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Ditched at Hooters Butch’s Mighty Roar:
On a hot summer night, swerving westbound on I–270, is a 1995 rusty red Subaru GL station wagon. There are multi-hewed, daisy and triangle stickers on all side windows which are shut tight. There is a bumper sticker on the back bumper that reads, “G-d is nominal.” Butch is homage to being open minded, gay, and free in America. Combined with the cloud of smoke inside the car and the plume of blue gray smoke bellowing out of the back (the muffler is held on with a coat hanger) here’s the thought people sharing the road with Butch are having simultaneously. Not only can the driver not see where she’s going or hear me honking, she’s too stoned to care. Anyone within two car lengths of her is having their own problems seeing and breathing. Possums are flinging themselves onto the beltway because they realize that the long term effects of carcinogen inhalation and deafness may be more perilous to survival than a direct hit at 70 miles an hour. Yes, all animals are sentient. The raccoons are Buddhists. Butch sees the suicidal rodents as sacrifices to keep her running. Like Stephen King’s “Christine” but without the murder. The raccoons and possums are willing and not coerced in any way. Butch has bigger fish to fry. There are Indigo Girls concerts to get to.
Inside Butch
Caitlin, a 25 year old femme fatale with a penchant for middle aged women is driving with her eyes practically shut. She has long shoulder length hair braided in Caribbean beads and is wearing Birkenstocks, cut off jean shorts, and a powder blue t–shirt that reads, “I Love Pussy.” In the cloud to her right is Soozie (a 17 year old high school dropout whose parents are so narcissistic that they were too busy getting therapy to go to her commencement ceremony.) That may be Soozie’s penultimate achievement; her fifteen minutes of fame. She wanted to be on the road, her parents are divorced, successful, and don’t pay much attention… well to her at least. You can’t really say that self involved people don’t pay attention. So, she told them she graduated, they wrote her a check, and she jumped in the car with Caitlin headed for parts unknown. Besides, she needed time to clear her head. She’s had a strange couple of months. She got fucked up at a party and blacked out. She has felt weird ever since. That’s why she didn’t graduate. She hasn’t been sleeping well due to bad dreams.
Give a Guy a Ride and…
About an hour ago, Caitlin and Soozie left someone at an Oberlin Hooters. Sketchy Mike was an asshole clearly but he told a story that frankly pissed Caitlin off and sent Soozie into a blue void of self loathing. Besides, you don’t get nicknamed Sketchy unless you are a complete are replete of morality. Caitlin kind of knew him but Soozie didn’t. Mike gave her a puzzled look and said that he thought he met her before. Soozie said it couldn’t be because she never met him. Sketchy Mike shrugged, ordered a beer and asked if they could front him since he left his wallet in the car. It started out innocent enough. Sketchy Mike needed a lift as close as he could get to Memphis Tennessee. There was a Disco Biscuits concert at this pyramid shaped amphitheater and everyone knew Sketchy Mike was a regional procurer of disco biscuits; commonly known as Ecstasy. “You can’t jam to the Biscuits without a biscuit in your belly,” said Mike from his perch on the patio. He was nursing his microbrew beer and wiping sweat from his brow. A hazy and humid welcome from Ohio summers. It was the subject of pharmaceuticals that sparked the non sequitur that upset Soozie so. There’s a little detail about the players. Now here’s thee tale Sketchy Mike told Caitlin, Soozie, a couple of random patrons geared up in Jimmie Buffet fare, and Wanda “The Lovely Hooters Matron.”
