Award Winning Author
Huck Finn mushed his dogs, he had a one-legged man he had to get back to his wife in time for the birth of their child. Molly Lee McMasters hugged a six-month-old baby to her breast. The temperature was fifty-eight degrees below zero and falling fast. In the far distance, loomed the mountain they had to cross---shrouded in ominous gray-black snow clouds.
At dinnertime we talked about Charlie. He was somethin’ else. People always said that he was of no earthly good, but Charlie showed us all.
Daddy shook his head, and as he cut his meat, he said, “You believe that about Charlie?” No one answered; sister started to cry.
I grew up with Charlie. He was the first boy that I ever did kiss. Him, brother, and I would go swimming down to the swimming hole in the summertime. I think sister was sweet on him, but she never said nothing ’bout it ’cause momma always said Charlie was a bad sort.
Charlie’s people came from back up in the hills. He never wore store-bought clothes and his hair was always a mite too long. But his smile . . . his smile . . . would brighten anyone’s day.
Charlie died today.
He was down to the highway, walking along the side. As he passed the Gentry house, the baby came out of the yard and walked onto the highway just as the car came out of nowhere. It was moving fast. Charlie only had time to jump in front of it and push the baby to safety.
Sister still cries.
Now no one says that Charlie was of no earthly good.
I wake up every night ’bout midnight. People . . . I just cain’t sleep no more! I cain’t sleep because my woman is driving me crazy. I told my woman a long, long time ago she was gonna drive me crazy. To keep my peace of mind, I’m gonna have to kill her tonight.
I’m walkin’ the dark and empty streets with gun in hand. I’m lookin’ for my woman.
If she’s with another man, I’ll kill him too.
Bye, bye little girl . . . tonight you die.
Bye, bye lover . . . bye, bye.
I see you through the window at Mose’s Place. You have on the red dress I bought you last year. You’re sittin’ with another man.
I ain’t got nothin’ to lose. I open the door and step inside.
The music, the cigarette smoke, and my sorrow assault me.
I know what I have to do.
You’re laughing at something he has said as I walk up to the table. You are having a good time. I’m happy for you.
Bye, bye baby.
The first bullet takes off half your lover’s head.
I take my time firing the next bullet. I want you to know that you are gonna die.
Times slows, I see the fear in your eyes. Your face is splattered with your lover’s blood. It goes well with your red dress.
Bye, bye baby . . . bye, bye.
Bobby, the Big Blue Bunny wasn’t always big, and he wasn’t always blue. However, he had always been Bobby, at least for as long as he could remember.
When he was only a white bunny, Bobby used to live in the woods with his other bunny friends. His closest friends were Homer, Janice, and Tommy. They would play together every day. They would play many games, but their favorite was hide-n-seek. That was ever so much fun.
One day, Bobby decided that he was going to be the champion hide-n-seek player of all time. He would hide so well that no one would ever find him. Not even Janice who was the best hide-n-seek player in the whole wide world!
On that day, as Janice covered her eyes and counted to one hundred, Tommy and Homer hid in their usual places. But Bobby went deep into the woods, farther than he had ever gone before. His mommy would have been so worried about him if she had known how far from home he had traveled.
After a while, he came to an old, fallen down and hollowed out log in a quiet glade. “I can hide in there and Janice will never find me,” thought Bobby. So he hopped into the log and made himself comfortable. It was cozy. It was so cozy that after a while, Bobby started to get sleepy. “I’ll take a short nap. Then, I’ll go back and surprise them all. How all the other bunnies will cheer when I hop into the clearing after Janice has given up looking for me,” were his thoughts as he fell asleep.
The next thing Bobby knew, it was nighttime. He had slept longer than he had intended, and he was afraid. It was too dark to find his way home; he missed his mommy. He wanted to cry, but decided he would be a big bunny and not cry. He would wait for the sun to come up and then he would scamper home as fast as he could.
