From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

Welcome to part 4. Once again, if this is your first time here, you may click on the following link(s) to catch up on Part 1 thru Part 3.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

**** THE FOLLOWING IS A WORK OF FICTION.  Any semblance to a person, place, or experience is 98.8% fabricated. 

****  Also, I’d like to call attention to the featured image, by the very talented, Chelsea McKenzie.

 

Affirmation, Reassurance, and Disturbance

I glanced across at Cullen, just to verify that he was still awake or that he had not produced some ancient Indian pike and forced it through his own sternum. After affirming that he was still with me, I inquired. “Are you sure you want to listen to this? I mean, we can talk about football, the weather, that Indian motorcycle of yours, almost anything other than my past.” He urged me to continue, so I began again. Though to this point, I’ve merely reproduced a scenic tour. A languid stroll through the events of a 51-hour span of time many years ago.  Unlike some stories told from the recollection of the past, I’ve offered a story, not sifted, not diluted, neither added to nor subtracted from. A story completely unadulterated from the start, I can attest to this claim because I have relived that weekend over and over again in my mind. Once again, I looked to Cullen for a sign of boredom, a sign that he was just being polite, now that the story had gotten so deeply personal. He nodded assurance that he was indeed interested, so I continued.

“The events of the previous couple of days playing in my mind, along with the long nap I had taken earlier, I found that I could not sleep. I was wired and I was perplexed. I wondered if I had done something wrong, committed some egregious sin, akin to sipping from the angel’s share, and questioned if I had taken advantage of her in some way.  In the back of my mind, a great deal of doubt and negativity began to mount. Not that I doubted the way I felt, but that maybe I read more into reciprocity on her part. I began to question whether, from her perspective, the whole weekend was just what I had described earlier, one last “throw down” before going off to college.

I got up, weary from rolling around and waiting for quietness to envelope my mind. I grabbed my guitar and practiced what I had taught myself to that point, but quickly became frustrated. Then I turned on the stereo and put on headphones and lay with my head almost hanging off of the foot of the bed. The headphones of the early eighties were bulky, heavy, and wired. Music in the eighties wasn’t as portable or available on-demand as it is now. Inside my house, I was limited to albums, 45-speed records, and FM radio, so that exercise quickly became futile and lasted only a few minutes.

Anxious and apprehensive, I was unable to understand my emotions, nothing felt right, nothing felt close to right. I felt that sleep would help but I was wired. I’d never done drugs, never ever drank anything stronger than beer, but it seemed that I was coming down from something very strong. Searching for answers, or at least sleep, I opened my Bible just to read something. In the past, the Bible had provided me with insight at times, others, it served merely as a sleep aid. At the time, I had no preference, either would suffice, but neither enlightenment nor slumber found me. I sat at my desk, closed the “Good Book” and just sat there, watched the clock, and thought of her.

Finally, sometime between 2:30 and 3:00 AM, I remembered that she said she was leaving at 4:00 AM. I sprung to life, pulled on a clean tee-shirt, slipped on cowboy boots with no socks, and by 3:00 AM, my ’78 Silverado and I were barreling down the road. I had an idea that I would go ahead on the most obvious route that she would be taking on her way to the University of Mississippi, find a place to park and maybe, just maybe intercept her for just one more contact, and attempt to interpret her feelings from another look into her green eyes.  To be sure, my plan had holes in it. But beyond that, my only thought process was non-existent, especially lacking in my plan were words. I had no idea what I’d say, how I’d explain myself, and absolutely no idea how I’d handle a negative response on her part.

In the parking lot of a gas station on the outskirts of a town about 30 miles to the north of my home, I parked facing the road.  There was a streetlight that lit up my truck, making it visible from the road and giving me a clear view straight ahead and through the passenger window guaranteeing that I would not miss her. But the light caused the driver’s side window to reflect almost like a mirror, which I found oddly unsettling because as I caught my own reflection there, it exposed me for the foolishness of my plan and I almost cranked up and started towards home. I told myself that she wanted me. Her tears and the way she pounded down on my chest earlier were proof enough, though I still had my doubts. My reflection exposed my lack of confidence and I felt increasingly uneasy, doubt rising inside, so I focused my attention back to the south and tried to be patient.

The thought occurred to me as I looked at my empty hands, that other than knowing every curve of her body, hearing her voice in my head, and the allure of those green eyes, I really knew very little of her. Certainly that she was confident, seemed to be sure of who she was and where she was focused, but honestly not much more than that. Other than memories, there was nothing tangible, nothing that I could touch or hold, and even as vivid as those green eyes are, I knew that that image too would fade as days turn into weeks and months. The Pulsar digital watch on my wrist showed that it was still not 4:00 AM and I wrestled with myself over the total stupidity of my plan. Disheartened by the fact that I didn’t even have a photo of her, I began to despair. It was only then that I remembered that I did have something from her. She had handed me a note as she left and I was so upset by her tears that I stuffed it into my back pocket. I reached behind me, extracted the note from my pocket and my hands shook a little as I unfolded it, afraid of what it might say.