Thee Tale
Once upon a time, there were two boys. Danny was a bad boy and Jeff was an even worse one. Danny got arrested for selling drugs and since getting out of prison, lived in his parent’s basement (also narcissists) and sold high grade marijuana a.k.a. “kind bud” out of a shoe box under his bed. The smell wafted through the house yet his parents were too busy with therapy to notice. Jeff, on the other hand, had a legitimate business. He sold these little wooden bracelets made of strung wooden blocks. Each one was hand painted with the letters “TRIBE.” Every home game, Jeff would saunter through Jacob’s Field and hock his wears. He made them himself. To admit that was sad because he wasn’t mentally handicapped working in a state run sweat shop. The bracelets sucked but sheeple bought them. You know sheeple. They travel in flocks and wear the same clothes? Nowadays it’s really tight jeans. All it takes is one to don a bracelet and it’s a veritable fashion stampede. Jeff made good money but his heart wasn’t in it. His real passion was charging people money to sleep with his current girlfriend and every one before that. These women weren’t prostitutes or sluts regardless of what Jeff and his friends said. They may like to party but why not right? The person you decide you love should be trustworthy. That was something Jeff exploited. See, he really likes Ruffinol. On a typical Friday night that was an away game (yeah he makes little necklaces that say “BROWNS” and “CAVS” too.) Jeff would throw parties. There would be casual lines of horny guys waiting their turn and handing Jeff $20 a screw. He even took credit cards. The transaction would show up on one’s statement as “Sports and Fitness.” Jeff would make two hundred dollars a night, clean the girls up, and even put them to bed. Jeff was such a gentleman. These parties took place for years and Jeff made thousands of dollars using thousands of women. Thanks to Canadian pharmacies, Jeff was always in supply of his magic pills. The next morning, Jeff would routinely tell the girl that she got really wasted and they had wild kingdom sex. Shortly thereafter, he would find a reason to break up with them so severely that they never wanted to see him again. Sometimes, it was just some cute chick that showed up at the party. All of the local colleges are constantly generating new product for the business. Jeff was so successful, he considered selling franchises. But two weeks later it was all over. Danny suffered from low self esteem. He had many annoying habits: like picking his nose while driving, honking when he laughed, referring to people as “guy,” and leaving masturbation clean up tissue all over for his father and mother to clean. But the most annoying was his tendency to speak at length in public about private matters. Danny usually received high fives from the guys at the bars until one of our heroes overheard him from the stool adjacent to him. He was bragging to the bartender who seemed to have heard this one before. Our hero we’ll call him, the woodsman had a friend who dated a guy named Jeff who would throw elaborate parties every Friday. This couldn’t be a coincidence. So this woodsman of sorts goes to his friend and tells her what he was made privy to and their first instinct is to call the police. Luckily Paris, a brilliant amazingly talented musician friend of there’s had a better idea. You see. he worked at Jacob’s Field selling Nathan’s hot dogs and Jeff would make homophobic references about wieners every time he walked by the Paris. It seemed to Paris, that calling the police would be the least gratifying karmic realignment imaginable. They would haul him on their shoulders and call him a genius. Paris laid out the plan, went to get another friend, and returned two hours later with another friend (she had a big enough car to carry the lights, recording equipment, a pistol, and golf clubs.) They headed out to hunt the haters of the world.
Nevermore
There came a rapping upon Jeff’s chamber door (he rarely locked up his house but always his bedroom.) That’s where we kept his eleven herbs and spices for love. Besides, it was probably Danny. He often crashed here when he was waiting for a weed delivery. He crept groggily out of bed and turned the doorknob. What the hell did Danny want anyways? Before he could ask, “What do you f$ck@ng want?” Jeff was greeted by blinding light, a rush of air, and a searing ache emanating from his left ear. After that, things got dark. When Jeff came to, he found himself bound ass up on the floor. His head was down in a pillow, turned to the right, and he was gagged. Blood was trickling into his eye while he squinted into the bright white light all around him. It was hot, it smelled like car exhaust, and his pants were down around his ankles. Behind him was someone crying and bleating something that didn’t make sense. “I’m sorry Guy, I got a gun to my head,” Danny? Jeff thought. There was the sound of a belt unbuckling behind him. What are you doing Danny? Nervously Jeff waited for an answer to his psychic request. He could hear the click of a camcorder and then came the pain.