Once again, Bobby fell asleep.
When he awoke this time, the sun was out and the birds were singing. It was a beautiful day. “Oh, good! Now I can go home,” said Bobby.
He started to squirm his way out of the log and he was almost out when he heard, “Dum-dee-dum-dum. Dum-dee-dum-dum.” Someone was humming to himself. Then the phrase was repeated: “Dum-dee-dum-dum.”
“What is this?” Bobby wondered aloud. There was only one way to find out, he would have to leave the safety of the log. The voice did not sound scary. In fact it was quite a pleasant voice, so he made his way out into the sunshine.
There, before him, stood the biggest bunny he had ever seen. And to top it off, he was pink in colour! The bunny was stirring something in a big black kettle. And there were many more kettles spread throughout the glade.
Bobby was about to turn and run away when the pink bunny said, “I was wondering when you were going to wake up, sleepyhead.”
“You knew I was in the log?” asked Bobby.
“I surely did, but you were sleeping so soundly, I thought I’d leave you alone for the time being.”
“What are you doing?” Bobby wanted to know.
“I’m getting the colour ready for my eggs,” was the bunny’s reasoned response.
“Your eggs?”
“Yes, my eggs! I’m the Easter Bunny. You’ve heard of me.”
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t.”
“It doesn’t matter. Now, come and give me a hand. I have to mix the next colour.”
The Easter Bunny walked over to a kettle and lifted what looked like a heavy sack. He poured the contents into the pot. “You stir this while I go on to the next one.”
“I’m sorry sir, but I have to go home. My mommy will be worried about me.”
“Yes, mommies are like that.”
“It’s been nice meeting you, sir.”
‘Yes, yes. Now be on your way. I’m running late, and this year I have much work to do.”
Bobby turned away and hopped down the trail. But an hour later he was back. “I can’t find my way home. I’ve gone too far. I’ve never been this far into the woods before.”
The Easter Bunny sighed. “I will see that you get home, but first you must help me. Pick up a stick and stir that kettle over there,” he said pointing to the biggest kettle of the lot.
“It’s a little too high for me to reach,” said Bobby.
With another sigh, the Easter Bunny went over and opened a short step-ladder that was near-by and put it next to the kettle. “Here. Stand on this, and make sure the colour is thoroughly mixed with the water. There is nothing worse than spotted eggs.”
Bobby climbed to the top of the ladder and started to stir. Then he asked, “How long do I do this?”
“Until I get back,” answered the Easter Bunny. Then he added, “I won’t be long. I have to get the eggs.”
Bobby was warming to the task. It was fun to watch the colour swirls as they mixed with the water. His attention was so fixed on what he was doing that he did not notice he had moved a little too close to the pot. When he did notice, he tried to take a step back, but he lost his balance and fell into the kettle. That was all right. The water was not hot, but the edge was too high for him to reach. He yelled for help, but there was no one there to hear him.
In a few minutes the Easter Bunny returned and saw the splashing in the kettle Bobby was supposed to be tending. He peered over the rim and saw a thoroughly soaked Bobby swimming around in circles.
“Can’t I leave you alone for even a minute?” the Easter Bunny asked. And without waiting for an answer, he reached down and pulled Bobby out of the water.
The Easter Bunny gave Bobby a towel and told him to dry off. “And sit over there, out of the way. As soon as my eggs are coloured, I’ll see you home.”
A few hours later, Bobby was standing in front of his burrow waving good-bye to his new friend, the Easter Bunny. When he went inside, he saw his mother standing at the sink and he called to her. She turned to him—and dropped the plate she was washing. His brothers and sisters snickered and laughed. “What is it?” he wanted to know.
“Look in the mirror,” said one of his brothers.
And so Bobby did look in the mirror and was surprised to see a very blue bunny staring back at him. It had been the blue dye kettle he had fallen into.
