uniform before? Uncle Sam's finest," he continued to mumble. "It's a green beret. My headgear. Part of my uniform."
"Come on guys. Let's help him find his beret."
We mulled around the area looking for a green beret even though we had no idea what it was.
"Is this it?" I asked, holding up a dirty cap.
"No, that's not a beret. There. That's it over there." He was pointing to a pile of green cloth that was matted up against the wall. The girl sitting on the crescent moon holding a green bottle of beer looked down on us as we collected the bit of cloth and gave it to him.
"Thanks," he said beating it against his trouser leg. He brushed it off and stood up squaring his shoulders. He placed it on his head in a manner that reminded me of Napoleon crowning himself at his own coronation. Then he set it at an angle.
"Alright. Let's go." He marched off toward the car. His attackers had quietly removed themselves from the scene while we had searched for the beret.
"You hungry?" I asked.
"Hell yeah, I'm hungry! There some place to get some chow?" he looked at us quizzically. "I ain't found much in this town after midnight."
"Patio's always open," said G... as we piled into the car.
"You guys are alright," said the soldier as he took possession of the front seat. J..., G... and I... wedged into the back seat.
As I took off I decided to ask, "I know this is a stupid question, but what's a green beret?" That beret looked stupid to me. I wondered why all the fuss.
He looked at me with total disbelief.
"The Green Beret is the best of the best. He's trained to live off the land behind enemy territory. He's trained to kill and destroy the enemy. He's trained to to make those gook bastards piss their pants at the mere whisper of the words, Green Beret. You think Marines are tough? They are pansy asses compared to me and my brothers. We are the army's best, bar none.
"I could kill you with the flick of my wrist, pop the door handle and throw you out before your next breath. I'm the best."
I slid as close to the door as I could. I looked at him. He was sitting bolt upright, ramrod straight with eyes to the front. He was tightly wound and I didn't want to do anything to unwind him. But I did have a tendency to ask stupid questions.
"Have you killed anyone?" I stammered.
"Stupid question," he said staring forward. "Where's this grub you promised?"
We continued on in silence. One of my buddies offered him the bottle.
"Care for a drink," he asked.
"Thanks," said the soldier. He took it, downed the remainder then tossed the bottle out the window. It shattered on the pavement behind us. I punched the gas.
The Patio was a little ways up the street when I said, "There up ahead. The Patio and hamburgers the size of 45 records."
We began to breathe easier knowing we could unload this guy.. He was beginning to make me nervous.
I pulled up to the back door and stopped. We all climbed out. There weren't many customers inside this time of the morning but those who were there looked up to take in the uniform. There were some who smiled a bit when they saw the beret on the soldier's head. They were obviously as ignorant as I was.
The soldier took off his beret and folded it through his belt flashing a look of drunken anger at the smirkers.
"Got a problem over there, junior?" he asked looking at a high schooler sitting in the corner.
The guy's smile disappeared into a face filled with fear. He muttered no and turned to his friend.
"Stupid bastard," the soldier said as he sat.
"How's about a hamburger and some fries over here for our friend," J... yelled at the waitress. She nodded and turned to the cook who tossed a patty on the grill. "And a beer," J... added.
We sat in silence as the sound of sizzling hamburger blended with the music from the jukebox.
Finally, G... asked, "where are you stationed?"
"I been in Nam."
"Nam? Where's Nam?" I asked.
"Viet Nam! You fellas are the dumbest bunch I've ever run across. I been over there fighting a war and you dumb shits done't even know where it is. You don't appreciate shit."
He started to rise. The anger was turning his face red."
"Whoa, soldier." It was the owner coming over to the table.He was always there at the first sign of trouble.
"It's alright, friend. I brought you a beer. Maybe you could tell me about your tour of duty. I was in the last one. And Korea. I can sympathize. You're absolutely right about these dipshits. They don't know the first thing about soldiering. They don't appreciate your sacrifice because they're too busy drinkin' and lookin' for girls. Teenagers still in school are only good for two things, eatin' and shittin'. But me? I want to hear all you got to tell. That burger and beer are on me."
"Thank you, friend," said the soldier. His fists slowly unclinched, a smile crept onto his face and he relaxed in his seat taking the beer.
The waitress brought his food. The owner took it and moved to the table in the corner. The soldier followed. They began to swap war stories over table. The beer continued to flow as the owner waved the waitress over periodically.
We ordered cokes all around as we began to swap our own stories of female conquests and how drunk we'd been at the last school dance. Not once did Viet Nam come up in our conversation because we never watched the news that much. Last time we'd been glued to the TV set over news was the during of mourning days following the assassination of President Kennedy. News sucked. It was always bad and we had no use for it. The world was just opening up to us. We knew we were going to take it by storm when our chance came. This high school crap was the only thing holding us back. One more year and we'd be outta there and into the real world. We wouldn't be taking orders from anyone. We'd find a job we liked never to buckle down. We'd be free.
The reverie at our table came to a sudden halt as a piercing scream came from the corner. We all stopped and turned. The owner motioned for us to sit down and butt out. We did. The stillness was broken by sobs. They were coming from the corner.
"Oh God! I can't tell you the things I've done. The things they've done. It's horrible. Yes, I'm the best and I've proved it over and over. The last one...the last one...the kids....the kids..." The sentence broke off into heart wrenching sobs. "The kids..." his voice trailed off.
"What's he talking about?" one of us asked.
The soldier jumped up, his chair skidded into the wall. His face was wet with tears. He was set to come for us. The owner restrained by grabbing his forearm.
"You stupid bastards will know soon enough! You wait! Never heard of Viet Nam? You will. You will." His voice trailed off into sobs. The owner put his arm around him and looked at us. The sadness in his eyes spoke of things he had witnessed during his time in the army.
"Come on, son," said the owner. "Pull yourself together now."
"You don't understand. I've been over there a full tour. I'm here on leave. It's over tonight. I'm shipping back for a second tour. I...I don't want to go back. I can't go back. I'm afraid I'll never see the states again. It's too much. I can't go back..." His eyes pleaded with the owner. His hands gripped the owner's arms.
"Please...," he whispered.
"Alright, son. Alright. Here. Have another beer. Try to get hold of yourself. You have to do what you have to do. I did. I hated it. I never wanted to go. But there are times when we have to do what is right..."
"No! You don't understand. This isn't like your war. This is different. Totally different."
"War is war, son. We men have to carry our load. We have to do our duty. Come on now. Maybe you could use some coffee. I'll drive you back to the base myself. It'll be alright." The owner helped him back into his chair while signalling the waitress to bring coffee.
The soldier stared at the beer in his hand, then slid it away.
"Yeah, coffee. That'll make it right. I know. I have to go. I don't have a choice. You're right. It'll be fine."
His eyes were empty. It was as if he turned to a copse in front of us. His eyes became flat and lifeless, staring straight ahead. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and sipped. He was no longer with us but back in the jungles we knew nothing of. He remained docile while he drank his coffee. When he'd finished, he stood pulling the beret from his belt. Once again he crowned himself, then pulled it to one side as he stood straight with pride. The Green Beret looked at the owner. He recovered his composure. His eyes remained haunted, however. He shuffled along side the owner who led him to his car. He opened the door to the passenger side. The soldier sat. The owner, sadness in his eyes, backed up , turned and left the parking lot.
We all looked at each other as if to say, 'What the hell was that all about?" but no one did.
The night was almost over. The sun had begun to spill its light in the east. The new day was dawning. A new awareness would soon creep into our lives. The times of high school with all its hardships and pleasures would come to an end in a year. Our lives would be impacted by that unknown country in the east just as the soldier had told us. He was whisked out of our lives to a fate unknown. I hope he returned from his second tour safely. We never saw him again. We never spoke of him again. But that night has always remained with me.
It was quiet on the back streets of Charleston at one in the morning in those days. Our town was a backwater village of quiet Southern simplicity. A time of order that would be shattered in the years to come. Now? Only we shattered the calm as we whipped around the corner on two wheels, tires crying out in squeals of agony accompanied by laughter from the four occupants bouncing in our seats. The car had slammed back onto four wheels only to jump again when I hit a garbage can lid lying in the street.
"Watch out, dipstick! How you expect me to drink outta the bottle if you keep whipping around corners and hittin' bumps where ever you see 'em?"
"Sorry. Didn't see the lid. You finished with that bottle?" I asked reaching into the back seat.
"Hell no. I ain't even started." I could see J... lifting the pint to his lips in the rear view.
"Well save me some! I bought the damn stuff!" Clyde had shown me around town one Saturday afternoon. All the shops that sold a bottle under the counter were on his route. Some of the shops were in areas I'd have been scared to enter. He felt no such fear. Why should he? He knew everyone by their first name. The place I frequented was on Wentworth. It was a news stand. Clyde usually parked in front and I ran in to purchase the Calverts Extra for the two of us. The guy behind the counter was always amenable to my money and Clyde's wave from the curb. I often went there without him as I had the previous evening to get us this pint that J... was hogging in the back seat.
"So what if you bought it?" J... yelled back at me. "Your're drivin'. You don't need it."
"I can always stop the car and you can walk." I knew that was the wrong thing to say but it just popped out. J... lowered the bottle, looked directly into my eyes in the rear view and said, "Yeah? you gonna make me?" He smiled knowing the answer.
I had slowed down to make my threat more valid but seeing his smile and movement toward the front I threw it into second and hit the accelerator. The momentum slammed him back into the seat.
"Yeah, I thought so," he said after which he took a long pull of the bottle. I watched the amber liquid lower in the upturned bottle. He stopped with a choke and cough covering his mouth and shoving the bottle into his neighbor's hand.
"Smooooth," he coughed.
"Come on guys hand it here. I should get a slug."
"Yeah we know," said G...
"You bought it!" they said in unison.
From G.... it went to I... and then to me. I eyed it as it was placed in my hand. It was enough to give me a buzz. Upending it my eyes closed with the burn in my throat.
"Watch out!"
I opened my eyes. I hit the brake. The car squealed to a stop in the center of the deserted street.
'What? What is it?"
"There! That fellow needs help."
"Come on! Let's go help him!" The doors squeaked open but G... said, "Wait."
We all looked at the intersection as we leaned on the doors half in and half out of the car. There under the street lamp in front of the wall that shown the girl sitting on the crescent moon advertising Miller Beer was one soldier surrounded by six burly miscreants. He was in a crouch watching them carefully as they closed in on him. His head moved from side to side as his body became a coiled spring. The circle of toughs moved slowly in his direction. One of them finally jumped at the soldier swinging his fist. We were rooted to the spot spellbound by the activity before us.
The soldier moved swiftly to the side and threw his fist with accurate speed. The crack of nose cartilage was like a firecracker. The attacker staggered back his hands over his face. The blood poured freely.
Two at his back stepped forward, their curses echoing off the Miller girl. The soldier's foot flashed around in an arc cracking their heads, laying them out. Their heads bounced on the pavement with loud reports and they crumpled on the asphalt.
We were speechless with amazement.
Three of the attackers were left. They looked at each other and charged.
The soldier popped the one on his left with the flat plane of five fingers to the windpipe. He backhanded the one to his right startling him and kicked high into the third's groin which sent him tumbling into the street clutching his groin. Four of them lay in agony. The two standing took off sprinting down the dark street.
It had taken a minute, a minute and a half.
We jumped out of the car and raced over to him. Like a wire recoiling he returned to his stance as he saw us approach. He shouted at us, "Come on you bastards! Come join your friends. I can take you all on and take your car there before you know what hit you."
'Whoa, man. We're not with them. We thought you needed help."
"Hell no, I don't need your help. I'm a f...ing Green Beret. I'm a f...ing trained killer. Why would I need your pansy ass help?"
