Salvation in the Sargasso Sea

~ Yesterday's News ~

He was relegated to the back page of section B in the local newspaper, overshadowed by an advertisement for the Disabled American Veterans.

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BOARD DENIES PAROLE FOR MEREDITH

BY ANDREA CASPER * STATESMAN JOURNAL * SEPTEMBER 21, 2009

SALEM, OREGON -- The Oregon Parole Board has denied the release petition of convicted felon David Meredith. Meredith, originally from Klamath Falls, had served less than half of a seventy-five month sentence for vehicular homicide, said Sharon Lowry, communication director for the Oregon Department of Corrections.

On May 12, 2006, Meredith lost control of his pickup truck after a night of drinking and collided head-on with a minivan driven by Lisa Ann Albright, from Corvallis. The collision occurred on US Highway 20, approximately eight miles west of Eddyville. Albright, age 38, remained in a coma for five days before her family terminated life support.

David Meredith pled guilty to manslaughter II in a court approved agreement. He began serving his sentence in November of 2006.

=========================================

Awkwardly clutching the scissors, Pamela clipped the article for her scrapbook. The reporter's words screamed inside her head. Her headache had returned, this time strong enough to affect her vision. The symptoms concerned her, but she wasn't going to let their mind control beams stop her. Her mission was too important.

"There you are. They tried to hide you from me, but I found you. Come along, Davy. I've got a place all ready for you here in the book. See? It's right next to their other lies and fabrications. They took you from me, but I'll make them pay. In the willow trees. Jon Albright is a damned liar. He said you killed his wife, but he's wrong. She's still alive; I have seen her. Crayons under glass."

She pasted the article next to the ones about David's trial and sentencing. On the opposite page, she had saved Lisa's obituary and a human interest article about Jon. Pamela's tears splattered onto the parchment paper.

*

~ Down On The Farm ~

"Dammit, that sucker is heavy." A grimace twisted Jon's face.

Hauling the sixty-five pound amplifier down from the Dakota had strained his back. It now sat at his feet, looking up at him, mocking his lack of Rock 'n Roll fortitude. He fully understood why Marla chose the Mesa Boogie for gigging. Nothing could approach the sound of a Fender Twin Reverb, however, and today, he would need all eight-five watts to keep up with the Flaming Roses.

"I'll be back for you." Jon pointed his finger in defiance and grabbed the case of beer.

Weaving his way through the maze of vehicles in Josie's yard, he eventually found the barn. Off to the side, a smoking barbecue pit exuded the aroma of ribs and brisket, giving him strength.

"Jon-boy! Over here," Leslie yelled, waving from the water trough.

"Hey Leslie. Is this where the beer goes?"

"Yeah, sure. There's plenty of ice in there, just dump it in. What happened to your hair?"

"It was an unfortunate lawn mower accident."

She hugged him from behind as he iced down the beer in the trough. Her big boobs pressed into his back as she wrapped him up in a bear hug. Jon marveled at how good they felt on his sore muscles.

"Well, be more careful. You've got Marla all addicted to love now, so you better stick around." She grabbed his ass and fished a cold beer from the trough.

"Her lights are on, but she's not home?" he laughed, opening a beer for himself.

"She might as well face it," Leslie giggled in agreement. "Hey, I'm really happy for you guys. She seems pretty contented."

"Me too."

Returning to face his nemesis, Jon prevailed and entered the barn with his gear. One corner of the barn was set up as a musical stage, so he put his guitar and amplifier down behind Marla's Booger. She was standing with Josie, talking quietly.

"Ladies," he said, walking over to them.

"Hey babe. I'm glad you're here," Marla said, taking his hand and pulling him over. "Josie's bass amp is acting up. I'm sure you can figure out what's wrong."

Josie squinted at him, her expression more suspicious than welcoming. Jon felt a little uncomfortable standing next to her.

"Hey Josie. Thanks for invite. You have a real nice setup."

"You're welcome," Josie said. "My bass guitar cuts out sometimes. I've tried several cables, but the problem seems to be here at the amp."

She demonstrated by wiggling the cable input on the amplifier.

"Oh, I see the problem. The input jack has come loose and the nut is missing. I've got a spare in my truck. I can fix you up in five minutes."

"Thanks," Josie said, turning and marching away.

"I don't know what's up with her," Marla whispered. "She's upset about something."

"Is she mad about me being here?"

