Monthly Archives: March 2021

ALL KINDS OF CRAZY

Our neighbor Jimmy passed away about six months ago. He had dementia and for the last six years of his life, a woman named Doris came to his house to take care of him. She was somewhat scatterbrained. At night he had a succession of nurse’s aides come and stay with him overnight. They never lasted that long because unfortunately for them Jimmy really came alive at night. And by that, I mean his paranoia and delusions and mania would take over.

THE LOVE MACHINE

For a few weeks, I thought that Jimmy must have some kind of wild animal or bird living in his house because at night I heard an unearthly screech. It woke me from a sound sleep. I thought at first something or someone was being murdered. The first time I heard it I ran across the street.” What’s going on, what’s that horrible noise?” The night caretaker said, “it’s Jimmy. Sometimes patients with dementia scream like that.”

Occasionally Jimmy would escape from his house and wander around the neighborhood. One beautiful spring morning I was outside working in my garden. And I saw Jimmy sauntering down the other side of Walnut Avenue in his pajamas and fuzzy slippers. He was wearing a Fedora with a peacock feather sticking out of it. He had a pistol strapped to his waist. I crossed the street and walk over to talk to him and assist him in getting back to his own home. “Hey, Jimmy, what’s up? What are you all dressed up for anyway?”

Jimmy said, “I found this hammer on the tree limb over there, I’m taking it home.”

And sure, enough Jimmy had a hammer in his hand. “That’s great Jimmy, let’s walk back to your house you must be a little cold in your pajamas?”

“No, no, no.”

“Well Doris will be worrying about you, and she probably has your breakfast ready.”

“Oatmeal?”

“Well, maybe let’s go and see if that’s what’s Doris is making.”

POLAR BEAR/DOG?

“OK.”

I take Jimmy across the street and knock on his front door. “Doris, I found Jimmy walking down the street in his pajamas and he was carrying a hammer. I pointed at the gun on his waist with my chin, Doris nodded her head with a knowing look and a smile of resignation. She said, “No bullets.”

“Jimmy, come in and eat your breakfast before it gets cold. It’s your favorite, bananas and cream oatmeal.”

Jimmy is a nice man and a good neighbor. I felt bad when he developed dementia. He suffered from dementia for over six years. And then he passed away quietly during a quiet winter’s night.

After he passed away his house stood empty up until today. I heard he left the house to relatives. I hope they would start taking care of the house. After Jimmy developed dementia, he stopped taking care of the house. He hadn’t painted the house in years. And the green shutters hang askew. The grass hasn’t been cut for a long, long time. It looks like a jungle back there. There are piles of trash all over the front yard. And two old cars that haven’t been driven in years rusting in the driveway. The whole place is an eyesore. At one point Jimmy decided to clean out his garage. Apparently, he kept everything he ever bought during the thirty-some years he lived in his green shuttered house stored in the garage.

So about seven years ago Jimmy got it in his mind that he was going to clean out that garage and have a yard sale. Unfortunately, about two days before he scheduled the yard sale, he took a fall down the steps in the back and broke his arm and his ankle on his left side. Jimmy was never the same after that. He never bounced back.

And that enormous pile of stuff from his garage has been lying on his driveway behind the junk cars during three years of Spring rain, Summer heat, and winter’s snows. Some of it has blown down the street onto the neighbor’s yards. Some ended up in the street. And anything of value was picked through by mysterious scavengers in the dead of night. And the rest remains a memorial to a man who accumulated more stuff than he ever needed and saved for a rainy day when he might find a use for it. That day never came, it sits there as a cautionary tale to all who see it. Don’t buy things that you don’t need now and won’t need in the future no matter what a great deal it seems to be.

As I gaze across the street at Jimmy’s empty house. I feel it’s a sad reminder of my neighbor. I hope against hope that one fine day a moving van will drive up in front of Jimmy’s house and a family will disembark and move in and bring joy and laughter again to Jimmy’s house. And once again the house will become a home.

And unbelievably as I was wishing for a family to move across the street into Jimmy’s white house with the faded green shutters, I see a battered old school bus circa 1970 make a right turn down Walnut Avenue and down to 25 Walnut Ave, none other than Jimmy’s house. The bus is painted in psychedelic colors with huge daisies and butterflies all over it. And it bore on the driver’s side the legend, THE LOVE MACHINE.

I was so astonished I said out loud, ’What in the hell is that monstrosity?”

The folding doors of the psychedelic bus creak open and outpour a menagerie of people so out of place in this decade I thought I must be having a stroke. I rub my eyes and check my pulse. They seem to be in working order. And then it occurs to me that maybe I’m still asleep in my bed and this is some kind of dream or nightmare. Or perhaps a flashback to my youth when I spent my first year out of highschool hitchhiking across America from New Jersey to California and to Florida and back to New Jersey.

But then I hear loud music, emanating from the bus. The whole experience has a dream-like quality to it. It’s surreal. After all the people have debarked from the bus a huge dog leaps out the door bypassing the steps on the bus and landing on the sidewalk. At least I think it’s a dog or perhaps it’s a polar bear. I wouldn’t be surprised at all. At least ten people descend the LOVE MACHINE’S steps and two-step it to the front steps to Jimmy’s front door. I wouldn’t be the least surprised to see a dozen clowns leap out of the LOVE MACHINE’S windows and float to the front door by the giant bouquet of multi-colored balloons, followed by a platoon of monkeys in tuxedoes.

My curiosity is overpowering my common sense. I want to march across the street and knock on the front door. I take a few steps slowly forward and then all but run across the street. If I’m lucky I’ll wake up with a start and realize that it’s all a dream or maybe a nightmare.

I rush up the steps and bang lightly on the door. And when no one comes to the door immediately I bang a bit harder, I put some muscle into it and bang as hard as I can. I lean my torso over to the right and look through the living bay window. There are about ten people in there standing in a circle, holding hands. At first, I think they might be praying. Or asking for a blessing on their new home. But then I notice that they all have something in their right hands and smoke is wafting in the air. I think well maybe they’re smoking pot. But then I notice that four of the people are children. I think, good grief I hope not. And then it comes to me they are burning sage. And I remember someone told me that sage is burned to cleanse a space of negative energy, to promote healing.

As I stand there looking in their window, I think that’s not so bad, maybe it’s a good idea after all those years when Jimmy lived there with his dementia and confusion. The place probably could use a good cleansing. As I watch them, I decided this wouldn’t be the best time to meet my new neighbors. And I slowly back down the steps and quickstep it back to my side of the street and into my yard. I hope that they didn’t see me peeping in their window. Tomorrow I‘ll bring them a nice welcome to the neighborhood present, like muffins or something.

In the next few days, I spent a lot of time in my backyard. My new neighbors are busy moving into Jimmy’s house. At one point they all went out in their Love Machine bus and I snuck over to their front porch and left a dozen blueberry muffins on their front step with a card saying I was their neighbor across the street with the fence around their yard and my name was Mary Mc Clennon.

For the first few days, they cleared the house of all Jimmy’s worldly possessions. And oh boy, was he a collector. His hobby for years was going to yard sales and estate sales and buying all kinds of stuff. Things I couldn’t even put a name to. Well, if I did put a name to it, I would call it a bunch of useless crap.

After the week-long clean-out marathon they began bringing in their belongings. I can only say that it was an eye-opening undertaking. I can’t imagine what their intentions they have for some of the things that went through the front door. And occasionally was hauled up by ropes from the driveway to the balcony that was on the second floor of the house. At one point an old player piano is pulled through those double doors on the second floor. It looks like a player piano, that uses foot pedals and paper rolls.

I remember seeing a player piano in the Roxy Theater when I was a very young child.. A woman would come out on the stage before the movie. This was a Saturday matinee. And she would start by pedaling the piano, and a white paper with holes in it would automatically go through and it would play the music. I can’t imagine what they were going to do with all the weird things that went into Jimmy’s house. My curiosity is getting the best of me. I so wanted to go over there and ask them what they were planning on doing.

On the fourth day of their moving in I noticed a few new people were arriving at Jimmy’s front door with suitcases and some boxes. I guess the boxes held the rest of their belongings. How many people were going to be living in this three-bedroom house for crying out loud?

The next day I got my answer when two trailers show up and park in the backyard. The kind of trailers that people live in. According to my observations, it appears as if at the very least fifteen people are living in or outside Jimmy’s house currently. I can’t stand it any longer. I make up my mind that I’m going to march over there and find out what in world they’re up to in there. If they don’t give me a reasonable answer then I’m going to go to the township and make sure that they put a stop to it.