We stood a ways back. He was drunk. Very drunk, but poised to unleash his training. It was apparent he didn't believe us.
"It's OK, really. Maybe we could give you a ride?
'Yeah," he said rising to his full height. He was about 5'9". His was a solid frame with a heavy chest and a slim waist. His arms were the result of much work with weights. He could have lifted me over his head I'm certain. His sleeves carried sergeant stripes. His tailored uniform was unpressed with his shirt tail half in and half out. He staggered as he took a step. As he gathered himself together, his foot lashed out connecting with the ribs of a moaning attacker. The man rolled into the gutter then lay silent.
"Sonofabitch," he mumbled. He began to search the ground with his eyes.
"Whatcha lookin' for?" I asked.
"My beret.. My green beret. I gotta find it," he mumbled as he stumbled around eyes to the ground.
"What does it look like?" I asked. "You from Paris, France?"
"Hell no, I ain't from Paris. Ain't you seen an army uniform before? Uncle Sam's finest," he continued to mumble. "It's a green beret. My headgear. Part of my uniform."
"Come on guys. Let's help him find his beret."
We mulled around the area looking for a green beret even though we had no idea what it was.
"Is this it?" I asked, holding up a dirty cap.
"No, that's not a beret. There. That's it over there." He was pointing to a pile of green cloth that was matted up against the wall. The girl sitting on the crescent moon holding a green bottle of beer looked down on us as we collected the bit of cloth and gave it to him.
"Thanks," he said beating it against his trouser leg. He brushed it off and stood up squaring his shoulders. He placed it on his head in a manner that reminded me of Napoleon crowning himself at his own coronation. Then he set it at an angle.
"Alright. Let's go." He marched off toward the car. His attackers had quietly removed themselves from the scene while we had searched for the beret.
"You hungry?" I asked.
"Hell yeah, I'm hungry! There some place to get some chow?" he looked at us quizzically. "I ain't found much in this town after midnight."
"Patio's always open," said G... as we piled into the car.
"You guys are alright," said the soldier as he took possession of the front seat. J..., G... and I... wedged into the back seat.
As I took off I decided to ask, "I know this is a stupid question, but what's a green beret?" That beret looked stupid to me. I wondered why all the fuss.
He looked at me with total disbelief.
"The Green Beret is the best of the best. He's trained to live off the land behind enemy territory. He's trained to kill and destroy the enemy. He's trained to to make those gook bastards piss their pants at the mere whisper of the words, Green Beret. You think Marines are tough? They are pansy asses compared to me and my brothers. We are the army's best, bar none.
"I could kill you with the flick of my wrist, pop the door handle and throw you out before your next breath. I'm the best."
I slid as close to the door as I could. I looked at him. He was sitting bolt upright, ramrod straight with eyes to the front. He was tightly wound and I didn't want to do anything to unwind him. But I did have a tendency to ask stupid questions.
"Have you killed anyone?" I stammered.
"Stupid question," he said staring forward. "Where's this grub you promised?"
We continued on in silence. One of my buddies offered him the bottle.
"Care for a drink," he asked.
"Thanks," said the soldier. He took it, downed the remainder then tossed the bottle out the window. It shattered on the pavement behind us. I punched the gas.
The Patio was a little ways up the street when I said, "There up ahead. The Patio and hamburgers the size of 45 records."
We began to breathe easier knowing we could unload this guy.. He was beginning to make me nervous.
I pulled up to the back door and stopped. We all climbed out. There weren't many customers inside this time of the morning but those who were there looked up to take in the uniform. There were some who smiled a bit when they saw the beret on the soldier's head. They were obviously as ignorant as I was.
The soldier took off his beret and folded it through his belt flashing a look of drunken anger at the smirkers.
"Got a problem over there, junior?" he asked looking at a high schooler sitting in the corner.
The guy's smile disappeared into a face filled with fear. He muttered no and turned to his friend.
"Stupid bastard," the soldier said as he sat.
"How's about a hamburger and some fries over here for our friend," J... yelled at the waitress. She nodded and turned to the cook who tossed a patty on the grill. "And a beer," J... added.
We sat in silence as the sound of sizzling hamburger blended with the music from the jukebox.
Finally, G... asked, "where are you stationed?"
"I been in Nam."
"Nam? Where's Nam?" I asked.
"Viet Nam! You fellas are the dumbest bunch I've ever run across. I been over there fighting a war and you dumb shits done't even know where it is. You don't appreciate shit."
He started to rise. The anger was turning his face red."
"Whoa, soldier." It was the owner coming over to the table.He was always there at the first sign of trouble.
"It's alright, friend. I brought you a beer. Maybe you could tell me about your tour of duty. I was in the last one. And Korea. I can sympathize. You're absolutely right about these dipshits. They don't know the first thing about soldiering. They don't appreciate your sacrifice because they're too busy drinkin' and lookin' for girls. Teenagers still in school are only good for two things, eatin' and shittin'. But me? I want to hear all you got to tell. That burger and beer are on me."
"Thank you, friend," said the soldier. His fists slowly unclinched, a smile crept onto his face and he relaxed in his seat taking the beer.
The waitress brought his food. The owner took it and moved to the table in the corner. The soldier followed. They began to swap war stories over table. The beer continued to flow as the owner waved the waitress over periodically.
We ordered cokes all around as we began to swap our own stories of female conquests and how drunk we'd been at the last school dance. Not once did Viet Nam come up in our conversation because we never watched the news that much. Last time we'd been glued to the TV set over news was the during of mourning days following the assassination of President Kennedy. News sucked. It was always bad and we had no use for it. The world was just opening up to us. We knew we were going to take it by storm when our chance came. This high school crap was the only thing holding us back. One more year and we'd be outta there and into the real world. We wouldn't be taking orders from anyone. We'd find a job we liked never to buckle down. We'd be free.
The reverie at our table came to a sudden halt as a piercing scream came from the corner. We all stopped and turned. The owner motioned for us to sit down and butt out. We did. The stillness was broken by sobs. They were coming from the corner.
"Oh God! I can't tell you the things I've done. The things they've done. It's horrible. Yes, I'm the best and I've proved it over and over. The last one...the last one...the kids....the kids..." The sentence broke off into heart wrenching sobs. "The kids..." his voice trailed off.
"What's he talking about?" one of us asked.
The soldier jumped up, his chair skidded into the wall. His face was wet with tears. He was set to come for us. The owner restrained by grabbing his forearm.
"You stupid bastards will know soon enough! You wait! Never heard of Viet Nam? You will. You will." His voice trailed off into sobs. The owner put his arm around him and looked at us. The sadness in his eyes spoke of things he had witnessed during his time in the army.
"Come on, son," said the owner. "Pull yourself together now."
"You don't understand. I've been over there a full tour. I'm here on leave. It's over tonight. I'm shipping back for a second tour. I...I don't want to go back. I can't go back. I'm afraid I'll never see the states again. It's too much. I can't go back..." His eyes pleaded with the owner. His hands gripped the owner's arms.
"Please...," he whispered.
"Alright, son. Alright. Here. Have another beer. Try to get hold of yourself. You have to do what you have to do. I did. I hated it. I never wanted to go. But there are times when we have to do what is right..."
"No! You don't understand. This isn't like your war. This is different. Totally different."
"War is war, son. We men have to carry our load. We have to do our duty. Come on now. Maybe you could use some coffee. I'll drive you back to the base myself. It'll be alright." The owner helped him back into his chair while signalling the waitress to bring coffee.
The soldier stared at the beer in his hand, then slid it away.
"Yeah, coffee. That'll make it right. I know. I have to go. I don't have a choice. You're right. It'll be fine."
His eyes were empty. It was as if he turned to a copse in front of us. His eyes became flat and lifeless, staring straight ahead. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and sipped. He was no longer with us but back in the jungles we knew nothing of. He remained docile while he drank his coffee. When he'd finished, he stood pulling the beret from his belt. Once again he crowned himself, then pulled it to one side as he stood straight with pride. The Green Beret looked at the owner. He recovered his composure. His eyes remained haunted, however. He shuffled along side the owner who led him to his car. He opened the door to the passenger side. The soldier sat. The owner, sadness in his eyes, backed up , turned and left the parking lot.
We all looked at each other as if to say, 'What the hell was that all about?" but no one did.
The night was almost over. The sun had begun to spill its light in the east. The new day was dawning. A new awareness would soon creep into our lives. The times of high school with all its hardships and pleasures would come to an end in a year. Our lives would be impacted by that unknown country in the east just as the soldier had told us. He was whisked out of our lives to a fate unknown. I hope he returned from his second tour safely. We never saw him again. We never spoke of him again. But that night has always remained with me.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Eh? Californy ye say?
It was 1963. I was seventeen and a Junior, finally, at James Island High School. One more year, we all told ourselves, and we could blow this taco stand. Being almost grown was heady stuff. I was full of myself like every other teenage boy. The songs on the radio were our anthems. They changed every day. The Beach Boys were the rage.
"Wish they all could be California girls!"
California girls. They were the ideal, the elevens in a range of one to ten, the brass ring, the pot of gold, or so we were told and eagerly believed the Beach Boys as they blasted from our radios.
The new school year was beginning. New students were arriving. Most of us had been through grammar school and beyond into High school. Our community was practically a family. We had been through it all together--six years at Riverland Terrace School then onward to James Island High. We all knew each other, so new students were always of interest. One of these new students was a girl from California. Once again the Beach Boys song came to mind when I was told that.
"Yeah, she's from California." I heard this on the breezeway as I walked to home room. My ears perked up.
"California?" I asked stopping to catch the gossip.
"Yeah. Her family moved here in July. She is starting today."
"Have you seen her?"
"No, not yet. Only know she moved from California."
"Hot dog!" I yelled. Everyone stopped to look our way. I looked at the ground and walked on.
'A California girl' is all I could think as I turned into homeroom.
"Did you hear?" asked my friend.
"The girl from California? Yeah, I heard."
"Look! That's her walking along the breezeway now!"
All the boys ran to the window pointing.
I slipped out and quickly walked in her direction.
"Hi, My name's Rickey. What's yours?" She was cute. "Can I help you find your homeroom?"
She was quiet and took a moment to answer. Stopping, she looked though her books. Findin what she was looking for, she shyly held it in front of me.
"I'm L... This is where I was told to go." My home room was written there.
"No problem. That's my home room too. Can I carry your books?"
She smiled, then held her books out to me. "Thank you," she said
I noticed a small diamond ring on her left hand.
"Is that an engagement ring?" I asked trying to hide my disappointment.
"Uh, yeah. My fiance is still in California."
"Oh." I said. " Instantly The Safaris tune Wipeout played through my mind. The laugh was aimed at me.
We made small talk as we continued to home room. The sparkle of such a tiny diamond blinded me and I resigned myself to missing out on a California girl.
Our friendship grew over the next few weeks. We met on the breezeway most mornings. I carried her books. We talked of school and music mostly. One day as we met she handed me her books. That blinding light from her left hand was missing. She held it out longer than necessary to hand me her books. It didn't register with my innocent mind.
"Rickey?"
"Yeah," I said taking her books.
She wiggled her fingers at me. Still not understanding, I continued to wait for her to explain.
"Don't you see?"
"See what?" I asked, not being the brightest teenager.
"My ring. I took it off. I'm not engaged any more."
"Huh?" Still no ding! ding! ding! in my vacant mind.
"I wrote my EX-fiance. I'm not engaged anymore."
"What?"
"I'm free to date." Her exasperated tone was detectable at this time.
"OH! Hey! That's great!" The light finally came on. "So we can go out now. On a date?"
"Yes. I've been wondering how long it would be for you to notice."
"How long have you not been engaged?"
