Epistle of the Damned

by M. Lee Mendelson

  Before getting through the door, he stopped and turned around. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got this for you.” From the pocket of his blue jeans he revealed a gold chain, and on it was a gold heart medallion. Engraved were the words “Best Friend.”

  He gently placed it around her delicate neck, kissed her one last time, and then walked to his car. She had been his first true love and he would never forget her for the rest of his life.

  Standing in the doorway, Sheila watched wistfully as Mike drove away. “Goodbye, my beautiful Dweeb,” she whispered. Sheila would never see or hear from Mike again.

  A DOSE OF REALITY

  S ATURDAY, JULY 29TH, 1989. Mike was having breakfast with his parents. Nancy said, “So this is it.”

  Mike begrudgingly responded, “Yep, this is it.”

  Big Mike, eyeballing Nancy said, “Well, son, I hope you know how proud your mother and I are of you. Are you as excited about college as we are for you?”

  “Yes, sir, I’m really looking forward to getting started.”

  “Well, your mother and I hope this gets you a little more excited.”

  Mike looked up with a baffled expression.

  Nancy grabbed Mike’s hand and said, “That’s right, sweetheart. Your father and I got you a little going away present for that long drive to Jacksonville.”

  “Really? What?”

  “Well, son, you’ll have to look outside to see for yourself.”

  Mike jumped up and ran to the kitchen door. He looked outside to see a shiny black 1987 Buick Grand National parked in front of the garage, but not just any Grand National—a GNX. Mike shouted, “NO WAY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME? OH MY GOD!”

  With Mike still hollering in disbelief, Big Mike and Nancy smiled at each other. “I think he likes it,” Big Mike said. Nancy nodded in agreement.

  All Mike had ever dreamed of since his sixteenth birthday was getting a Grand National. The poster of Anna had been replaced with the only thing that could possibly distract a teenage boy more: a sports car. 1987 was the last year Buick produced the sporty beauty before changing the style of the Regal again. Mike fantasized about this car more than he ever fantasized about Anna. And here it was, right in front of him.

  Laughing, Big Mike said, “Well, are you gonna stand there all day and stare at it, or are you going to check it out? The keys are in it.”

  Mike ran back and hugged his parents. “I don’t know what to say. This is the most amazing thing ever. Thank you! I love you guys so much!”

  Big Mike asked, “You gonna take me for a ride?”

  Mike said, “Let’s go!”

  Nancy sarcastically hollered, “Be safe, you two! I’ll clean up the mess—don’t worry about it!”

  “Now, I searched all over before finding this. It only has five thousand miles on it.” Big Mike relayed.

  “The GNX? I can’t believe it . . . you are so awesome, Dad.”

  “Well, your mom convinced me. I was looking at a nice four-door economy car for you.”

  The two stared at each other in silence.

  Then Big Mike laughed and said, “Just kidding! Your mom gave in and let me get this for you. She was worried you couldn’t handle a

  car like this, but I convinced her otherwise. So- start ‘er up.”

  The shiny keys, begging for attention, dangled from the ignition, twinkling like icicles on the roof’s edge in the morning sun in January. Mike trembled as he turned the key into the first position. The dashboard lit up; all systems check. With the next click, the 276-horsepower engine thundered to life. The exhaust rumbled with a unique sound that only a turbo-charged six-cylinder engine could produce. The instrument panel sprang to life. Oil pressure, engine temp and volts all checked out. With a rev of the engine, the coveted turbo gauge showed movement, accompanied by a whine from the turbo’s ceramic intercooler.

  Mike gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel firmly with both hands. The bouquet of leather filled his nares and he thought to himself, I’m in heaven. He surveyed the interior. It was like showroom new. He stared up at the sky through the glass T-tops and envisioned himself driving down the highway with the wind in his hair from the open top.

  A few last checks before he could unleash this beast on the wanting highway; a final adjustment of the seat to fit his now six feet three-inch frame. With mirrors in perfect position, Mike depressed the brake pedal and engaged the transmission. With an imposing clunk, the car was ready and begging for action.

