Gangsters

I’d gone to visit a friend in a large city. I didn’t know the residence so I had to drive around searching for it. In the process, I came upon a gang of punks who were beating a young woman with the intention of doing worse.

I stopped, got out and chased the gang members off, saving the young woman. I took her with me to my friend’s house and helped clean her up and then made her comfortable. She was dark-skinned, Hispanic or Philippine, and very beautiful.

I don’t know what my original motivation was for going to the city other than to visit, but I decided to cruise the neighborhood again looking to see if other civilians were being preyed upon. It wasn’t long before I came across other ugly situations. Each time I chased off the hoodlums. Sometimes I had to fight them off. In a later incident, two people were hurt, one seriously. I brought them back to care for them but the prognosis for the one wasn’t good.

While caring for these people, the first young woman was healing well. She was very beautiful and I began to have strong feelings for her. There was an urgency to do something but when we went to take the pickup to go, we discovered someone had damaged the back – the topper and tailgate. We needed to enclose it to keep her things clean and safe. A friendly neighbor offered the trunk/engine hood of his white VW bug. Amazingly, the hood fit snugly over my missing tailgate and topper window that!

Robber

Kay and I attended a public meeting at a small High School gymnasium. By the time we arrived, it was standing room only. Toward the latter part of the meeting, people began filtering out. I suggested we find a place and sit down. I climbed up the bleachers and found a spot and motioned for her to follow. She came a few minutes later.

We also decided to leave the meeting early, as it was very boring, and to avoid the rush. It was dark outside. I went ahead because Kay stopped to visit with some lady. As I walked across the parking lot, I saw a man working on his vehicle. Kind of a weird time of the day/night to be working on your vehicle, I thought. Maybe he had troubles. I walked passed the man and a big golden retriever got up and came at me barking from the back of someone else’s pick-up. I yelled, “Bad dog, stay!”

The guy who was working on his vehicle and whom I’d just passed yelled, “Git um!”

“What the fuck is going on?” I swore to myself and then hollered at the dog again to stay. Then I noticed the dog was injured and that one of its front legs bandaged. It appeared that the dog had undergone major surgery to repair the leg. The tendons had been replaced by steel cables!

When I reached our pick-up, I immediately saw that the camper was damaged. Part of one corner was torn off and the back door had been ripped or pried open. “Great,” I muttered, “What next?”

I went to unlock the cab and found it already unlocked. Someone had broken in and stolen the radio and tape deck system while we were in the meeting. It struck me at that moment the connection between my pick-up and the guy working on another vehicle in the parking lot. “Son of a bitch!” I hissed aloud.

I stalked over to the night-time mechanic and cordially asked, “Havin’ car trouble?” I peeked in the back window. Sure enough, there were several stolen radios (and part of my camper shell) stashed in the back.

“Naw, it’s nothin’,” he replied.

While the guy was still bent over the engine, his head beneath the hood, I slammed it down on top of him. “Now, you mother fucker, you’ve got engine problems!” I stormed.

Naturally, he struggled to get free, but I held the hood down, to make it hurt and keep him there until I’d decided what to do with him.

I decided to call 9-1-1 first then I would take him to the sheriff’s office, roughening him up a little in the process. I had to wait for Kay to quit talking to her friend and come out though, before I could let the bastard out from under the hood.

Sting Operation

We met some people outside of Broadus on our way home. There was a hunter who had been staying with some people and was supposed to be hunting on their property. But the landowner (an outfitter) told him ‘not to bother going out’ (on his own place) because ‘there isn’t anything out there’. The hunter was surprised because there certainly was game, he could see it.

There was a small store where this guy was staying, which was typically used by passing motorists and paying guests. I believe this is where we met the hunter. I explained to him that the outfitter didn’t really mean there ‘wasn’t anything’; rather, he meant there wasn’t anything big enough to be considered a trophy. "He probably planned to take you to a better location."

The hunter replied, “I’m not set on having to get a trophy, I just want to get out, walk around a bit and shoot a deer.”

“You don’t need an outfitter for that,” I said.

The upshot was that I agreed to take him out. We drove around in my old Ford pickup seeing deer here and there. The guy had a great time just seeing the wildlife and being out. At the end of the day, I dropped him off at the motel and then started home.

In the next scene, Kay and I were heading down the highway. I was on a bicycle and she was walking. We got to the ‘Y’ at the junction of highway 212 and 59 and had to stop. A huge semi-tractor with a double trailer was stopped at the corner. A bunch of people like us had to wait in line behind the trailers. I couldn’t figure out where the road construction was and I asked what was going on.

