by Gary Hawkes
Part II: Short Stories
THE KILLER WHALE
It can be difficult to take thinks too seriously when you have the image of a Killer Whale driving a Buick down the Oregon Coast; especially when I was the whale. It was fascinating. The looks were priceless. “Who is that…what is that.” After taking a quick nap on one coastal town, an old haggardly woman who had probably dabbled too long with the meth, was extremely agitated at the sight of me parking behind her beat up Ford. As soon as I turned off the engine, her worn face poked out of her window at me. “Thank you, thanks a lot,” she yelled. She then fired up her ford and sped out, slowing as she drove past me to tell me thanks one more time. Can’t please ‘em all I guess. Not that I would want to be on the side of a person like that anyway. The mood of the other beach people seemed to lighten with her hasty dismissal.
Quick check in the mirror. Yep still me. Good. May need to take a quick break to realign the senses. Turn the radio on, it always seems to sooth the soul. Actually, better not, last time that damn radio was on it took hours to break the connection, even after it was off. Crazy images of comedic Satanists circling around a long tailed dragon singing pop songs. The dragon seemed a bit down. Was I the dragon too? Unsure. He did seem to perk up with a big plate of pancakes. Need to feed the big fiery beast. The other customers in the Denny’s avoided the dragons eye’s, seemed to be bad luck, and politely stepped over his massive tail. It’s been hibernating for several weeks now, building strength. Not too good to let ‘em go too long; seems to lose all sense of decency and manners. But, it is a fucking dragon. Further studying of its habits is still needed to properly understand. The Devil’s child maybe? Who knows? Seemed to just want to eat and go for a swim last time out, harmless enough. Can’t keep him caged for too long though, makes him restless.
What is the point of it all? The overall narrative? Not sure. It’s been a great ride though. Suppose others would have a banded this crazy thing long ago. Let the white coats pacify, bend to the pressure. Not me. I’m going to ride this one out. See where we end up.
Been in a pause for too long now. Got some good booze in me the other day, didn’t really do much though. Need the sweet herb. Ah, the release will be fun. May need to set aside a weekend devoted to nonsense and debauchery just to feel right again. Not good to think too much about it. Can’t get too many ideas ahead of time, otherwise, WAMO! May take more than couple days to ride the initial high out. Getting close though. My services seem to be in higher demand by various employers; can certainly give a professional and courteous appearance when needed. Lot of work though, shit. Avoid the temptation to blow huge portion of the paycheck on a fresh ounce, just get a ½ ounce… unless, it’s a good deal of course.
GREY NIGHT
The scene turned more surreal by the second. Guarding the door she seemed at her wits end. She was no longer in control and no longer understood the person in front of her. She was grasping for anything to force things back that would never be again.
As he stood watching her, confusion and regret swam over him. “Who was this person? Was it all a mistake, do I even know her,” he thought to himself. He didn’t want to believe it. The certainty of the end of this partnership forced its way into his mind no matter how much he tried to deny it. It was too late, the line had been drawn and he had crossed it. He was simply too weird for her life experience to accept. She was not going to budge. She was right, she felt, and being right was most important. “Who is this guy, not the person I know, He would never yell at me.” Her selective memory once cute and amusing now seemed the definition of annoyance.
Some people do anything do avoid trouble and craziness; he thrived on it. Three decades of bottled up pressure and conformity flowed out, mistakenly believing this was the person he could entrust it to. “I want you to go the ER,” she demanded. Her eyes were already watering. It wasn’t going to work this time. He wasn’t going to budge either. She didn’t even understand what she was saying, let alone him. “What?! The videos are a performance, a controlled seizure; can you just watch the videos?”
Defiance engulfed her. “There’s no way this is him. Why didn’t I see this side of him before”, she thought to herself, fighting to maintain some control of the situation.
“I’m fine I’ll go in for a normal check up on my own, I’m not going to the ER; it’s not an Emergency”. Her stubbornness, a trait he shared and had sparked much competiveness between them over the years now was just a nuisance. Staying calm was becoming difficult, she knew after eight years which buttons to press. Inferring that there was something wrong with him was the one button he refused to let get pushed. He had been insulted and ridiculed many times over the course of his life, even by family, but fuck, he chose this person. “Breath slow, calm down, try to talk to her logically, we’ve been together eight years, she’ll be able to understand” he recited in his head. “Lighten the mood, do something funny.” He made up a quick goofy song and dance, about his rugby team, the Jesters, as she was starting to head out the door to go call the cops. She fought back a smile. He could instantly tell though that it may not work, she was still heading out. “If you actually call the cops after I just made you laugh then well… I don’t know. I’m just going to laugh at you.” But she knew she was right, there had to be something wrong with him. He wasn’t speaking the truth. How could anyone hold all that energy up? He said he always felt that way when alone; impossible. As she turned and starting heading up the driveway, he loomed over the doorway for a moment watching her disappear into the darkness. The though crept in that he may never see her again. He really wasn’t sure what she was doing or where she was going and he felt completely fine with that notion. “As long as I have my boys”, he whispered to himself and then closed the door.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. “Oh my God,” he said to himself, “she actually called the cops.” She had to be right. That’s what was important to her, not believing or having any faith in him. As he went to the door knowing it was the police, he prepared himself. Cops always made him nervous although playing along some cops on his rugby team had eased some of the tension. He was about to have one of the most surreal and ridiculous conversations of his life.