In the dim ceiling light of my truck, I took an apprehensive breath and began to read.

 

 

 

Hey,

I finally finished packing everything and wanted to write you a quick note. There is so much going through my mind that I don’t know what to say.

First of all, I had a GREAT weekend! It is hard to believe that we got together the way we did, but thank goodness we did. I have to admit that I always had a crush on you, but never got to meet you, so when the chance arose, I couldn’t pass it up. Thank you for not ignoring me.

The other day I was excited and looking forward to leaving this town to move to college, now, not so much, if I had only met you sooner. I have goals and dreams though and my family has big expectations of me, so I must go.

I don’t even know if you feel the same, but I hope we can continue to see each other, and that you will write me and maybe even come see me some time. I’d like that very much.

I ask that you keep ‘em open, those doors, keep ‘em open. We can’t go anywhere if we let them close.

–XOXO—

 

Immediately I was resurrected from despair, back to the pinnacle that I had reached the day before because I knew. Because I knew.  My desire to see her once more, to hold her in my arms, if only for a moment replaced the downtrodden feelings of earlier, though I still felt a little like a stalker for waiting for her along a roadside.  A stalker, yes, but just the same, I sat there and I continued to regard the southern early morning sky, searching for the glow of headlights of a Mustang convertible. In my mind, I felt her arms around me, I felt my hands on her sides, I smelled her smell, I kissed her neck, and I envisioned her eyes. Should I have told her? Did I believe it myself? I knew I wanted to tell her that I was in love with her, but was it the right time? Even at that age, I just wasn’t one to indiscriminately throw the words around. I had known friends who asked a girl out, went on one date, and sent a dozen roses the next day. The sad revelation though, was that I witnessed the success of such a ploy on more than one occasion. I felt the tactic, especially when it was successful, was premature, if, for no other reason, one just couldn’t be sure that such feelings were true so soon. And though I know now that whispering the words “I Love You” too early in a thing only serves to devalue its meaning, I didn’t know it then and for sure, I believed that I felt it, though I never said it. My thoughts continued to catapult from scene to scene, memories, as memories do, already beginning to fade, to become less detailed, though some remain as vivid today as they did then.

A couple of times, as the 4:00 O’clock hour approached, lights appeared in the distance, but on both occasions, I saw the dome lights of big rigs first, then running lights as they topped the rise just down the road. Then the lights would pass, returning me back to the darkness, except for the neon beer signs in the gas station windows, the soft drink machines, and the lone streetlight illuminating my truck. So I sat and I waited, I sat and I waited. In the darkness, I closed my eyes, took a deep sigh, as one would have it, began to feel the fatigue. I realized the hurry I was in, the rush. I felt the need within me to make something happen right then as if passing up or missing an opportunity might have everlasting results. Yet, to the heart of it all, I detested the fact that I was stuck at 20, stuck without the ability to affect time and to affect providence. Maybe I wanted to run with only the ability to crawl. Maybe I had “champagne taste on a beer budget” as my mother had accused. I simply didn’t care. I was motivated by the hormonally driven feelings of a man at 20, rivaled only by the same at any age, give or take 4 years. I wanted to experience a life filled with weekends like the one I had just experienced. I didn’t want to come down from the cloud I was on.

I continued to wait, now fearing that I might drift off and wake up about lunchtime. I could see myself sitting in a sweltering truck on a Monday in August, looking like the biggest jackass ever, having missed my girl completely. I got out and walked around the truck a few times then returned to my watch. Finally, at about 4:45, I saw lights. I sat up straight, it had to be her. I fired off the engine, found reverse, and began to back out of my spot. Then, I saw a second pair of headlights, following closely, and as the Mustang ragtop passed right in front of me, I noticed her parent’s car bringing up the rear. I cursed myself for being so stupid as to not have realized the possibility of her parents following her to college to help her get settled into her dorm and to say their goodbyes.

I drove home, embarrassed, but realizing that no one would be the wiser, as long as I kept my stupidity to myself.  I eased inside my house, hit my rack and I slept. I had fitful dreams at times, but have no recollection of any. I awoke when my parents returned home and I gave my mom a hug. I studied their faces, searched their expressions, looking for some hint that somehow, they knew of the weekend that I had had. I felt as though my face was lit up like a billboard, giving up my experiences of the weekend, but they just went about their way, unloading their car and unpacking from their trip. Thankfully, they only asked general questions about my weekend and I tried to reveal only that things had been status quo.  I would tell my mom later that I had met a girl, but she didn’t need to know right away. There was still a lot for me to digest, and still a lot yet to figure out, even to know if there would be anything to tell. Besides, my dad and I never discussed such personal matters, and to date, no girl met the approval of my mother, so I steered the conversation towards my finding suitable employment and future plans.

