Chapter Fourteen

  Allen Wench, Wrenching my Heart

  Since when does her name become my verb?

  Upon our return to Los Angeles, she was quickly scouted by a producer and whisked away to film a documentary leaving me in the dust; maybe we will film our movie together this summer? Maybe we can honeymoon when she gets back? After all, this is her dream come true.

  I text my doll, but she doesn’t answer. I try every app on my phone and still no response. I feel like giving up.

  It’s hard, you know, but I’ve managed to express how I feel. I learned how to communicate with her and put it to practice. Let go and wait. She’s doing her own thing, and I love her for it.

  But I’ll go mad if I stay here waiting for her. I’ll go to New York and check out the Met with some of my old crew that I haven’t seen in so long. Man, I’ve changed. I know she’s in New York, I can’t wait to see her, and I’ll surprise her!

  New York is beautiful. The art scene is amazing too, and the food…oh my God, the food. I lose myself in thought for a while, then that’s when the cover of a magazine on the table beside me catches my eye.

  Guisy’s picture is on the bottom corner with a page number dangling over her. She’s gorgeous. I lunge over and grab it, tracing my fingers over her face. She’s in town. She’s at a local playhouse. If I race there, I might make it on time. Fuck!

  Of course, time means nothing and screws me over bad. The doors are locked, and the lights are off. I missed my girl and her show.

  Where the hell is she? Why won’t she pick up my calls or my texts? Sad as hell, I walk and walk until exhaustion overtakes me. Defeat almost kills me. I miss her so bad. Life isn’t fair. I’ve done so much good you think things would go right for me, right?

  Just as I wave a taxi down, I peer into a fancy restaurant window and there’s my girl, sitting with some stiff in a suit. Holy shit I’m pissed off, but I’m excited at the same time.

  I storm into that laudy daudy foodie place and stand behind her as she lets him touch her hands and hold them over their plates. He glares at me like I’m a bum from the streets. So, I bend down, grab his glass of wine, and guzzle it down. Then, I crack my knuckles.

  How could she do this to me? Gross, I hate apple juice.

  When she turns her head and looks up at me, her eyes bulge like she’s seen a ghost.

  “Really? This is what you’ve being doing?” I yell at her, not even giving her a chance to speak. “Fucking around on me with this old guy? Older than me! You got something for old men, Guisy?”

  I turn in a rage and walk out into the foyer pissed off beyond belief.

  Unbelievable! She’s just sitting yakking with her new boyfriend or old man thing. Really Guisy Rose Bobb!

  I strain my eyes trying to see if they’re looking all lustfully at each other.

  Disgusting. More men are joining their table. Now, they’re pushing their books on her? Wait.

  I wish I had my glasses right now.

  A lady is standing beside them. They’re all holding hands. I can hear them talking to each other. But why are they holding hands?

  My stomach broils with jealousy. Where is this coming from? Then Guisy kisses one man on the cheek, smiling, looking at him with love in her eyes.

  My mind tells me to stay, but my body runs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Dying Star

  I ran from her straight into the arms of whiskey, my first girl. I can’t do this, it’s too fucking hard. She’s too good for me. I knew it from the very first day I met her. I used her ass then and, even without trying, I did it again and there’s no going back.

  He won’t answer. I lost him. I lose everyone I love. I’ll pray. I’ll pray and ask Spirit for guidance and protection for my John boy. I love him. My pain was off the hook, so I gave it to Spirit.

  “Lead me, Spirit. Let’s go together.”

  Red Bull—thank God for Red Bull and Jaeger. It’ll keep me up for this long drive.

  Shitty part about driving thirty-seven hours with only a cat nap is that the eyes start to burn and it’s hard to focus. But if I keep on driving with the windows down, music on, and chain smoke the night away, maybe, just maybe, I’ll make it there just before dawn. Which, by the way, is my favorite time of the day (or is it night?). Fuck.