Earlier in the day while his boys were at daycare, he had filmed some of his routine and act that he had basically been working on his whole life, finally embracing his epilepsy as not a curse. When she had come home that day he was excited to show her, he had never shown anyone on Earth before the kind of things he did when alone. Her response was fear and confusion, which only confused and depressed him. He thought they had known each other well, but it was clear that it was all a mirage.
He knew that this was probably it, the last straw on that stupid fucking camel’s back. “Damn. What a shame. All for nothing; well, not nothing, two beautiful boys who now get to probably have divorced parents. Well at least they have each other. I didn’t have shit. Mom and Step-dad had a girl when I was almost seven and she instantly became the new favorite. Me, the other kid. Red headed step-child indeed. The one thing I was trying to avoid with absolute passion and now get to be swimming in it. Fuck.” These thoughts raced through his head as he was walking toward the door. He took one last big breath to flush them from his mind. Need to focus during this lovely interaction.
The three officers standing on the porch were kind enough. Rare. Laid back enough; they seemed to sense early on that the wife was maybe a little hysterical and this guy maybe just a little weird but not dangerous. He invited them in. One cop did most the talking. The conversation was quick enough. If asked an hour later to give a transcript of that conversation he probably wouldn’t be able to do it. It was like something out of a bad dream. The whole time the cops were in his house he didn’t want to believe it was happening. He had fallen out of love with his woman long ago, but he still trusted he
r, she was the mother of his children. But now he wasn’t so sure if he could even trust her anymore. The only thing he seemed to remember about the conversation with the three nice policemen was that it was mutually agreed he would leave the house for the night. Ease the tension.
“Amazing, she actually fears me. What the Fuck.” He said to himself as he settled into his old Buick. His mind quickly started cycling through all the memories of the last eight years. “What are you thinking about”, he remembered her asking many times before as his mind wandered off. He should have really told her. Maybe would have ended all this nonsense years before. “Forget it”, he mumbled to himself, “Nothing to do about it now.” The big grey beast lurched forward into the dark grey night. There was no destination in sight, at least, not on this night.
CHEATING DEATH
The crazed drunkenness was in full force. Fueled by a full milk jug of screwdriver, with the OJ just added for coloring; the aggression, idiocy and pure insanity poured out. Unintelligible random yelling and then manic running through the streets half naked. Had to be sure the town was aware of the good time being had.
This was just another night; care free, no worries, no focus, no purpose; pure reckless anarchy. How long could he cheat death? He didn’t really seem to care. Maybe the purpose was to see how close to the edge one could get. What would happen if he went over; he didn’t really know.
Waking up the next morning in a drunken haze of foggy recollection, it felt like a rebirth. “Did I die last night, can’t know for sure”. Releasing oneself completely to the power of the sauce has a certain diminishing effect on the memory. But, he didn’t seem to mind too much because it usually started right back up that night, sometimes that morning. Those days could start to fade as they were happening; strong opinions on certain issues and then forgetting moments later what exactly the topic was in discussion. Then, push the body to the limits of destruction. The three day benders seem to do the trick, add some speed to give the body that extra kick when the brain starts demanding rest. Not yet, almost there. Have to get to that perfect feeling of complete and utter wastefulness and debauchery. Maybe a game of chicken with a train was in order; a dubious task to say the least, not much margin for error, but what’s on the other side of the light? Maybe we get to find out tonight, let’s push it.
There was one night when he was feeling especially destructive and decided to go for it. Takes a good strong run once committed to it and a strong leaping ability. Fly across the fucking tracks in one fatefully heroic leap, keep your eyes low and ahead; don’t want the steel bullet flying toward you at 50 miles an hour to distract the legs. Leaning forward on the land to maintain momentum, easing up once clear of the big sharp mound of nasty rocks guarding the train.
Making it across was somehow surprising. He had pushed it too far; somehow in the back of mind, even with the brain drowning in it, he knew he had cheated death somehow. He wasn’t supposed to make that jump. As soon he came to a quick stop and looked back, the train was already on the 3rd car. “Holy fuck. That was close. Definitely better calm down and get a beer. No more of that devil vodka.” The rest of the night, like most nights, blurred into nothingness, a drunken haze of waste and confusion.
Melancholy feelings toward those years. Not everyone I knew made it out alive. I was somehow more reckless than just about anybody and barely got a scratch. Our confidence and vitality would make it through. Forget all the shit learned growing up. Just work hard, play harder, and just push it to the edge as far as you can.
BEATRICE
The great grey beast may have given its last breath. Damn shame. Had a good run though. Probably pushed her a bit too hard. There may still be some life in her yet; gotta keep her steady, not meant for racing. But, never underestimate that roar in the belly. That beast has some power.
Resting in the damn suburbs right now. Not how she wanted to go. It should have been some fantastic voyage of wonder pushing the limits of machinery. Go in a blaze of glory roaring down the 101 at full steam; the Pacific coast blurring past. The destination? Who knows, who cares. Just getting there would be fun; instead, will have to find a new great beast to partner with. Beatrice it seems, may be no more.