Early the next morning I walk into my kitchen to make something to eat and have a cup of coffee. I see a movement in my peripheral vision outside my kitchen window. I look across the street and low and behold there is a big crowd of people gathered outside my new neighbor’s front yard. It is at 7:45 am. And when I say big, I estimate there are about a hundred people out there.

And then I see what I can only describe as a line of Circus Performers coming out the front door of my neighbor. And they are following what looks like a polar bear at the head of the line. I kid you not. I rub my eyes because I think I must be having a hallucination or maybe I’m still asleep and having a weird dream. I pinch myself. Nope, they’re still there.

“What in blue blazes is going on?” I say to no one in particular. I don’t know if I should run across the street and read them the riot act. Or if I should go back to bed because it may be that I’m having a stroke or a hallucination of some sort. And then all of a sudden I hear a loud noise, boom, boom, boom.

And I see coming up behind the polar bear an eight-foot clown with a big drum that is suspended in front of his impressive stomach. And he’s hitting the drum with giant drum sticks with wooden balls on the end. And I hear boom, boom, boom once again. And then I hear tambourines being played by a little girl smoking a cigar. And the smoke from the cigar is wafting up into the air above her and spelling out Loonie Brothers Family Circus. The crowd begins to chant, “Loonie Brothers, Loonie Brothers, Loonie Brothers Circus.” And they all begin clapping and chanting at the same time.

“Good grief, “what’s next? I say out loud, “an elephant?”

I close my eyes for a brief moment, fearful that it might indeed be an elephant. And when I open my eyes again. I see a man dressed in hot pink tights and tiny lime green shorts on the roof of the house. He is walking across the ridge of the roof with his arms out and walking across each of his outstretched arms is a Blue and Gold Macaw who is screaming at the top of their lungs LOONIE BROTHERS FAMILY CIRCUS.’

They are so loud and high-pitched I think they might have permanently damaged my eardrums. The two macaws stretch out their wings. I have to admit that they are absolutely gorgeous birds. But please, please someone tell me that they are not going to be living across the street from me for the rest of my life.

While I’m looking up at the Macaws, I fail to see a very tall, very thin bald man come up behind the smoking girl and he is standing on the front porch wearing what I can only describe as a gold diaper. His feet are enormous and hairy. This is weird because he doesn’t appear to have hair on any other part of his body. In addition to having gigantic feet, it appears as if his toenails have never been cut and are so long that they have curled into a spiral shape over his feet. I can not imagine that there is any possibility that he is able to wear shoes. I stand immobilized by what is before my eyes and I wonder if this man’s only talent is being weird as hell. But no, at that moment he begins spewing fire out of his mouth. And the fire is shooting out five feet from his face.

I begin to question my own sanity again. Could this be really happening? And that’s when I see two men on eight-foot stilts coming out the gate from the back yard where the trailers are parked. And there is a wire between them and walking across the tightrope as they are walking towards us is a chimpanzee in a frilly pink tutu. Every time they stop, she takes a bow and swings 360 degrees around the tightrope and the crowd goes crazy and clap and yell. “You go girl.”

I can not imagine how they will top the monkey in the tutu, she was fantastic, so graceful. And that is when in the precise moment that I hear an oddly familiar sound. And then I see the largest pig I’ve seen in my entire life. He must have weighed over 500 pounds. He was snorting away. And on his back sat a petite young woman who had a huge white snake draped around her neck and torso.

And that is the moment that the crowd went crazy. They were clapping and laughing and the little kids were jumping up and down. The woman slowly got to her feet on the pig’s back as he lumbered along at his own slow pace. As she stood up the snake slithered his or her way down the woman’s body until his head was at her ankles. And then slowly slitherers up her body and stops at the top of her head.

And then I hear the player piano which had been pushed out onto the balcony start to play. And it was the song you always associate with circuses called: ENTRY OF THE GLADIATORS… And everyone starts to clap, and I clapped along with them because who wants the circus to end. And we all started clapping and laughing.

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Part Two-WHAT HAPPENS IF A DREAM VACATION BECOMES A NIGHTMARE?

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PART TWO

I have mixed emotions as I drive back to the breath-taking Crepe Myrtle Lodge. And by breath-taking, I mean you have to hold your breath the whole time you’re there. See I’m already trying to maintain my sense of humor in spite of the pit I’m going to spend the next one or two days in bored out of my mind in. OK, so I need more practice in keeping my sense of humor. I guess I’ll have to work on that for more than the next two days.

Non-poisonous snake

I arrive at the “hotel” and I” m once again hit with an overwhelming feeling of “what the hell?” And I head towards my “room.” Maybe I’ll be lucky, and the hotel staff will have come in and given the place the once over. While I was out hiking and getting attacked by a vicious beast. But no such luck, as I get out of the car and hop on one foot up to the door I peek in the room and see there hasn’t been any miraculous do-over since I last laid my eyes on it. In fact, it looks even messier, if that’s possible. I jam the key into the lock and the door swings open before I turn the key. So, either I forgot to lock it, or someone has been in here for some unknown reason. And then I think maybe I’m at the wrong door. So, I check the room number. But no, it’s the right room. I step in and slam the door shut behind me.

My ankle is throbbing a bit but nothing too terrible. I decide to take a nap since it has been a somewhat difficult day and a long one. Between traveling and ending up at the Bates Hotel. And then the snake bite and the doctor’s visit. On the plus side, I met a beautiful young lady and plan on having a great dinner and interesting conversation. I consider taking a shower but decide to forego it until after my nap since I’m knackered. I pull off my hiking boots and socks, shirt and pants, and flop down on the bed.

And in that horrible moment, I realize that I’m not alone in the bed. I scream an expletive and jump out of the lumpy bed. I yank the blanket and sheet off the bed. And lying before me is a naked man. A disgustingly filthy, nasty, wrinkled, old man lies there. I give him a mighty shake. Nothing. Dear god, did he stumble into my room by mistake and die? Why, why, why did he have to die in my bed? I shake him again, nothing. I turn him over with my eyes closed and pull the blanket up to his chest. I put my face as close to his nose and mouth as I can possibly tolerate. Nothing, Nada, zilch. The guy is dead as a doorknob, stiff as a plank, kicked the bucket, his ticket was punched for the last time.

The stench emanating from his mouth and unbelievably filthy body are almost overwhelming. I grab the phone next to the bed and push the button that says, “OFFICE.” Nothing happens, no one answers, no voice message comes on, nothing. If my leg weren’t killing me, I would jump up and down and have a full-out adult tantrum. But really, I’m not surprised in the least.

I head out the door towards the office. I feel kind of sick to my stomach and yet I’m mad as hell at the same time. Inside my head, I keep saying, “shit, shit, shit.” I arrive at the office door and yank on it hard. And surprise, surprise, it’s locked, and the lights are out. The sign on the door says, “CLOSED.”

Once again, I have the overwhelming desire to start jumping up and down and screaming at the top of my lungs. And I would but my ankle is throbbing like a you know what. I take out my cell phone and dial 911. “Hello, this is Joe Wadsworth. I’m staying at the Crepe Myrtle Hotel. I came back from hiking to find a dead body in my room. The hotel manager is nowhere to be found. The reception on my phone out here is horrible? Did you just ask me if I’m sure he’s dead?”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s dead. I know dead when I see it. Can you please come out here so I can get some peace? I’ve had a horrible day.”

“What, did you just say? “Not as bad as the dead guy’s day? What the hell is wrong with the people around here. This isn’t a joke, get out here and take this corpse out of my room, PLEASE. I’m begging you. “Yes, I’ll be standing outside the room.”

About 25 minutes later a police car and an ambulance shows up at the hotel. Joe decides to stand in front of the OFFICE door since he realizes he didn’t tell them his hotel room number. In fact, he can’t even remember if there was a number on his door. It seems as if was an eon ago that he arrived at this sorry excuse for a vacation hotel. It’s more like he was living an episode of the Twilight Zone. The one where the day never ends it just keeps going on and on and on. And you can’t find any way out.

Two uniformed police officers walk over to him in no particular hurry. It occurs to Joe that finding a corpse in a hotel room in this area must not be an unexpected event. Maybe it happens every day. Who the hell knows?

“Are you the complainant?”

“Complainant? Well, that’s one way of putting it. Yes, or you could say I’m a fellow victim of this god-forsaken place. My name is Joe Wadsworth. I’m the one that hasn’t been murdered yet. On the other hand, the day is young yet. I might possibly die yet from the snake bite that I experienced earlier today or who knows food poisoning at the restaurant that I have a reservation at later this evening. Don’t give up hope.”

“All right sir, you need to calm down. It’s not helpful to lose control of yourself in this type of situation.”

“Really, really? What kind of situation is that? The one where I came here to find some peace and possibly a moment of happiness in my life. An escape from the daily grind of the monotonous grind of my soul-killing job. That kind of situation?”