"No, I don't think it has anything to do with you. I'll ask Shannon what's going on. Hey, I'm glad you're here. I've been missing you."

Marla gave him a hug and reached up to kiss his cheek. Jon wrapped his arms around her and made sure his lips got in the way.

"Why don't you go ahead and fix her input jack, before you forget," she continued.

"I'd like to examine your input jack," he smirked.

"Oh, behave. We've got all night for preventive maintenance." Marla playfully slapped his hand.

It took Jon less than five minutes to replace the missing nut on Josie's amp. He was setting up his own gear when she returned to the barn.

"All fixed," he said. "When the jack comes loose like that, it loses electrical contact."

"That was fast. You're pretty damned good, aren't you?" She was squinting again.

"Um, I guess so. I mean, I know how to fix amplifiers pretty well. Is there something wrong?"

Josie stepped into Jon's personal space and planted her finger into his chest.

"If I ever hear about you beating Marla, there will be fucking hell to pay," she hissed. "You do not want me pissed at you, lover boy. Are we clear?"

"I did not hit her. She got into a fight with Angel, in Seattle. You know that. What makes you think that I'd abuse her?"

"I'm just sayin'." Josie spun and stomped away.

Jon felt a flush of anger from the false accusation. He was ready to pack up his gear and go home, at least until he saw Shannon sitting in the corner. She had her finger against her lips, requesting his silence. She stood and followed Josie into the house, placing her hand on his shoulder as she passed by.

*

~ Shooting Star ~

By six o'clock, a sizable crowd had gathered in the barn. Leslie's iPod was playing through the PA system and people were already dancing. Jon sat on a folding chair, tuning his Telecaster.

"Are you ready to play some music?" Marla asked, slinging her guitar over her shoulder.

"As ready as I'm gonna be. What are we playing?"

"Just watch what I do and follow my chord changes. So, this is lesson number one: playing rhythm guitar. The sound you want is chunky during the verses and ringing power chords for the chorus. It's just as important knowing what notes not to play as getting the right ones. Use the palm of your right hand to mute the strings you're not picking. See? Like this."

Jon's Telecaster triggered a satisfying thump from the Twin Reverb. His brand new Ibanez distortion pedal put just the right edge on the sonic blast.

"What stomp box are you using?" Marla asked.

"I picked up this Turbo Tube Screamer yesterday. It was a hundred bucks, but I liked the sound. I've got the gain turned down to medium."

"It sounds great with the Fender. Can I try it out later?"

"Of course."

Band practice began with their first set song list. Jon stood next to Marla, watching her hands and playing along. Before long, he was feeling the music, listening to the other instruments, and making eye contact with the musicians. For a brief moment, he actually felt like one of the Flaming Roses.

Josie's guests cheered after their performance of 'Zombie', mostly because Leslie was honing her yodel, trying to match that unique quality of Dolores O'Riordan's voice. Jon fantasized it was the thick guitars riffs he and Marla had laid down, standing toe-to-toe. He hadn't even made a mistake.

"Damn. Marla and Jon, you guys really rocked me," Leslie squealed. "OK, Jon, it's your turn. You got a tune?"

"A tune?"

"We take turns calling out songs to play," Marla said. "It breaks up the monotony, keeps things interesting. Do you know any?"

"Um, I know this one."

He started playing the introduction to 'All Apologies', a classic Nirvana favorite. Someone in the crowd screamed her approval. Right on cue, Shannon joined in with the kick and snare drums, and Josie followed with the bass line. More guests screamed and crowded around the makeshift stage.

Jon focused on his playing and the clean tone he was coaxing from his amplifier. Oblivious to his surroundings, he finally looked up after finishing the intro for the third time. Everybody was staring at him.

"I think this song has words, too. Are you going to sing them?" Leslie razzed him.

"It's part of the deal," Marla added. "The caller has to sing."

"Sorry, I got a little carried away," he said. "I think I remember the words."

With Marla backing him up on rhythm guitar, Jon stepped up to her microphone and sang. He knew all of the words; this was one of his favorite songs. His voice was finer than Kurt's, lacking that gravelly quality forged through years of alcohol and drug abuse. He sang his heart out, and the guests responded in kind.

"That was outstanding," Leslie shouted, after the song was over.

Marla stood silently behind him, shaking her head. Finally, she said, "Amazing. I had no idea you could sing like that."

"I need a beer," Jon croaked.

