The Creepy Man

The first time she saw the creepy man, she was a young girl on her way to school.  She had to walk across a rickety bridge that had broken rails so most of the time, she walked in the middle of the road.  One day she got too close to the rails and when she looked down, she saw a man standing in the dry creek bed.  He was staring up at her.  She thought it was strange but smiled at him.  He didn’t smile back.

He had jet black hair and was wearing a light blue shirt.  The way he stared at her made her uncomfortable.  It was as if he was looking straight through her.  She thought he was “creepy.”

That afternoon, she was a little afraid to walk home by herself but she didn’t have any friends who lived nearby so she didn’t have a choice.  Not far from the bridge where she had first seen the creepy man, she saw him again.  This time, he was standing behind a tree.  She started running and never looked back.  She ran all the way home.

The next several weeks, she saw the creepy man both on the way to school and on the way back home.  She knew the streets well and even though she walked different ways, he always seemed to be lurking around, watching her.

She never told anybody about him because she was afraid that somehow, she might get into trouble.

Years later, she was walking home from high school and decided to cut through the parking lot of Sears.  She saw a man walking through the lot and it looked like he was trying to open car doors.  Suddenly, he turned around and saw her.  She was terrified when she realized that he was the creepy man.

His face was weathered now and it reminded her of a hound dog.  He had bags under his eyes and his jowls drooped.  He had on a navy blue stocking cap, a torn, tan corduroy shirt and a pair of dark blue pants.

She quickly walked into the store.  After a few minutes, she noticed the creepy man hiding behind one of the pillars, watching her.  She got on the escalator and went to the second floor.  She was the one hiding now and found a rack of clothes to stand behind.   A sales clerk walked up and asked if she could help her, thinking she was shopping.  She told the clerk that she was being followed.

The sales clerk called for the manager.  As they were waiting for the manager, the creepy man came floating up the escalator, like a ghost.  The manager finally came over to them and suddenly, the creepy man disappeared around the corner.

The manager offered to walk her out of the store.  She only had one quarter that was for lunch the next day, but she used it to catch the city bus which would take her close to her grandma and grandpas’ house.  The manager stood with her until the bus came and the creepy man didn’t get on.

After she graduated from high school she went to work at Sears, in the credit department.  About two months after she started working there, she looked over the counter and there was the creepy man, watching her.  As she stepped away, her supervisor said “you look like you have seen a ghost.”

She told her supervisor about the man and how she had been seeing him since she was a little girl.  When the supervisor looked, the creepy man was gone.

After the creepy man left, she went to the break-room and a man she had befriended from the automotive department was there.  She told him about the creepy man.  He asked her what time she got off work and that night, he took her home in his red, 1966 corvette.

Two weeks later, she left town but for years she looked over her shoulder…for the creepy man.

Kêt Thúc.

 
This is actually a true story.

 

More Misheard Lyrics

I needed a laugh today.  Here are some more misheard lyrics….some by me and some by you.

“Blinded by the Light” by Bruce Springsteen.  The line is “revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night.”
I thought it was “wrapped up like a douche-bag in the middle of the night.”

“Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me” by Elton John.  The line is “although I searched myself, it’s always someone else I see.”
I thought it was “although I hurt myself, there’s always somewhere else to see.”

“Bennie and The Jets” by Elton John.  The line is “she’s got electric boots.”
I thought she had “electric boobs.”

“Waiting On The World To Change” by John Mayer.
I thought it was “waiting on the welfare train.”

“Bernadette” by The Four Tops.
snakesinthegrass2014 thought they were saying “burn to death.”

“Run To Me” by the Bee Gees.  The line is “run to me if you need a shoulder.”
snakesinthegrass2014 thought it was “run to me if you need a show girl.”

“The Wreck Of The Edmond Fitzgerald” by Gordon Lightfoot.  The line is “they may have broke deep and took water.”
I thought it was “they ne’er broke even took water.”

“We’re going to Ibiza” by the Vengaboys.
survivednarc thought it was “we’re going to eat pizza.”

“I’d Really Love To See You Tonight” by Dan Seals.  The line is “I’m not talking about moving in.”
I thought it was “I’m not talking about meridian.”

“Me and Bobby McGee” by Janis Joplin.  The line is “one day up near Salinas, I let him slip away.”
I thought it was “one day I missed a leavin’ and let him git away.”

“Addicted to Love” by Robert Palmer. The line is “might as well face it, you’re addicted to love.”
I thought it was “might as well fake it, you’re a dickhead in love.”