“Alright sir, take a couple of deep breaths and calm down before we have to cuff you and put you in the back of the squad car for your own good.”

Joe stares at the two of them and considers if it would be worth it to just punch them both in the face, just to feel some kind of satisfaction or a moment of reprieve in this nightmare of a day. He decides he doesn’t want to sit in a jail cell or be cuffed in the back seat of these country bumpkins in police uniforms. “Yes, your right I need to take a couple of breaths and calm down.” He does just that, and he waits for them to continue the conversation.

“Alright sir, now let’s start from the beginning.”

“The beginning, well I’m assuming you mean from when I arrived at this hotel?”

“No, explain how you found a dead body in your room?” I arrived this morning and decided to go hiking, When I came back from hiking, I was exhausted and decided to take a nap. I noticed my bed was messier than when I left to go hiking earlier this morning. But as you can see this isn’t the Four Seasons Hotel. So, I just flopped down on the top of the bed and that is when I realized that I was not alone. There was someone under the covers.

I would be lying if I told you I was surprised because I wasn’t. I thought. Someone has wandered into my room by mistake and fell asleep or was dead drunk in my bed. Unfortunately, he turns out to be just dead. When I checked his breathing, he wasn’t breathing at all. And it was clear that the dirty, old man was dead, dead, dead. This is my room right here maybe you should have a look for yourself. And then Joe takes a deep breath and sighs. He could not imagine anything more horrific happening than already happened.

“Alright sir, please wait outside while we investigate the situation. Do not leave the scene of the crime.”

“Scene of the crime? How do you know there was a crime? The dead guy is old as dirt. And unfortunately for me, he wandered into my room and croaked in my bed.”

“Ok, sir we’ll be out of here as soon as we can. Wait here.”

“I will. I’m going to wait.”

After about twenty minutes the officers come out and close the hotel door behind them. The one who been doing all the talking before, says, ”so there seems to have been some kind of altercation in the room. Could you explain what happened?”

There hasn’t been any kind of altercation in the room, that’s how it looked when I arrived. In fact, this room is ten times better than the first room the “manager” showed me. The only difference is the addition of a crusty, old dead guy in the bed. And he arrived sometime after I went hiking and was bitten by a snake and went to the emergency room and came back here to the Third Circle of Hell.”

“We are going to have the detectives come in and investigate, look for any evidence of foul play. We will have to get your fingerprints to rule you out. And we will need all your contact information in case we need to ask you any further questions. I don’t know how long it will take, but you are going to have to get another room.”

“Another room, good grief. The stupid manager is never in his office. Well, if he doesn’t show up before you guys leave then I’m just going to have to see if there is another empty room and has an unlocked door.”

“Sorry, but you’re not going to be able to go into the room until I’m finished in there. The coroner will be here soon to take the body out. And then we will be looking for any signs of a struggle. If there isn’t any, we won’t be that long. Find a place to wait.”

Well, I guess I’ll try and take a nap, not much else to do since my ankle is killing me. Joe decides to call Emily and tell her the latest development. She will probably think he has lost his mind altogether. He takes out his cell phone and punches in Emily’s phone number. It rings a few times, but she doesn’t pick up. He leaves a short message. “Hello Emily, it’s me, Joe. I just wanted to let you know that due to an unexpected event I’ve had to move to another room. I’ll give you a call later Joe.’

Joe wanders up and down the path in the immediate area checking doorknobs to see if any of them are unlocked with no sign of the room is empty. He shutters to think what he may discover in one of the unoccupied rooms. After finding the first three rooms locked. He is ready to give up and sleep in his car. But decides to try one more door. And voila it is unlocked. He gingerly opens the door and looks straight ahead and then left to right. He calls out. “hello, is anybody in here?”

No one answers the door, so Joe turns the knob, and the door swings open. He takes a deep breath and enters the room with trepidation. Who knows what he may find in here? He looks from right to left and takes several steps forward. There is a single bed, that doesn’t have any sheets, blankets, or bedspread. He decides to venture closer to inspect the mattress. It has several suspicious stains, but no blood stains or signs of bedbugs. So that is a step up. And he did buy sheets and pillows and towels when he was out before this whole day from hell started.

He saw a small round table and a chair and behind that a counter with a coffee pot and upon closer inspection a dirty cup. He picks up the cup and takes it in the direction he imagines the bathroom is in. He shoves the door open with his foot and looks at the bathroom. There is a dirty sink and a dirty standing shower, no towels. The floor is dry, so he imagines no one has stayed here in the last twenty-four hours.

The mirror over the sink reflects a somewhat distorted image of himself. He has bags under his eyes, and his eyes look back at him as if he were a stranger. He goes back to the living area and decides that this room will do. As he leaves the room, he notes that on the outside of the door is the legend A 27. The 7 is hanging cockeyed because one of the screws is missing and when he closes the door behind him the seven falls to the ground. He lets out an ironic laugh. And heads back to his short-lived former room.

Joe sees a man who he suspects is the coroner and his assistant taking out the body of the unknown, old and crusty man. He wishes he could summon up some pity for this man, but he simply cannot. His last thought about the deceased is why the hell did he have to stumble into my room, my bed, and croak? He knows he shouldn’t feel this way, but he does. And he feels justified in his feelings and ashamed at the same time.

He watches the guys in white lift the gurney into the ambulance. And wishes the old man a Bon Voyage. And then lets out a laugh of sorts. He peeks into the room and calls out “ Can I please for the love of god, take my stuff out of the room? I found an empty room four doors down. He waits and finally, he sees the detective coming toward him. “Alright, come in. Don’t touch anything. Start getting your belongings, do not touch anything else. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, only take my own belongings, nothing else. I sent my contact information to you and my home phone number as well. Barring some other calamity, I’ll be here until the end of the week, I’m four doors down. I will be in the room the rest of the day. But hopefully, I’ll be up and around by tomorrow afternoon. Tomorrow night I have a date, please, please do not call me then. Can I go now?”

“Yes, but first let me say this. The Coroner believes that no foul play was involved, no sign of bloodshed or possible mayhem. It seems as if the old man was inebriated and possibly hit his head at some point, came into your room and passed out, or even had a heart attack or stroke. So, it looks like you’re in the clear. I will get in touch if I need any further information. Good luck I hope the rest of your vacation is an improvement over today. Take your stuff, nothing else and I’ll be in contact at some point if necessary.”

“Thanks, nothing personal, but I hope we don’t have to meet again or even speak, I plan on blocking this day from my memory. I can only hope the next days are an improvement. I can’t imagine what worse thing could happen.”
“Well, let’s hope that’s true. But probably I’m the last one you should ask because that’s all I ever see, the worse of mankind. Good Luck all the same.”

Joe walks over to his car and decides that although it isn’t parked that far from his “new” room he will drive it down and park it out front of the room. Otherwise, he’ll have to cart all his hiking equipment, camera equipment stuff from this room to the next. And why the hell would he want to do that on his one good foot?

After Joe parks his car, and slowly carries in all his equipment, and the sheets and towels, and supplies he needed he is tuckered out and decides to take a quick shower and take a nap. Today has been an unbelievably long day. He carries the towels and his personal bag into the bathroom and turns on the shower. There is a weird creaking noise and then a loud whining and a kind of a big bang. The water comes out in spurts, it is an odd color like rust or dried blood. “Holy Crap, will this never end?” He shouts.” And then it sounds like the pipes are vibrating he’s afraid they will burst and then there is a sudden silence, the water stops and starts a few times. And then the water comes out in a tremendous rush. Joe sticks his hand under the spray to gauge the temperature and it is ice cold. “Shit,” he says. And then undresses and grabs a plastic bag that the new towels came in and puts it on his injured ankle and ties it as far up as the bag will go.

He puts his good leg and then his bad leg in the shower and endures the coldest shower he has ever taken. It feels as if he is taking a shower outside at the North Pole. He soaps up and then hops on one foot, directly under the spray, and rinses off. His ankle doesn’t throb anymore at the moment since it feels like it’s frozen all the way through. “Dear god, I don’t think I can take one more moment. Will this ever end?”

Joe turns off the shower and grabs the new towel and puts his good leg out followed by the bad leg. He leans against the outside of the shower and dries himself as well as he can. And puts on his jockeys and sits on the toilet, he takes a look at his ankle and surprisingly doesn’t look that bad. The swelling has lessened, and it doesn’t look like the angry red that it previously exhibited. He disinfects the injury and wraps the Ace bandage around it. And then hops over to the bed on his good leg and flops on the bed and falls instantly asleep.