"A week. I thought you would have realized it."
"Gosh, I didn't. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" I emphasized each stupid with a smack to the forehead with her books.
"So, we can date now!" I stated.
"Yes! How many times do I have to say it?" I'm sure she wondered how she could want to date such a dense boy.
"Well, how about Friday?" I asked.
"OK. That sounds good," she said with a bright California smile.
I picked her up Friday evening in the Tan Can, my affectionate name for my mother's Corvair.
"We're gonna pick up R... and his girl. Hope that's alright with you."
It was. We picked them up and headed for the newest teen hangout. Hardee's and the ten cent hamburger.
It was the first of many dates. The world was flush with wonder. The future was wide open and rosy.
A few months into the school year I was stopped on the breezeway on my way to class.
"Hey Rickey. The man wants to see you."
"What's it about? My shirt tail being out again?
"No, I don't think so. There's someone in the office says he wants to talk to you."
"A visitor? Who'd be visiting me?" I turned around and walked to the principal's office. Mr. Kizer was standing at the door.
"Uh, Ricky, have you been seeing L..?"
"Yes sir. Why do you ask?"
"Well, there's someone in my office requesting to see you. Says he's L...'s fiance. He's hitch-hiked from California to see you. Were you aware she was engaged?"
"She was, but she ended it a couple of months ago. Even sent him his ring back."
"Hmmm. Come on in then. I'll introduce you."
"Alright," I responded.
He was sitting in a chair in front of Mr. Kizer's desk. His fingers were tapping on the arm rest of his chair. He rose as we entered.
"So you're Rickey," he said. Looking me over, he continued. "I'm glad to meet you face to face."
"Yes." I extended my hand which he ignored.
"I can't discuss my business with you here. Is there a place we can meet after school?" He smiled.
I shrugged my shoulders saying, "We could meet in the Terrace at a place called five points after 3:30 in front of Eddie's." I gave him directions. He wrote them down.
"After 3:30 then. I'll be waiting. I've come a long way to see you and L...."
He walked out the door. I began to follow him but Mr. Kizer grabbed my arm.
"Wait here, Rickey. I need to talk to you." He walked out to escort the man off school property. When he returned he motioned to the chair. I remained standing.
"What is it, sir?" I asked.
"Are you going to meet him after school?"
"Yes sir. I told him I would. No choice."
"You can't. I forbid it."
"You can't forbid me. I gave my word." Forbid me? I thought. Who are you to forbid me?
"I think he means you harm. He hitch-hiked across country from California over the last month. I don't think he wants to congratulate you and wish you well."
"I'll find out what he wants after school."
"I can't let you do that."
"You don't have any say so."
He pointed to the chair saying, "You sit while I call your parents. They have to know about this."
"Mr. Kizer, they are at work. I don't want to disturb them."
"You really don't... Alright. Where does your dad work? I believe I need to contact him."
I sat. I gave him the number. He dialed it. The conversation lasted a while. His eyes kept darting over to me. Finally, he handed the phone to me.
"Here. your dad wants to speak with you.." He smiled victoriously.
I took the phone and said hello to dad.
"Is everything alright, son."
"Yes sir."
"You remember everything I taught you?"
"Yes sir."
"Be careful."
"I will."
"Alright. Remember and watch yourself. See you tonight."
"Thanks dad. Bye." I handed the phone back.
"What did he say?" asked the principal as he took the phone and laid it in its cradle. He was still smiling.
"Be careful." I turned and walked out. His smile had faded.
I went to class and stared out the window for the rest of the hour. During that time I saw L... walking toward the office with a friend who had her arm around her. She appeared to be crying. This class was a study hall so I got up and hurried along the breezeway to catch up to L... She was taken behind closed doors in the office. I wasn't able to see her. The secretary told me to return to class.
For the next couple of hours I wondered what was going on. She was till in the office when lunch began. My friends had heard something was up. They came over to ask. I explained everything I knew. One of L...'s friends came over when she saw us.
"Rickey, are you alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You're not worried?"
"About what? L...'s old boyfriend? He just wants to talk."
"You really are dumb aren't you? Didn't L... tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"She got a letter from him after she sent the ring back."
"She never told me anything about a letter."
She sighed. "She probably didn't want to worry you, then. She didn't think he'd come."
Puzzled I asked, "Would you please tell me what is going on? She never said a thing."
"Linda got a letter from him saying he was coming to South Carolina to kill you and, then, her. She never told you that?"
"No." It seemed the situation had become a little more serious. No wonder Mr. Kizer was so concerned and felt it necessary to call my dad while I was there.
The girl shook me and said, "Will you still go?"
Stupidly, I answered, "I gave my word. I don't have a choice."
My friends looked at me, turned and walked in all directions. I felt utterly deserted as I stood outside under the shelter of the breezeway thinking about 3:30.
I was called into the office, again, around two. L... was there with her mother. They had both been crying.
"Rickey, I'm so sorry," L... said between sobs. "I never wanted you to get hurt."
Her mother looked at me with concerned eyes. She said, "Rickey, don't go near him. He's a little crazy."
"I don't have a choice, now," I repeated.
"Go back to class," said Mr. Kyzer.
It was three when the bell rang to end the day. I picked up my books and walked out the back door. I turned toward the bus in a daze knowing I had to meet a nut job at five points in half an hour. I didn't notice the guys running past me until one of them knocked my books out of my hand. I bent over to pick them up. Fragments of conversation began to pelt my ears.
"Hey! We gotta meet at five points!" Someone yelled.
"Why?" another voice quizzed.
"J... said Rickey needs help!"
"J...?"
"Yeah, he's got the football team piling into his car. Grab a stick or something. We're all gonna beat up some guy who's come to kill Rickey and his girl friend!"
"The football team?"
The yelling to and fro continued as I walked slowly to the bus.
"Who is J... helping?"
"Rickey! He's in trouble."
"Who's Rickey?"
"Who cares who he is. We're gonna stomp somebody's ass!"
The yelling and running to cars continued as I made my way to the bus.
An old battered grey Ford slammed on brakes in front of me. The cloud of dust was settling when I realized it was J..., the James Island Rams quarterback. We'd known each other through eleven years of school.
"Ricky! Get in! We're going to take you to the Terrace to meet this guy with you!" J... had been passing the word throughout the day about my plight. He had guys piled in cars all over the school grounds. They were whistling and beating the sides of the cars yelling to get the show on the road.
I jumped in the front seat, dumping my books beside me. All of a sudden I felt very comfortable as J... ripped up a column of dirt behind swerving along the exit. There were seven cars pulling in behind us with heads poked out of windows hooting an hollering all along the way.
We arrived at five points a few minutes before 3:30. There was no one to be seen. We walked over to Eddie's bar and grill. It was overrun with high school students looking for a fight. He wasn't there.
I walked over to the Amoco Station across the street to ask Lyde, a friend of Clyde's, if he had seen the fellow. I described the man and the situation. The answer was no, but he offered his help if it was needed. I thanked him and walked back outside. Just as I did a Police car came to a halt in front of me.
"Is your name Rickey?" the officer at the wheel asked. When I said yes, he told me to get in. I saw everyone gathering outside Eddie's watching me get into the Police car. As the officer left the Amoco station, I watched everyone run to their cars . They pulled out to follow.
We arrived at the police building which had once been a part of the old Citadel. I was led into the main lobby which was open to the street. I was told to take a seat. I sat facing the open door. Every two minutes I saw one of the cars in the caravan pass by the door. The guys in side were waving and giving a thumbs up sign.
"Rickey?" Startled, I looked up at the desk Sergeant.
"Son, are you aware of how much danger you were in?"
"No sir. What do you mean?"
"This young lady," he pointed at L..., "and her mother informed us of the situation concerning her fiance from California. They told us he threatened to kill both of you."
"I wasn't told about that," I said looking at L.... She looked away with tears in her eyes.
The Sergeant looked at L... with a frown and said, "Well, we were told. We have to take such threats seriously. We have him in a holding cell now. We will release him in a couple of days with warning to stay away from you two. We will also suggest that he return to California instead of sticking around here. L...'s mother had us pick you up because she was worried about you. She wanted you to understand this whole situation. We're sorry you both had to go through all of this but it will be alright now. You are free to go."
L...'s mother came over to apologize for everything. I thanked her and walked over to L... and held her close. She was all cried out at this point. Her mother touched her arm, letting her know it was time to go. They walked through the door.
I ambled over to leave when another car in the caravan passed by.
"Friends of yours?" asked the Sergeant who was drinking coffee in the doorway.
"Yeah," I said with a big grin.
"You're a lucky fellow. Keep out of trouble. All of you," he said with emphasis. He smiled and returned to his desk.
The old grey Ford stopped in front of the door. I walked down the steps.
"Everything alright?" J... asked.
"Yeah, everything is alright." My smile was wide.
"Well, hell, hop in. We could use a drink."
I got in. J... drove back to the Terrace and into a solid memory.
"Wish they all could be California girls!"
California girls. They were the ideal, the elevens in a range of one to ten, the brass ring, the pot of gold, or so we were told and eagerly believed the Beach Boys as they blasted from our radios.
The new school year was beginning. New students were arriving. Most of us had been through grammar school and beyond into High school. Our community was practically a family. We had been through it all together--six years at Riverland Terrace School then onward to James Island High. We all knew each other, so new students were always of interest. One of these new students was a girl from California. Once again the Beach Boys song came to mind when I was told that.
"Yeah, she's from California." I heard this on the breezeway as I walked to home room. My ears perked up.
"California?" I asked stopping to catch the gossip.
"Yeah. Her family moved here in July. She is starting today."
"Have you seen her?"
"No, not yet. Only know she moved from California."
"Hot dog!" I yelled. Everyone stopped to look our way. I looked at the ground and walked on.
'A California girl' is all I could think as I turned into homeroom.
"Did you hear?" asked my friend.
"The girl from California? Yeah, I heard."
"Look! That's her walking along the breezeway now!"
All the boys ran to the window pointing.
I slipped out and quickly walked in her direction.
"Hi, My name's Rickey. What's yours?" She was cute. "Can I help you find your homeroom?"
She was quiet and took a moment to answer. Stopping, she looked though her books. Findin what she was looking for, she shyly held it in front of me.
"I'm L... This is where I was told to go." My home room was written there.
"No problem. That's my home room too. Can I carry your books?"
She smiled, then held her books out to me. "Thank you," she said
I noticed a small diamond ring on her left hand.
"Is that an engagement ring?" I asked trying to hide my disappointment.
"Uh, yeah. My fiance is still in California."
"Oh." I said. " Instantly The Safaris tune Wipeout played through my mind. The laugh was aimed at me.
We made small talk as we continued to home room. The sparkle of such a tiny diamond blinded me and I resigned myself to missing out on a California girl.
Our friendship grew over the next few weeks. We met on the breezeway most mornings. I carried her books. We talked of school and music mostly. One day as we met she handed me her books. That blinding light from her left hand was missing. She held it out longer than necessary to hand me her books. It didn't register with my innocent mind.
"Rickey?"
"Yeah," I said taking her books.
She wiggled her fingers at me. Still not understanding, I continued to wait for her to explain.
"Don't you see?"
"See what?" I asked, not being the brightest teenager.
"My ring. I took it off. I'm not engaged any more."
"Huh?" Still no ding! ding! ding! in my vacant mind.
"I wrote my EX-fiance. I'm not engaged anymore."
"What?"
"I'm free to date." Her exasperated tone was detectable at this time.
"OH! Hey! That's great!" The light finally came on. "So we can go out now. On a date?"
"Yes. I've been wondering how long it would be for you to notice."
"How long have you not been engaged?"
"A week. I thought you would have realized it."