For the next few days, I mulled over possibilities for employment though there wasn’t a lot available locally, at least not anything that would allow me to support myself out on my own. I considered a few vocational-type ideas, like diesel mechanics, welding, or air conditioning and refrigeration, but those required enrollments into a Junior college and it was too late for the current semester. Offshore was always an option, a pretty good one actually, but I found that in every option, I tried to include that I might be in an exclusive relationship soon and that I would need to factor that in as well. Many of my friends were already working in the oilfield, either on land or in the Gulf of Mexico, some were married already and seemed to be happy. Others had regular girlfriends and they seemed to be making that work as well. I realized that I was kind of stuck. I could do nothing, I could make no concrete decisions until I knew more about her.

On Thursday of that week, I spent the day with a friend of mine, helping him to get some dove fields ready for opening day. Personally, I was never much into hunting, but it was a welcome reprieve from my new constant pastime, thinking about a green-eyed girl in Oxford, Mississippi. In my mind, I kept playing scenario after scenario over and over, never seeing a situation where she and I ended up happily ever after. I could not determine a framework where, in the next 4 or 5 years, we would have persevered and would find ourselves finally together in a permanent fashion. When I returned home, my mother announced that I had received a letter and nosily wondered aloud who I may have known from Oxford while holding the letter up to the light pretending to be able to read through the envelope. Of course, I knew she was messing with me, but I found it hard to act nonchalant about her little game of keep away. Inside, I fought hard to hold back from attacking her to get at the letter. Finally, when I got it away from her and found the privacy of my bedroom, I read what she has written. Basically, she was telling me that she was getting to know her way around campus and that there was a lot going on and such. But the main part of the letter was that she missed me, she could not wait until she could see me again, and that she would be calling my house that evening at 8:00 PM.

I thought I’d go crazy waiting the two hours plus until 8:00. My mom saw it as well, and kept asking why I was acting so strange and if I was OK. To get her to leave me alone, I sat down in the den with her and pretended to watch Dynasty or Dallas, or something like that. I can’t remember which, but my mother watched them both. From time to time, I snuck a look at my watch, counting down the minutes leading up to the call. Finally, time drew near and I made an excuse to leave the room, and when the phone rang, I picked up on the first utterance of sound. Long-distance calls back then were expensive and she started out by telling me that we would have to talk fast. She told me that she missed me and that at times was miserable, thinking about how she wanted to see me but couldn’t. I assured her that I felt the same and that I would love to come for a visit. She told me about a big event on campus that would be happening and wondered if I thought I might be able to make the trip. Without hesitation, I told her that I would find a way. She said she would send details and that she might try to call with more details later. I told her I missed her and we ended the call.

I was on cloud nine, just from hearing her voice, but regretted immediately that we didn’t have more time. I worried that this would be the extent of our communication over the next few years. I made a vow to myself that I’d find a way to make that visit, whatever it took.

The following night, I got dressed and did what I always did on Friday nights, I drove into town to make the circle and to hang out with friends. I knew though that it wouldn’t be the same. I also knew that there would be some questions about the previous weekend as well, so I tried to prepare my responses. It didn’t matter though, I was happy and content that she felt the same about me as I did her and I didn’t care who knew. Hell, I wanted to shout it to everyone, but I decided to only bring her up if someone asked. I drove to town, stereo turned up, paying a little more attention to the sappy love songs than I had in the past.

Like a gambler on a hot run, somehow it is known that a hot table often cools and solid runs see a sharp dip. Little did I know at the time, clouds were looming. The stars and the planets were about to enter a new phase and right out of the gate, the story of the green-eyed girl was about to get rocky.

Before crossing the river going into town, I stopped at a truck stop to pick up a six-pack for the night. I thought I recognized a truck in the parking lot but thought nothing of it. Inside, I made my selection and waited my turn in line. Off to my right, there were two guys that I recognized, though I didn’t know their names. They were both looking in my direction, so I nodded, paid for my beer, and stepped outside toward my truck. I stood at my tailgate, putting my beer into an igloo cooler, and I watched the guys as they exited the store and started in my direction. They circled my truck, one coming right towards me and the other walked around so that they stopped on either side of me. I made note of the ax handle that lay in the bed of my truck beside the ice chest.

I regarded them both, continued to stock my ice chest, and then asked if I could help them. The one to my left stepped in a little too close, but I stood my ground. Partially because I refused to back down, but also, I needed to stay close to the ax handle. I made a slight turn though so that I could keep them both in my sight, but I remained still and tried to be ready. The spokesman of the two leaned in closer and said something to the effect that I was sniffing down the wrong trail and that I had made it onto “posted land.”

I gave no reply, but stood there seething, knowing exactly where this had come from. I got into my truck, blood boiling, but vowed to myself that I would be the judge of what trails I sniff and what trails I’d leave alone.

 

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