Joe is in the middle of a nightmare where he is in a pit filled with Copperhead snakes that are surrounding him and about to be attacked when he is awakened by his cell phone ringing. He is somewhat dazed and confused. He looks around the room and isn’t quite sure where or even when it is. He stares at the phone and doesn’t recognize the number, so he lets it go to voice mail.

He thinks I don’t even want to know why anyone is calling me. I can not take one bit of bad news. I’ve had enough. As he lies there, he considers becoming a monk who has taken a vow of silence and daily prayer who lives in a cave on some isolated island somewhere. He has all but lost his faith in humanity. He reflects on the unbelievably awful events of the last twenty-four hours. He can not imagine a worse vacation than this one. But then he pictures Emily’s beautiful face with her big blue eyes and rosy cheeks and her long red hair. And thinks, maybe it’s all worth it. Fate meant for us to meet, perhaps she is the one.

He groggily gets out of bed and looks at the clock it is almost six o’clock. For some reason he thinks, six o’clock, six o’clock I’m supposed to be doing something at 6 o’clock. And then his stomach growls and he remembers Chinese Food. He rolls to the side of the bed and carefully places both feet on the cold, wood floor. His ankle is still throbbing slightly, but he considers the alternative. It would be so much worse if he couldn’t feel his ankle or foot and then what amputation? He leans over and examines his ankle, still red, somewhat puffy, but not too terrible. He felt himself relax somewhat.

His stomach gives one final loud growl to remind him that he was starving. “Ok, Ok I’m going to get the food, calm down. It was a weird habit of his to talk t his stomach as if it were a separate entity from him. Joe pulls on clean socks and his underwear and pants and grabs a shirt from his suitcase and throws it on. As he was about to go out the door, he realizes he’s forgotten his wallet. He goes back to the chair where he threw his pants he wore earlier and retrieves his wallet and keys. Then he leaves to go and pick up the take-out Chinese food.

He gets in his car without incident and drives the ten minutes to the restaurant with no problems. His ankle still hurts when he presses the brake pedal. But he thinks considering everything that happened today, he can live with it. He has his fingers crossed that by tomorrow he would be much better, and he can continue hiking without any further incidents. Joe pulls into a parking space near the front entrance of the restaurant which is called Number One Chinese. He walks through the door that jingles as he opens it and when he closes it.

The same smiling man is standing at the counter as he was earlier in the day. He looks at him, and says, “Yes, can I help you?”

“Yes, thank you. My name is Joe Wadsworth. I placed an order this morning for take-out at 6 PM. I’m sorry I’m a little late, but I took a nap and just woke up.”

The smiling man says, “No problem sorry, it is ready. We kept it in the warmer, would you like anything to drink?”

“You know, would it be alright to eat here, rather than take out, my hotel room has a lot to be desired including a table and chair. And you know I would really like a tall glass of beer. “Saison, if you have it?”

“Of course, please have a seat and we will bring your dinner to the table along with the Saison. Anything else?”

“No, that sounds great, thank you so much. You are a breath of fresh air.”

The smiling man looks at him somewhat strangely and says, “of course, sir.”

Joe looks around and there is only one other table occupied. A couple is sitting there leaning in towards one another as if no other people existed. He looks at them someone enviously. And then sits at a table next to the wall opposite them.

As he’s waiting for his food and beer, he takes his cell phone out of his pocket to check for any further calls. Just the one call, with the name and a number he doesn’t recognize. He wasn’t surprised because he left a message on his phone that he was on vacation for the next week and would not be available. “Good.” he thinks.

As he sits there waiting for his food, he looks around the restaurant. It looks like the same as every other Chinese take-out joint, he has frequented over the years. Even has a small Koi pond next to the back wall near the table where the couple is sitting. He decides to hobble over there and take a look while he is waiting.

He glances at the young couple as he passes them and thinks for some reason the woman looks familiar, but that can’t be since he didn’t know anyone in this area at all. As he looks at the enormous Koi swimming gracefully around the pond. He begins to relax a little. He hears the couple whispering to one another. And he thinks, that’s so weird, her voice sounds so familiar. He decides to take a better look at her as he walks back to his table.

He turns towards them and he notices that the young woman sitting at the table has long red hair. He thinks, red hair, that’s weird that he would see two redheads I one day. And that is when it hits him. The voice of the young woman is familiar. It wasn’t just any redhead. It was “his redhead.”

He considers just passing them by and going out to his car. He just can’t take one more disappointment today, he just couldn’t. And then he thinks but maybe they are just friends, or maybe they just decided to share the table since they were the only two people eating in, stranger things have happened, haven’t they?

So, he walks straight over to the table and says,” Emily, is that you?”

She looks up and him. She smiles at him and then her expression changes dramatically when she recognizes him. Her smile disappears and her face becomes pale than red as a beet. “Oh, what a surprise to see you here. What are the chances that we would both end up eating at the same take-out?”

“Honey, this is the man I was telling you about earlier that I met while hiking. You know the guy that got bitten by a snake. Your name is Joe, right? Joe, this is my husband Thomas, he just arrived he had to catch up on some work before he met me at our hotel. Her face is looking pale again. I look at her, she looks back with kind of a pleading look in her eyes.

I said, “oh, yes of course. Nice to meet you.” And at that moment I heard the smiling man call out Joe Wadsworth, your dinner is ready”. You know I think I’ll take that out after all if you could just put that all in a box to go, I would appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Well, nice seeing you again, have a nice time.” And then I turn away from them and head up to the counter to pick up my food, and I think. If I had a gun, I might just shoot myself. Luckily, I didn’t so I just grab my take-out and pay off the smiling man and walk out the door without looking back.

As I get in my car I think, things can only go up from here. They just can not get worse. And that is when I notice my left, rear tire is flat.

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WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A DREAM VACATION BECOMES A NIGHTMARE?

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PART 1, part 2 will be posted next Wednesday, March 24th, 2021

The Mile HIgh Swinging Bridge – NC

Life has been particularly difficult and stressful in the last year. I’m completely swamped at work. My boss keeps assigning more and more work for me to complete in an already impossibly overcrowded schedule in my working twelve-hour days. And then I go home with two to three more hours of work to do. And forget about weekends, they ceased to have any meaning a long time ago.

I would have gone completely off the deep end except for the light at the end of the tunnel. I have a vacation coming up in one week, seven more days. And the best news of all is that I got a terrific deal on both the hotel and air costs.

Each day of the last week before my vacation I check off my calendar. And finally, tomorrow is the day I leave for my vacation. I’m so excited that my heart is beating faster because of the adrenalin rush. I went to bed early the night tonight before my trip but I can’t fall asleep I’m so excited. I packed my bags a week ago. I check and rechecked them to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

Mile-high swinging bridge- Grandfather Mountain

I arrive at the airport three hours early for my check-in. It’s a long wait for my plane to arrive for take-off. I drink so much coffee I have trouble sitting still. By the time the plane lands and was getting refueled and checked out, I was so high on caffeine I could probably fly without the plane by flapping my arms up and down,

It’s less than a two-hour flight. I’m jazzed when we arrive. I rented a car in advance and once we deplane, I pick up the keys. And I’m on my way to the Crepe Myrtle Lodge. It’s located outside the Boone, NC area in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The Blue Ridge Mountains are breathtakingly beautiful, the air is cool and invigorating. I can feel my mind and body start to relax. It takes me about three hours to drive to the hotel. I feel like a new man by the time I arrive there.

As I pull into the hotel parking lot, I realize that there aren’t any cars in sight. Oh well, I think everyone is probably up and about hiking and enjoying the beautiful landscape. The hotel advertises that the area has tons of activities like trout fishing, horseback riding, golf, and whitewater rafting. And it’s within minutes’ drive to Grandfather Mountain, Blowing Rock, and Caverns. And of course, the biggest draw, the lowest hotel rates in the area.

I rented a small studio since it was just me and I plan on spending most of my time hiking, and fishing, and investigating as much of the area I could in one week’s time. I get out of my compact car and walk towards a sign that says OFFICE. I yank on the door and find to my dismay that the door is locked. “Well, that’s weird,” I say out loud. I decide I’ll walk around the buildings and see if I can find the manager in one of the rooms or cabins.

No luck, I can see that some of the rooms or cabins are occupied because their curtains are closed. But, many of the rooms and small cabins aren’t occupied at all. And that’s strange because this is the time of the year when people come to this area in droves.

I can’t help but notice that the whole place is in disrepair. I have to say it a mess, trash on the grounds and spilling out of the trash bins. Some of the curtains on the hotel rooms are missing curtains or the curtains are hanging askew. There are cigarette butts everywhere. The more I look around the more anxious I become. I walk back over to the Office and yank on the doorknob, it’s still locked. I walk over to my car and prepare to wait for someone to show up. So I can check-in, unpack and unwind from my long ride and flight.

