These are the thoughts of a Texas transplant in West Michigan who makes his living as a newspaper reporter by evening, and a struggling novelist by day.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

from within

i often wonder, how things might have been had i made a left turn instead of a right at that stop light in 1986,
would i be here now or there then, still trying to get away, but unsuccessful, lamenting where i might have ended up.

or that date with lamar s. that date with l.s. that never was in 1987. i tried hard to build the courage. i finally did, but too late, s. beat me by an hour. whew! you got preggers that night, too. lucky boy, what a bullet i dodged. still, lady stetson burns deep. a scent that takes me back.

or that crazy drive in june 1986. jeez, too much to drink, too inexperienced, too full of young lust for life, yet never understanding that one wrong shift and i'd be dead by the roadside, 15 and never having gone anywhere, except a cheap thrill one night. good thing no cars were coming south or we'd collided for sure on that dark night where we all met on the roadway. too drunk to realize any better. too young to know any better.

or midget, gee, her name escapes me. too forgetable. that night in 1991. that car, who knows who's it was. it sure was dusty, though. once more slipped through, lucky on my side and nothing on to save grace. inexperinence led nowhere once again. j.h. why did we stop there anyway? who knows, i can't remember. it matters not now.

what about the first fateful summer in 1986. god, that haunts me to this day. it's with me to this day. my world changed, first to red, then to green, then back again. then almost gone, only peripheral and that was a joke -- to everyone else that is! what happened/ i wish i knew. i contend some kind of intervention, save me from what was on the way to destruction. too much too fast too soon, kid. and when i couldn't (wouldn't) put on the brakes, someone did for me. and i stopped. a lifetime of difficulty and pain ensued, but the alternative/ death? who knows. i don't want to find out. and on i went, spared then from a roadside fiasco.

and the second fateful summer, six years later 172 to 115. what a mess. a decade of misery, shunned life, near death, but never knowing, spared again. god, a heartattack? maybe. too weak to know. and always pointing to my brain. "this is all that matters," i'd say proudly as i lay in ruination. how foolish i was then to think that. for ot feeding led the brain to gasp for breath. yes, it was what mattered, yet it mattered not, since i fed it not. how i suffered and never knew it until it was too late. yet i was redeemed in the end -- so to speak. i did manage to escape the mire. a secret life for too long. so plain to see and no one questioned too much. no physical ailment. certainly not sexual, though on the heals of midget, one could only guess. wrong. all mental and mental and mental. such a hard time to escape it, no thanks to that what mattered. it kept me back and cost me dearly too many times. to even count. i can't imagine and really don't want to.

the silly open well. i cringe to even think of it. when all there was across was a rotted plank. why be the stupid kid to cross, what? 1982? 1983? something like that. all i know is the water below was far, far down. the pipe plunged straight down the gaping maw. still, a boy can take a dare. but not really a dare, though. let's just see if i can get to the middle. and the middle i did. one falst step and down we go, plank and all. too scary to even think about now.

and the eagle eye of a young lad -- pre-blindness, of course. see the damned rattler lay across the path. yes, walk ahead, eddie and nole a step behind. young lust so full of it. one wrong step and on it's back end comes my foot. a certain whiplash of angry fangs and a certain plunge into flesh and pain and swelling and god knows what else because the house was too far away to carry. one large leap for mankind and a spring away from the rattler. safe i was. and then as young lads do, inspect the creature now that it's safe. it crawls away on its belly. we leave.

publisher's clearing house. entertainmetn weekly. i'll pay for it. sound like fun. 1994. i remember gary oldman on the cover, he was dracula. freaky cover. year upon year. what's this in 2000, a web site. a posting board. thanks for the subcrition mom. friends around the country, a friend in maryland, little did i know. daystart, duff and kit, female, canine and feline. fun trips, rough trip through the south, texas, marriage, move, move, move, move, move. house. ah, the ocean, or seeming to be like one. scary though.

and so the blinker is flipped, turn the wheels and to the right i go, the dust flying behind me, open windows let in hot air and the radio playing a song i've never heard before and they're singing about life being short and there not being enough time to fuss around. i like it. i crank it.

the ford f150 gets smaller and smaller until all you see are the rear lights. then those, too, disappear. but the song lingers in the air.

and it lingers there to this day.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Nice one, Tex.

1:49 AM

 

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