*

~ It's Your Decision ~

Jon put down his guitar and made his way through the crowd. For the moment, he was the center of that universe; he felt their eyes watching him. He was unaccustomed to the attention, but enjoyed all of the well wishes he was receiving. Mercifully, the band started practicing a new AC/DC song, redirecting their focus back to the stage.

Quenching his thirst with a cold beer, he watched the scene from the barn door. Marla was making excellent use of his Tube Screamer and Twin Reverb.

"I sure wish I could play like that," he thought out loud.

"But you just did."

Jon found a tall nebbish-looking man standing behind him. He wore suspenders over a light blue shirt, topped with a bow tie. His thin wire rim glasses were lost against the backdrop of curly hair.

"Oh, hello," Jon said. "I didn't see you there. I meant I can't play lead guitar like she can."

"I didn't notice. It all sounded good to me." The man took a tentative step towards Jon.

"Thanks. They let me pick that last tune. I had to sing, though."

"That was an interesting choice you made. Why did you pick that song?"

"Well, I know that one really well and it seemed to fit this crowd." Jon's eyes darted towards the stage.

"Do you think everyone here is gay?" the man asked, looking over his glasses.

"No, not everyone. I mean, um, I don't know, really. I don't think that song is about homosexuality. It's about remorse and regrets. I guess that's why I like it so much." Jon cast his eyes down towards the floor.

"Are you Marla's boyfriend?"

"I suppose so. We're good friends."

"What a shame." The man was now just inches from Jon's shoulder.

"A shame?"

"You don't seem like her type, if you know what I mean."

"Because she's queer?" Jon asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "How well do you know her?"

"Not as well as I thought, apparently." He shrugged his shoulders.

Jon took another sip from the bottle, trying to think of a gentle response.

"Um, I'm a confirmed heterosexual."

"Oh," the man said, turning to walk away.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Jon said, reaching for his arm. "Please don't walk away. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended, just disappointed." He looked into Jon's eyes with surprise. Most straight men simply rejected him out of hand.

"I'm flattered, really," Jon said. "So, you're a fan of Nirvana?"

The man smiled, tacitly acknowledging the redirection.

"Kurt Cobain didn't commit suicide, you know. He was murdered." He gestured with a finger gun pointed at Jon's chest.

Jon listened to the same conspiracy theory he had heard many times before. He didn't try to refute his argument, instead listening and commenting on the tragic loss of a gifted artist. Before long, the women put down their instruments and wandered into the crowd. Marla approached just as the men parted company.

"I see you found Hector," she said.

"He found me, actually."

"He's usually pretty shy. I'm surprised he stuck around so long."

"I think I piqued his interest," Jon said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, you can't blame him. Did he pique your interest?"