  Mike eased the gas pedal to get the four-footed monster rolling down the driveway. Mike thought to himself, It’s perfect.

  Big Mike was watching the glow on his son’s face and said, “Let’s take this out to old Highway 17 and open ‘er up. What do you think?”

  For the next hour, Mike and his father shared the most exciting hour they had ever spent together.

  “I’m not sure who’s having more fun—you or me, but we better get you home. You still gotta pack up the car and get Frank. I don’t want you to get on the highway too late.”

  “Yes, sir, you’re right.” Not wanting this experience with his dad to be over, Mike reluctantly turned the car around to head home.

  “Why don’t you drive?”

  Big Mike said, “I thought you’d never ask!”

  ***

  Noon. Mike now had the car loaded and was standing in the driveway with his parents. He gave his dad a hug, reflecting on the past four years and how, because his parents took an interest in his transformation, he owed everything to them. “I love you, Dad. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me!”

  Choked up and with a tear in his eye, Big Mike replied, “I love you too, son. I’m so proud of you. Call us when you stop for the night. Do you have enough money with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As restless as a six-year-old at Christmas waiting for a present to open, Nancy, now weeping, cried out, “Okay. Enough already, it’s my turn now!” She grabbed Mike and squeezed him so tightly that he could hardly breathe. “My little Mikey, I can’t believe how far you’ve come. I love you so much!”

  Mike, now sobbing, remembered back to that summer when Nancy first ran with him, how she never let him falter and always encouraged him. “I love you, Nancy.”

  In a shaky voice, Nancy whispered in Mike’s ear, “Call me Mom.”

  Stunned, Mike smiled and whispered, “I love you . . . Mom. I owe everything to you. Thank you for always being my number one fan.”

  “Okay, let the boy breathe. We’ll see him in a few weeks. Get going boy, the Moose is waiting.”

  The two separated, and Mike got into his car. He waved as he backed out. In his rearview mirror, Mike could see Nancy and his dad standing together in the driveway, hugging as they watched him drive away. As they faded out of view, Mike’s attention turned to getting to Frankie’s house. “I know he’s waiting. He’s gonna freak when he sees this beauty.”

  As he pulled up to Frank’s, Mike could see Frank pacing on the front porch.

  When Frank saw the car pull into his driveway, he looked confused. Then he saw Mike step out.

  Mike heard a thunderous, “What’s up, douche bag? Holy shit! Is this your new ride? We’re going to Florida in this?” Mike nodded.

  “Oh my God, this awesome, just like the one in your room. I bet we get some pussy in this thing, huh?”

  Mike and Frank loaded up and said their goodbyes to Frank’s family.

  Mike said to Frank’s dad, “Thank you for everything, Coach.” Mike recalled all the pep talks and wise lessons he had given all the players, especially to him and Frank.

  “Just remember everything I taught you, son, and you’ll do well. Keep my boy in line, will ya? Make sure he actually studies once in a while.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Not a hugger, Coach Peterson extended his right hand and the two shook hands. Mike hugged Frank’s mom, who was crying because her two favorite boys were leaving. Mike had become close to Frank’s parents, and he called her
Mama. After their final farewells, the two loaded up and hit the road.

  The two drove several hours before stopping in Atlanta for the night. They made it to Jacksonville the next day. They drove straight to their apartment and unpacked.

  The next day was Monday, and before the two pulled onto the campus of Florida Technical University they deemed it necessary to get the car washed. “Gotta look good for the chicks. I’ll pay for the wash,” said Frank.

  It was still summer and the campus was not fully active yet, but the two drove around in awe looking at all the beautiful girls, buildings and beautiful girls. They arrived at the football practice field and spent a few minutes watching and dreaming.

  They then journeyed to the big stadium. “This is it, Frankie! The Panther Den, home of the FTU Panthers. One day we’ll be playing in front of fifty thousand screaming fans.”

  “Yep, at least I know I will be. You suck.”

  “Funny, Moose.”

  “Seriously though, here is where we’re gonna leave our mark in history, Mikey. Think you can handle it, Pussy?” Frank said with a smirk.