Ditched at Hooters
For some reason, he thought this was the funniest story he ever heard. But he also thought it was a sad day in his love life. He said from behind his empty beer bottles (you get thirsty when telling terrible stories) that he spent a lot of money in that house and now was forced to rely on his dazzling personality to hook up with women. Standing up from the table, Sketchy Mike let his companions know he was going to make some room for more beer and he’d be right back to tell the rest of the story. Walking into the men’s room, Sketchy Mike wondered why the ladies looked so freaked out by the story he told. After flushing, he walked over to the sink and began washing his hands. Shit, his clothes smelled like the exhaust from that beast of a car. What did they call it? Butch? Butch is right, hold on. Snap! That Soozie chick. He finally remembered where he met her. Looking into the mirror, he heard the mighty roar of a car muffler tied on with a coat hanger. Eyes widened in his reflection, Mike ran out of the men’s room and out the door to the parking lot. He skidded to a stop just in time to see the rusty red Subaru wobbling out onto the road, trailing a giant plume of smoke. All of his stuff was in the car: his wallet, his clothes, his cell phone, and his disco biscuits. That girl Soozie was at one of Jeff’s parties. Everyone called her Woozie that night. Out cold and naked, Sketchy Mike made her number 12 in his hall of fame of best lays. Damn, ditched at Hooters. They left him the tab. “Shit, it’s not my fault,” Sketchy Mike said while Butch’s roar faded into the distance on a hot summer day in Ohio, “I’ve never seen her with her eyes opened.” An Excerpt from novel in progress, My Liberia Some say that the pace of life in America is unbearable to someone with a more sylvan existence. Everything in reality is relative. Where a village person might cringe at the pace found at Faneuil Hall, that urban hipster would flip their wig at the village market. The smell of spices, cooked meats, raw fish, and body aroma mixes together to form a miasmic haze that would render a newbie catatonic. Not just the smells, but the harmonic convergence of voices hawking wares, children playing, and animals lodging complaint is an assault on the unaccustomed ears. One has the desire to stop and let the eyes absorb the beautifully dark and light people wrapped in the most colorful lapas and shirts. One could make a day of counting the number of hip hop related t shirts that speckle the sea of people selling and buying, but, the wave you are riding will not abide by any obstruction. People are everywhere. Children are taught to keep valuables in hand or in pockets that can be easily verified. There are plenty of people in the crowd not wearing their valuables close to hand. Unwise tourists take for granted the stories told to them by consulate offices. “Keep all of your personal documentation close to your body core.” The UN paper pusher pulls a black pocket, on a strap, and covered in Velcro. “This,” he said, “Is the hideaway wallet that I have used on all of my overseas trips.” He takes the walled and reconnects it around his waist and carefully tucks back into his pants. Andy knew that prolonged wearing of one of those things wouldn’t be comfortable. Andrew heard about a friend of a friend who got an awful rash wearing one of those things and has no intention of wearing one Now months later, Andrew is beyond destitute but doesn’t seem to care. Awhile ago, Andrew’s watch was cut from his wrist in a busy taxi. They call them taxis here, but, it would be better classified as a for hire minivan that seats 8, filled to the brim with at least 20 people. When stuck in a position of both arms outstretched and two people per side pinning his arms down, Andrew is quickly reminded of how the battle for weight loss in America is such a selfish thing. He is surrounded by people who seem happy yet have a daily diet that Andrew could consume during a lap in a drive thru. The thought that in America, everything is taken for granted, made the event of his fleecing seem less important. As his right arm is pinned by an ancient woman he met shortly before getting in this mode of public desperation, Andrew could feel the tug on his arm. It wasn’t the nicest watch in the world but it was his. A silver Pulsar watch named after pendulum like stars so many light years away was cut off of his wrist. To this day, Andrew couldn’t discern between the people on that taxi, let alone find the one person who may have taken his watch. But it was that moment that changed Andrew’s future forever. That watch was the last sigil of Andrew’s past. Weeks earlier, he met some guys in a bar who took him to the Rastafarians to get some weed. They knew he would be into that since he had that look of the Peace Corp about him. If anyone wants to travel to Africa and give the impression they aren’t from America, 3 tasks are necessary: 1. Stop using deodorant two weeks at least before traveling, Resort to bathing much less frequently, and start eating spicy foods. If those three things can be applied verbatim, then the scent of American will be in transition by the time you get to Monrovia. People over there think that everyone in America is loaded. That belief is held so strongly that some would be willing to do harm to an American for a fast infusion of cash. It isn’t just the way Americans carry themselves although Texans have traveled every nook and cranny of the world and left a bad taste in many people’s mouths. But one can’t just blame Texans either. Andrew took 3 guys out for dinner and drinks that night. They ate and drank like kings. Afterward, Andrew with drunken friends in tow took a taxi to a Rastafarian village on the shores of Cape Palmas and