“Secret Agent Man” by Johnny Rivers.
I thought it was a “secret Asian man.”

One Halloween Night

Halfway down a dark, seldom traveled side street on the poor side of town, stood an old two-story shack.  The paint was peeling off the clapboard siding and a few cracked windows were held together with cardboard and tape and seemed to give a death rattle when the wind blew.

It had a wrap around front porch, complete with rocking chairs that had been painted a hundred times and were mended with wires and screws.

It was set far back from the street with a long, badly broken walkway leading to the front door.  Two huge oak trees flanked the house on either side.  A few leaves were still clinging to limbs with their last ounce of strength and lent eerie shadows in the moonlight.  It was the perfect setting for a haunted house and Halloween was fast approaching.

The little girl who lived there was excited but at the same time, she was a little frightened.  She had always quietly feared Halloween.  She was afraid of ghosts and goblins who would rise out of their graves and inhabit your body.  She was afraid the Devil would come out, snatch your immortal soul and take you to Hell.

She had heard tales of werewolves and vampires, who would emerge from dungeons and coffins, looking for the blood and brains of easy prey to turn into zombies.  Yet she longed to go trick or treating.

When Halloween arrived, she knew that all the neighborhood children were going to dress up in their costumes, expect treats and be ready to get up to mischief, if none were provided.

She also knew that she wouldn’t be one of them as there was no costume for her, nor were there going to be treats to hand out to any children who might come knocking at the door.  Costumes and candy cost money and money was something that her grandparents didn’t have.

The little girl hid behind the front door, peering through the glass, watching children walking down the street with their trick or treat bags.  They laughed and giggled as they went from house to house.

The soft glow of the street light illuminated clowns, princesses, cowboys and frontiersmen wearing coonskin caps.  Their bags were laden and she wondered what scrumptious goodies they might hold.

They would bring their delicacies to school the next day and sneak a piece when the teachers weren’t looking.  It was that way every year.  Sometimes one of them would give her a piece of their candy.  She would be so proud of that piece of candy but she wouldn’t eat it.  She would just hold it tightly in her hand until most often, it melted.

They passed by her house because it was dark, with the exception of the dim flicker of a kerosene lamp in the hallway.
There were no carved pumpkins with candles lighting up scary faces sitting on the front steps and the spider webs across the front door were not there for decoration.

She found herself looking for the silhouette of a witch against the full moon.  She had always heard that witches were evil.  She heard they made potions from eye of newt, legs of frog, lips of fish and tails of alligator.  She heard that they could at will, cast a spell and make you grow warts or turn you into a toad.

She watched for hours until her grandma told her it was time to go to bed.  She put on her pajamas but sneaked back to take one last look.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.  As she peeped through the glass, she saw five children standing on the front porch, screaming “trick or treat!”

The little girl didn’t know what to do, so she ran to tell her grandma.  Her grandmas’ eyes were misty as she told her that she didn’t have anything to give to the children…but they kept knocking.

Her grandma went to the kitchen and picked up the only piece of fruit they had, which was an orange.  When she made it to the front door, the children had given up and walked away.

The little girl felt so sorry for her grandma.  She never forgot how sad she looked as she stood in the doorway, holding that single orange.

 

Slutten.

 

This is a true story.

 

Rose – The Final Chapter

Franklin wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse after he talked to Hunter.

He stopped by the cemetery on his way back to the office.  Memories of Rose were flooding his mind.  He had never told a soul about what happened.  He had thought about telling Gwen but it had just been so strange, he wasn’t sure she would believe him and even if she did, he wasn’t sure she would understand his emotional connection to Rose after all these years.

His mood was subdued when he got home that night.  He felt a sort of peace but at the same time, an even greater sorrow.  He tried to dismiss his thoughts as he and Gwen talked about the upcoming special occasion.

Frankies’ sixteenth birthday was that weekend and he had gotten those days off to get his drivers’ license and then go look for a car.

The Middle Earth had been transformed into an Arcade.  Teens would go there and play pinball and stand in line for a chance to play Pac-Man.  Frankie had plans to drive his new car there to show it off to all of his friends, just as his daddy had done back in the day.

On his birthday, Franklin and Gwen took Frankie up to the dealership to meet with Hunter.  As soon as they pulled in, Frankie said “that’s it!  That’s my car!”  He was looking at a fiery red GTO convertible with white leather bucket seats.

When they went inside, Frankie could hardly stand still long enough to shake Hunters’ hand.  He wanted to talk about “his” car.