“There’s a sting operation/drug bust going on in that trailer, that’s why everyone is being stopped.”

There was nothing we could do, so I lay the bicycle down and Kay and I joined some others in another vehicle - a van - with video monitoring equipment. The technicians inside were watching the activities going on inside two big trailers.

The trailers were lavishly furnished as living quarters and were being used by a group of movie actors or rock stars. They were all young (under thirty) and traveling across the US doing a lot of partying along the way. A few of the travelers were evidently not engaged in illicit activities because they were, believe it or not, in the monitoring van with us.

We watched the wild partying for a long time. Night eventually enveloped us and I realized getting home on my bike was not going to be fun, and maybe not even possible. We resigned ourselves to waiting it out, talking and getting to know each other better. One girl in particular seemed to want to talk about what was happening. She seemed quite upset. I consoled her as best as I could. I sensed that she also wanted physical contact, but I refrained. By this time, the monitoring van was crowded (and maybe increased in size to accommodate all the people!)

When we were finally free to go, we (everyone) set out on foot this time walking around the edge of a lake. A few people had started out earlier than us and so were further around the lake. All of a sudden from up ahead of us, we heard screams and shouts. People began running back our way, fleeing from a pride of African lions. We were told that a big maned male had already caught and killed one man.

It became apparent that there was no way to go safely around the lake. I decided to fly across the lake to avoid the lions instead. I inflated a rubber life raft and got in then flew (not floated) across the lake. I remember swirling around above the trees and shoreline wishing I could control the flying raft better; but the view was marvelous.

I got to a ranch house, which was evidently our intended destination, and went inside. Everyone was upset about the lions. I made up my mind to go and rescue the other people, including the guy who I thought was already dead. I headed straight out through the corrals, intent on killing the marauding lions, including big maned male, and rescuing all the people.

Tug-O-War Women

In attendance at a large festive gathering, two very attractive women caught my eye. Everyone else seemed old or blaa. I made it a point to bump into them. Both women, looked to be in their twenties or early thirties and extremely fit. A friend told me that he saw one of them do 500 squats without a rest. Impressive!

The woman with dark brown hair challenged me to a tug-o-war contest. If I could pull her over, or knock her off balance, then I would win/be rewarded (with what, I don’t know). She was indeed strong, but I tricked her using my knowledge of the martial arts. I pulled hard against her. She pulled back even harder. I suddenly and purposefully relaxed my efforts and she fell back, losing her balance. I won the contest. She was impressed. Her friend, a light brunette, deeply tanned and whom I found especially attractive then challenged me. I won the contest using essentially the same technique. They were both amazed as they considered themselves unbeatable, as if no person, man or woman, had ever beaten them.

For some reason this put me in their good graces and allowed further association with them. Because they were tired and sweaty at the end of the day (were they Olympic competitors?) I invited them to my apartment. They considered and within a few minutes came along. I suggested they shower while I made dinner for them. I would also fix the button that had popped off the brunette’s shorts. They were impressed at my hospitality and cooking skills.

I broiled steaks and served it with a nice, big salad and some wine. The women were very tickled receiving all the attention. They looked so clean, fresh and relaxed. They smelled good, too. I enjoyed just having their company, to visit and be near them, and they me.

Speech on Abraham Lincoln

I was asked to give a speech on Abraham Lincoln, which I thought it was strange because I am not any kind of expert on Lincoln. Nevertheless, I thought I could wing it. The speech was meant not only to commemorate him, the great statesman, but also to eulogize our great country and dedicate a new room in the library or a statue or some such. I was to give the speech in a public forum: the library or university.

I was worried that it would not go well because I had a bad cold, or at least my throat was very hoarse for some reason, and I thought it would be hard for people to hear me. The podium was in the middle of a large room so the audience surrounded me and I had to speak glancing around in all directions. The acoustics were not good either and I almost had to yell to be heard.
To make things even more difficult, the lights in the library were shut completely off before I started, leaving the room pitch black. The objective was to ‘bring on the lights’ when the exhibit was unveiled. In one way this was actually good because then I knew I wouldn’t have to speak long. After all, I was only making an introductory or commemorative speech anyway. Short and sweet: that was my plan.

The speech actually began very well. I told about how Lincoln helped to forge the great nation that we live in today; how the freedoms we have and how wonderfully affluent our society had become because of great men like Abraham Lincoln. I spoke with enthusiasm and emotion. The crowd was enraptured and I was pleased with how it was going. Near the end of my speech, a few people in the audience began to ask questions or make comments. The subject turned to war, specifically the world wars. Japan was mentioned.