From that day onwards, everyone called him, Bobby, the Blue Bunny. And when he grew up, he became known as, Bobby, the Big Blue Bunny. It was then that he stopped playing hide-n-seek. Being big and blue, he was always too easy to find.
The End
They swung out onto the river. The snow was deep enough to protect the dogs’ paws, but not too deep to inhibit movement. The northern lights were playing havoc in the night sky. Huck stood on the runners, hung on tight to the handlebars, and threw his head back to enjoy the wondrous sight as the miles passed under his sled. If we weren’t running for our lives this might be enjoyable.
Neither Molly nor Jass spoke as the dogs strained in their harnesses. Huck’s face was caked with ice. He rubbed his nose and cheeks frequently to bring the feeling back. Frostbite turns the skin black and leaves deep scars. If he lived to see Circle City, he wanted to be his old handsome self. Then he laughed at the thought as the lights over his head turned from green to white, then spun clockwise, exploding into every hue in the rainbow. “Come on, Bright, make them miles,” he said aloud, but not loud enough for anyone to hear—as they ran for their lives.
The sled was the only thing moving. Except for the commands Huck issued to Bright, there was no sound. While mushing, the silence was not so evident, but when they stopped to let Jass get his blood flowing, it descended and enveloped them. The country became bigger; they became smaller—insignificant beings in an enormous universe.
Huck looked at Molly and nodded.
She stood with such force that she knocked her chair backwards and it started to fall. She had her gun out and in her hand before the chair hit the floor. The scraping noise of the chair as Molly stood turned the men’s attention from the gold to the table. It was the last act of their lives. Molly had a bullet into each one of them before they knew they were dead.
Jass couldn’t believe it. He took the bottle of Three Star, tilted it to his mouth and drank a goodly portion. Then he sat down and wiped his brow. In spite of the cold, he had been sweating. Huck went to Molly and gently touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Good girl,” was all he said.
I was hanging out the other night at the Tiki Hut, minding my own business, when a voice behind me said, “Hey man, what’s up?”
I should first explain that the Tiki Hut is an edifice here at the marina where I live. The denizens of said marina congregate there on occasion to commune with one another. I, on the other hand, avoid it like the plague. It’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that I don’t like being around people, but that particular evening I had the place to myself.
I turned around, and standing there was this dude I had never seen before, although he did look kind of familiar.
“Hello,” I said in response. I was a little perturbed at having my solitude interrupted, but decided not to be rude. “Are you new here?” I asked in a friendly manner.
“Somewhat.”
I mentally shrugged. I didn’t care one way or the other, I was being polite. Well, I had done my part and started to head back to my boat. I had a six-pack of cold beers waiting for me and I thought it about time I paid it some attention.
“Want a beer?”
It was the dude. He was holding a plastic grocery bag that I had not noticed before. It definitely had the outline of a six-pack. Figuring the guy might be lonely, and thinking I might as well do my Christian duty, I said, “Sure, why not?” I would have a beer and we’d shoot the shit and then I’d get the hell out of there. I reckoned I could put up with him for the time it would take to drink one beer.
He reached into the bag and came out with two bottles of my favorite beer. Things were looking up. He did the honors of popping the caps and we both took a long pull of that cold, good-tasting beverage.
“So,” I said, “you moving in?”
“I’m thinking about it. I wanted to get a feel for the place first. Do you like living here?”
“It’s okay. As long as you pay your rent on time, they leave you alone.”
I’ll not bore you with the rest of the mundane conversation. That first beer led to a second and then a third. I was starting to warm up to the guy by the fourth. Then it dawned on me. We both had had four beers, but we started out with only one six-pack. When I mentioned that fact, he said, “No, you must be mistaken. There were two six-packs in the bag.”
Another mental shrug on my part.
As I popped the cap on my fifth beer, he asked me, “So, what do you think of the state the world is in?”