"Gosh, I didn't. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" I emphasized each stupid with a smack to the forehead with her books.
"So, we can date now!" I stated.
"Yes! How many times do I have to say it?" I'm sure she wondered how she could want to date such a dense boy.
"Well, how about Friday?" I asked.
"OK. That sounds good," she said with a bright California smile.
I picked her up Friday evening in the Tan Can, my affectionate name for my mother's Corvair.
"We're gonna pick up R... and his girl. Hope that's alright with you."
It was. We picked them up and headed for the newest teen hangout. Hardee's and the ten cent hamburger.
It was the first of many dates. The world was flush with wonder. The future was wide open and rosy.
A few months into the school year I was stopped on the breezeway on my way to class.
"Hey Rickey. The man wants to see you."
"What's it about? My shirt tail being out again?
"No, I don't think so. There's someone in the office says he wants to talk to you."
"A visitor? Who'd be visiting me?" I turned around and walked to the principal's office. Mr. Kizer was standing at the door.
"Uh, Ricky, have you been seeing L..?"
"Yes sir. Why do you ask?"
"Well, there's someone in my office requesting to see you. Says he's L...'s fiance. He's hitch-hiked from California to see you. Were you aware she was engaged?"
"She was, but she ended it a couple of months ago. Even sent him his ring back."
"Hmmm. Come on in then. I'll introduce you."
"Alright," I responded.
He was sitting in a chair in front of Mr. Kizer's desk. His fingers were tapping on the arm rest of his chair. He rose as we entered.
"So you're Rickey," he said. Looking me over, he continued. "I'm glad to meet you face to face."
"Yes." I extended my hand which he ignored.
"I can't discuss my business with you here. Is there a place we can meet after school?" He smiled.
I shrugged my shoulders saying, "We could meet in the Terrace at a place called five points after 3:30 in front of Eddie's." I gave him directions. He wrote them down.
"After 3:30 then. I'll be waiting. I've come a long way to see you and L...."
He walked out the door. I began to follow him but Mr. Kizer grabbed my arm.
"Wait here, Rickey. I need to talk to you." He walked out to escort the man off school property. When he returned he motioned to the chair. I remained standing.
"What is it, sir?" I asked.
"Are you going to meet him after school?"
"Yes sir. I told him I would. No choice."
"You can't. I forbid it."
"You can't forbid me. I gave my word." Forbid me? I thought. Who are you to forbid me?
"I think he means you harm. He hitch-hiked across country from California over the last month. I don't think he wants to congratulate you and wish you well."
"I'll find out what he wants after school."
"I can't let you do that."
"You don't have any say so."
He pointed to the chair saying, "You sit while I call your parents. They have to know about this."
"Mr. Kizer, they are at work. I don't want to disturb them."
"You really don't... Alright. Where does your dad work? I believe I need to contact him."
I sat. I gave him the number. He dialed it. The conversation lasted a while. His eyes kept darting over to me. Finally, he handed the phone to me.
"Here. your dad wants to speak with you.." He smiled victoriously.
I took the phone and said hello to dad.
"Is everything alright, son."
"Yes sir."
"You remember everything I taught you?"
"Yes sir."
"Be careful."
"I will."
"Alright. Remember and watch yourself. See you tonight."
"Thanks dad. Bye." I handed the phone back.
"What did he say?" asked the principal as he took the phone and laid it in its cradle. He was still smiling.
"Be careful." I turned and walked out. His smile had faded.
I went to class and stared out the window for the rest of the hour. During that time I saw L... walking toward the office with a friend who had her arm around her. She appeared to be crying. This class was a study hall so I got up and hurried along the breezeway to catch up to L... She was taken behind closed doors in the office. I wasn't able to see her. The secretary told me to return to class.
For the next couple of hours I wondered what was going on. She was till in the office when lunch began. My friends had heard something was up. They came over to ask. I explained everything I knew. One of L...'s friends came over when she saw us.
"Rickey, are you alright?" she asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You're not worried?"
"About what? L...'s old boyfriend? He just wants to talk."
"You really are dumb aren't you? Didn't L... tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"She got a letter from him after she sent the ring back."
"She never told me anything about a letter."
She sighed. "She probably didn't want to worry you, then. She didn't think he'd come."
Puzzled I asked, "Would you please tell me what is going on? She never said a thing."
"Linda got a letter from him saying he was coming to South Carolina to kill you and, then, her. She never told you that?"
"No." It seemed the situation had become a little more serious. No wonder Mr. Kizer was so concerned and felt it necessary to call my dad while I was there.
The girl shook me and said, "Will you still go?"
Stupidly, I answered, "I gave my word. I don't have a choice."
My friends looked at me, turned and walked in all directions. I felt utterly deserted as I stood outside under the shelter of the breezeway thinking about 3:30.
I was called into the office, again, around two. L... was there with her mother. They had both been crying.
"Rickey, I'm so sorry," L... said between sobs. "I never wanted you to get hurt."
Her mother looked at me with concerned eyes. She said, "Rickey, don't go near him. He's a little crazy."
"I don't have a choice, now," I repeated.
"Go back to class," said Mr. Kyzer.
It was three when the bell rang to end the day. I picked up my books and walked out the back door. I turned toward the bus in a daze knowing I had to meet a nut job at five points in half an hour. I didn't notice the guys running past me until one of them knocked my books out of my hand. I bent over to pick them up. Fragments of conversation began to pelt my ears.
"Hey! We gotta meet at five points!" Someone yelled.
"Why?" another voice quizzed.
"J... said Rickey needs help!"
"J...?"
"Yeah, he's got the football team piling into his car. Grab a stick or something. We're all gonna beat up some guy who's come to kill Rickey and his girl friend!"
"The football team?"
The yelling to and fro continued as I walked slowly to the bus.
"Who is J... helping?"
"Rickey! He's in trouble."
"Who's Rickey?"
"Who cares who he is. We're gonna stomp somebody's ass!"
The yelling and running to cars continued as I made my way to the bus.
An old battered grey Ford slammed on brakes in front of me. The cloud of dust was settling when I realized it was J..., the James Island Rams quarterback. We'd known each other through eleven years of school.
"Ricky! Get in! We're going to take you to the Terrace to meet this guy with you!" J... had been passing the word throughout the day about my plight. He had guys piled in cars all over the school grounds. They were whistling and beating the sides of the cars yelling to get the show on the road.
I jumped in the front seat, dumping my books beside me. All of a sudden I felt very comfortable as J... ripped up a column of dirt behind swerving along the exit. There were seven cars pulling in behind us with heads poked out of windows hooting an hollering all along the way.
We arrived at five points a few minutes before 3:30. There was no one to be seen. We walked over to Eddie's bar and grill. It was overrun with high school students looking for a fight. He wasn't there.
I walked over to the Amoco Station across the street to ask Lyde, a friend of Clyde's, if he had seen the fellow. I described the man and the situation. The answer was no, but he offered his help if it was needed. I thanked him and walked back outside. Just as I did a Police car came to a halt in front of me.
"Is your name Rickey?" the officer at the wheel asked. When I said yes, he told me to get in. I saw everyone gathering outside Eddie's watching me get into the Police car. As the officer left the Amoco station, I watched everyone run to their cars . They pulled out to follow.
We arrived at the police building which had once been a part of the old Citadel. I was led into the main lobby which was open to the street. I was told to take a seat. I sat facing the open door. Every two minutes I saw one of the cars in the caravan pass by the door. The guys in side were waving and giving a thumbs up sign.
"Rickey?" Startled, I looked up at the desk Sergeant.
"Son, are you aware of how much danger you were in?"
"No sir. What do you mean?"
"This young lady," he pointed at L..., "and her mother informed us of the situation concerning her fiance from California. They told us he threatened to kill both of you."
"I wasn't told about that," I said looking at L.... She looked away with tears in her eyes.
The Sergeant looked at L... with a frown and said, "Well, we were told. We have to take such threats seriously. We have him in a holding cell now. We will release him in a couple of days with warning to stay away from you two. We will also suggest that he return to California instead of sticking around here. L...'s mother had us pick you up because she was worried about you. She wanted you to understand this whole situation. We're sorry you both had to go through all of this but it will be alright now. You are free to go."
L...'s mother came over to apologize for everything. I thanked her and walked over to L... and held her close. She was all cried out at this point. Her mother touched her arm, letting her know it was time to go. They walked through the door.
I ambled over to leave when another car in the caravan passed by.
"Friends of yours?" asked the Sergeant who was drinking coffee in the doorway.
"Yeah," I said with a big grin.
"You're a lucky fellow. Keep out of trouble. All of you," he said with emphasis. He smiled and returned to his desk.
The old grey Ford stopped in front of the door. I walked down the steps.
"Everything alright?" J... asked.
"Yeah, everything is alright." My smile was wide.
"Well, hell, hop in. We could use a drink."
I got in. J... drove back to the Terrace and into a solid memory.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Uncle Sam's greetings...
Reveile!
I must be dreaming, I thought, drifting back into slumber.
My dream was slowly returning.
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
Now what?
"GET UP YOU SLACKERS! DIDN'T YOU HEAR THAT BUGLE?"
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
The noise was overwhelming. My morning sleep was being interrupted by... YIPES!
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
It wasn't a dream. It was happening.
"GET OUTTA THOSE RACKS! YOU GOT NO TIME FOR SLEEP!
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
What is that noise? My eye opened wide. I sat up slowly and looked in the direction of the crashing noises. Our Sergeant was moving methodically toward my rack yelling at the top of his lungs.
"GET UP! GET UP! YOU SHITBIRDS GOT A LOT TO DO TODAY."
With each sentence roaring from his mouth he took a turn. If that poor soul was still lying in his bed the Sergeant grasped the under railing and lifted. The rack flew upward slamming down with a KA-BAM! The newly enlisted Airman completed the noise--thud, thud--by bouncing off the linoleum covered concrete floor of our barracks. He was three beds away from me. The first five long my side were lying on their sides, thin mattresses, sheets, blankets and occupants scattered about.
I jumped off the mattress searching for my clothes in this unfamiliar place. It was 0530. We were supposed to be up and ready by 0500. At least that's what the Sergeant told us at 0330 when we were given our assigned racks.
Our arrival at Lackland Air Force Base had been the previous night around 2300. Through the entrance gates and along roads bordered by whitewashed stones up to a flat roofed brick building, we rode in our Air Force Blue bus. The driver came to a stop and threw open the folding doors.
"OK, boys. Your destination."
Lethargically we rose from our seats gathering our suitcases. Our leisurely exit from the bus was met by the charming greeting from a Sergeant with a Smokey the Bear hat slanted at a forward angle. His khaki uniform was crisply fitted to his lean body. The creases were razor sharp as if he had just stepped out of the laundromat. His fists were anchored to his waist elbows out. His head slowly moved from side to side as we stepped out of the bus luggage in hand.
As the last one of us exited the bus he finally began to speak.
"ALL RIGHT YOU BUNCH OF MOMMA'S BOYS, LISTEN UP."
We turned to listen as we shambled to a stop.
"YOU ARE MINE NOW! YOU CAN FORGET HOME! FORGET YOUR MOMMA'S LOVING HAND, HER COOKIES, HER COMFORTING WORDS! YOU BELONG TO UNCLE SAM. HE'S NOT GOING TO CODDLE YOU! HE'S NOT GOING TO KISS YOU GOOD NIGHT! HE'S NOT GOING TO HOLD YOUR HAND! YOU ARE GOING TO BECOME MEN DURING THE TIME YOU'RE WITH ME OR BE KICKED OUT TO THE CURB AFTER WHICH YOUR UNCLE SAM WILL SNATCH YOU UP INTO HIS ARMY, THROW A RIFLE INTO YOUR HANDS AND SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO THE RICE PATTIES OF VIET NAM! DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?"