One man said something about ‘Hanoi Jane’ and how she really made our relations worse with Japan. I couldn’t figure out what in the heck he was talking about, after all, our war with Japan was in the 1940’s, World War II, and they were our allies by the time Jane Fonda began demonstrating about the war in Vietnam. What did any of it have to do with Abraham Lincoln or my speech? I thought the guy was probably nuts. I shook my head, realizing it was time to wind downbefore people started getting worked up over nothing. I feared a riot!

Friendship or Therapist

I am out-and-about doing my ‘thing’, whatever that may be. I don’t know if I’m still working for the state or not, I don’t think so. At any rate, I go to visit a guy. He’s not home, so I stay a while and visit with his wife. She seems to need somebody to talk with.

We sit in her kitchen and make small talk waiting for her husband to return. Soon, her daughter comes in. The daughter looks remarkably like her. The daughter is well-dressed, very attractive, like the mother, but can’t talk, or is too shy. I wonder which.

The woman at first seems happy with her marriage, but gradually opens up and begins telling me her problems. Her unhappiness began when the couple first met and they were dating. Her future husband told her one evening/night, “I’m going to knock you up;” and he did. She hates him for this. He really is a nice guy, but she can’t get over how their relationship began.

Now the woman is afraid of what her husband might do if he finds us together. I’m surprised; after all we’re just talking. I think there are other reasons she is afraid of her husband as well.

The woman’s brother comes in and joins us at the table. For some reason she is afraid of him too. She seems inordinately paranoid to me. Her husband and brother are close friends and do many things together. She feels trapped.

I ask the spirit world what year it is: ‘2007’ flashes through my mind. I want to help this woman but don’t know if I should. I feel I have been brought to this place as a friend for her and maybe as a therapist or healer. This is obviously not my profession. Plus, for some reason, this situation feels ‘too close to home’. Why, I don’t know. I don’t think I have strong feelings for this woman, although she is attractive and the normal yearning desire for her body is present.

Roving Shoe Salesman

Me and another fellow got hired on as traveling shoe salesmen. The job didn’t pay well, nor was I very good at it. My contention was that carrying five pairs of shoes as examples of the sum total of a product line available, that were only big enough to fit a two-year old, was the primary cause for my failure.

The two of us new salesmen brought our concerns to the owner of the company, who also owned a mercantile store in addition to providing the door-to-door sales service. He was unimpressed with our complaints and fired us on the spot.

“To hell with it!” I said, and without collecting my pay, left. On the way out the door a sinister idea crept into my mind. Since the old fart was really robbing me by firing me, I decided I would get back at him and good. I would steal some things from his store in restitution/retribution. But the owner spotted me shoplifting and took after me: the roving shoe salesmen turned outlaw. I bolted for the door. Looking back I saw that I could easily outdistance him and laughed. But for some reason, my fellow salesman had a change of heart. He had turned himself in and became my chief pursuer!

I ran through town, the other guy hot on my tail. He was fast and kept up quite well. This surprised me because I was in such good shape. I tried to lose him downtown. But oddly, I felt compelled to stop and window-shop as I dashed past streetcars and all sorts of quaint, interesting looking shops. It reminded me of San Francisco.

I eventually ended up near a high school. Spotting a flagpole, I shimmied up it. Then, by sliding across and down a guy wire, I got to another pole. But this time it looked like there was no escape. I knew it was only a short time before the turncoat shoe salesman would catch me!

Running on adrenalin, I leapt to the ground and sprinted back toward the school, where I found a drainpipe and scrambled up it like a monkey to the roof. I ran across the roof until I came to a door. I tried the knob. To my amazement it was unlocked. I jerked it open and slipped inside, quickly locking it behind me. Safe at last!

From there, I crept quietly down a flight of stairs to the main floor. It was dark, vacant and eerie. I could almost hear the voices of past students, dead and gone, ghosts of days bygone . My footsteps clicked on the smooth, worn tiles and echoed hollowly down the deserted hallway. A few lights coming through the darkened windows reflected on the polished floor. Suddenly, my peripheral vision caught a slight movement up ahead of me. I stopped and stared. It was a German shepherd. Evidently a guard dog roamed the hallways at night to protect school property. Great, just my luck!