Two hours later I see a pick-up truck pulling into the parking spot in front of the Office. “Finally,’ I say out loud. I give him a minute or two to get into the office, turn on the lights. And then I walk over and yank on the door, and nearly dislocate my shoulder I pull it so hard. Unbelievably, the door is still locked. I yell out an expletive and start banging on the door when I realize no one is sitting at the desk. I keep banging until I see a middle-aged guy wearing a faded flannel shirt and beat-up jeans hanging in tatters coming to the door.

He looks at me through the window of the door. I try yelling, “My name is Joe Wadsworth. I have a reservation. He glares out at me, and finally opens the door. “What’s the problem, hold your horses already?”

“I have been waiting in my car for two hours to check-in. I confirmed my reservation and arrival time yesterday. I’m tired, I had a two-hour flight and drove three hours to get here.”

“There was a problem at one of the cabins, it was an emergency.”

“You have my cell phone number why didn’t you text me and let me know you weren’t going to be here?”

“As I said, it was an emergency. I didn’t have time to do that. Why don’t you calm down and come in and register?”

“Ok, fine, let’s do that. I’d like to take a shower and then get outside and start exploring the area. I don’t want to waste any more time. I’m only here for the week.”

He tosses the room key across the counter. I catch it before it flies off the counter. I stand there thinking, this guy is a complete ass. But I say, “thanks, is the room ready?” Do I need to get towels from you before I go to the room?

“Everything is ready, no problems, call the desk if you need anything.” Then the phone rings and he turns away from me. So, I walk back to my car and drive around looking for the studio. Which was supposed to be a small cabin with a kitchen and dining area and sleeping area. And have a couch and chair and working TV, and a bathroom with a shower.

After driving around in circles for several minutes I finally find my “studio.” I back my car up and park and start taking out my suitcase and fishing equipment and my hiking equipment, and jacket and my camera equipment. I grab my camera and take a picture of the studio. I’m dreading going in there because I just know that it will probably be disgustingly dirty.

It turns out that disgustingly dirty would be a step up from this dump. I unlock the door I realize that one of the door hinges is missing and the door is only attached by the bottom hinge. So, I quickly shove my suitcase up against the door so it doesn’t become detached altogether and fall on me. I pick up my gear and bring it into the studio.

And that is when the stench hit me full-force. It smells if a giant ashtray has been dumped multiple times in the space. I mean it absolutely reeks. I go over to the front wall to open the windows. As I pull the dingy curtains aside, I realize there are only about three curtain hooks holding it up. I try to carefully push it to the side and I realize there’s a huge hole in the curtain from what looks like a burn of some kind. As if someone put a cigarette to the curtain and burned it intentionally. I’m flabbergasted.

Only half of the glass panes in the windows have glass in them. And the ones that do have glass are cracked. Well, I say to myself at least I can air the room out. I look around the room and low and behold I see the kitchen area. I walk over there trying to keep my eyes straight ahead. I can’t take everything in at once or I will probably have a mental meltdown.

The kitchen area consists of a counter complete with cigarette burns and a dirty electric coffee pot. And one cracked coffee cup with a cigarette butt floating in the bottom in whatever liquid used to reside in the cup. I sniff it and if my nose is telling me the truth it’s piss.

There is a plate, a glass, and a set of plastic knives, and forks and spoons available, pre-used. I see a hot plate, I plug it in, the rings start getting how and then smoke appears. I unplug it. Then I see the “refrigerator.” I open it up. It isn’t cold and only big enough to put a hamburger and a coke in there. That is if it were working. Which it’s not.

There is a small table and chair. The chair only has three legs. So that should be challenging to sit on. I’m somewhat reluctant to look into the bathroom. I push forward because I have never been afraid to face anything. But even I must admit there’s a limit to the horror that I can take in one day.

There is a standing shower. It looks like a coffin standing on end. Its shower curtain is only wide enough to cover one-half of the entrance of the shower. And it has a tear running across the middle horizontally. There are no words to describe the condition of the bottom of the shower. It would be best if I describe it as beyond filthy and it smells like someone recently took a dump in it and vomited simultaneously. I’m serious.

I step backward out of the shower coffin area and back towards the open space to look at the sleeping area. I bravely move forward. I have to admit this has now become morbid curiosity at this point. I can not imagine worse than I have already witnessed.

The bed is actually a folding cot circa WWII. I kid you not. I know because when I was a kid my great grandfather passed away. And my grandfather took me to his father’s house to help clean it out and possibly take away a souvenir if I found something I liked. My grandfather was something of a collector of sorts. Other people might call him a hoarder.

Suffice it to say that my grandfather never threw anything out. And while I was rooting through his attic, I found his folding cot from WWII. And the cot I was looking in this moment bears a striking resemblance to my grandfather’s. On top of the “bed” is a pillow so flat it no longer fits the description of pillow. And there’s a blanket that probably was the original blanket from the WWII cot. I let out another expletive. I didn’t have the courage or the fortitude to look any further.

I double-time it to the door and as I was departing, I slam the door so hard that it falls off its’ hinge. I don’t even look back. I march up to the office door and find it’s once again locked. I start hammering on the door with closed fists. I can not recall ever being this angry in my life. I know I’m out of control but feel it’s righteous anger. I also know if I don’t calm down I will either kill the owner or have a heart attack right here at the door of this shitty hotel. I ask myself, “is this where you want to die?” And I say to myself, “it might be worth it.”

After about three minutes the sleazy low-life manager comes to the door. “What do you want now?’

“What do I want? What do I want? I want a clean room with a door with two hinges and intact windows and curtains. And if it’s not too much to ask, a real bed, a clean bathroom with a clean shower and toilet. And a room that doesn’t smell like someone died there after a prolonged illness. Can I get that buddy?”

He gives me a long, long look and say’s, “So, you’re saying you’ re dissatisfied with your accommodations. Is that it?”

I think for a moment that my head might actually explode. I stand there with my mouth hanging open. I take a deep breath and spit out. “Yes, and that is the understatement of a lifetime. I want I different, better room or I want a complete refund for my money and my deposit. Right now, not in five minutes, right now this second.”

It‘s at that moment that I realize this guy is chewing tobacco, as a brown liquid comes oozing out of his food encrusted lips and over his dark brown teeth. I feel my stomach lurch.

“OK, here are the keys to a room with a bathroom with a shower, and tub, single bed, table and chair and TV but we don’t get cable so it has limited channels but no kitchen area.”

“Is it clean? Does it have curtains and intact windows? Does it smell like an ashtray?”

“It was cleaned yesterday, new curtains and all windows intact and it is a non-smoking room. But it will cost you $10.00 more each day.”

My first impulse was to punch him right in his ugly kisser, but I control myself. “OK, if everything is as you described, I’ll take it. If you lied, I will come back here with a bad attitude and kick your ass. Do you understand buddy?”

He works his jaw and another line of tobacco juice escape between his missing teeth. He wipes the back of his left hand across his mouth and swallows. He hands me the key, and says, “it’s on the other side of the building and then he walks away and spits on the floor. I hear him plop in a chair and turn up his TV.

As I leave the office, I contemplate how such a being exists in the world. And then I realize there are thousands, if not millions of bottom feeders such as this guy. I shake my head and look for the room. This whole place is an absolute maze with no rhyme or reason to how the it’s organized. After about ten minutes of walking around the maze of rooms, cabins, and even a few broken down trailers I find it. It’s at the end of a long line of rooms. I consider the horror I might encounter and take a deep, deep breath of fresh air and unlock the door. The door creaks as it opens, but on the plus side it doesn’t fall off the hinges.

I step into the room and to my utter surprise it isn’t the completely filthy pit I expected it too be. It’s not even close to neat and tidy either. I close the door behind me and walk over to the bed. It has a double bed which is miles ahead of a folding cot from WWII. It has two pillows, a sheet and a thin blanket. Someone else probably slept in by last week, but still, I’ll take it over the cot. I take a sniff of the air and the sheets, not too terrible.

I look under the bed, just dust. I walk across the room and open the bathroom door. There’s a shower and tub with a sliding glass door. I open the door, not clean but not filthy, no roaches running around in there. The toilet wasn’t flushed last couple of times it was used, so I close the lid and flush it.

The next time I go out I decide I’ll buy some clean sheets and some towels since the bathroom has no towels, soap and some room deodorizer and cleanser. It’s not the room I thought I would stay in for my one and only vacation this year. But I hope I ‘ll be spending most of my time in the great outdoors and not in this stinking want-a-be Bates Motel.

I head out to the car to get some supplies and something to eat. But first I change into my hiking boots and clothes. I should have broken the boots in before I got here. But I didn’t. I put on an extra pair of socks to protect my feet. I bring along an extra jacket just in case it’s colder than predicted.