  “If I can handle your big dumb ass, I can handle anything,” Mike replied.

  “That’s pretty funny, you little douche bag,” said Frank as he grabbed Mike in a playful chokehold.

  Off campus, the two got settled into their apartment. Their parents had rented them a luxury two-bedroom unit on the third floor that overlooked the huge Olympic sized pool. Frank went onto the balcony like a king surveying his kingdom, and to his astonishment saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen—a pool full of skimpily clad young college girls in bikinis. Short ones, tall ones, thin ones, fat ones, small tits, big tits, brunette, blonde, and red hair; whatever your taste, they were all there.

  “Mike, get over here and check this out!” Mike joined Frank on the balcony.

  “Dude, are you seeing this? The girl to guy ratio must be four to one. I think we just settled in paradise!”

  Between the buildings that surrounded the pool, Frank’s thunderous roar reverberated like a yodeler in the Swiss Alps. “HELLO LADIES, WE ARE HERE NOW AND THE FUN CAN BEGIN!”

  All the girls looked up to see this gargantuan man bellowing from the balcony. Standing next to him was his hunky companion. A large number of the girls started waving, whistling and yelling in approval. One even lifted her top, exposing herself.

  Frank yelled to Mike, “Holy shit, dude! Check out those perfect pear-shaped titties—no tan lines, and her nipples are harder than my

  pecker right now. She must want me!”

  Mike said, “I think it may be because the water’s cold!”

  Frank and Mike started to laugh, and Frank sounded like a gray wolf on the prowl for a bitch in heat when he howled, “WOOOOO HOOOOO!”

  Now that they were settled in, it was time to report for summer practice the next Monday. Mike and Frank reported to the practice field. Their first day of practice was tough. Mike thought the high school days were tough, but that paled in comparison to the demented torture these coaches put them through. In the scorching August Florida heat and humidity, Mike and Frank thought they would die.

  “Fuck me, dude!” Frank told Mike. “This shit’s killing me.”

  “I hear you, bro. Just hang in there. You’re the toughest guy I know and I know you can make it.”

  Make it he did. Frank excelled and made it to starting center for the Panthers and he was the best center they ever had, probably the best any college had ever seen.

  Mike, however, was the backup quarterback. Although he often practiced with Frank, he never saw any play time. In high school, Mike had grown accustomed to being the star and was having a tough time adjusting to being the number two guy.

  Mike had acclimated to the college lifestyle. His grades were good and he never had any shortage of girlfriends. Occasionally, he thought about Sheila and thought maybe he’d look her up, but he never did. He was popular, but still lacked one thing in his life—no play time.

  The starting quarterback, Scott Philips, was the big man on campus. This guy was good, though Mike thought he was better. Mike was a freshman and Scott was a junior. His coaches always told him to be patient.

  Coach Brier, the quarterback coach, would encourage Mike. “Just wait, you’ll get your shot. Scott had to put his time in. He put two years in the trenches. This is his first year starting.”

  Fourth quarter of game nine, and the Panthers were ahead three points. Victory was theirs for the taking. Philips was marching the offense down the field with their goal of one more touchdown to secure the win.

  Third and two. Philips called a play that would have him keep the ball. They lined up. “HUT ONE! HUT TWO! HUT, HUT, HUT!” Frank flawlessly passed the ball between the two mammoth tree trunks he called legs to the sure-handed Philips. Like a bulldozer, the Moose plowed forward, creating a gap in the defense big enough to drive a tractor trailer through. Philips rushed forward for a five-yard gain and first down. The crowd went wild.

  Up from the bottom of the tangled pile of sweaty padded bodies came a scream.

  “AAAAAAHHH, MY KNEE, MY KNEE . . . OH SHIT, NOT MY KNEE!”

  Frank pulled the bodies off the pile and tossed them aside like they were rag dolls, until he got to Scott. “Are you okay, brother?”

  “MOOSE, IT’S MY KNEE! IT HURTS SO BAD!”

  Frank looked down and saw that Scott’s lower left leg was angulated to the left and his kneecap was offset to the right side of his leg. Frank thought it looked really bad, but all he could think to say was, “You’ll be fine, brother.”