The dog saw me. He turned immediately, and with head held low, began striding toward me, a menacing look on his masked face. I glanced around for some means of escape, or a weapon. There was nothing but the hallway lined with student lockers. The sound of car tires on the pavement outside in the street distracted me for an instant. Should I run for the doors? I knew I would never make it. The guard dog would surely catch me and drag me down like a wolf taking down a deer.

I spotted a locker without a lock on it and dashed over to it, pulled it open and jumped inside. It was pitch black. I felt around to see what was inside then stood stalk still trying not to make a sound. I could hear a ‘click, click, click’ sound getting louder with every beat of my heart. I realized it was the German shepherd’s toenails on the hard tile floor as it padded up to the locker door. The dog stopped and sniffed through the door, only inches away from my groin. I held my breath. I could almost feel his teeth sinking into the soft flesh. Of course it knew I was there; but it couldn’t open the door. Could it? No way. I decided I was totally safe, and I went back to feeling around inside the locker.

I found a sock full of marbles hanging from a steel peg. That’s strange, I thought, but aha! a weapon, simple but effective. There were posters taped on the inside of the locker, too; but of course, I couldn’t see what the pictures were. There were a few books on the top shelf and what I guessed was some trash on the bottom. There was also something soft on the top shelf. I pulled it down: not without some difficulty because of the awkward angle. It was almost impossible to straighten my elbow. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in cellophane and crinkled when I squeezed it. I smelled it. It smelled sweet. Food? I punched a hole in the wrapper and stuck my finger inside feeling something squishy. I smelled it again. Twinkies? I stuck my finger in my mouth. It was sweet! Yes, Twinkies! What luck! How could I be so lucky? I immediately began munching away, reveling in the artificial vanilla flavor. Junk food never tasted so good.

Then an idea struck me. I wondered if I could befriend the dog if I shared the snack with it. I began talking softly to it. It had lain down just outside the door, apparently waiting to kill me by biting my throat the moment I opend the door. I could just see the blood spraying all over the inside of the locker when its sharp teeth ruptured my carotid artery.

I talked and coaxed for an hour, hoping the vicious canine would relax and begin to feel comfortable with me. It might just hesitate long enough to let me make it to the doors and escape.

When I finally got my courage up, I unlatched the door, opened it just a crack and peeked out. The dog sat up. Its ears perked up. I tossed a small piece of Twinkie out to it. It sniffed it and nudged it with its nose. Then picked it up between its tongue and front teeth and gobbled it down. I repeated this process several more times until I began to feel that we were developing a relationship of sorts.

I finally opened the door all the way, watching his reaction, ready to slam it shut the instant it made an aggressive move toward me. But the dog just sat patiently waiting for another handout, which I obliged. Slowly and as benignly as possible, I stepped out and handed the dog another bite. I realized then that I had him literally eating out of my hand. So I stepped out and sat down beside him, all the while speaking gently.

I bent to look at his belly to check his sex. He was indeed a male. I continued handing him bites of Twinkie. When it was all gone, I told him so, and showed him my empty hands. He cocked his head sideways and perked his ears forward. I tried to act nonchalant. He seemed to understand and plopped his muzzle down on his forepaws and sighed deeply. I thought, ‘what a baby.’ I scooted closer and eventually lay my head down on his flank and nodded off. He squirmed a little to get comfortable and fell asleep beside me.

We spent the rest of the weekend in the school exploring, or sleeping when I got tired. Monday morning came and with it the students. I tried to act as if I belonged there. The students didn’t seem to notice. One particular kid came down the hallway looking upset. I asked him what was the matter. He’d lost his textbook and was afraid he was going to get in trouble. I helped him search for it. We found it in another locker. He skipped off for class in high spirits. I watched him round the corner and then disappear behind a classroom door. I smiled and rubbed my hands together as if I had just completed a job well done. Then I walked down the hallway and out the front doors on my way out of the school.

Presidential Election: the Message

My friend Larry, his wife, Kim, and I were standing in a wooded area far away from the city. The understory grass was thick, tall and ungrazed. Some large bushes bordered a meadow nearby. It was late summer or early fall because the grass was turning yellow.

I had been talking to them about flying game surveys and kind of boasting about how I do it in a small aircraft called a Piper Super Cub. I also mentioned, however, that I often throw up as a result of getting motion sickness. Nevertheless, Kim wanted to fly. I agreed to show her how it was done.

Wrapped in some kind of white sheet or canvass, I stood on the back of the airplane holding onto a guy wire. The pilot of the tail-dragger revved the engine and did figure eights in the grassy field waiting for the blustery winds to die down before we could safely take off.