He was answered with a yawn from one of the taller enlistees.
The Sergeant walked stiffly up to the young boy. He stood squarely in front of him slowly looking upward from his chest to his face. His eyes burrowed holes into the recruit's eyes. The boy backed off.
The Sergeant returned to his previous position. As he walked his customary stiff march back we heard a mumble from our midst.
"Hell, you ain't so tough."
The Sergeant stopped. Slowly he turned. He looked at each face before him.
"SOMEBODY GOT SOMETHING TO SAY?"
Silence.
"ALRIGHT! LET'S HAVE IT RIGHT NOW!"
He stood about five foot seven. His frame was solid. His sleeves covered arms of solid muscle.
"SPEAK UP NOW! ANYBODY FEEL LIKE THEY CAN TAKE ME? LET'S DO IT NOW!"
Silence.
"I SEE! YOU CAN ONLY SPEAK UP FROM THE MIDST OF A CROWD! BE A MAN! STEP OUT!
The minutes passed. He stood rock still eyeing the group. Finally,
"Ah, hell. I'll show you. You ain't so tough little man." The boy was at least six feet. He ambled over to the Sergeant flexing muscles. His smile was confident.
"YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS BOY?"
"Hell, yeah. Bring it on little m..."
The Sergeant threw one punch. The new enlistee rose a foot off the ground. He collapsed in a heap at our feet.
"ANYBODY ELSE?"
We all moved away from the crumpled figure shaking our heads.
"GET UP ASSHOLE!" he shouted at the boy on the ground.
"LINE UP! YOU PANTY WAISTS!"
We gathered our belongings and lined up as best we could.
"YOU ALL WILL FILE INTO THE CANTEEN AND EAT THE MEAL PREPARED FOR YOU. AFTER WHICH, YOU WILL LINE UP RIGHT HERE! FROM HERE WE WILL MARCH TO YOUR BARRACKS. YOU HAVE THIRTY MINUTES TO EAT! IS THAT CLEAR?"
"Yes sir," we mumbled.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!'
"Yes sir!" we said a little louder.
"I STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"YES SIR!"
"ALL RIGHT, FILE IN!"
We shuffled through the line, trays in hand. Plates, silverware, napkins, drinks. The cook slapped something on those plates. He looked bored. We looked scared. He noticed and smiled.
After eating we milled around outside until the Sergeant came for us.
"LINE UP YOU RETARDS! FORGET YOUR HOMES AND SWEETHEARTS! YOU ARE GOING TO YOUR LIVING QUARTERS WHERE YOU WILL BE BRIEFED ABOUT YOUR COMING DAY. WE HAVE SOME PAPERWORK TO BE HANDLED SO BEDDY BYES WON'T BE FOR A LONG TIME YET!"
That was our introduction to our new life. The briefing lasted until 0330 at which time we were assigned our racks. Dead tired and frightened we laid our civilian clothes on our lockers and climbed between the sheets. Exhausted we fell asleep right after the Sergeant clicked off the lights.
Immediately the chaos of the morning began. I was up and into my clothes. As I stood, at what I thought was attention at the foot of my bed, the last KA-BAM! Thud, thud rang in our ears. It was one bed over from me. The occupant of the bed next to me looked my way. His eyes showed fear just as mine did.
"ALL RIGHT YOU DEGENERATES! YOU NEED TO LINE UP OUTSIDE, NOW!"
We scattered toward the doors.
"PICK UP THOSE RACKS!" he yelled at the unfortunates who had been dumped on the cold hard floor.
From that moment on we were initiated into the life of a lowly airman. It was to begin at the Green Monster, which is another story entirely.
Everyone take the time to offer a prayer for the soldiers who have come and gone. Those who give a portion of their lives in the service of their country deserve more than our thanks. God bless them all.
I must be dreaming, I thought, drifting back into slumber.
My dream was slowly returning.
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
Now what?
"GET UP YOU SLACKERS! DIDN'T YOU HEAR THAT BUGLE?"
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
The noise was overwhelming. My morning sleep was being interrupted by... YIPES!
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
It wasn't a dream. It was happening.
"GET OUTTA THOSE RACKS! YOU GOT NO TIME FOR SLEEP!
KA-BAM! Thud, thud.
What is that noise? My eye opened wide. I sat up slowly and looked in the direction of the crashing noises. Our Sergeant was moving methodically toward my rack yelling at the top of his lungs.
"GET UP! GET UP! YOU SHITBIRDS GOT A LOT TO DO TODAY."
With each sentence roaring from his mouth he took a turn. If that poor soul was still lying in his bed the Sergeant grasped the under railing and lifted. The rack flew upward slamming down with a KA-BAM! The newly enlisted Airman completed the noise--thud, thud--by bouncing off the linoleum covered concrete floor of our barracks. He was three beds away from me. The first five long my side were lying on their sides, thin mattresses, sheets, blankets and occupants scattered about.
I jumped off the mattress searching for my clothes in this unfamiliar place. It was 0530. We were supposed to be up and ready by 0500. At least that's what the Sergeant told us at 0330 when we were given our assigned racks.
Our arrival at Lackland Air Force Base had been the previous night around 2300. Through the entrance gates and along roads bordered by whitewashed stones up to a flat roofed brick building, we rode in our Air Force Blue bus. The driver came to a stop and threw open the folding doors.
"OK, boys. Your destination."
Lethargically we rose from our seats gathering our suitcases. Our leisurely exit from the bus was met by the charming greeting from a Sergeant with a Smokey the Bear hat slanted at a forward angle. His khaki uniform was crisply fitted to his lean body. The creases were razor sharp as if he had just stepped out of the laundromat. His fists were anchored to his waist elbows out. His head slowly moved from side to side as we stepped out of the bus luggage in hand.
As the last one of us exited the bus he finally began to speak.
"ALL RIGHT YOU BUNCH OF MOMMA'S BOYS, LISTEN UP."
We turned to listen as we shambled to a stop.
"YOU ARE MINE NOW! YOU CAN FORGET HOME! FORGET YOUR MOMMA'S LOVING HAND, HER COOKIES, HER COMFORTING WORDS! YOU BELONG TO UNCLE SAM. HE'S NOT GOING TO CODDLE YOU! HE'S NOT GOING TO KISS YOU GOOD NIGHT! HE'S NOT GOING TO HOLD YOUR HAND! YOU ARE GOING TO BECOME MEN DURING THE TIME YOU'RE WITH ME OR BE KICKED OUT TO THE CURB AFTER WHICH YOUR UNCLE SAM WILL SNATCH YOU UP INTO HIS ARMY, THROW A RIFLE INTO YOUR HANDS AND SEND YOU STRAIGHT TO THE RICE PATTIES OF VIET NAM! DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?"
He was answered with a yawn from one of the taller enlistees.
The Sergeant walked stiffly up to the young boy. He stood squarely in front of him slowly looking upward from his chest to his face. His eyes burrowed holes into the recruit's eyes. The boy backed off.
The Sergeant returned to his previous position. As he walked his customary stiff march back we heard a mumble from our midst.
"Hell, you ain't so tough."
The Sergeant stopped. Slowly he turned. He looked at each face before him.
"SOMEBODY GOT SOMETHING TO SAY?"
Silence.
"ALRIGHT! LET'S HAVE IT RIGHT NOW!"
He stood about five foot seven. His frame was solid. His sleeves covered arms of solid muscle.
"SPEAK UP NOW! ANYBODY FEEL LIKE THEY CAN TAKE ME? LET'S DO IT NOW!"
Silence.
"I SEE! YOU CAN ONLY SPEAK UP FROM THE MIDST OF A CROWD! BE A MAN! STEP OUT!
The minutes passed. He stood rock still eyeing the group. Finally,
"Ah, hell. I'll show you. You ain't so tough little man." The boy was at least six feet. He ambled over to the Sergeant flexing muscles. His smile was confident.
"YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DO THIS BOY?"
"Hell, yeah. Bring it on little m..."
The Sergeant threw one punch. The new enlistee rose a foot off the ground. He collapsed in a heap at our feet.
"ANYBODY ELSE?"
We all moved away from the crumpled figure shaking our heads.
"GET UP ASSHOLE!" he shouted at the boy on the ground.
"LINE UP! YOU PANTY WAISTS!"
We gathered our belongings and lined up as best we could.
"YOU ALL WILL FILE INTO THE CANTEEN AND EAT THE MEAL PREPARED FOR YOU. AFTER WHICH, YOU WILL LINE UP RIGHT HERE! FROM HERE WE WILL MARCH TO YOUR BARRACKS. YOU HAVE THIRTY MINUTES TO EAT! IS THAT CLEAR?"
"Yes sir," we mumbled.
"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!'
"Yes sir!" we said a little louder.
"I STILL CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"YES SIR!"
"ALL RIGHT, FILE IN!"
We shuffled through the line, trays in hand. Plates, silverware, napkins, drinks. The cook slapped something on those plates. He looked bored. We looked scared. He noticed and smiled.
After eating we milled around outside until the Sergeant came for us.
"LINE UP YOU RETARDS! FORGET YOUR HOMES AND SWEETHEARTS! YOU ARE GOING TO YOUR LIVING QUARTERS WHERE YOU WILL BE BRIEFED ABOUT YOUR COMING DAY. WE HAVE SOME PAPERWORK TO BE HANDLED SO BEDDY BYES WON'T BE FOR A LONG TIME YET!"
That was our introduction to our new life. The briefing lasted until 0330 at which time we were assigned our racks. Dead tired and frightened we laid our civilian clothes on our lockers and climbed between the sheets. Exhausted we fell asleep right after the Sergeant clicked off the lights.
Immediately the chaos of the morning began. I was up and into my clothes. As I stood, at what I thought was attention at the foot of my bed, the last KA-BAM! Thud, thud rang in our ears. It was one bed over from me. The occupant of the bed next to me looked my way. His eyes showed fear just as mine did.
"ALL RIGHT YOU DEGENERATES! YOU NEED TO LINE UP OUTSIDE, NOW!"
We scattered toward the doors.
"PICK UP THOSE RACKS!" he yelled at the unfortunates who had been dumped on the cold hard floor.
Everyone take the time to offer a prayer for the soldiers who have come and gone. Those who give a portion of their lives in the service of their country deserve more than our thanks. God bless them all.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Let 'em eat cake.
"So you need some extra cash?"
"Well, yeah!" I shouted at my friend. "BYOB parties. Good looking college girls to date! Who doesn't need extra?"
"Willing to put some effort into sales?" He looked at me with a crooked smile.
"What kind of sales?" I asked always wary of that smile.
"I gotta friend..."
"Nuh uh. Nothin' doin'. I'm not getting into Amway."
"Pfft! Amway," he said. "NO this is something that sells itself. Hardly any effort at all." He pulled out a roll of cash. "See this?'
My eyes bugged out.
"Wow! Where'd you get that?"
"Sales. And you can do the same thing with the same results.'
That wad of bills looked four inches thick.
"OK. you got my attention."
"Anyway, I got a friend who can set you up. It's just a small initial cost then you'll be raking in the dough. His method is fool proof."
Still cautious I said, "I'll talk to your friend."
"I'll set it up. You good to go tomorrow?"
"I gotta study for a test but it shouldn't be a problem."
"I'll get back with you then." He got up, gathered his books and set off for class.
I stayed in the booth at the student union. I opened my calculus book and stared at the page without comprehension. My first failure in school was this confounded subject. I never had trouble with math but here was my downfall. Calculus. It made absolutely no sense to me, no matter how much I studied. I cussed and got up to get another cup of coffee.