It was a muscle car and it came dear but Franklin reminded Hunter of his promise “to take real good care of his boy.”  After a little negotiating and a little extra money from Franklin and Gwen, Frankie signed on the dotted line and his dream car belonged to him.

There was just one little problem.  There had been an error in the title work and it would be the next week before Frankie would officially own it.

Frankie was disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to drive it home and even more disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to show it off to all of his friends, who were expecting him to bring it to the Arcade that night.

When they got home, Franklin noticed how downhearted Frankie was, although he was trying hard to hide it.  Franklin looked at him and said “how about you go tonight and take the ‘stang’?”

Franklin had never let Frankie drive the mustang but he thought this was a special milestone.  Frankies’ eyes lit up as he said “really?”  Franklin said “there are only a few rules.  Drive carefully, no drinking and you need to be home before midnight.”  Frankie hugged him and said “dad, you’re the greatest.”

Frankie hurriedly got ready and he was almost as excited about getting to drive the mustang as he would have been about getting to drive his own car.  As Franklin tossed him the keys, he said “remember.”  Frankie enthusiastically said “I know, dad.”

Frankie had called his friends and told them about his car but then told them that his daddy was letting him drive his mustang.  As Franklin watched Frankie get in the drivers’ seat, he was taken back in time to when he got in that car for the first time.

Frankie drove the mustang up to the front of the Arcade.  His friends were as excited about seeing it as Frankie was about being able to drive it.  They ran their hands over the sleek body that didn’t have a scratch on it and then teased Frankie about the old-fashioned radio that Franklin had never replaced.

Frankie parked it and went in the Arcade.  Just as his daddy had done, he stayed close to the door so that he could keep a watchful eye on the car…but suddenly, his eyes locked on a girl standing in the corner.

Fin a.

Rose – Continued (2)

Hunter began to tell Franklin the story about the car.

“That car belonged to a man named Carmichael,” he said.  “Bud Carmichael.”

As soon as Hunter said that name, Franklin felt a shiver go through his body.

Not too many people knew it but Bud and Hunters’ dad had actually opened the dealership together.  It was the only one in town and everybody came there to buy their cars.

Bud kind of went off the rails when his wife died suddenly.  She had been born with a heart defect and time and rearing a child had taken its toll.  Bud hadn’t been much help because he was always trying to sell “one more car” before he called it a day.

The guilt he felt was all-consuming and he sought comfort in a bottle.  He basically turned into the town drunk.  He stopped coming to work and instead, spent all day and most of the night in bars.

He had a little girl at home but left it up to friends and neighbors to look after her.  He would leave her with anybody, if it meant he could have a drink.

He tried to stop several times and would be successful for a while but he would always go back to the booze.

By the time she was fifteen and after several more visits from Social Services, Bud came to his senses and finally quit drinking but he virtually drank all of his money away, so he had to sell his interest in the business to keep from losing his home.  He had already lost his car and even his most prized possession, which was a coin collection he had inherited from his daddy.  That had to be sold to pay off his credit cards.

He took the only job he could find, which was the manager of the local 7-Eleven.  Sobriety had made him determined to be a good father and try to make up for the time he had lost with his little girl when she was younger.

When he sold his part of the business, he made one condition.  A brand new white Ford Mustang convertible with a fiery red interior had just been delivered to their lot and Bud wanted to give it to his daughter on her 16th birthday.

Old man Phillips agreed and told Bud that he would keep it in the back lot until then, even though it was going to be a year away.  Bud knew that car was going to be a far cry from the 1940 Chevy that old man Phillips had given him.  He had named it “old Huldy” and often wondered if his daughter was ashamed to be seen in it.

But the mustang was waiting.  He wanted to give his daughter something nice and that car was going to be perfect.

Rose inherited her mothers’ heart condition and aside from being warned by her doctors to not get too excited about something, she enjoyed a full life.  She wasn’t able to take part in sports, so she focused on academics and became an outstanding student.

Franklin looked at Hunter and said “what was her name?”  Hunter said “I don’t really remember.  Seems like it was some kind of flower.”  Franklin said “Rose?”  Hunter said “that’s it.”

As Hunter rambled on, Franklin stared at the floor, remembering that night so long ago.  He was taking in everything that Hunter said, collecting the information that maybe he would later use to later fill the hole that had been left in his heart.  It wasn’t until Hunter leaned forward and said “hello” that Franklin came back to the present.  Hunter laughed and said “where did you go, man?”

Franklin said “what happened to her?”  Hunter, now distracted by a potential buyer he spotted through the window, said “what happened to who?”  Franklin said “the girl.”

