To Manson or Bust. Part one.
Copyright Catcher78 all rights reserved.
Author's Note: This is a story about madness (Rehnquist used it too, him better), PTSD, with aspects of Loving Wives except the husband is decidedly not a cuckold, just broken hearted. A former warrior, U.S. Navy Vietnam, kids thought he caused his wife to cheat on him. I try to evoke stream of consciousness type of writing such as popularized by Jack Kerouac, Ken Kesey, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Not there yet. I distinctly dislike anonymous asshole comments and will delete your ass.
I had been working on restoring a 1966 Chevrolet Suburban. Stock color sky blue. Bench seats reupholstered with a thick black rubber-like substance. I was thinking when I started it would be perfect for family vacations, spilt fast foods and sand. The floor was anodized rubber for the same reasons.
The power plant was 250 cubic inch inline six cylinder engine with three one barrel Weber carburetors and a three speed on the floor tranny. There were manual locking hubs to go into four wheel drive. Lastly there was a single tuned exhaust.
At the stop light it had a nice burble to the exhaust at a weird sounding idle. People were thinking a Chevy small block like the old 265, or 283. But with the Weber's it had more going on than those, plus the torque.
First gear, was really an old granny gear, that you had to jump out of at about ten miles an hour because you'd start to redline the engine's tachometer, or your ear if you were old school.
I didn't race her at all, but I'd pop out of first into second gear at about five mph and then I'd make a run to sixty as I was on a freeway on ramp and popping into third I'd go sit at eighty or seventy super fine. Shocks were pretty stiff.
But that sound. The tuned exhaust could be heard all the way in Mason county as I wound her up and then I'd needlessly double clutch just to hear that double blap blap of the exhaust. I was not in a hurry ever, but I took pleasure driving her. Older guys would pass me in their pickups and give me a nod.
I had put a stout cup holder affixed to the dash as well as a cigar ash tray. Didn't smoke much anymore. I loved coffee though, all the time.
I had all my stuff in the back. Two thermoses of coffee. Three Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwiches. Adams Peanut Butter and Peach marmalade some shaved iceberg lettuce between dark rye bread, in baggies. Two large coolers in back. We'd bought a quarter of beef from a guy we knew that raised Shetland steers. I mostly liked roasts and oxtails and stews. Cheaper cuts that I got more of and I knew I could make taste good I filled up both coolers. Kids absolutely loved them growing up, I don't much talk to them now. I'd call but they'd never pick up.
I got a late start little past noon and rode the ferry from Winslow to Seattle got on I-90 and avoided commute traffic and stopped in Cle Elum and filled the gas tank up some forty gallons at the Safeway. I parked in the regular lot for buying food and went in. I was wearing some old black sweats and some very old red converse high top tennis shoes and an old, faded Husky baseball tee shirt. Teddy Benedict number eighteen.
I was north of sixty, six foot one and two thirty. My torso belonged to a man that was six foot six, but my legs that of somebody that five foot nine. I boxed in the Navy, it's where I learned to step outside a left handers right foot and lead with my right hand. Also I learned how to smother punches with my shoulders and elbows, how to head butt folks and stomp on their feet.
I had a lot of hair left, it had been red, but was mostly white and I shaved once a week or so. I was stabbed twice on Beale Street, minding my own business in Memphis, not badly, but I had the scars to show I was there.
There was a tattoo on each shoulder, Heckle and Jeckel, the magpies. I usually shaved once a week. Showering I liked. Had some hip stuff going on. Got a shot of cortisone once a year. Tore the top off my femur, hitting a ninety mph fastball that banged off the right center field wall. Barely made it to first. Almost forgot broke the nose fighting in the Navy, smokers, won the fight. Playing football too.
I hadn't worn a sports coat in decades now, except I was in Walla Walla for a gig, just before COVID hit. Then it hit, the gig was working for a commercial bank fixing failed big loans, worked for a complete nutbag rightwing extremist. I signed an NDA when I left or I'd tell you their names. CEO was like twenty nine years old, son of owner. He was a fucking thumb sucking idiot. Walla Walla is wine country, vineyards and wineries both. Proud boys too, Aryan Nations, KKK. Thirty or so Christian Scientist churches. Really a strange brew. Best Mexican food in the state.
I lived in an huge old mansion, cut up into six apartments next to a winery outlet. I bought two bottles of wine there and it cost me eighty dollars, three year old blend. I made some stew with Walla Walla sweet onions, basil and thyme. Then opened a bottle of wine for a glass with the stew. It was so green and bereft of value.
I grabbed the bottle and ran downstairs and to the winery which was open still and said, "I just opened this, please taste it and tell me if it tastes as you think it should."
He said, "What's wrong with it?"
I said, "Maybe nothing, you tell me."
He had a sommelier's cup and poured some into it smelled drank some in and swished it in his mouth, made noises as if it was Listerine in his mouth and spit it into the sink below.
He said, "It's tight and green and I was unable to sense if it would open up. It's terrible."
He remembered me, "You bought two bottles, right?"
I nodded yes.
He put two bottles of their cab on the counter, "Please take this."
I said, " You knew how bad it was when you sold it to me. It's worth it to me to know I shouldn't do business with you."
I had one of those tiny push carts as I walked around Safeway in Cle Elum. I put a large bottle of Australian Shiraz (Syrah) in the cart, followed by Adams Peanut butter, apricot marmalade, some pumpernickel rye bread, block of cheddar, elbow macaroni and some milk. There was room in one of the coolers for everything. I bought a can of Planter's Hazelnuts. The BEST nut, plus that was my grandmother's name.
She lived to ninety two, totally coherent and then she was gone, snap of the fingers gone. She'd be one hundred and twenty two years old now. My grandmother was a candy striper (volunteer nurse's assistant) in this hospital in Centralia, Washington, Lewis County. My grandfather Bill (Vaclav changed to Bill by Irish priest in Chicago) had been shot to shit in France fighting near Sergeant Alvin York in the first World War.
Hazel took things into her hands and mouth and helped Bill recover. My dad was born two and a half months after Hazel turned eighteen. A year or so later Bill left for Hoquiam and took up with a tall young blond woman and married her and had two kids.
Not to be outdone Hazel made friends with a married banker and she fell in love with him and had a child. The banker bought her a small house. My dad had a little sister.
Hazel wanted to get back at her husband and the banker introduced Hazel to a lawyer, an old friend and soon the lawyer visited Hazel on the weekends and Hazel was with child again.
My parent's cheated on each other and my mom was a prostitute for at least five years. She went to marital counseling with a gay priest (Episcopal) and fucked him for months, she fucked three of my dad's friends at a weekend get away in a Victoria, British Columbia, Canada hotel (the Empress) while he was laying on their bed passed out, she fucked three guys. One of the guys feeling guilty called my dad at work and told him and he beat the shit out of mom, broken jaw, two black eyes, cracked skull and left her on their bed.
They usually watched my baseball games. Did not that day. I came home and she was on her bed and I walked in wearing my uni and I yelled for her. Dad's car was gone, she didn't drive, so I figured out that they were out somewhere. The house had one tiny bathroom and I went upstairs and peed. I went directly to my room and took off my uni, including stirrup socks and sanitary socks and tossed it on my bed, along with my jock and cup. Put on my sweatpants and Husky tee shirt. As came out my door I noticed her laying there.
"Mom, " you okay?"
"Not feeling good, get yourself some sandwiches."