"Hey Rickey! You better put that beanie back on!" It was an upperclassman who delighted in goading freshmen.
"Aaaah!" I grumbled, slapping the tiny maroon and white cap on. "It messes up my hair."
An hour later my friend came back. Class was over and he had called his friend from the pay phone.
"Tomorrow night at seven. Can you make it?"
"Yeah, should be able too. I don't think I'll pass calculus anyway. It'll be a summer retake I reckon."
"Don't worry. It's crip. You'll pass it."
"Right." Those were the very same words I used to say to my friends in high school about senior math. Only then it was true. This time? Not so much.
Seven came quickly the next day. As predicted I failed the test but didn't care at this point since I was going for a sure fire means of filling my wallet with folding money. I met him at the college and we went to his friend's house in his car.
The neighborhood was one of the older ones down town. It was dark and quiet except for the dog barking across the street. The porch light was on. We took the stairs two at the time. All four of them. He pushed the buzzer.
A fellow in a lime green shirt and orange tie opened the door. At the site of my companion his smile spread across his face and he glanced at me. I'd seen the look before on one of the nature shows on the TV. His smile stretched across those teeth and his hand shot out to take mine.
"So, this is your friend?" My buddy nodded his grin crooking a bit.
"Yes. He's here to learn the trade."
"So you're ready to make some money, eh?" he asked pumping my hand like he was trying to draw water from a dry well. It was hard to believe but his grin grew even larger taking my mind back to the Cheshire cat who was all teeth balanced in air.
"You came to the right place, pal. I have a sure fire method to make money and lots of it."
Drugs weren't a problem in my neck of the woods so it wasn't until this moment, on the porch of a house in a less than rich neighborhood that I thought it might be illegal. I began to look around for a means of escape and I noticed all the windows on all the houses were sporting bars. That dog across the street was a Doberman that hadn't stopped barking since our arrival.
"Uh, maybe I made a mistake. I think I better get back home to study for my test tomorrow." I tried to pull my hand from his suction cup of a mitt.
"No, no. You don't want to do that. This is a real education with a pot o'gold at the end of the..."
"I've never been able to reach the rainbow's end," I said as my hand came from his with a loud "SPOCT!
"Now, now. You've never sold anything have you?"
"Sure. I used to go door to door selling items when I needed some money.'
"What?"
"Comic books for a nickle apiece. Krispy Kreme donuts for sixty cents a dozen."
"Only sixty cents?" he asked.
"Yeah. That was what we were told."
"I used to do that, too, but would sell for a dollar and keep forty cents. Profitable."
"I couldn't do that."
"Well, no need to worry about that," he said grabbing my hand again, slapping me on the back and drawing me into his house. My friend followed us in.
"Have a seat over there, uh, what was your name again?"
"I never said."
"It's Rickey," said my buddy.
"Rickey, have a seat over there. Let me get some stuff you can sample."
He walked from the room. I looked at my buddy.
"What the hell have you gotten me into?" I was leaning into him.
He backed up.
"Hold on. Let him give you the spiel."
"Drugs?"
He looked at me like I was spitting marshmallows.
"Drugs? Where did you get an idea like that?"
His friend returned to the room toting a suitcase that looked large enough to harbor a battleship. By the way he was leaning to one side it looked like it weighed as much too.
"Here we are. Mind clearing off that table?"
I shoved a pile of Playboys, Esquires and Stags off the coffee table.
"Thanks," he said as he tossed the suitcase onto the top of that table. It slammed home solidly.
"My gosh!" I said. "What's in that thing."
"Your future!" he responded.
He sat a moment to let that sink in.
"HUH?!"
"Yeah, there it sits. Something every household cannot do without. Something that will always assure you of a job."
A twinge of disbelief flashed across my mind.
"Uh huh. So you say."
"I do say. It's a guarantee of income. I've never had a problem putting food on the table with this." He smiled. My buddy smiled too.
"So what is it?"
He pulled the handle to him and took the two latches in hand. Looking at me he snapped the latches and slowly began to open the lid laying it across the length of the coffee table. A flap on either side hid the contents.
"Are you ready to see your future?" His eyes opened wide. His grin stretched to his sideburns.
I started to say no and bolt for the door. His hand clapped onto my shoulder holding me in my seat.
"Well?"
"OK. OK. Let's see this miracle product."
Slowly he lifted the covering from the lid. beneath the covering lay pots and pans. He lifted the other covering to reveal the lids to those pots and pans. Assorted utensils sat in molded slots around them.
"What do you think?" He asked with high enthusiasm.
"I think I've made a mistake. I can't sell pots and pans door to door." I was rising to head out. Once more his hand clapped onto my shoulder forcing me back into my seat.
"Ah, but you are wrong, Rickey. This is the easiest thing in the world to sell. When I show you how, it will sell itself."
I looked at him. A guy in a lime green shirt, orange tie and plaid pants is going to give me the secret of salesmanship. I felt like one of the utensils in their specifically molded slots, wedged it to stay.
"Let him tell you Rickey." My friend's enthusiasm was matching the Salesman's.
"We're here. Let's hear it." I figured we'd listen and I'd be free to go.
He pulled a cake mix out of the suitcase along with a can of pineapple slices. I looked hard but could not see where they had been.
"Here is the secret to selling cooking utensils. You cook for your customer."
"I don't think anyone is going to let me in the door to bake a cake. Can I go now?"
"You're wrong. They will beg you to do it."
"Beg me?"
"Yes and here's how." He whipped out the Sunday newspaper from a drawer of an end table.
"Right there. An untapped market." He was pointing at the pictures of young brides to be.
"I don't understand."
"It's a smorgasbord of customers. Bright eyed wives to be. Young impressionable women who want nothing more than to please their husbands to be."
I just looked at him in disbelief.
"You take down the names and find them in the phone book. Then you call to make an appointment to show them your wares. You tell them that you would like to bake them a cake in their own home to show your product's uses. Everybody loves cake without the fuss of making it themselves. Eight out of ten times the prospective client will say yes. and, voila, you have made a sale because nine out of those ten will purchase this set of kitchenware.'
"Is that ethical? Calling up prospective brides?"
"Ethical, shmethical. It's a customer base untouched til now."
"Mmm, I don't know."
"Wait. Don't say no without letting me demonstrate."
"You mean go with you to someone's house?'
"That's the idea. I can go through the entire sales pitch with a family. You can come along as my apprentice."
"My friend spoke up, "What do you have to lose?"
"Well, OK, maybe."
"Good. See this pretty lady here?" He pointed at a girl sitting beside a guy under the title ENGAGED. "I have an appointment to meet with her and her mother tomorrow evening about six. Can you make that?" I was kind of trapped, since my buddy drove. I agreed.
The next day I met this hawker of pots and pans at the address he gave me. He handed me the suit case. I reached, gripped and lost it with a loud slam against the sidewalk.
"Whoa! You didn't tell me it was that heavy."
"Pots. Pans. Metal. What were you expecting, Bucko?" He gave me that look again. I braced myself and heaved it up. I staggered to the front door with the suitcase bouncing along the pavement with each step.
"Hey, careful with that. That's my livelihood there."
We reached the front door. I dropped the case with a thud. He looked at me with daggers then turned to the bell beside the door.
After a few minutes the curtain was tentatively drawn back. The face gave a smile and the door opened.
"Hello," said the salesman who gave his name and mine, "I called about a demonstration of a fine product needed in every household."
"Oh, yes. We've been expecting you," said the pretty young blonde. Her mother stood behind her and waved us in.
I hefted the case and dragged it across the threshold. The scrape brought a harsh look from the mother. The young girl was all smiles and giggling as she lead the salesman in.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm new at this."
Her face hardly softened. I did my best to haul the case onto the rug in the front room. WOMP! I set it down. The mother cringed.
He started his spiel looking directly into the wide innocent eyes of the bride to be. He looked occasionally at the mother who kept a close eye on me the entire time. His piece de resistance was the cake .
"Before I begin I must ask for your permission to use the kitchen to let you experience my wares in the proper environment.'
Both ladies nodded their approval.
He whipped out the cake mix and can of pineapple. An added touch was a bottle of maraschino cherries.
In the kitchen he washed the pots then prepared the cake batter. At the bottom of one of his pans he placed the slices of pineapple and in each center placed a cherry. The batter he poured over the fruit, then, he dropped the cover on the pan and placed it on the burner. About 30 minutes later as he was winding up his talk the aroma of cake filled the air. He stood.
"Isn't that a lovely aroma coming from your kitchen? This is only one use for that versatile pan. Let's go take a look at our cake. It's so easy to make, don't you agree."
We all filed into the kitchen where he turned off the burner and removed the lid. Up came the full fragrance of that cake. It made our mouths water. The mother pulled a plate from the cupboard and placed it in front of the salesman.
"And watch how easy it slips into that plate. "
He placed the plate over the pan and flipped it. Out came a beautiful warm cake. The mother reached for dessert plates and her daughter fetched silverware.
We sat eating cake and answering questions. After we had spent about ninety minutes total the bride-to-be signed on the dotted line a smile on her face. We packed up our wares and bid our client goodbye. She shook our hands and thanked us profusely. We left the aroma of warm cake behind when she closed the door behind us. I lugged the case to the car.
"Tomorrow good for you?"
"For what?"
"I was going to let you give a presentation."
"I don't know..."
"What's to know? You put the cake on and you talk about the pots. The cake sells the product. You just gotta get their permission to make that cake."
"OK," I mumbled.
The next night we met at another girl's house. We were greeted with a smile and welcomed in. I still lugged the case in. I still got a look from the mother as I scratched the oak floor. I sat and started my speech. After about ten minutes the salesman broke in.
"Would you ladies like to see a demonstration of the versatility of these pots?" He looked at me like I'd spit on the floor. "My colleague is new at this and we usually offer to make a cake in our wares."
"OH yeah," I said. "I meant to ask you if I could..."
"If it is alright, ladies, please lead the way to the kitchen."
We got up and walked into the kitchen. He looked at me. I looked at him saying, what?, with my hands.
"I think you forgot the cake mix," exasperation in his tone.
"Woops. Heh, heh. My mistake. 'Scuse me." I ran into the room and grabbed the mix along with the can of fruit and cherries."
I ran back into the kitchen tripping over the rug. The box, can and jar flew from my hands scattering along the floor.
"SORRY!" I yelled. Luckily nothing broke.
I washed the pot and lid. I mixed the cake batter. I placed the fruit in the bottom and poured the batter over them. I put the lid back on top.
"Now if you will follow me, ladies."
"Uh, Rickey," he said.
"Yes?"
"Haven't you forgotten something?"
Quickly I thought, pineapple, cherries, batter... I washed the pot. I placed the top on the pot.
"Oh, yeah. Let me wash that bowl up quickly. Then we can go back into the living room..."
"No, not that."
"Uh... No I don't think there's anything."
Frustrated he said, "You can't bake a cake without heat."
"Yeah, everyone knows that," I blurted out. Duh, I thought.
"Did you turn on the burner?"
"Of course.... Uh.... Oh yeah," I said walking back to the stove. "Then you flip the switch to... Uh, what do I flip the switch to?"
"Right there." Click, click.
"There. Minor set back," I said making a glorious save, I thought. "Now back to the living room, please."
I sat showing the pots and telling their virtues as the house filled with the aroma of cake coming into existence.
I finished up my talk in about ten minutes. It was about twenty more minutes needed for the cake to finish. I sat staring at the young girl. She stared at me and blinked several times. I turned to the salesman who broke the silence by bringing up another fine feature of the pots before us. I sat back and let him talk.
When the cake was done he led us all into the kitchen for a slice. As usual the cake turned out fine and we sat talking while munching on warm cake. He turned to me and motioned to the paperwork.