Hunter said “oh.  Apparently when Bud brought her up here to get the car, as soon as she sat in the drivers’ seat, she got so excited that she went into what they called cardiac arrest.  Isn’t that a pisser?”  Franklin, said “and that happened on her birthday?”

Hunter said “yeah, I guess.  She went to the hospital but they couldn’t save her.  She never even got to drive that damn car.  Like I said, a real pisser, huh?”

Then Hunter asked to be excused so that he could go see if the person wandering around the lot was interested in a new car.  He stopped at the door and said “you let me know when you’re ready to bring that boy of yours up here.  We’ll take real good care of him.”

Franklin said “before you leave, how did you get the car back?”  Hunter said “ole man Carmichael never came back up to get it.  After almost six months, dad finally put it on the front lot but nobody would even look at it.  He didn’t think he was ever going to sell it.”

Hunter winked when he said “and then you came along.”

 

 

Rose – Continued

I didn’t intend to continue the story of Rose but a few of my readers wanted more.  So here it is.

___________________________________

Franklin was an up and comer in the law firm where he worked.  He was referred to as the “one to watch.”  After a couple of years, he decided to leave and start his own firm.  With regret, his former senior partners wished him the best of luck, hopes for great success and a bright future.

He met a wonderful woman named Gwen at the local Starbucks and theirs was a whirlwind romance.  On their first date, he picked her up in his “stang” as he had come to call it.  He still had it and it looked just as good then as it had the first day he drove it home, all those years ago.

When Gwen looked at it and said “I love your car” he knew she was the one for him.

They got married and when his firm took off, they were eager to start a family.  It was decided that she would stay at home and raise their children, while he ran the firm.

The next year, they welcomed their first child, Franklin, Jr.  They decided to call him Frankie.  Franklin and Gwen were overjoyed but Frankie had been a difficult birth and the doctor advised Gwen that she should not have any more children.

Frankie was the spitting image of his father.  He shared his work ethic as a young child and his belief that anything worth having was worth working for.

Frankie loved Matchbox cars.  With his own money, he had bought every single car he owned and his most prized possession was a white convertible mustang with a fiery red interior.

Every weekend, Frankie would walk up to the golf course and look for balls that unfortunate golfers had lost.  He would bring them home, wash them and then sell them back to the golfers for a quarter each.  He saved every dime he made until he had enough money to buy another Matchbox car.

As he grew, his love of miniature cars eventually waned and he set his sights on a real car, just as his daddy had done when he was as boy.

Frankie knew about his daddys’ paper route and weekend job as a bag boy at the supermarket.  It didn’t take long for Frankie to get his own paper route and a job as a weekend stock boy at the local Dollar Store.

Franklin and Gwen made the same promise to Frankie that Franklins’ parents had made to him.  They would match what Frankie saved so that he could buy his first car.

Old man Phillips, who owned the car dealership where Franklin found his mustang had died and his son, Hunter took over the business.  Franklin and Hunter had gone to school together and were friendly enough to speak when passing each other in the hallway, but they had never traveled in the same social circles.

Hunter had been a bit of a rebel when he was younger and had a few encounters with the local sheriff but he had settled down.  He was grown now and running a business so he had put those days behind him.

Franklin drove up one day to look at the inventory and stopped in to chat with Hunter.  They talked a bit about their families.  Hunter had two little girls, who he described as “a handful.”  He knew that Franklin had a son and expressed the obligatory congratulations.

Franklin told Hunter that pretty soon he would be bringing Frankie up there to find his dream car.  As they chatted, Franklin mentioned to Hunter that he had found his first car there and still had it.  “A white mustang convertible with a fiery red interior,” he said as he smiled.

Hunter said “I remember that car.  When dad came home and told us that he had sold it, we couldn’t believe it.”

Franklin looked puzzled and in more of a statement than a question, said “really.”

Hunter said “yeah.  My dad didn’t tell you the story about that car?”

To be continued………..

Rose – Chapter One

When he was a little boy, everybody called him “Frankie.”  Now that he was in high school, he was called “Frank.”  He used to tell his friends that when he became a corporate lawyer, his name was going to become the more refined “Franklin.”  He said “after all.  One of our presidents was named Franklin.”

He was well liked by everybody and was a real go-getter.  When he was fourteen years old, his goal was to buy his own car the day he got his drivers’ license.  He got a paper route and every morning he got up and delivered the news to the neighborhood.  On the week-ends, he worked as a bag boy at the local supermarket.  For two years, he worked and saved.

He hoarded his money like a miser.  His parents had agreed to match the amount he saved.  He had always been a good boy and they thought he deserved that bit of help.

