“I said I won’t tell anybody.”
Clayton looked down at the hot pink bunny in Mark’s grip. It looked so goofy and innocent all of the sudden, with its dumb googly eyes and buck teeth. It looked like it would hop to its doom with the same idiotic expression on its face, oblivious that things like death are supposed to be bad, and that things like fire are supposed to hurt. Part of him wanted to grab the bunny from Mark’s arms and run off, but he knew that would make him just as weird as Terry. No girls at his school would talk to him then.
“So,” Clayton asked. “Why Moony?”
“Moony’s already kind of bad,” Terry said.
“Bad how?”
“Dad threw him once, when he was mad.”
“Your dad was mad at Moony?”
“No, but Moony was there when Dad yelled to pick this crap up, and he threw Moony at me.”
“So, it’s Moony’s fault your room or whatever was messy?”
“A little bit, just because there’s too much stuff, and if Dad gets mad and throws something I know that’s what should get used.”
Clayton looked down at Moony again. Poor Moony, Clayton thought. He knew it was a ridiculous thing to think, but it’s not like he was talking to his classmates or friends or anything. Plus, he couldn’t really help it, he just all of the sudden felt sorry for the poor dumb stuffed bunny.
“So,” Clayton asked, “when do we begin executing these ghosts?”
“We have to wait until it gets dark,” Mark said, nodding.
“Mark, Aunt Sarah really lets you hang out here burning stuff until it gets dark?”
“Ummm,” Mark tried to evade. “Yeah.”
“So, if I told her we were all out in the woods setting fire to dollies and crap she’d be okay with it?”
Mark didn’t answer and Clayton put his hands on his hips and grinned.
“You’re not gonna tell her about the burning are you?” Mark whined. “You already swore you’d keep this a secret.”
“Just, you get to stay out this late?”
“She knows I’m with Terry.”
Clayton’s mom read him the riot act if he came home at sunset, so this was super unfair. Still, he’d promised. Even if these were just a couple of dorks, he knew he couldn’t go back on that.
“You’re not gonna tell are you?” Mark asked again.
“No, don’t worry geek, I won’t tell. But I think you owe me.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know yet, I’ll think of something later.” Clayton watched as that sank in. Mark’s face became unsettled.
“Already promised,” Mark mumbled, and Clayton grinned to himself.
“You did,” Terry said, looking Clayton in the eye all crazy. Clayton almost laughed out loud again. Jeez, pipe down, little demon-boy. “In fact you swore, you swore you wouldn’t.”
“Okay man.” If Clayton had to accompany these two freaks, he could at least push a couple of geek buttons. “Calm down, I already said I won’t tell.”
“Do you know what happens if you tell?” Terry asked.
“I go to hell, because I swore.”
“Yeah, but before that my brother will find you. When he does, you’re dead.”
Clayton didn’t know Bobby. He’d seen Bobby’s picture in the Ervin yearbook from a couple of years ago, though, and in a couple of random hallway photos. He was super-skinny, with greasy hair that stuck up in back and really uncool, wire-framed dad-type glasses that were too large and a little crooked on his face.
Bobby Jensen didn’t seem like too much of a threat, except he wore army jackets to school, read gun and weapon catalogues and carried, like, throwing stars and nun-chucks in his backpack. Plus there was whatever he got kicked out of school for. Besides, Clayton realized that telling anybody meant admitting he hung around with his little cousin, and his little cousin’s weird little friend with the psycho older brother.
“So,” Clayton asked. “Your brother brought other people down here?”
“Yeah, he’d bring some of his friends from the junior high.”
“Who’d he show this too?” Clayton was genuinely curious. It might be something he could talk about with older kids at Hickman, when he went.
“I usually wasn’t allowed to go when they went. I went with him and Steve Leery and Dave Murphy a couple of times.”
Ah, Clayton thought. That makes sense. Those two were known stoners, weirdos, there were rumors of animal torture.
“Steve and Dave both tried to get me to smoke, but I couldn’t stop coughing. He came here with Jessica Crenshaw a couple of times, but he made me go home once we got to the woods.”