If I had been asked that question on the first or second or even the third beer, I would have bolted. I don’t get into conversations like that. Truth be known, I generally don’t get into conversations at all. I live alone and I like it that way. I don’t have to please anyone and I sure as hell don’t have to answer stupid questions. But . . . I was on my fifth beer and the guy was buying. So, what the hell?
“It depends on what world you are talking about. My little world is doing just fine. I eat every day. And when it rains, I’m dry. What more could a man ask for?”
He nodded, but said nothing. Fueled by Guinness Stout, I went on.
“Now, if you’re asking about the world in general, I would have to say that for the majority of the people in it, the place is a shit-hole. Wouldn’t you say so?”
“I would say that the vast majority of the people on this planet are living the lives that they want to live.”
Now the guy was pissing me off. Being of Irish descent and having four and a half Guinnesses in me got me up on my soap box.
“Do you believe in God?” I asked with a drunken sneer.
“I have heard of Him, but I don’t know if I believe in Him.”
“Well, if God is real, how can he let the suffering go on? How can he allow a baby to get cancer? How can the son-of-a-bitch let the world get into the mess that it is in today?”
“Good questions, my friend. Very good questions.”
“Don’t patronize me, and hand me another goddamn beer.”
I was in rare form.
When I had been placated with my sixth beer (but who’s counting?), my new-found friend went on.
“Many people feel as you do. They use the same argument. ‘If there is a God, how can He allow the suffering?’ I think the answer is that there is no God. There is only the Oneness. There is only us. Perhaps we are God. And if we are God, how could we allow ourselves to suffer?”
That was it for me. Free beer or not, I was out of there. The guy was crazy. But first I would finish my beer . . . just to be polite.
Then he went on.
“It’s a shame that we don’t believe in reincarnation because that would explain many things. If reincarnation was for real that would mean souls exist before birth. It might even mean that we choose our lives. That life is not a crap shoot.”
I was thinking, “You’re a crap shoot!”
“Do you know that physicists have proven, mathematically at least, that there is no such thing as time and that we are living in a hologram? And if that is so, then what does anything matter? Look at it this way. We live in a dimension known as space-time. You cannot have one without the other. You cannot have time without space and you cannot have space without time. Right?”
“If you say so. How about another beer?” We were now into the third six-pack that wasn’t there. But what the fuck?
“Think of it this way. Space-time is a manifestation only of the physical plane. Off the physical plane, there is no space-time by definition. Correct?”
“Please stop asking me to confirm what you are saying. I’ll admit it makes sense . . . so far. So, I’ll sit here and listen to you as long as that magic bag keeps popping out Guinnesses.”
“Okay. Now visualize this. If you were to look into a dimension of time-space from a dimension of non-time-space, meaning a non-physical universe, what would you see?”
“Your momma!”
He smiled at me with such forbearance that I felt ashamed at having made such a flippant remark. And I sobered up instantly. “I’m sorry I said that. Please go on.”
“I take no offense and I assure you, ‘my momma’ takes no offense.”
I pushed my half-finished beer aside and waited. He didn’t seem drunk, yet he had had as many beers as I. He took another deep swallow of his Guinness and continued.
“What you would see is all time happening at once. That is what you would see. Now, here’s my point. If all time happens at once and we are living in a hologram—a false reality if you will. And if we pre-exist before we are born, and if we know the lives we are going to live, and if there is no time, which means the duration of our lives are as one-millionth of the time it takes to blink an eye, then how are we harmed?”
A good question to which I had no answer. But I had to ask, “Who the hell are you?”
“I’ve been known by many names over many lives. My time on the space-time plane is over. I just come to visit once in a while because that’s what I do. I am a teacher. Sometimes to the multitudes, sometimes to just one lonely man thinking of drinking a beer by himself. In my last incarnation, I was known as Jesus Bar Joseph, or Jesus, Son of Joseph. In parting, let me say this. There is no God. There is only the Oneness and we are all fragments of that Oneness, playing out our existence. Working our way back to the Oneness where we will be reunited. There is no hell and there is no heaven. There is no loss, there is only us. Peace be with you, my friend.”