On his sixteenth birthday he got his license and right after, his mama and daddy took him to the local used car lot.  Frank immediately spotted a car.  He walked over to it and said “this is the one.”  It was a white convertible mustang with a fiery red interior.  After a bit of haggling with the salesman, Frank became the proud owner of his very own car.

It was also the day Frank decided not to wait until he was a famous litigator to become known as Franklin.  That car, he thought, was not suitable for someone who was called by a nickname.

He drove it home and called a few of his closest friends to come over and see it.  When one of them touched it, he immediately buffed away their fingerprints.  As his mama and daddy watched from the kitchen window, the pride they had in what he had accomplished, equaled the pride he had in his car.

There was a local hangout called The Middle Earth, where local teenagers met on the weekends.  Franklin had only been a few times because he was usually working.  There was music and dancing but mostly, it was just hanging out.  A few teenagers would sneak behind the building and drink a beer, but not Franklin.
That weekend, Franklin decided to go.  He thought it would be the perfect opportunity to show off his new car.  He drove up and everybody gathered around to take a look.

When he went inside, he stayed near the entrance so he could keep an eye on his most prized possession but suddenly, his eyes locked on a girl who was standing in the corner.  It was as if he had fallen under a spell and couldn’t force himself to look away.  There was something about her.  Something captivating.  Something mysterious.  He decided to go over and introduce himself.

Being somewhat dumbstruck, he used the typical opening line, “do you come here often” and hoped she didn’t notice him grimace at what he had just said.  She smiled and said “no.  This is the first time I have ever been here.”  After he told her his name, she said “my name is Rose.”  Franklin managed to get the words “that’s a beautiful name” out of his mouth before thinking she just might decide that he was a blithering idiot.

After a few awkward minutes, they both became a little more at ease and chatted for what seemed like hours.  Rose said “today is my birthday.”  Franklin said “then we should celebrate!”  Rose asked how and Franklin laughed when he said “I don’t know.  Maybe we should just talk some more.”

Franklin was clearly smitten.  When the center was closing, he asked her if he could drive her home.  He had it in his mind that when she saw his car, she would instantly fall in love with him.  To his surprise, she said “yes.”  As they were walking out to his car, she said that she was a little chilly.  He eagerly offered her his sweater.

He was a little disappointed when she didn’t mention his car or fawn all over it like he had hoped.  Still, he didn’t really mind.  When he told her he would like to see her again, she smiled.  They drove to her house and he walked her up to the door.  He took a chance and gently kissed her.  As he was walking back to his car, he felt like he was floating.

A few miles down the road, he remembered that not only had he forgotten his sweater, he had forgotten to get her phone number.  He quickly turned around and drove back to her house.  He knocked on the door.  A man answered and Franklin said “I’m sorry to bother you sir, but could Rose come to the door?”

The man looked at him and said “what are you doing?  Why would you do something this cruel?  Franklin said “I don’t understand.”  The man said “my daughter died a year ago today.  Please leave my house.”

Franklin didn’t remember how he got home.  When he was getting ready to go to church the next morning, he kept thinking “could this have been a dream?  How could it have been so real?”

He didn’t say anything to his mama and daddy but they noticed that he was unusually quiet.  After the service, he walked out of the church, just as he had done for years.  He had never really taken notice of the cemetery beside it but for some reason, today he was drawn toward it.

As he walked along, he noticed a tombstone.  A marble angel was bent over it as if weeping and placed over one of its wings, was his sweater.  The tombstone read:

Rose Carmichael.
Beloved Daughter.
Gone Too Soon From This World.

Franklin never told anybody about what happened.  He became a successful attorney and every year, he visits a certain grave, in a certain cemetery, on a certain day and leaves a dozen roses on the wings of an angel.

 

 

To be continued____________________________

 

 

 

The Little Boy Behind A Tree

Becca was an energetic, high-spirited, inquisitive little girl.  She had long blonde curls that bounced when she walked and she was the apple of her mama’s eye.
Her daddy had gone away, at least that’s what her mama had told her.  Becca had never known him or if she had, she didn’t remember him.  All she knew was that he used to be a soldier.

Becca and her mama lived out in the country.  Their house was made of logs and had a bright, shiny tin roof.  Beccas’ grandparents lived just up the hill and she walked over to see them every day.  Her faithful duck “Gadget” always trailed behind her, quacking and fluttering his wings as if he was going to take flight at any time.