I pulled out the papers and asked for name and address.
"I don't think I want to buy them."
I was struck dumb once again. The salesman took up the papers and quick as lightning had them in the palm of his hand once more. The girl signed.
"Thank you, ladies," he said as I packed up the gear. "You will be receiving your purchase in the mail in about six weeks. It has been a pleasure breaking bread, um, cake with you this fine evening. I am certain you will be thanking me, um, us, as you are using this fine product. Thank you again and have a good evening."
He wrapped up his talk as I lifted, slid, lifted, slid the case across the floor. I got the stink eye from the mother one more time as I cracked the threshold while lugging it over. At the car I put the bag in the back and climbed into the front with him.
"Well, Rickey. You did a fine job in there. I can see you selling this product at every door you knock on."
"OH come on. I stank in there. You saved my bacon."
"Well, it just takes practice. When do you want to start out on your own?"
"My own?"
"Yeah. you're ready Bucko."
"Mmm, I don't think so."
"Of course you are. I can have your sample bag ready for you this weekend."
'My own bag with pots and pans?"
"Yup. Just have the three-hundred dollars for me and you can be on your way to a fist full of dollars."
Ok. I guess I could... Wait a minute."
"Yes?"
"Three hundred dollars?"
"Yeah. You have to buy your show ware."
"But? Isn't it samples to demonstrate?"
"Uh huh."
"What do you mean buy?"
"Yeah, you don't think the company gives this away do you?"
"Of course I did, to someone trying to sell it."
"Any way, just get the three hundred and I'll hand over your suitcase full of opportunity."
"Naah. I don't think so."
'What? You're a natural, Rickey. You'll have those young ladies eating out of your hand. A young college student working your way through school. Yes sir, you'll be rolling in dough."
"Nope."
"What's the matter? Don't have three hundred dollars. Not to worry. You can pay it off on time with your earnings."
"Nope. I'm getting off this merry-go-round. This ain't for me."
"But..."
"Nope. No buts. I'm hittin' the street, Bucko, ne'er to look back."
"You're making a mistake!"
I didn't think so then, I don't think so now.
"Well, yeah!" I shouted at my friend. "BYOB parties. Good looking college girls to date! Who doesn't need extra?"
"Willing to put some effort into sales?" He looked at me with a crooked smile.
"What kind of sales?" I asked always wary of that smile.
"I gotta friend..."
"Nuh uh. Nothin' doin'. I'm not getting into Amway."
"Pfft! Amway," he said. "NO this is something that sells itself. Hardly any effort at all." He pulled out a roll of cash. "See this?'
My eyes bugged out.
"Wow! Where'd you get that?"
"Sales. And you can do the same thing with the same results.'
That wad of bills looked four inches thick.
"OK. you got my attention."
"Anyway, I got a friend who can set you up. It's just a small initial cost then you'll be raking in the dough. His method is fool proof."
Still cautious I said, "I'll talk to your friend."
"I'll set it up. You good to go tomorrow?"
"I gotta study for a test but it shouldn't be a problem."
"I'll get back with you then." He got up, gathered his books and set off for class.
I stayed in the booth at the student union. I opened my calculus book and stared at the page without comprehension. My first failure in school was this confounded subject. I never had trouble with math but here was my downfall. Calculus. It made absolutely no sense to me, no matter how much I studied. I cussed and got up to get another cup of coffee.
"Hey Rickey! You better put that beanie back on!" It was an upperclassman who delighted in goading freshmen.
"Aaaah!" I grumbled, slapping the tiny maroon and white cap on. "It messes up my hair."
An hour later my friend came back. Class was over and he had called his friend from the pay phone.
"Tomorrow night at seven. Can you make it?"
"Yeah, should be able too. I don't think I'll pass calculus anyway. It'll be a summer retake I reckon."
"Don't worry. It's crip. You'll pass it."
"Right." Those were the very same words I used to say to my friends in high school about senior math. Only then it was true. This time? Not so much.
Seven came quickly the next day. As predicted I failed the test but didn't care at this point since I was going for a sure fire means of filling my wallet with folding money. I met him at the college and we went to his friend's house in his car.
The neighborhood was one of the older ones down town. It was dark and quiet except for the dog barking across the street. The porch light was on. We took the stairs two at the time. All four of them. He pushed the buzzer.
A fellow in a lime green shirt and orange tie opened the door. At the site of my companion his smile spread across his face and he glanced at me. I'd seen the look before on one of the nature shows on the TV. His smile stretched across those teeth and his hand shot out to take mine.
"So, this is your friend?" My buddy nodded his grin crooking a bit.
"Yes. He's here to learn the trade."
"So you're ready to make some money, eh?" he asked pumping my hand like he was trying to draw water from a dry well. It was hard to believe but his grin grew even larger taking my mind back to the Cheshire cat who was all teeth balanced in air.
"You came to the right place, pal. I have a sure fire method to make money and lots of it."
Drugs weren't a problem in my neck of the woods so it wasn't until this moment, on the porch of a house in a less than rich neighborhood that I thought it might be illegal. I began to look around for a means of escape and I noticed all the windows on all the houses were sporting bars. That dog across the street was a Doberman that hadn't stopped barking since our arrival.
"Uh, maybe I made a mistake. I think I better get back home to study for my test tomorrow." I tried to pull my hand from his suction cup of a mitt.
"No, no. You don't want to do that. This is a real education with a pot o'gold at the end of the..."
"I've never been able to reach the rainbow's end," I said as my hand came from his with a loud "SPOCT!
"Now, now. You've never sold anything have you?"
"Sure. I used to go door to door selling items when I needed some money.'
"What?"
"Comic books for a nickle apiece. Krispy Kreme donuts for sixty cents a dozen."
"Only sixty cents?" he asked.
"Yeah. That was what we were told."
"I used to do that, too, but would sell for a dollar and keep forty cents. Profitable."
"I couldn't do that."
"Well, no need to worry about that," he said grabbing my hand again, slapping me on the back and drawing me into his house. My friend followed us in.
"Have a seat over there, uh, what was your name again?"
"I never said."
"It's Rickey," said my buddy.
"Rickey, have a seat over there. Let me get some stuff you can sample."
He walked from the room. I looked at my buddy.
"What the hell have you gotten me into?" I was leaning into him.
He backed up.
"Hold on. Let him give you the spiel."
"Drugs?"
He looked at me like I was spitting marshmallows.
"Drugs? Where did you get an idea like that?"
His friend returned to the room toting a suitcase that looked large enough to harbor a battleship. By the way he was leaning to one side it looked like it weighed as much too.
"Here we are. Mind clearing off that table?"
I shoved a pile of Playboys, Esquires and Stags off the coffee table.
"Thanks," he said as he tossed the suitcase onto the top of that table. It slammed home solidly.
"My gosh!" I said. "What's in that thing."
"Your future!" he responded.
He sat a moment to let that sink in.
"HUH?!"
"Yeah, there it sits. Something every household cannot do without. Something that will always assure you of a job."
A twinge of disbelief flashed across my mind.
"Uh huh. So you say."
"I do say. It's a guarantee of income. I've never had a problem putting food on the table with this." He smiled. My buddy smiled too.
"So what is it?"
He pulled the handle to him and took the two latches in hand. Looking at me he snapped the latches and slowly began to open the lid laying it across the length of the coffee table. A flap on either side hid the contents.
"Are you ready to see your future?" His eyes opened wide. His grin stretched to his sideburns.
I started to say no and bolt for the door. His hand clapped onto my shoulder holding me in my seat.
"Well?"
"OK. OK. Let's see this miracle product."
Slowly he lifted the covering from the lid. beneath the covering lay pots and pans. He lifted the other covering to reveal the lids to those pots and pans. Assorted utensils sat in molded slots around them.
"What do you think?" He asked with high enthusiasm.
"I think I've made a mistake. I can't sell pots and pans door to door." I was rising to head out. Once more his hand clapped onto my shoulder forcing me back into my seat.
"Ah, but you are wrong, Rickey. This is the easiest thing in the world to sell. When I show you how, it will sell itself."
I looked at him. A guy in a lime green shirt, orange tie and plaid pants is going to give me the secret of salesmanship. I felt like one of the utensils in their specifically molded slots, wedged it to stay.
"Let him tell you Rickey." My friend's enthusiasm was matching the Salesman's.
"We're here. Let's hear it." I figured we'd listen and I'd be free to go.
He pulled a cake mix out of the suitcase along with a can of pineapple slices. I looked hard but could not see where they had been.
"Here is the secret to selling cooking utensils. You cook for your customer."
"I don't think anyone is going to let me in the door to bake a cake. Can I go now?"
"You're wrong. They will beg you to do it."
"Beg me?"
"Yes and here's how." He whipped out the Sunday newspaper from a drawer of an end table.
"Right there. An untapped market." He was pointing at the pictures of young brides to be.
"I don't understand."
"It's a smorgasbord of customers. Bright eyed wives to be. Young impressionable women who want nothing more than to please their husbands to be."
I just looked at him in disbelief.
"You take down the names and find them in the phone book. Then you call to make an appointment to show them your wares. You tell them that you would like to bake them a cake in their own home to show your product's uses. Everybody loves cake without the fuss of making it themselves. Eight out of ten times the prospective client will say yes. and, voila, you have made a sale because nine out of those ten will purchase this set of kitchenware.'
"Is that ethical? Calling up prospective brides?"
"Ethical, shmethical. It's a customer base untouched til now."
"Mmm, I don't know."
"Wait. Don't say no without letting me demonstrate."
"You mean go with you to someone's house?'
"That's the idea. I can go through the entire sales pitch with a family. You can come along as my apprentice."
"My friend spoke up, "What do you have to lose?"
"Well, OK, maybe."
"Good. See this pretty lady here?" He pointed at a girl sitting beside a guy under the title ENGAGED. "I have an appointment to meet with her and her mother tomorrow evening about six. Can you make that?" I was kind of trapped, since my buddy drove. I agreed.
The next day I met this hawker of pots and pans at the address he gave me. He handed me the suit case. I reached, gripped and lost it with a loud slam against the sidewalk.
"Whoa! You didn't tell me it was that heavy."
"Pots. Pans. Metal. What were you expecting, Bucko?" He gave me that look again. I braced myself and heaved it up. I staggered to the front door with the suitcase bouncing along the pavement with each step.
"Hey, careful with that. That's my livelihood there."
We reached the front door. I dropped the case with a thud. He looked at me with daggers then turned to the bell beside the door.
After a few minutes the curtain was tentatively drawn back. The face gave a smile and the door opened.
"Hello," said the salesman who gave his name and mine, "I called about a demonstration of a fine product needed in every household."
"Oh, yes. We've been expecting you," said the pretty young blonde. Her mother stood behind her and waved us in.
I hefted the case and dragged it across the threshold. The scrape brought a harsh look from the mother. The young girl was all smiles and giggling as she lead the salesman in.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm new at this."
Her face hardly softened. I did my best to haul the case onto the rug in the front room. WOMP! I set it down. The mother cringed.
He started his spiel looking directly into the wide innocent eyes of the bride to be. He looked occasionally at the mother who kept a close eye on me the entire time. His piece de resistance was the cake .
"Before I begin I must ask for your permission to use the kitchen to let you experience my wares in the proper environment.'
Both ladies nodded their approval.
He whipped out the cake mix and can of pineapple. An added touch was a bottle of maraschino cherries.
In the kitchen he washed the pots then prepared the cake batter. At the bottom of one of his pans he placed the slices of pineapple and in each center placed a cherry. The batter he poured over the fruit, then, he dropped the cover on the pan and placed it on the burner. About 30 minutes later as he was winding up his talk the aroma of cake filled the air. He stood.