  The trainers rushed to the field. They called for the stretcher. Scott wasn’t walking off this field. As Scott was rushed to the locker room for evaluation, Mike heard, “CARSON . . . CARSON! DID YOU

  FORGET YOUR FUCKING NAME!?”

  It was the head coach, Coach Galliano.

  “All right son, this is it. Are you ready?”

  Mike confidently responded, “Yes, sir!”

  After a reassuring, “Get your ass in there,” and a smack on the butt from the coach, Mike donned his helmet and took to the field. “This is it, time to show what I can do.”

  Mike joined the huddle and Frank said, “Welcome to the big show, baby!”

  “Thanks Moose,” Mike winked and smiled.

  Mike looked to the sideline for the offensive coordinator. “What? A deep pass?” They wanted to surprise the defense and go for the end zone now.

  Because he was just a backup, Mike never wanted his parents at the games. But Big Mike and Nancy never missed a radio broadcast of FTU’s games. That Saturday was no exception. Listening to the game on the radio at home, they heard the announcer say, “substituting for Philips, number 11, Michael Carson. He’s just a freshman, but already getting some play time.”

  Mike’s parents shrieked with excitement. The neighbors paid no attention to the noise, as they had grown accustomed to hearing hollering from the Carson household during football season.

  The huddle broke, and Mike stepped up behind his roommate and best friend. Frank knew the play, and knew just how to release his gift to Mike on three.

  “HUT ONE! HUT TWO! HUT THREE!”

  Frank flawlessly released the ball into Mike’s awaiting grasp. Frank stood up to defend his best friend from any attacking foe. Mike had all the time in the world to throw the ball. Frank and his line were knocking his opponents to the ground like bowling pins. No one was getting a sack today. Mike looked downfield and there was his target: number seventeen, Jonas Pickens. In practice, he had thrown to Jonas at least a thousand times. Jonas was an outstanding receiver and an easy target at six-two. All he had to do was get the ball anywhere within Jonas’ long arms and it was caught.

  Mike planted his feet, set himself, took a deep breath and released his projectile. It was a thing of beauty in flight. Soaring through the humid Florida air, the ball sailed upward toward its target in a picture-perfect spiral. During its inaugural flight, Mike bri
efly lost sight of the ball in the sun. It looked good, for a second or two. The ball then descended from its apex and was returning to the ground. Mike could see his target Jonas was nearly in the end zone. Jonas leapt up, his arms stretched out, making his already tall body looked like the Stretch Armstrong action figure that he had played with as a young boy. Jonas’ right hand was out as far as it could go. The ball just touched his fingertips and bounced up.

  The ball was caught. However, to Mike’s dismay, it was caught by the opposing team’s free safety.

  An interception. Mike’s initiation into the big game, and he threw an interception. Flashbacks to the days on the bus when Moose would whale on him for no reason, and the day Tommy gave him the black eye came rushing back. Mortified, Mike was expecting to hear the Moose attack him. Instead, Mike heard his best friend say, “Don’t sweat it buddy, we got time. You were so close!”

  Dejected, Mike returned to the bench and threw his helmet to the ground. Coach Brier saw and approached to encourage him. “Listen up, Mike. That was a great effort. Don’t let it get to you. Get your head out of your ass and back in the game. We need you.”

  Mike collected his thoughts and apologized to Coach Brier.

  The coach slapped him on the back. “It was a good throw, a lot of pressure for the first game.”

  The opposing team marched down the field and scored a touchdown, putting the Panthers behind four points.

  Coach Brier was still counseling Mike, “Okay son, we have forty seconds. Get us down the field. Do what you do best. I’ve seen you in practice. You’ve got what it takes. Now get it done.”

  Reinvigorated, Mike ran onto the field. With the same determination he had shown that summer four years earlier to reinvent himself, Mike was resolute that he would not make the same mistake twice.

  Coach Galliano asked Coach Brier, “What do you think, Ollie?” Ollie was short for Oliver, Brier’s first name.