One day, Becca was walking up the hill and noticed a little boy standing behind a tree.  He was fiddling with a rope while watching her and Gadget.  Becca didn’t pay him any attention.  Her grandma had told her what little boys were made of and she decided that she didn’t like them.

As time went on, Becca started seeing him more and more.  Being what her grandma called “full of spit and vinegar”, she decided to confront him.  She walked up and said “I see you seeing me, seeing you.”  The little boy just looked at her, like he was surprised.  Becca put her hands on her hips and said “what is your name….peeping Tom?”

The little boy said “no, my name is Lonnie Lincoln but everybody calls me Lonlin.”  Becca said “why are you hiding behind a tree, looking at me and playing with that rope?”
Lonlin said “I used to have a duck just like that.”  Becka said with a haughty attitude, “well, he is MY duck…not yours.”  Becca didn’t seem to notice that Gadget was quacking more than usual.

She asked again about the rope.  He said he was trying to learn how to lasso.  Becca mockingly said “what are you going to lasso…the tree?”  Lonlin looked at her and said “someday, I’m going to be a famous bronc rider in the rodeo.”
Becca gave him her best “harrumph” and walked away laughing.

Becca told her grandma about the little boy.  “He’s so annoying,” she said.  “He hides behind a tree and plays with a rope.”  Her grandma, half listening, smiled and said “he’s probably either shy or he’s up to some mischief.”

One day, Lonlin called to her and asked what her name was.  She walked over and said “my name is Rebecca but everybody calls me Becca and my duck is named Gadget.”  Lonlin said “that’s a funny name for a duck.”  Becca was incensed and said “no it isn’t and who asked you anyway?”

Clearly irritated with him, Becca asked “why are you always hiding behind this tree?  Why don’t you go home and hide behind one of your own trees?”  Lonlin ignored her and continued practicing with his rope.

He said “would you like to try?”  Becca was self-confident and was sure that she could tie a lasso and much better than he could.  With a smirk on her face, she took the rope.  She tried and tried but couldn’t figure out how to do it.

That day, things changed between them.  They laughed and laughed.  Becca picked grass and threw it in Lonlins’ hair.  She pretended the rope was a snake and hissed while she wrapped it around herself.  Gadget was joining in with his quacks and seemed to almost be singing to them.

When Becca finally made it to her grandmas’ house, her grandma said “I was wondering where you had gotten to.”  Becca said “I was playing with the little boy who hides behind a tree.”  Her grandma was busy canning fruit for the winter and was distracted.  She just said “oh.  Are you and your mama going to come eat Sunday dinner with us tomorrow?”  Becca said “I’ll ask.  Can I bring that little boy?”  Still distracted, her grandma said “sure, if you want to.”

The next day, Becca and her mama were walking up the hill and Becca said “grandma said I could invite Lonlin to dinner.”  Beccas’ mama stopped dead in her tracks and said “what did you say?”  Becca said “grandma said I could invite Lonlin to dinner.  He’s the little boy who hides behind a tree over there and sometimes we play with his rope.”

Beccas’ mama leaned down and put her hands on Beccas’ shoulders.  She said “what are you talking about?”  Becca pointed to the tree and said “Lonlin hides over there.  He plays with a rope because he’s going to be a rodeo rider someday.”  Becca took her mamas’ hand and said “come on.  I’ll show you.”

When they got to the tree, Becca was surprised when Lonlin wasn’t there.  She looked at her mama and said “I don’t know where he is but that’s his rope hanging from that limb.”  Beccas’ mama took her hand and said “come on.  We need to get to grandmas’ house.”

As they were walking up the hill, Beccas’ mama asked her what Lonlin looked like.  Becca said “he has blonde hair and brown eyes.  He’s always dressed like a cowboy and he has a red scarf around his neck…but I’ve never seen his puppy dog tail.”  Her mama laughed and said “what do you mean?”  Becca said “grandma told me that little boys were made of snips and snails and puppy dog tails but I’ve never seen his.”

When they got to her grandmas’ house, Becca heard her mama and grandma talking quietly in the kitchen.  Their voices were muffled and she couldn’t understand what they were saying but she wanted to hurry up and eat so she could go play with Lonlin.

After Sunday dinner, Becca ran down to the tree but Lonlin wasn’t there.  She was confused but she figured he must have gone home to hide behind one of his own trees.  She never saw him again.

Years later, she heard a story about a little boy who wanted to be a rodeo star.  He was always playing with a rope.  One day, he accidentally threw the rope in a tree and when he climbed up to get it, he fell and got tangled.  The rope wrapped itself around his neck.  His trusty sidekick, “Quackers, the duck” stayed with him until he was taken away.  Nobody could get Quackers to leave and he was eventually buried under that tree.