"Isn't that a lovely aroma coming from your kitchen? This is only one use for that versatile pan. Let's go take a look at our cake. It's so easy to make, don't you agree."
We all filed into the kitchen where he turned off the burner and removed the lid. Up came the full fragrance of that cake. It made our mouths water. The mother pulled a plate from the cupboard and placed it in front of the salesman.
"And watch how easy it slips into that plate. "
He placed the plate over the pan and flipped it. Out came a beautiful warm cake. The mother reached for dessert plates and her daughter fetched silverware.
We sat eating cake and answering questions. After we had spent about ninety minutes total the bride-to-be signed on the dotted line a smile on her face. We packed up our wares and bid our client goodbye. She shook our hands and thanked us profusely. We left the aroma of warm cake behind when she closed the door behind us. I lugged the case to the car.
"Tomorrow good for you?"
"For what?"
"I was going to let you give a presentation."
"I don't know..."
"What's to know? You put the cake on and you talk about the pots. The cake sells the product. You just gotta get their permission to make that cake."
"OK," I mumbled.
The next night we met at another girl's house. We were greeted with a smile and welcomed in. I still lugged the case in. I still got a look from the mother as I scratched the oak floor. I sat and started my speech. After about ten minutes the salesman broke in.
"Would you ladies like to see a demonstration of the versatility of these pots?" He looked at me like I'd spit on the floor. "My colleague is new at this and we usually offer to make a cake in our wares."
"OH yeah," I said. "I meant to ask you if I could..."
"If it is alright, ladies, please lead the way to the kitchen."
We got up and walked into the kitchen. He looked at me. I looked at him saying, what?, with my hands.
"I think you forgot the cake mix," exasperation in his tone.
"Woops. Heh, heh. My mistake. 'Scuse me." I ran into the room and grabbed the mix along with the can of fruit and cherries."
I ran back into the kitchen tripping over the rug. The box, can and jar flew from my hands scattering along the floor.
"SORRY!" I yelled. Luckily nothing broke.
I washed the pot and lid. I mixed the cake batter. I placed the fruit in the bottom and poured the batter over them. I put the lid back on top.
"Now if you will follow me, ladies."
"Uh, Rickey," he said.
"Yes?"
"Haven't you forgotten something?"
Quickly I thought, pineapple, cherries, batter... I washed the pot. I placed the top on the pot.
"Oh, yeah. Let me wash that bowl up quickly. Then we can go back into the living room..."
"No, not that."
"Uh... No I don't think there's anything."
Frustrated he said, "You can't bake a cake without heat."
"Yeah, everyone knows that," I blurted out. Duh, I thought.
"Did you turn on the burner?"
"Of course.... Uh.... Oh yeah," I said walking back to the stove. "Then you flip the switch to... Uh, what do I flip the switch to?"
"Right there." Click, click.
"There. Minor set back," I said making a glorious save, I thought. "Now back to the living room, please."
I sat showing the pots and telling their virtues as the house filled with the aroma of cake coming into existence.
I finished up my talk in about ten minutes. It was about twenty more minutes needed for the cake to finish. I sat staring at the young girl. She stared at me and blinked several times. I turned to the salesman who broke the silence by bringing up another fine feature of the pots before us. I sat back and let him talk.
When the cake was done he led us all into the kitchen for a slice. As usual the cake turned out fine and we sat talking while munching on warm cake. He turned to me and motioned to the paperwork.
I pulled out the papers and asked for name and address.
"I don't think I want to buy them."
I was struck dumb once again. The salesman took up the papers and quick as lightning had them in the palm of his hand once more. The girl signed.
"Thank you, ladies," he said as I packed up the gear. "You will be receiving your purchase in the mail in about six weeks. It has been a pleasure breaking bread, um, cake with you this fine evening. I am certain you will be thanking me, um, us, as you are using this fine product. Thank you again and have a good evening."
He wrapped up his talk as I lifted, slid, lifted, slid the case across the floor. I got the stink eye from the mother one more time as I cracked the threshold while lugging it over. At the car I put the bag in the back and climbed into the front with him.
"Well, Rickey. You did a fine job in there. I can see you selling this product at every door you knock on."
"OH come on. I stank in there. You saved my bacon."
"Well, it just takes practice. When do you want to start out on your own?"
"My own?"
"Yeah. you're ready Bucko."
"Mmm, I don't think so."
"Of course you are. I can have your sample bag ready for you this weekend."
'My own bag with pots and pans?"
"Yup. Just have the three-hundred dollars for me and you can be on your way to a fist full of dollars."
Ok. I guess I could... Wait a minute."
"Yes?"
"Three hundred dollars?"
"Yeah. You have to buy your show ware."
"But? Isn't it samples to demonstrate?"
"Uh huh."
"What do you mean buy?"
"Yeah, you don't think the company gives this away do you?"
"Of course I did, to someone trying to sell it."
"Any way, just get the three hundred and I'll hand over your suitcase full of opportunity."
"Naah. I don't think so."
'What? You're a natural, Rickey. You'll have those young ladies eating out of your hand. A young college student working your way through school. Yes sir, you'll be rolling in dough."
"Nope."
"What's the matter? Don't have three hundred dollars. Not to worry. You can pay it off on time with your earnings."
"Nope. I'm getting off this merry-go-round. This ain't for me."
"But..."
"Nope. No buts. I'm hittin' the street, Bucko, ne'er to look back."
"You're making a mistake!"
I didn't think so then, I don't think so now.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
The ghost in the brain machine
My brain is a little dusty. No memories of long ago are pushing, pushing to get out. I'm thinking I may have run my course. There is no tale about Clyde this time around. There is no half forgotten memory of childhood floating in this brain sludge.
I'm going to let my mind wander. It may wander beyond its boundaries never to return. It has been fun. For now I will let the words lie quiet. If they assemble again into some length strung together in the form of some ghostly memory I will allow them to line up here. Til that time....
I'm going to let my mind wander. It may wander beyond its boundaries never to return. It has been fun. For now I will let the words lie quiet. If they assemble again into some length strung together in the form of some ghostly memory I will allow them to line up here. Til that time....
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Rickey the pancake
I ran out of the house, the crack of the screen door sounding behind me.
"Don't slam the screen door!" My grandmother yelled from the washroom. It was one of two rooms attached to the garage. The other was a bit smaller and stored tools and junk.
"Yes'm!" I yelled back. She never understood that when I was in a hurry the screen invariably slammed. It was forgotten as I pulled out my brand new slingshot. Clyde had shown me how to bend a coat hanger into a square 'Y" shape with a looped handle below. At the end of each part of the wire a bend was made to hold rubber bands in place. Six thick, strong rubber bands were tied together and attached to the wire with a leather patch at the other end looped through the elastic. It might bend a little when pulled to its ultimate but it let a china berry fly high into the sky. It was my intention to find as many china berries as I could for my ammunition bag which was my pocket full of odds and ends.
The best berries were still attached to the tree. The branches were low enough that I could swing up and over to reach a higher branch and climb up. I picked berries with one hand while hanging on with the other. I stuffed my pocket so full my circulation in that leg was hindered. When the pens and needles began to pass through my leg I decided I had enough. Swinging down I let out a cry, "Yah Eee Ahh!" Dropping to the ground I crumpled into a ball.
"Oww!" No Tarzan yell, that. I thought better of the china berry stash and began to transfer some to the other pocket.
Over in the fig tree a Blue Jay squawked. My grandmother hadn't picked any figs yet. It was my duty to protect the fig crop. Not that I cared for the fig crop. It just gave me a chance to let fly a china berry at a bird. I loaded one into the leather patch. Holding the slingshot directly in front of me I sighted the Jay and pulled the berry back as far as my ear. The release was followed by a whack in the fig tree. It missed the Jay a mile but the sudden noise gave him cause to rise up streaming the air with his jay epithets aimed at me. Up and away he flew.
I smiled saying to myself, "You just need more practice."
Loading another berry and holding the slingshot to my side at the ready I looked around for more varmints. Over in the weeping willow sat a Red Bird eyeing the ground. In his sight, I imagined, a worm wiggling upward above a blade of grass. The bird dropped from the limb to light on the ground. His beak opened as he dipped his head down. Up into firing position flew my weapon. The bird squarely between the two upright wires I loosed my hard green china berry. It flew straight into the trunk of the tree because I jerked my hand forward. The Red Bird jumped up with a flap, resettled, scooped up the worm, then took flight worm wiggling in his beak.
"I gotta do better," I said reaching for another berry.
"Just what do you think you are doing young man?" asked my grandmother standing just behind me. I hadn't noticed being so wrapped up in my duty of scaring off varmints.
"I ..I was shooing birds from the fig tree. I know how upset you get when they eat the figs."
"Well, you just let me worry about those figs. You don't need to be shooting at my birds."
"Your birds?"
"That's right. This area is a bird sanctuary. I'm quite proud that so many feel comfortable in my yard. So don't you go frightening them anymore with that slingshot."
"Yes'm," I said handing it over to her outstretched hand.
"Now you go find something else to play with while I go fix us some lunch."
"Yes'm."
I watched her walk inside with my brand new slingshot. Figured I might as well unload my pockets and did so a handful at a time aimed high in the treetops where squirrels laughed at me being without a weapon. They just came back down on my head in a shower. They were hard berries.
"Ow! Ow! Ow!" I shouted as I pelted myself.
"What are you yelling about?" my grandmother asked from inside.
"Oh, nothing," I shouted back.
My pockets empty of berries, I walked over to the washroom and listened to the water sloshing inside. I opened the washer to watch the clothes in the sudsy water. I was quickly bored. Then the washer stopped and the dirty water began to drain with a loud click. I watched it go, leaving the soggy clothes inside. I noticed the rollers above the tub. Thinking back I remembered that my grandmother flipped the switch over there. I flipped it. The rollers began to move in opposite directions.
"I know what I can do!" I said aloud. "I can help my grandmother with the washing."
Picking up a piece of wet clothing I placed part of it into the space between the rollers. It passed through to the other side having all the water squeezed out. It was flat and damp instead of a soggy lump.
"That was easy," I said, patting myself on the back.
So I tried another with the same result.
"I might as well do it all," I said. "Won't my grandmother be proud that I helped her so much."
So I picked up a soggy shirt with my right hand while rummaging around with my left. My eye was not on the shirt going into the rollers. Grabbing another piece of clothing in my left hand I noticed I couldn't move my right hand. My fingers began to scream pain. That's when I looked up. My hand was passing through the rollers. And so began the screaming.
"HELP! Granmomma! HELP!"
"Oh child do stop your yelling," she called out from the kitchen.
"NO! HELP! HELP ME!"
"Rickey, do please hold it down out there," she answered from inside.
My wrist was now crunching through the rollers and my screams became even louder.
"HELLLPPP!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. I was being pulled up and through as my elbow began to reach the roller's entrance.
"HELP! I'M GONNA BE SQUASHED! I DON'T WANNA GET SQUASHED! HELP!" I let out another yell as my elbow began to pass. I pictured my body going through and coming out flat and damp like the clothes.
My grandmother strolled in wiping her hands on her apron.
"Goodness gracious, child, what are you yelling so... OH MY GOODNESS! What have you done!"
"Help me, please!' I shouted again.
"Do, child. All you have to do is flip this switch."
That done she pulled my arm back through to my side.
"There. You'll be all better before you're twice married."
I kept looking at my arm thinking it was supposed to be flat.
"Those rollers have some give to them so that foolish children won't be made into pancakes. It might bruise a bit but you're going to be OK. Now wipe those tears and go inside so we can have some lunch.
"I tried to help."
"I know you did, child." I could have sworn I heard a chuckle.
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