Then he glowed with such intensity that I had to cover my eyes. The brilliance was filled with love. I have never felt such love. I have never been so loved. It was all I could do not break down and cry right there on the spot.
Then he was gone.
Now I sit here pondering his words. If we are all One, then hiding from my neighbors might not be such a smart thing. I think I’ll invite that nice young couple who live a few boats over for a Sunday brunch. If I can make it through that, perhaps I’ll visit the Tiki Hut a little more often.
You never know who you might meet there.
My name is Tommy and I have something to say. I’m nineteen, I am in love for the very first time, and I want to tell you about it. I want to tell the world about it!
My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was five. Having no other family, I was placed in foster care. I went through many families. Some cared and some did not. Some were in it for the money, some thought they were doing good, but they all had one thing in common. Never, not once, since my parents died did I ever feel loved.
Two weeks before my eighteenth birthday, I walked away from my last foster family. They weren’t so bad, but still there was no love. I put out my thumb. I was heading for Montana. Maybe I could get a job on a ranch and become a modern-day cowboy. However, I got sided-tracked along the way.
Outside of Kansas City, Kansas with the sun sinking fast, turning the western sky a rich pink, I contemplated God. At least He got His sunsets and sunrises right. He still has some work to do as far as I’m concerned, were my thoughts as I waited for my next ride.
A lemon-yellow, 1973 Ford Mustang screeched to a halt and the man driving leaned over and said through the open passenger-side window, “I’m heading to San Francisco, that do you any good?” I nodded, opened the door, and climbed in.
The driver introduced himself as Bryant. He was a few years older than I was. He said that he made his living working with computers. Within minutes, the sun fell below the horizon and the stars were starting to make their nightly appearance. We did not speak as we sped across the prairie. Well, not at first, but then Bryant started a conversation that lasted until we hit Colorado. We talked about everything under the sun: Religion, politics, women, sports, death and taxes. By the time we hit the state line, I had decided to continue on with Bryant all the way to San Francisco. Forget Montana!
We came into Boulder well after midnight. He pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel and said, “I’m getting a room and you are welcome to share it. If not, I’ll be leaving at first light and if you are on the road, I’ll pick you up.”
Halfway out of the car he stopped and sat back down. “How stupid of me. You must be hungry. Let’s rustle us up some food, then you can do what you want.”
He was right, I was hungry. I had not eaten all day. We found a diner still opened and he bought me the best meal I ever had.
Now this next part is kind of dicey . . . kind of private, but it is germane to the story so here goes. At school, and in my life, I had never been attracted to girls. They were just there, part of the landscape. I was never aroused by a well-rounded ass in tight jeans. Tits did nothing for me; a smile from a pretty girl did not start my heart a-racing. However, at gym class and in the showers, I found myself thinking that the male body was so much more beautiful than a female’s. But I did not dwell on it. I wasn’t no fucking faggot!
After we had our greasy hamburgers and fries, we went back to the motel and Bryant got himself a room. As I was getting my bag out of his car, he said, “Up to you, kid. You want to sleep outside or inside?” I chose inside.
There was only one bed, so I figured I’d sleep on the floor.
After the lights were out, Bryant said, “There is plenty of room over here. If you want, we can share the bed.”
I wanted to share the bed with him. I was attracted to him, but I was no faggot. Or was I?
I got myself up, slid beneath the sheets, and felt his warm body. He did not make a move toward me. He did not touch me. I found myself getting hard, and I reached out and touched his face. He took my face in his hands and drew me to him. We kissed; it was my first kiss ever. His tongue probed, he was gentle.
What happened next is no concern of yours. Today, at nineteen, I am with the most loving man in the world. He does his computer thing and I take care of the house.
I give love.
I get love.
I got love.
Amen