So, Clayton thought. The plot thickens. This could be a good reason to strike up a conversation with Amanda, Jessica’s sister, who was in his English class. She had bobbed dark hair, wore dark eye make-up around her eyes like a raccoon and Cure t-shirts. Clayton had been looking for an excuse to talk to her. She was weird but she was cute, a lot of guys thought so.
It started getting a little darker and fireflies orbited the three boys and their ghost catcher.
I’m quitting here, for word count.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
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He walked downstairs from his study and spoke to the class in low honeyed tones. After waiting for many hours he was calm and relaxed. A true story was coming out of him. He needs only seconds to compose himself anymore
“
The following idea occurred to me while working in yet another warehouse situation. The dilemma presented itself as a simple production problem A series of events where oil from metal could not mix with clean water. The water was in a sink that we call the Lovely Faces of Debt sink. The other sink we will call the Metal sink.
This was not an actual dilemma. But while trying to fix the problem with hot water, things got worse for me and the simple answer was allowing time to pass and deal with it later.
The dilemma presented itself as I considered old information, new information, and old technology, new technology at a rapid pass. Add to that the distance and time it took to walk to the sinks and cut the material we were attempting to process for further production of the material.
My actions speak for who I am today a man whose life has become his work. His life’s work; Work has become life. Add to this that I only took one hit of acid while reading aloud the work of Bukowski as per my favorite friend who was a poet at the time.
She was a childhood friend who was dating a good friend of mine. She and Wild Man lived in the front room. She helped me find my voice reading the story CB wrote about Jesus coming back to the earth to help his favorite baseball team. As I read I discovered a natural unstressed real speaker who took each word serious-like. And then the acid took hold and the words became cities I had to conquer and the periods became obstacles that I could not miss. And when Bukowski hit the end of his story I made an effort to avoid laughter. This experience haunts me to this day. I do wish it gone, but I am glad that this childhood friend and I had this experience.
Good night.. Be right back.
Sorry I was rambling so.
What I really wanted to tell you was that she was the prettiest girl in town at the time a bit young but that never bothered me. Getting a handle of what the next generation thought was always important. She sat with my bud Stewart and talked about Clikatat I bought that album asap and we planned a benefit for the homeless.
Her name was Techno-Lauren. The girl was so emo she was Techno! My only experience with techno music was figuring out the Dunt-dunt-duntdnt/duntduntduntdun on the keyboard at the local music library.
I DIGRESS!!!
We planned the event and I was gonna do sound, but I was so broke that all I could do was show up and represent the rockers. Then the drunk punks ruined it by having the show cancelled. Other bands have other memories. Mine are just as good cause I was there was Apparatus Engine who brought Army of Ponch (Fla) to the Philadelphia area.
The Cancer Conspiracy and so many other bands from that time frame. A highlight for me was Technician who not only was gracious enough to talk to me at Bert’s in DE and sit at table and greet other like-minded geeks like myself. I was the one who suggested the nametags. TechnolL jumped at this idea. I threw out her busty picture after she met a boy who she had cars in common. Ain’t seen her since.
Sorry I was rambling so.
The other part of this story is the instructions I hope this meets the word count. Yeah this didn’t happen either.”
The following true story is from the bullshit file: This list is pulled from the file
1. Move it like an old lady.
2. Boxes of Turkey bacon say . . .Gobble!!!
3. Metal flowers have petals.
4. Eat the Empire-size serving.
Toku-te' you're up. Read your story.
Okay, boss.
Come on Tuku get a move on there is clapping going on at this point.
Aw, boss come on you need to relax. What you eat?
Nothing.
Well here have a bread sandwich!
Two pieces of bread that's all you get.
Two pieces of bread and you get to decide what's on the inside. What you get?
Egg salad!
You don't sound happy. You heard the rules right. That there sandwich can be any thing you want it to be. So what do you have?
It's egg salad. No celery this time but it's definitely an egg salad sandwich. So what you get, Tuku. ?
Olive loaf, turkey ham and processed cheese!
Dammit! Tell your story.
There weren't two nights back in 1977 that I could string together even a half of a good nights sleep. And then who-the-hell/ what's-his-name would stop around to my place for a visit. He is the guy would scream the worst string of obscenities at me and accuse me of murder, arson, treason, and theft. I'd walk out of a drug store and he'd be standing there.