  This night is unreal, the air so clear of smog that you can see every detail of every star above. It’s spectacular because of all the falling stars. Man, I made like a dozen wishes. I can see her face so clear now. Maybe I’ll call her as soon as I get to the ranch.

  Yeah, ya only live once! Hey, where’s my cigarette? Yeah, I’m feeling pretty good now. Hope is a bitch!

  But I drifted off.

  By the time I woke up…it was too late. I should have buckled. I should have called her to hear her voice.

  Flight. My car flew, soared like an eagle. My head hit the windshield. My shoulder crushed up against the frame above the door. Shit. Fucking stars. I am one with them. I’m dying.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Let’s Just Kiss!

  I grew up pauper, raised by a pauper. But the mountain boy from Montana grew tired of the small-town life.

  I worked in the mill long enough to buy my first bike and leather jacket. The grease that I used to polish my dad’s boots I used on my own. Together, we slicked our hair back and hit up the saloon. Dad was a lush, but he provided for us the best he could, and it helped that every weekend we racked them up and made a few bucks sinking balls. Before me, it was grandfather and dad. When Ma started nagging me that it was about time to settle down and put up my own house, maybe a trailer to start off with...I started to think.

  I almost settled. I almost did it. They set me up with a filly at the annual barn dance and I rebelled and got wasted. I danced with every girl there and, that night, time stood still. My chest felt like it was going to explode as I watched my family and friends like I was on the outside of a television. My heart sank. I was losing it and starting to freak out on the inside.

  I didn’t want a clothesline welcoming me home. No sand boxes. No swing set. And never ever did I want to take my bi-weekly paycheck to my bank, cash it, take it home, pay the bills, buy the food, fix up the house, buy kids shit, take her out to the beauty salon, and be broke the next day. No fucking way. I didn’t want no bare foot, swollen belly old lady nagging on me night and day. I didn’t want to grow old and worn out and so fucking full of regret that my heart was giving out by my fiftieth, like my pa and his pa.

  Hell no.

  So, I did what not that many do: take the narrow road. That road to freedom. I revel in rising above.

  Before dawn could squander my day, I packed my shit up and jumped on my bike not knowing where life would take me. All I could do was ride. I lit my smoke and inhaled right deep as I looked back in my side mirror. That was the last time my eyes saw home. All were asleep but one. My little sister stood at the front window, in our tiny box home, glumly waving goodbye.

  All this Midwest boy could think of was seeing the ocean; seen lots of movies and what always stood out was any setting swooning me, lulling my imagination of diving into rolling, continual, wild waves—like me.

  So that was it. My wallet fat, no care in the world, I drove west. It was supposed to be a long and painful drive, but to me it was heaven.

  I found work. The town was sizzling hot. I wasn’t used to the sunshine, but I never missed the rain. My eyes were blinded though and the only way I could adjust was by wearing shades, 24/7.

  I know I stood out like a fucking sore thumb. Everybody dressed the same. Weird pants all flared out at the crotch like women’s bloomers, elastics at the ankles. They wore bright-colored dress shirts with padding on the shoulders.

  Holy shit they looked funny; it was fucking hilarious and they looked at me like I was weird! Wranglers, white T-shirt, a logger’s belt and my good old faithful black work boots. I wouldn’t trade them in for the world. I ain’t no clown. Still ain’t.

  When I was walking out of a so-called bar—a titty bar in fact—a red head took a picture of me with her big camera. Then she came right up to me with her hands in front of her face, floating in the air in the shape of a box. I thought she was going to hit on me when she grabbed my face, her eyes squinting. She smiled and asked me if I was looking for work. I laughed at her and asked her the same thing. I thought maybe she was one of those ladies of the night or something.

  Turned out she was some movie producer’s assistant or secretary or something like that. She brought me to some place called Universal. There, a sheet was given to me. I stood there not knowing what the fuck to do. I read the lines, the wrong lines I might add. She came up to me and told me to read it over again. “Picture the scene in your head,” she said. “Use your imagination.”

  Oh, that’s easy. Try working in some mill twelve hours a day. I do it all the time.