Against my better judgement I go back to the hotel office to see if they have any pamphlets or handouts of any kind for local places to eat. Of course. When I get to office the door was locked again. I get back in my car and turn on my cellphone and ask google maps for local restaurants.

I end up buying lunch at a local take-out for Chinese food. It isn’t half bad. So, I tell the guy at the counter I’ll be back around 6PM to pick up dinner. He’s pleasant enough. They also have some pamphlets on a rack with local sites and activities which I appreciate. I should have planned what I was going to do at home before I got here. But I didn’t, that’s on me. I tend to be somewhat of a procrastinator that’s how I ended up at the hotel. I wait too long to make reservations and they were the only ones to have any openings. And now I know why. Live and learn, I guess. I stop at a nearby Dollar Store and buy my supplies plus a few snacks and a paperback novel to read since I just realized there wasn’t any TV in the room. Oh boy, that’s a real shocker. Yeah, right. And then I’m on my way.

I take the Blue Ridge Parkway to Grandfather Mountain. And I have to admit that this is some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen and I have traveled a lot over the years. Grandfather Mountain is my destination today because it’s only about ten minutes away. The speed limit is twenty-five miles per hour along the parkway so I have time to take in this magnificent area. I arrive and decide that I will park my car and hike the four-mile train to the top.

I have to admit I’m somewhat out of shape and the air becomes thinner the closer I get to the top. Still, I’m determined to do it. When I arrive, there’s quite a crowd because people took the shuttle up. As I stand there drinking in the view, I realize that I have forgotten my camera equipment. I could just kick myself. I consider hiking down and getting my camera gear and then coming back up. But I realize how tired I am after the plane ride, driving to the hotel and putting up with all the malarkey at the hotel.

I decide to look around the whole area and scope out where I’ll like to take my shots when I return here. Once again realizing how disorganized I am. I’m going to have to work on that. My next stop is the-Mile-High Swinging Bridge. The reason I chose this as one of my destinations is because one of my life-long fears has been bridges. You may be asking yourself the question than why go to the mountains and then cross a mile-high bridge. Well, the fact is I’m trying to overcome some of my fears and anxiety.

When I was a young child perhaps five years old, I was in a car going over The Ben Franklin Bridge from New Jersey to Philadelphia, Pa. I was sitting on my mother’s lap. I guess I was leaning against the door as we drove slowly across the bridge and the door wasn’t locked or closed properly. And then it suddenly flew open and I fell out of the car and onto the bridge. My father slammed the brakes and ran over and picked me up and put me in the back seat. Yelling the whole time at me, telling me how I almost killed myself. And since that day I have been fearful of heights and bridges. So, here I am thirty years later, on my way to cross the Mile-High- Swinging Bridge.

I see all kinds of people walking towards, and across the bridge, young and old. I take a deep, deep breath and start walking ever closer to it. And then I see the bridge is right in front of me. I walk onto the bridge. I grab ahold of the railing and I look down, down, down. My head is swimming, I hear ringing in my ears. For an awful moment I’m afraid I just might fall. And then I have a moment when I feel like launching myself off the bridge. My heart is beating like a drum and my pulse is rapid, I can’t catch my breathe. And then the moment passes. I had this feeling before and I know that it is a common experience. I step back and start laughing for a moment. I notice several people are staring at me. And inexplicably I say,” Don’t worry I’m not going to kill myself.” And then I laugh again. All but one of the people laugh uncomfortably and walk away from me. One woman says,” are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to freighted anyone. It was just a weird impulse. I’m working on overcoming my fear of heights.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, thank you I’m fine.” And she goes on her way and when she gets to the other side of the bridge. She looks back at me. She’s gesturing for me to come to the other side. I wave at her and start slowing walking to the other side. I stop in the middle of the bridge and look down. The view’s amazing. And then I continue to the other side and where she’s waiting for me.

“Congratulations you made it. Isn’t it beautiful here?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s stunning.” I smile from ear to ear. She smiles back, and that is when I notice that she’s beautiful with gorgeous red hair. I’ve always been a sucker for redheads. I decide to take a chance and ask her out. “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yes, and believe it or not this is the first vacation I’ve taken by myself. So, I guess I have something to prove as well. Are you here alone?”

“Yes, I’m sorry what’s your name?”

“My name is Joe Wadsworth. What’s your name?”

My name is Emily Van Patten. So, do you have any plans for dinner, Joe? Because I know of a fabulous restaurant nearby. If you would like to meet-up?” I hope that doesn’t sound too pushy?”

“No, not at all. That’s sounds great. What time would you like to meet?”

“How about around 6:30. It’s a casual place so no need to dress up. Here ‘is my cell phone number if something comes up and here is the address. I’ll see you at 6:30.”

I look at her and smile ear to ear and she smiles back. “Great, I’ll see you then.”

And she goes on her way. I stand at the end of the bridge and look at the beautiful valley below and think, maybe my luck is changing. I start walking forward on my trek. I start walking onward and upward as I admire the bounty of multi-colored Fall leaves. I have to admit Fall is my favorite season, the wonderful foliage, the cool, crisp weather.

And then as I’m contemplating all this beauty, I see something moving across the path or should I say slithering. I’m ashamed to say it, but I have a fear of snakes, I don’t know why since I never really encountered one or bitten. But still, I’m terrified of them. I decide to wait until it leaves the area. I hope it’s not a poisoness ’snake, that’s all I need. It looks like it could be a Copperhead, or possibly be a Corn Snake. Which can look similar if it flattens its head and then resembles a Copperhead. I wait and I wait some more. I can’t help but think maybe I shouldn’t have taken this trip alone. But here I am, and decide I’m going to make the best of it, instead of quitting as I usually do when I get frustrated.

The snake finally moves out of sight. And I continue you down the path. I take a couple of steps forward and then trip on my own shoe lace. It apparently came untied at some point. As I lean down to retire my hiking boot, I feel something latch onto my ankle. I look. And I see to my horror snake has its teeth firmly attached to my ankle and is trying to constrict around my ankle. Momentarily I feel as if I might faint. I try to relax since I read the worse thing you can do with a corn snake is try to pull it off since its teeth latch on and they are slanted backward.

I try to remember what I’m supposed to do. And then I remember you’re supposed to pour something ice cold on it and the snake will release its grip. I grab my backpack and look for my thermos that is filled with ice water. I calmly pour the ice water over the snake. In a few minutes that seem like a week to me the snake releases its grip and unwinds off my ankle and once again slithers away. I lean down and look at my ankle and I see the fang marks and a few drops of blood. I grab my pack and find my first aide supply kit. I disinfect it and slap a band aide on it. I promise myself I will be more aware of my surroundings. Still, I count myself lucky that it wasn’t a copperhead. I keep moving forward.

I keep following the trail for another half-hour. I stop and take a drink from my pack. And take another look all around me. I realize that I feel relaxed and happy, despite the snake bite. I lean down and take a look at my ankle and it’s a little sore, but I think its going to be alright. I was lucky, this time.

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THE BASEMENT

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The Basement in my childhood home held a certain fascination for me. Whenever my parents weren’t home, I would quietly make my way down the cellar’s stairs and snoop to my heart content.

Why? You may ask because that’s where my father spent most of his free time when he was home. He wasn’t home all that much. Well, that’s not entirely true. That is where he spent most of his waking hours. During my childhood, my father worked as the Head Dispatcher for PTC, the Pennsylvania Transportation Company (the bus company) in Philadelphia. It was later called SEPTA. He worked there for over forty years, either on the second or third shift, which meant he often slept during the day and worked at night.

Carberry Home Maple Shade, NJ 1950

His daytime sleeping schedule meant that everyone who lived in our house had to be quiet while my father was sleeping. No one wanted to risk waking my father up. Believe me. My father’s nickname was the Grouch and sometimes, the Old Bear. You know how you are never supposed to wake a bear in hibernation. It was the same with my father.

I was so curious about the basement that I wanted to know what my father did down there for all those hours. My father was a brilliant man. He had many hobbies. He was a voracious reader, interested in many subjects, including religion, although he was an atheist. He was fascinated by all things related to the Asian Culture, although he was prejudice against Asian people and called them all Chinamen regardless of their country of origin. My father was prejudiced against anyone that wasn’t white or Irish, for that matter.

He was an accomplished woodworker and builder. He had every type of woodworking tool that was available in the 1960s in his basement. My father took me for a ride one time and showed me a house that his friend Dar and he built. It was a Cape Cod Cottage which was similar to our house. He used to repair and replace electric wiring in our house. However, later after he passed, I learned that he always used lamp wire which wasn’t up to code. He painted our house inside and out. I have to admit that his choice of colors and his decorating taste were somewhat Avant Guard at the time. He was a gardener, and we had a beautiful rose garden in our backyard. I believe his love of gardening led me to become a gardener when I grew up.