purchased more weed than the local guys actually had on them. They had to send for more from the interior. All of the extravagance that he inadvertently waved in the faces of his newfound friends was the monetary equivalent of dinner and a movie in America. Hyperinflation is also bad because it gets unsuspecting tourists beaten up. He came to that morning with his wallet, passport, money gone, and his right side completely asleep. He had his girth to thank for keeping his watch that day. He was so big and passed out in such an awkward position that the emaciated perpetrators couldn’t move him. The pain in his ribs conveyed their possible frustration at not being able to procure the Pulsar. But if Andrew were white, they would have probably killed him. No matter how much money indigenous folks thought he may have had, it wasn’t enough to kill him for. So, even as his watch was pealed from his wrist like a cashew out of its green housing, Andrew was grateful he had his life. For once, although penniless, Andrew felt far more relevant than he did in America. He used to work for a large corporation herded into a cubicle. That is until he began having these recurring dreams. Andrew started dreaming, at around the same time that he was promoted to Supreme Paper pusher, that he was on the crew of the Starship Enterprise. One day, he, two other crew people in red jumpsuits and the main cast all get sent on a mission 500 years into the past. Like anyone sent on a mission with the stars of the show, he is abandoned in the past. But in the dream he is initially confident. He acknowledges his predicament but figures that he is from the future. His insights on technology should propel him to the pinnacle of life in this timeframe. Every night for a week, Andrew awoke in his efficiency apartment in Cleveland Ohio drenched in sweat and fear. Every night he dreamt that although he was from the future, he had no relevant abilities to make him more than what he was on that ship. If he were the captain, his knowledge of tactics would make him sought after for military and diplomatic negotiation. The pointy eared guy would make Steve Jobs look like Bill Gates on crack. And the Doctor could open up a practice and cure people at a faster rate on return than Dr. Phil. But in dream world as well as the real, Andrew shuffled virtual paper. It was that realization combined with a divorce and loss of custody that sent Andrew to a country he never visited but heard a great deal about. His early childhood memories were of fanciful stories about this place and its people. But that was a foster home and because of immigration problems, that lovely family could no longer keep him. Andrew went from foster home foster home until he turned 18 and was forgotten. He did find his way into a local insurance company that was going nationwide (no pun intended) and they were kind enough to give him a cubicle that he could decorate within reason. Andrew worked and tried to accomplish the American dream. He got married because he thought he had to and had a child. He got divorced because his wife found him uninteresting and incomplete. She took the child and the foreclosure with her to Vermont. From what Andrew understands, they are happily working an organic rutabaga farm somewhere outside of Burlington. While sitting at his cubicle, filling out a timesheet, Andrew realizes how wrong he has been in life. Growing up from family to family, he made the subconscious decision that there was nothing redeeming about him. He hated himself so completely that he adopted any situation that was most unlike him. He changed his faith to marry a woman not of his ethnicity. He shunned any friends that were peers during some of his lower times. Those times would be defined as occasions where he wasn’t avoiding anything black. But something bigger dawned on Andrew this day. He understood that the happiest he ever felt were those days filled with the same spices he is drawn to in this Monrovian marketplace. He also remembered the sense of comfort he received then and equated it to this large blanketing throng of African bodies. Here, he has felt admired for his intelligent instead of the shock white people feign when they are near an intelligent black person. Here, Andrew believed that he could shed the hate that filled his heart and embrace those people who raised him so long ago. If only he could find them.
Before making this journey, Andrew contacted the adoption agency that worked with all of the foster parents involved in his upbringing. He found the names of the people that took him in but could uncover no other relevant information other than the country they were deported to. It was Liberia, but, because of the 10 year war, he could get no information to confirm what happened to them afterward. He did make contact with someone who was related to them distantly and that person was able to verify a family name and a pre war residence for another relative. The ancient woman in the taxi with skin like a worn in leather hand bag was the aunt of his foster father. They met earlier that day and decided to take a taxi into town for some food to plan a big family celebration to welcome one of their returned sons. It is here in this market with Aunt Rhoda that Andrew stands. Amid the day to day shoppers who lack proper refrigeration surrounding him Andrew feels at home. No watch, very little money, but a feeling of rebirth, Andrew feels like he could do something great here. Unlike his Star Trek dream, he may have life experiences that can make his mark on this country. More than the droppings from a pigeon’s rump in downtown Cleveland, Andrew feels like he could make history here. But for now, he must find his family.
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