Some people still report seeing a figure hiding behind a tree as they are driving by.  Some people still report their children making friends…with a little boy behind a tree.

 

Mwisho.

It Could Only Happen To Me – Part Three

Wednesday morning, I lit out of Florida at the butt crack of dawn.  I ran into a little traffic in Daytona Beach but it didn’t cause much of a delay.  I saw a few mangled street signs on the ground but other than that, there wasn’t much evidence that a hurricane had just blown through.

Traffic came to a dead stop when I got to Jacksonville….bumper to bumper dead stop.  Again, there were a few bent signs but it actually looked pretty good.  Obviously, I had run into morning rush hour traffic.

I made it through Jacksonville and just outside the Florida border, every pokey-doodle in the country was parked in the fast lane, looking for bird nests or squirrels or something.  I almost went out of my mind.  There were tons of downed trees laying on the side of the road, so maybe those people were trying to survey how many critters’ nests had been destroyed by the hurricane.  Maybe they were looking for loose change.  Who the hell knows?

Next, it was the big rigs….unapologetically driving in the fast lane…taking their time.  Maybe the signs that said “no trucks in left lane” had blown down or something.

My children always complained about how slow I drove.  If the speed limit was 60, I went 60.  They said “you’re supposed to keep up with traffic.”  If everybody else is driving 90, I’m supposed to drive 90?  If everybody on the road drives off a bridge, I’m supposed to drive off as well?

But, they would be proud.  I wanted to get home and in my mind, I reasoned “well, if all the tolls were suspended, then all speeding tickets would be suspended too.”
It was time to spit and git it.  (For any of you who might have been out on 95, that shiny silver bullet that flew by you…was me.)

I made it to the neighborhood and decided to pull up to the side of my house instead of parking in the garage.  My garage is on my other lot and I didn’t want to drag suitcases across the yard.  I went around the horseshoe and thought “I’ll see if my bird bath is still up.”  I drove by the front of my house and…for crying out loud!  The top of my bird bath was once again, on the ground.  Unbelievable!

After I got everything hauled inside and parked my car, I went around to look at the bird bath.  There the top lay.  No divot in the ground and it wasn’t broken.  I asked my neighbor if she had noticed and she said “I sure did and it explains something.”  When I asked her what, she said that she had heard voices a couple of nights ago.

For any engineers out there, if you can tell me how an animal could tip a 65 pound concrete top off of the base and have it land upside down, that far away without leaving a mark….I will concede my suspicions.

birdbath-3

I hadn’t been able to check my blog very often, since we had no power.  I could reply to some comments but when I tried to read blogs, my phone went back to my wallpaper.  It made me so mad that I slammed my phone down and cracked the glass protector.  (I was stressed.)

Anyway, when I got back home, I checked my blog and discovered that the last three posts had been rated “poor.”  Wah.  Why would a post about being stranded in Florida in the middle of a hurricane warrant a “poor” rating?  Somebody didn’t like my post about “triggers.”  It was rated “poor.”  The post about the bird bath was rated “poor.”

So, this is to the troll.

Again, if you think I’m going to remove that option from my posts….or remove the actual posts….you are living in fantasy land.  You obviously haven’t “grown a set” so you continue to be a candy-ass and hide behind anonymity.  You can always comment and say something like…..”fuck you and your hurricanes and your triggers and your bird bath.”  OR…you can move onto another post that you can rate as excellent.

I survived almost an entire lifetime with a spineless, yellow-bellied, lily-livered, gutless coward.  Bring it on.  I can take it.

 

It Could Only Happen To Me – Part Two

I made it to my friends’ house and she greeted me with a hug and my own personal flashlight.  The outer bands of the hurricane were just reaching the area and we sat outside for a while, catching up, looking at the downed power lines flipping around and listening to limbs crack and fall.

It may be October but it was Florida and it was 98,000 degrees in the shade.  Nobody had any ice or water.  There was no gas.  The stores hadn’t re-opened and we couldn’t get out anyway.  The neighbors got out and started clearing the debris from the roads so they would be passable.
The first night I was there, my friend said she wanted to apologize to me.  I had no idea what she was talking about.

She asked me if I noticed that our friendship had ended “abruptly.”  I told her that I had but I had assumed it was because of our sons.  She said “no.  Do you remember when we invited you and Loser and his friend and your friends from down the street to our house?”  I told her I did.  Loser, his friend and our friend down the street all played the guitar.  So did her husband.