And then there was my father’s private life. My father was a gambler. He had a group of friends that he played cards with every week, although I never met them. He was a regular at the Cherry Hill Race Track. He had a different group of friends there. I never met them. My older brother told me that my father had taken him to the track on several occasions and introduced him to his friends.

He had a bookie in Philadelphia that he placed his bets with on the phone, and occasionally he would take my mother and me with him to make bets we waited in the car. It was a treat for us since we rarely took a ride in the car. The only place my mother went was to Mass every day at the Catholic church, which was two doors down from our house, and she walked there.

My father also had a part-time job working at Johnny Marrow’s Auto Supply Store, located on Main Street in Maple Shade, where I grew up. So, as you can see, my father had a full life. Most of it spent outside our home. Much of it unknown to me until I was a teenager or older.

As a result, I was inquisitive about my father and all his activities. I would snoop in his basement to see what he was up to all the time when he wasn’t home. I knew that my father was a perfectionist. And he knew exactly where everything was in all his tool drawers, and cabinets, and on the shelves. And most importantly, on his desk. I, too, was somewhat of a perfectionist and was able to open all his drawers and look inside, and put everything back the way I found it. I inherited my father’s great memory.

The day I decided to look in his desk, I knew my parents would be out for at least an hour. The top of his desk was pristine. He only had his favorite pens and pencils all arranged in a line. Then there was a file drawer with all his papers. They didn’t really hold any interest for me. In the middle drawer, I found several magazines. I was about eleven years old at the time. And had never seen anything like them. They were Playboy Magazines. I was shocked by the pictures of the mostly naked woman. I had never seen any woman in my neighborhood that looked anything like these women.

But the thing that drew my curiosity and held it was a cartoon called The Naughty Granny. I was shocked by the depiction of an older woman barely clad whose intentions were clearly not anything I could imagine at the time. But somehow, I found it to be so shocking and funny and disturbing at the same time. I wanted to talk to someone about my discovery. But really, who could I ask? Certainly not my mother. I was sure she would not understand it. At least that’s what my eleven-year-old self thought. I couldn’t ask my father, obviously, since I was sure he would cut my head off for sneaking around his basement into his sacrosanct desk.

After I discovered the Playboy magazine, I looked at my parents in a whole new way. I no longer looked at them as just my parents. I looked at them as people separate from me who were individuals. People I didn’t really know as well as I thought. People with friends of their own and interest of their own. People who did more than go to work and come back. People with flaws.

It seems strange now as I reflect on this experience that the discovery of this magazine changed how I looked at my parents. They weren’t just my parents; they were people. My father wasn’t just the grouch who seemed to be mad at the world all the time. He was a man with friends and a job who went places and did things I didn’t know anything about.

And my mother was more than the person who loved me, and washed my clothes and cooked my meals, and went to Mass every day of her life. And she probably had friends too, even though I never met them.

And that is when I started talking to my parents and asking them questions about what they were doing and where they were going? I ask my mother one day,” Mom, what do you do for fun?”

My mother just stared at me. I realized that she didn’t really do anything just for fun. That her life was not as complicated as my father’s appeared to be. Her life was mainly taking care of the family and the house and going to church. But I knew at some level at one time during her life; she too had friends and siblings. And I hoped that somewhere during her life, she had the time to have some fun. My mother was nineteen when my parents were married, and she proceeded to have ten children in twenty years, six of who survived. I knew my mother had lost her parents. So, I knew she had loss and sadness in her life. I hope she had happiness as well. I rarely saw her laugh; she didn’t joke around. She rarely mentioned her childhood or her parents.

I think it was the first time I thought of my parents as people as individuals, not just my mom and dad. It made me start thinking about my life when I grew up and what I wanted to do with it. And I knew I wanted it to be more than getting married and taking care of kids, and cleaning a house. Although as I grew up, I knew I wanted to have children someday. But I wanted more than that.

I was a quiet and thoughtful child. I kept my thoughts to myself for the most part. Most people interpreted that as me being shy. But I wasn’t shy, just quiet, but always listening and trying to understand people and the world around me.

I never talk to my friends about their parents because I didn’t really know how to ask them. I thought they would think I was weird or something. But here I sit many decades later, trying to discover and understand the person I am now in this moment. And I know evolved over the many years trying to understand myself and the world I live in, and I fit into it. I am a part of the world, but I am also an observer.

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LIFE OFFERS US OPPORTUNITIES TO LEARN

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I wake up soaked in sweat, and the sheets are wound tightly around me. And I have the worse headache of my life.

Photo by Agoda

I reluctantly open my eyes, fearing the worse. Dear god, what have I done? I try to recall the previous night. It’s all a blur. I remember an acquaintance of mine texted me and asked me to meet him at a local bar for a drink. I’m not much of a drinker, but it had been a long work week, and I decided I could use a change of scenery and some friendly conversation.

It seems l must have met him at the bar and then overindulged. But frankly, that’s just not my style. As I said, I’m not much of a drinker. Usually, I just sip a glass of white wine the whole night. But the pounding in my head and nausea indicate that I’ve done more than sip a Chardonnay. I use the wine glass as a prop so I don’t look out of place. Really.

As I look around the room, it suddenly dawns on me that I’m not in my bedroom. I’m in a kind of dark and creepy cellar or something. As I attempt to get up off the bed, I realize I can’t move. My wrists are tied to a rusty metal headboard. I suddenly have the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. I open my mouth and yell at the top of my voice,” hey, let me the hell out of here. Come and let me the hell out of here, now. You better let me out now. This isn’t funny.” No one comes, and no one answers. I scream louder, “help, help let me out of here, now. I’m supposed to be meeting my mother for lunch.”

I start struggling, but the more I struggle, the tighter the ropes on my wrists feel. I begin crying hard. I cry so hard I start sobbing and can’t catch my breath. I feel as if I might throw up. I realized if I threw up, I could choke to death. So, I take deep, slow breaths to calm myself.

I slowly gain control of the panic I’m feeling, and my breathing becomes easier. But my heart is still beating irregularly. I keep breathing slowly with my eyes closed, and a few minutes later, my heartbeat is back to normal.

I consider what my options are at the moment. I can’t just lie here until the person who tied me up comes back and unties me. But then what? They could murder me and then ditch my body in the woods or something. I don’t like that scenario at all. But isn’t that what always happens in the cheap movies where some woman is stupid enough to go to a bar, get drunk, and is taken advantage of, murdered, and chopped up in pieces.

I decide that my best course of action is to stay calm and wait for the perpetrator to return and then outsmart him. I’m an intelligent woman and used to thinking on my feet under pressure. I’m a lawyer, although I would be hard put to explain to a jury how I was stupid enough to get myself in the predicament I found myself in today.

I have the added benefit of being quite attractive. At least, that is what I’ve been told. So, I decide that I would outwit him and use my female wiles to get my way. Well, maybe I should stick with the intellectual approach as I’m probably not looking my best right at this moment.

And it was at that moment I heard someone unlocking the door. My heart skips a beat or two. I try to keep my calm. I close my eyes, and then the door swings open with a bang that echoes down what sounds like a long empty corridor.

And then someone dressed all in black comes through the door. He has a black hood over his head. I feel as if I might faint. But I don’t. I wait a few moments, and then I say nonchalantly, “OK, the jokes over. Can you please untie me? I have a lot of things I have to get done today.”

I hear breathing, nothing more. And then, the man in black walks slowly over to the bed and stands over me. He’s tall and thin, and his breath smells like something died in his mouth and is rotting there. I try again, “OK, OK, that’s enough for today. I have to get going. I’m on a deadline and don’t have any more time to waste.”

I feel him loom over me. I gulp hard. He unties one of my wrists and says, “alright, let’s take this slow so nobody gets hurt. Lie still, and everything will be alright. Don’t struggle, don’t yell. And don’t do anything you’ll be sorry for. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. I’m calm. I’m not going to do anything crazy. Just untie me and let me leave. No one ever needs to know about this ever. I promise. Now let me go.”

“You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“No, should I? Why don’t we let that be your little secret? Why don’t you just untie me, let me get dressed, and get out of here? I won’t tell anyone about our little “party.” I’m sure it was all meant to be fun. So, we had a few too many drinks, and we got carried away. That’s how I’ll remember it, anyway.”

“Really, tell me exactly what you remember.

I lie there for a moment, trying to decide the best course of action. And my mind is a total blank. I don’t have any memory of how I came to be here in this nightmare. But obviously, I made some really poor choices last night. And then it occurs to me I don’t have any idea if I’ve only been here one night or one year for that matter. My sweating begins anew.