  All I used to dream about was leaving that dead-end town. So, I was about to read the sentence and I figured fuck it. I chucked the sheet on the ground below me and shook my head. I was a man, a gangster, a hardcore kid. So, I became him, and it was smooth like butter.

  I was hired on the spot. She told me to never change my look or who I was. Hollywood will love you. And she did.

  Years ago, I invested a fuckload of cash into some technology business. There were no returns, ever. I forgot about it. Then I got a letter. They wanted to buy my stock back. That made me wonder why, so I googled it and found out that tech company was doing well. I was rich. Of course, I declined to sell. They sent me comp gifts all the time. I dig that shit.

  Today, virtual reality is where it’s at. VR video games are my thing. Then my imagination kicked in and I decided I wanted to make my own VR movies or series or something. Where to start?

  Then she came into my mind.

  “Babe!” I yelled. My rift and touch are still on me. I move around and get off the bed. What the fuck? Why won’t she answer me? My hands motion forward to touch her. She’s looking at me. Why isn’t she answering me back? Am I dreaming or something? I close my eyes, thinking when I open them, all will be normal again. I just want to hold my girl and kiss her. That’s all I need. I made it this far to see her. Home again.

  Home? Where am I?

  “His eyes are open. Is he awake?” I look in the mirror behind John’s bed. My brows sit like two crowns of thorns above my chocolate-brown, sorrowful eyes.

  “No, he is not.” The stern doctor is honest with me, making sure there is no emotion in his voice, no notes of hope.

  “Is he dead?”

  “He has suffered and sustained major brain injuries. His results however indicate he has a rare condition called AVM, Arteriovenous Malformation. An AVM is a tangle of abnormal and poorly formed blood vessels. They have a higher rate of bleeding than normal vessels. AVMs can occur anywhere in the body,” the doc says, but it’s mostly over my head. He continues, “Brain AVMs are of special concern because of the damage they cause when they bleed. They are very rare and occur in less than 1% of the general population. John is in the 1%.”

  “Can he hear us?” I whisper.

  “That is not clear.” Slightly annoyed, he talks to me with his back turned, signing off on John’s medical file.

  Don’t mess with a Native lady.

  “Let me make this clear. He can hear me. Now I want you to hear me. Fix it now! I know enough that if we waste time fucking around, he will never come back to me. Fix it now. Surgery now. Money is no problem. If you can’t do it, I will find the best. I want him fixed now or God help you!”

  No. Oh God, no!

  I hear a pop between my ears. I smell something burning. Everything is getting dim. I’m getting cold. No…

  I start to cry. I’m stuck in God’s 3D Toy box.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alan Smithee

  “I will let you down,

  I will make you hurt.

  I’ll wear this crown of thorns.”

  —Nine Inch Nails

  The metal roof made the falling rain bounce, tapping and knocking in the most organic paradiddle, calling out to the broken, “Awake!” It spun on repeat for days until its job was done, yet John remained motionless.

  During the day, the hallway was noisy and full of hospital staff and orderlies. During the evening, they closed all doors and dimmed the lights. The only movement was the housekeep running the electric floor cleaner up and down the hallway. The machine hummed in time with the flat notes buzzing from the long fluorescent light bulbs.

  This eve though, I noticed his blinds were forgotten and left open, until a young housekeeper entered the room to empty the garbage bin and restock my bathroom items. She noticed the blinds and drew them close. They hit the windowsill with a thud, making my eyes squint and glare. The young employee bowed her head down and quickly left the room.

  Then I saw it. I grew excited with hope. I noticed his stirring. Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the staff. I don’t care what woke him up. Then his body flinched, and his chest soared higher and higher filling itself with determination. Good old John…what a fighter! I rose to my feet.

  His hands moved from his sides up to his face pulling on the tubes that were connected to a drip of saline solution and nutrients. He flinched from the pain, either sore from the accident, the intensive surgery, or the needles connected to his veins.