We came over and she and her daughter went upstairs for something and when they came out of the room, Loser and our friend from down the street had their backs to them.  Loser said “I don’t want to sit around listening to this fucking no talent guy who thinks he knows how to play a guitar.”
Our friendship ended because of Loser and she wanted to tell me that she was sorry that she had allowed his behavior to affect the way she felt about me.

I felt horrible about what Loser said.  Now that I think about it, that was probably why her husband was so abrupt with Loser the only time he came to our house to pick up his son.  Of course, Loser called him an asshole because of the way he acted toward him.

Over the years, I have become painfully aware of how Losers’ actions reflected on me.  I lost jobs.  I lost friends.  I just lost so much.

She said the first time she and her husband met Loser, they both said “that is a high-functioning alcoholic.  No wonder their son is one.”

Her son has been clean and sober for eight years and he is now married.  My son….well, that’s another story.  She used to try to talk to our sons and get them help.  She said my son said “my mom is in denial.  She won’t even admit that my dad is an alcoholic…do you really think she’s going to admit that I’M one?”

All the apologies were said and heard and we were off to a sleepless night.  The next morning, my friend saw something in the newspaper about needing help to send care packages to Haiti.  We could finally get out of the neighborhood, so we decided to go volunteer.  We packed box after box of soap.  It was slimy and we got it all over ourselves.  I told my friend that I didn’t think they’d mind what the soap looked like….they were probably just going to be happy to get it.

Our good deed done, we went back to her house, with no power, no water and no air conditioning.  Our cell phones were dying and the only way to charge them was in the car.  I took them out to eat.  I figured that was small payment for them putting me up and we all charged our phones while I was driving.

Eating out?  You would have thought we were in the fucking Twilight Zone.  The first place we went was Panera Bread.  When I was running EMS and actually had time to stop and grab a bite to eat, we went there often.  They had an avocado sandwich that was scrumptious!  They had one on the menu there, but it was a “chicken” avocado sandwich.  I asked them for the sandwich “hold the chicken.”  This little gal looked at me like I was speaking Mandarin or something.  She said “so, you want turkey?”  I said “no, just the avocado.”  She said “so do you want bacon?”  I said “no, no meat.  Hold the meat.  Just the sandwich.”
Then she said “so you just want a sandwich, hold the avocado?”  I was stupefied.

My friend and her husband had already ordered and told her we were all on the same ticket.  She had asked them if it was dine in or take out.  They said “dine in.”  Now, I had told her we were together and all on the same ticket…they had told her we were all together.
She looked at me and asked me if mine was dine in or take out.  I couldn’t help myself.  I said “take out.  My friends will be dining in but I’ll eat in the parking lot.”

When I got my sandwich, it had ONE slice of avocado on it.  I said something to the person who fixed it and she said “oh, okay.  Since you didn’t get any meat, I’ll put a few more slices on it.”

Two days later, my friend and I drove out to see the house I owned before I left.  We went to Renningers’ which is a famous flea market down there and then she decided she wanted some barbecue.  The place was a little hole in the wall that had a reputation for having great food.  She walked up to the window and ordered the “special.”  The special was a sandwich, with beans and coleslaw.  She asked them to hold the bun.  Again, was she speaking Russian?  The woman said “I can sell you a half a pound of barbecue with two sides.”  My friend said “no.  I want the special, just hold the bun.”  The woman finally said “I can sell you the special and you can scrape the meat off of the bun.”

Finally, late Monday night, the power was restored in her neighborhood.  I had only packed for a few days, so I was picking out my cleanest dirty clothes to wear.  We washed clothes and I got a call that my dentist appointment was set for Tuesday at 4:00.  YAY!

Early Tuesday afternoon, I told my friend I would take her to lunch.  We had been to a place the day before and the food was great so we decided to go back.  We had a different waitress and when my friend ordered her salad, she asked for the dressing on the side.  This little gal said, “so you want an extra side of dressing?”  My friend said “no, I just want the dressing on the side.”  A few more explanations later, the waitress brought the salad with dressing and an extra cup on the side.

We decided that we must have been transported to an opposite universe….either that, or we should just eat at home.

I was excited about getting to finally come back home.  I was a little concerned because I knew they had closed the bridge in Jacksonville for several days and, some bridges in Savannah were impassable.  Somebody said some of the bridges in Charleston weren’t even there anymore but I didn’t care.  I was leaving on Wednesday morning, come Hell, high water or another hurricane.

Next…the drive home, what I found when I got here and checking my blog to see that my “troll” is alive and well.