"Uh, no. Not like that. Let's go get something to eat."

~~~~~

A picnic table behind Josie's house provided a perfect spot to enjoy the savory barbecued brisket. Marla produced a bottle of bourbon whiskey from her knapsack.

"What, no scotch?" Jon asked.

"Not with barbecue, that would just be wrong."

"I saw you dancing in the barn. Leslie seems interested in your caboose. More than a little interested, actually. She was humping you from behind."

"Are you jealous? You want her to hump your behind, too?"

"Um, I don't know about that." He didn't mention that she had already left boob prints on his back.

"Well, here's a heads-up for you. I have a feeling she's going to make some kind of proposition tonight. She's been hinting about it for a few days."

"What kind of proposition?"

"I don't know, exactly. I can only guess what's on her mind. Probably some kind of group activity. Are you OK with that?"

"Are you serious?" Jon asked, genuinely shocked. "Is that what you want?"

"Well, I'm a little curious, but I won't say yes without your consent. If you want me to be your girlfriend, just say so. I'm OK with that, too. Here she comes now."

Leslie walked up with a plate of food and sat down across the table from Jon.

"Can I join you guys? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Leslie winked at him.

"Not yet," Marla said.

The three of them ate their dinner, sharing the bottle of bourbon. Leslie's shirt was unbuttoned low enough for Jon to see her peach-colored bra. At one point, barbecue sauce dribbled onto her breast, creeping down into her cleavage. The red sauce streaked away from her rose tattoo, giving the impression of blood oozing from a thorny wound. Jon was not convinced it was an accident.

"You're such a slob, Lez," Marla chided. "Having trouble hitting your mouth?"

"Maybe Jon can help me."

Leslie leaned forward, using her arms to force her breasts together. Jon's eyes were glued right where they were supposed to be.

"Oh, stop it, you horny bitch." Marla laughed and reached over to scoop the sauce from her boobs. She put her finger in her mouth and seductively licked it clean.

"Remind me not to drink bourbon with you guys anymore," Jon said. "It makes you crazy."

"Crazy? You haven't seen anything yet," Leslie said. "OK, I've got a proposal for you, Jon-boy. This is a one-time deal; an offer that will change your life."

"What is it with the boy stuff? It's been a long time since I was a boy," Jon chuckled. "So, what's this once in a lifetime offer?"

"Yeah, why don't you fill us in?" Marla remarked, her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.

Leslie opened her fist. It contained two pills: one red and one blue. Looking Jon straight in the eye, she mangled the famous Morpheus quotation.

"This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the red pill - the story ends, you wake up in her bed and believe whatever you want. You take the blue pill - you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep my rabbit-hole goes."

Marla put her head down on the table, snickering into her arm. Her snorting punctuated Leslie's poorly conceived come-on.

"I think you mixed up the colors," Jon said, taking them from her. "Doesn't the red pill release me from the Matrix? Why does the blue pill have a Pfizer label on it? And it says VGR100 on the other side. This is Viagra, isn't it?"

"Why don't you try it and find out?" Leslie answered.

"So, what's in the red pill?"

"It's a multivitamin," Marla said, rolling her head to one side. "If I were you, I'd take them both. It's your decision."

Jon fell silent trying to wrap his head around her proposal. His thoughts raced around visions of playing with them. There were logistics to consider: who does what, when, and how? What about the aftermath: was this the end of his romance with Marla? And dear God, what would Lisa think?

Both women studied Jon, waiting for him to decide. Leslie leaned forward with her arms folded under her bosom, her blue eyes pleading with him. Marla's chin rested on her arm. She gazed up at him with wide eyes, nodding imperceptibly. There was no turning back, indeed.

"Forgive me," Jon whispered, washing both pills down with a swig of bourbon.

*

~ Stuck In The Middle ~

Waking up to a rooster's crow is something most people have never experienced, Jon included. The sound was so foreign to him that it took three full salutes to roust him. Peering into the darkness, he tried to ascertain his whereabouts. He definitely wasn't in his own bed, nor was he alone. Marla was curled up in front of him, her skin texture and scent now familiar. Her breasts grazed his draped arm as her chest rose and fell, deep in slumber. Something was amiss, however: Marla was snoring in stereo.

Another crow rustled the body behind him. Rolling inward, the person snuggled into his back, draping their arm over his waist. The sensation of large breasts compressed against his skin was both comfortable and shocking.

"Leslie?" Jon whispered.

Stirring again, Leslie sighed and snuggled in closer to him. Jon's head reeled, trying to recall last night's events. Still cloudy from alcohol and Viagra, his mind refused to divulge its secrets. His only recourse was to be patient, to wait for the fog bank to lift.

He eventually remembered playing guitar again after dinner. Lesson number two was another rhythm guitar style, this time using heavy-metal chords and riffs. He had wished he still had his long hair; it would have made for a more convincing display. Marla's head banging was classic, her dark hair flying up and around her head. By then, the bourbon and Viagra had taken hold, rendering him both horny and hard.

Sometime after midnight, everyone went outside for a bonfire. Marla had left her cigars at home, but there was plenty of Mary Jane passing around. Unsurprisingly, all three of them had accepted how the evening would end. Marla and Leslie were lying back with their heads in his lap, each having claimed a hand to pull inside their shirts. Simultaneously fondling two women gave him an erection that would have made even Mr. Pfizer jealous.

"I think it's time for bed," Marla said, breaking the trance.

"Hmm, bedtime," Leslie cooed.

Staggering into the barn, they climbed the ladder up to the loft. A large mattress was tossed on the floor along with a pile of blankets and pillows. Leslie wasted no time getting undressed.

"Get those pants off," she ordered, pulling her bra straps off her shoulders, releasing her tits from their shackles.

"Go easy on him, Lez. I'm going to need him after you're done," Marla pleaded, pulling her shirt over her head. Her bare breasts flashed in a moonbeam.

Jon gulped, fumbling with his belt and the snaps on his jeans. In the faint light, the two ghostly figures approached him.

"Alright dear, it's time for your lesson: Blow Job 101," Leslie said, dropping to her knees, dragging Jon's jeans and boxers down with her.