  His hands darted over his eyes like a baby searching its mother for its first feed. Shock and realization, maybe fear, etched his eyebrows and pursed his dry lips. What was he looking for? He was confused. I was elated.

  Slowly I open my eyes, lids drawing over my pupils. It feels like sandpaper scraping. The pain is immeasurable. When my lids bat up and down, I try to focus, searching for light, any light to tell me where I am.

  I want to call out a name, but my mind goes blank. I bolt up and start to shake, my eyes watering in pain or anguish or grief, I’m not sure.

  Someone calls for the doctor and a flurry of nurses and medical staff usher to my side. A clear, small bag of liquid is quickly fed into my tubes, making my shoulders relax, and I fall back into my metal bed covered with stiff, starched sheets. I see a hand holding the metal side rail. I look up into a face radiating joy, calling out my name.

  “John. It’s me. My love, you’re alive,” she says.

  The nurse brings a paper cup filled with cubes and water to my lips after raising the bed up into a sitting position. I’m ravenous. I take my fill and thank her, the water replenishing my zeal and zest. I open my eyes again.

  She has a wet cloth in her hands, smiling a beautiful grin. She dabs it over my eyes, my mouth, and my chin then slowly smooths it over my forehead. There she plants a sweet, enduring kiss. Tears flow down my cheeks, tickling my ears.

  The doctor orders her out of the room for examination. She smiles at me and stands outside my hospital room door then waves at me before I’m lowered down for tests.

  “Ma’am, you can come back in now.” The kind doctor closes the metal file and clips it on my footboard as she reenters the room.” John, you’ve being in a vehicle accident and have suffered extensive injuries. Your wife agreed to stay, and we corrected all damage through surgery. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Oh? Thank you. I don’t remember anything,” I reply in shock as I look over the doctor, my wife and then finally my thin body.

  “Hunny, you’ve being in recovery for three weeks. You should be ready to go home by the weekend. I’m so glad you’re alive.” The pretty woman holds my hand, kissing each finger. She closes her eyes and starts to pray. Being in her presence, I also bow my head and listen to her sweet voice. Maybe there is a God? Maybe that’s why I’m alive. My wife is beautiful.

  But who is she?

  “Sorry. This is a dumb question, but what’s your name?” My big eyes glisten with hope and embarrassment.

  “Your memory will be foggy and short, but we will rebuild, hunny. Make all new memories; you and me. My name is Guisy.”

  The doctor pats my back and smiles. “John, she hasn’t left your side. She willed you back to life. You weren’t responding, your will was broken. She stood over you and prayed for you night and day, fasting and giving it all up to the Lord, Creator, for you. You’ve got a good woman.”

  Guisy hugs the doctor before he leaves the small hospital room. Then she takes my blanket off and puts a new clean one over my legs. She’s still sniffling from crying, melting my heart. My hands respond by holding her as tight as I could until I drift off, back into sleep.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tail Piece

  Together we dusted off mom’s kitchen table and hutch that was passed down throughout the generations. Dad’s chair in the front room was well built. I felt odd, almost damn naughty sitting in his spot. Tiny memories usurped me at a slow and steady pace.

  Guisy found work right fast as we were short on cash and I was still a mess. My hospital bills and everything else wiped us out financially. My face, she told me, was once perfect. Now, it’s mangled and scarred, my jaw shifted slightly to the right. One eye lid will always be lazy, and my memory was short. The scar tissue on my scalp was itchy and tender. I looked like Frankenstein, but she still loved me. She still wanted me.

  There were long gaps of time where all I could do was sit or lie down. I had no sharp comebacks, no more snarky remarks. Doc said the gaps of nothingness were my mind’s way of self-healing.

  Her patience could move the mountains; her love encompassing above measure. She didn’t seem to mind me clinging to some manliness and delving into football—the Grizzlies rocked it. She cooked. She cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen, brought the garbage out and even bucked up a cord of wood to fuel our fire.

  Fire...there was none in our bedroom. I slept on our couch; I had no desire. She was gorgeous to look at, but nothing could move me to take her by my side.

 

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