“Honestly, I can’t remember how I came to be here. I recall that a friend of mine texted me and asked me to meet her at a bar for a drink. I vaguely recall going to a bar on South Street in Philadelphia called the Tattooed Mom. I waited at the bar for about fifteen minutes, and she didn’t show up. I ordered a glass of white wine, took a sip or two, and then made a trip to the Ladies’ room. When I came back to the bar, she still wasn’t there. I texted her and asked if she was on her way. She never answered. So, I gulped the rest of the wine, and that’s the last thing I remember.

And it was at that moment that I realized what had happened. And how I could only blame myself for my current predicament. It was clear now that when I went into the bathroom, this freak dropped a Roffie in my drink. Why the hell did I do something so thoughtless and stupid? Even teenagers and college girls know not ever to leave their drink unattended. But what about my friend Silvia? Why would she text me and not show up? Was she all a part of this nightmare? And then I thought, no way would she do anything like this. She’s one of the most thoughtful and kind people I know.

I look up at the hooded kidnapper and say, “what did you do to my friend Silvia? I know she wouldn’t have any part of this. Did you hurt her? Where is she?

“Alright, Elizabeth, I see your memories are starting to come back. And don’t you worry about Sylvie. I have her, and so far, she is just fine. She’s taking a nap right now. Perhaps I’ll let you see each other later, that is, if you are a good girl.”

“What did you do to her? I want to see her right now. I’m not going to cooperate with you at all until I know she is alright.

“You don’t really have any bargaining power here, Elizabeth. I’m in charge. It’s not like this is Bower and Sons, where you are the boss. You always act like you’re superior to underlings. But not here, I can do anything I want to you, and you can’t do a thing about it. You’re the loser here. You will do exactly as I say, or I will make your friend Sylvie pay the price. And I’ll make you watch the whole time.”

So now I know that this nutjob is somebody from my workplace, and he has Sylvia, and that is how he texted me. He was using her cell phone. I also know that somehow, I’m going to make this monster pay big time. “OK, I understand you’re in charge. I have to do what you say, or you’ll hurt Sylvie. I’ll cooperate, but can I please see Sylvia now?

“You can see Sylvia after you do what I tell you to do and not before. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand, I have to do exactly what you tell me to do, and then I get to see my friend. I promise I’ll be a good girl. What do you want me to do?”

“That’s more like it, I’m going to untie you, and you’re going to slowly stand up and take off your clothes.”

My heart started beating irregularly. And I start thinking, and now I’m going to be raped and murdered. And no one will ever know what happened to me, including my family. And then I thought, wait a minute, I’m not some poor helpless woman. I have the smarts and ten years of Marshall Arts training. I’m going to wait until he unties me, and then I’m going to give him the beating of his life. He’ll cry for his mamma when I’m done with him.

“OK, OK, whatever you want me to do. Please just untie me. My arms and legs feel numb. You have the restraints so tight. I probably won’t be able even to stand up yet. I feel kind of nauseous too. I need to go to the bathroom, please. I promise to cooperate. I’ll be a good girl, whatever you want. “

“Alright, Elizabeth, now you understand who’s in charge now. And it isn’t you. You get that, now, don’t you?”

“Yes, I understand. You’re in charge. And I apologize if I ever made you feel bad or humiliated you at work. I see now how wrong that was, and I won’t do it again.”

“Alright, I’m going to untie you and let you go to the bathroom. And you aren’t going to try any funny business, or your friend Sylvia will pay the price, go it?”

“Yes, yes, I understand. Please let me go to the bathroom; I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“Stop whining.”

“OK, I’ll cooperate.”

He comes over and looms over me. And I think now he’s going to kill me? I close my eyes for a moment, and I can feel him untie the ropes. I know this is going to be my only chance to overcome this psycho. While he unties my right leg, I pretend to be crying and say, “please, please don’t hurt me.”

He laughs. I had never heard anyone laugh like that before or since, and it was truly the laugh of an insane and evil man. It sent chills down my back. As he unties my left leg, I get ready to kick him in the solar plexus as hard as I can. I know this is probably my one and only chance, and I’ll take it to a higher level. I’ll make it the kill strike if I have to.

“Oh, thank you so much,” I say, and then I kick him so hard his mama can feel it. And down he goes like a sack of rotten potatoes. I kicked him so hard that my legs muscles cramp up, and my hips hurt. And I grab the ropes and start tying him using all the knots I learned in the ten years I was a Girl Scout. I know they would come in handy someday. I finish it off with the constrictor knot. He’ll have to be cut out of these ropes.

He’s having trouble catching his breath. I give him another kick just for the hell of it. And then I go looking for Sylvia. I hear a muffled moaning from the other side of the wall. And there she is, tied with her arms behind her back and her legs tied tightly to the steel bunk she’s lying on. There are tears running down her face making clean tracks in her face, which was covered in some kind of filth.

“Oh honey, it’s alright. I’m here now. That piece of shit isn’t going to hurt you anymore. He’ll be going to prison for a long, long time. I carefully untie first her wrist and then her legs. She begins sobbing and choking. “Come on, try to sit up. You’re alright now. No one is going to hurt you anymore. I help her sit up, and she hugs me like she’s never going to let go. “You’re safe now, try and stand up.” She gets unsteadily to her feet, shaking like a leaf from head to toe. I hug her again.

“Elizabeth, you’re alright. I was so afraid he was going to kill you. He absolutely despises you. He told me that you were always emasculating him at work. And he was going to make you regret the day you were born. He told me he tailed you one Friday after work, and he saw us meet up, and then he followed me home. And then he found out who I was through your Social Media. I never realized how dangerous it was to put all your personal information on the internet. Anyone can find out where you live, where you work, who your friends are, and where you work. I’m going to delete any personal informant today.”

“Do you know where he put your cell phone?”

The last time I saw him talking on it, he put it down on that counter over there. But I don’t know if it’s still there. Since he kept drugging me until I stopped eating, then he put it in the water I drank.”

“How awful. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I can be somewhat difficult at work after years of working for men treating me like their slave or their mother. I got sick of it. And then, I started moving up in my company. I started doing the same to them. Come on, can you stand up? Let’s go call the police.”

After the police arrive, Elizabeth and Sylvia give their statements, and the paramedics look them over. They decide Sylvia needs to go to the hospital to be checked out because of dehydration and not eating for several days.

“I would like to go with Sylvia to the hospital if I can?”

“Of course, you can ride in the back with her. I’m sure she would feel better with a friend accompanying her. She’s had a really rough time of it.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. She’s a good friend. And it’s my fault this happened to her.”

“No, you both are victims here. None of this is your fault. Go ahead and climb in the back and take care of your friend. You’re both in good hands now.”

Elizabeth and Sylvia sit quietly in the ambulance the whole ride. Before they pull into the Emergency parking at the hospital, Elizabeth leans down and kisses Sylvia on the cheek and hugs her, and says, “don’t worry, I’m going to stick with you like glue from now on.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth, you saved both of our lives. I’ll be careful and stay on your right side because you are a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure.”

They hold each other’s hands the whole time that Sylvia is being examined, and then the doctor tells Sylvia it would be a good idea for her to stay overnight for observation, and she will be released in the morning. “Can I stay with her doctor?”

“Yes, of course, but wouldn’t you like to go home and get changed?”

“No, I’ll just wash up in the bathroom and sit next to my friend until she’s released. Then I’ll call a cab to take her home. I’m sure I’ll fall asleep sitting up, no problem. Thank you for taking care of us. I appreciate that. I know I don’t tell people often enough that I appreciate what they do. I will from now on, that’s for sure.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll come back later before my shift is up to check on you both.”

“Thanks again.”

Elizabeth steps into the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror. She looks like something the cat dragged in on a cold night. She washes her face and hands. And then runs her fingers through her hair and goes to the bathroom. She returns quietly to the room and sits next to her friend, who is fast asleep and breathing evenly.

“Good night, Sylvia.” Then she stretches her legs out in front of her, puts her head down, and falls asleep. She doesn’t wake up for four hours until the night nurse comes in to check on Elizabeth. And then she wakes with a start. “What’s going on?”

“I’m the nurse I’m checking on your friend. She’s doing fine. Can I get you a pillow or anything?”

“No, I’ve never been better in my life, and then her eyes close, and she is off to the Land of Nod.

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Writer's Blog by Susan A. Culver

Monthly Archives: March 2021

ALL KINDS OF CRAZY

Part Two-WHAT HAPPENS IF A DREAM VACATION BECOMES A NIGHTMARE?

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A DREAM VACATION BECOMES A NIGHTMARE?

THE BASEMENT

LIFE OFFERS US OPPORTUNITIES TO LEARN