Next, I waited along with the rest of the world as the votes in the presidential election were counted. There were three candidates. I was fearful of one man because I considered him evil. I thought he was more likely than the others to start the next world war. I preferred the second candidate. The third candidate was a general named General Norman Mailer. No one, including me, considered him a serious candidate.

I was still afraid until it became apparent that the first candidate wasn’t going to win. I heaved a big sigh of relief. That left the number two candidate; and the general, whom, again, no one took seriously. But the second candidate, who seemed to know something that none of the rest of us did, dropped out of the race at the last minute. Then he said an odd thing, “My God, now it’s just the general... Now we’re all doomed!” Why didn’t he think of that before he backed out of the race, I wondered?

Later, driving home I had a premonition. I knew that when I crossed a particular concrete bridge, the war would have started. I half-expected to see the devastation immediately, as soon as the thought crossed my mind. The scene became dreamy, and the car began to move in slow motion. It was a nightmare coming true.

My dream jumped to another scene. I waited, expecting to receive an-email message from my friends Andy and Leslie. When I went to check, I was surprised to see that it said from A & B (rather than A & L). Maybe the message was from Andy and Brittany, their oldest daughter. Either that or the typist accidentally typed ‘B’ instead of ‘L’.

The message opened with a moving picture of Andy, Leslie and the girls. I didn’t notice Zachary. They were dressed, still wearing their fancy clothes after attending a wedding, but they were all soaking wet, sitting in an outdoor tub of water constructed of wood. The tub resembled a wooden stock tank. Leslie began singing the message. It was about love, and wishing we were together. In spite of being soaking wet, she was as beautiful as always, wearing a dark dress with a corsage on her breast. Flower petals were sprinkled in her hair, on her wet dress and floating in the water. Andrew sat solemnly in his dark blue tux. He also had on a corsage, and he was smiling, but he wasn’t singing.

The videographer scanned to the daughters, Page and Brittany, who were older than when I had seen them last. They hair was thicker; and they looked more mature in their red and lavender dresses, made especially for the wedding. They too were soaking wet, but cheerful and sang along with Leslie. I was surprised when they came to the end of their song for it was a sad message after all.

Diplomat

A number of us Americans were attending an important event in Russia. As diplomats, we rode in a limousine to the hotel where the affair was to take place. A slim faced older gentleman with wavy gray hair and watery, ocean blue eyes offered me, and only me, a drink while three of us sat in the backseat. For some reason, he picked me out as the most important person there.

I was hesitant to take the drink thinking it might be poisoned. After all, these were Russians! Nevertheless, I drank the mixture of water, and what I thought was vinegar, so I would not hurt their feelings. I smiled showing my gratitude. It would help prove that I trusted them.

When we arrived at the hotel lobby, where many others had already gathered, us foreigners were given long green robes to wear. They reminded me of the silly church robes the choir members wore at Powder River Congregational in Broadus, Montana. A couple of bellboys ran around checking the tags in the collars of the robes. That enabled them to determine a person’s status by checking the tags. (Either that or they were making sure we each had the correct size and/or the robe assigned to us.)

The tables were laden with exotic foods, offered buffet-style, for everyone to enjoy. Oddly, several people insisted on serving me, suggesting that I was someone special. I thought they must have had me confused with someone else; but no one else was waited on. Several attractive young women walked through the line with me showing me how they served and ate their traditional dishes. I enjoyed the extra attention, but also felt guilty being the solitary recipient of the special treatment.

The crowd began to quiet down as they sat at long tables covered with white tablecloths, their plates full of food. A dramatic event was about to take place.

Loading Garbage

Kay and I were loading bags of trash in a homemade trailer – the kind made from the box of an old pickup. For some reason, Grampa came outside to supervise. He climbed up into the trailer then suddenly gasped making a groaning sound of pain and surprise. He sank to his knees in the trailer piled with trash.

When I rushed over to help him, thinking that he had a heart-attack, he was gone. He'd vanished into the mound of garbage. Kay and I began searching frantically for him, tossing bags this way and that. We nearly emptied the trailer, but there remained no sign of him. I was terribly distraught. I had lost my Grandfather!

Suddenly Kay called out, “I found it!”

“Found what,” I asked, knowing that she couldn’t possibly mean Grampa, or she would not have said ‘it’.

“I found the check,” she said.

“The check?”

“Yeah, the $1,200 check.”

I was baffled, but more than that, I was still terribly upset about Grampa having disappeared. And, I had no idea what the significance of the $1,200 check was, but it seemed to satisfy Kay - like ‘at least we have the check’.