The Cascading: Knights of the Fire Ring

by CW Ullman

  The cheerless looks on their faces made him want to stay in his room or get out of the house. Their sad facades reminded him of what hypocrites they were. They would tell him they just wanted him to be happy. “Be happy” was something parents said after they had ruined the lives of their children. Parents controlled and instructed children throughout their lives on how they should live and what they should do. All of this grand instruction was then tied up in a nice little summation with the sobriquet, “Be happy.” It was delivered once they realized their parenting was wildly off the mark. It was their, “Oh well, we tried our best”, moment. The grand experiment in parenting had failed and the subject of the experiment was supposed to excuse their failings. Thanks, but no thanks, Charlie thought. He decided to put as much distance between him and them as quickly as possible.

  The next day Charlie waited for his parents to leave the house. Once they were gone, he packed his belongings into the car, backed out of the driveway, gave the finger to the house, and left. He thought of leaving a note and then said, “ Screw it”. His parents would figure out he had gone.

  The plans to see Yosemite, Zion National Park, the Grand Canyon, and Yellowstone ended once he arrived in Las Vegas. He got a room in a cheap downtown hotel, bought a case of beer and a gallon of vodka, and drank until he passed out. He stayed a week, until the manager threw him out for hassling the hotel guests.

  Nothing interested him, so he bought more booze and drove out of Vegas until he could park his car on the shoulder of a desolate stretch of two lane road in northeastern Nevada. The mental recrimination was relentless and his anger was still all-consuming. The only way to drown out the scenes of the over-boarding was to get drunk and scream. The burden of it all had reached the tipping point. He needed to die, he thought, but was he capable of doing it?

  He got out of the car to urinate, but instead took off his clothes. He was going to step in front of the next car. When a car approached he lost his courage so he pissed on the passing vehicle. His alcoholic-fueled reasoning resulted in an idea: he should run naked down the road pissing on cars that drove by until one hit him. He almost got hit by a semi-trailer truck, which he thought would have been a great way to die. He pissed on the tire of a vehicle that had stopped. While he was urinating on the tire, the occupant slowly got out of the car and stood watching him from the driver side door with his hands on his hips.

  “You wouldn’t have your license and registration on you, perchance?” asked the highway patrolman.

  “How stupid are you? I’m naked. Where am I gonna keep it?” said Charlie.

  “Well, thank you for stating the obvious. So we hit it off on the right note, only my dad gets to call me ‘stupid’,” said the patrolman.

  “You got a dad that’s a dick like mine, huh?” replied Charlie.

  “No, actually he’s a pretty good guy. That attempt at humor was me defusing our situation here. I’m figuring that’s your car parked back down the road a bit?” asked the patrolman.

  “Yeah, those are my wheels,” said Charlie. “You can have it. I don’t need it anymore.”

  “And that’s because you’ve decided it’s a good idea to homestead out here in the middle of nowhere with no clothes on? You plan on starting a nudist colony or something?” kidded the patrolman.

  Charlie laughed and then said, “Hey, you’re pretty funny for a cop. What’s your name?”

  “I am Officer Biwer. And what would your name be?” the cop asked.

  “Petty Officer Third Class Charles Wayne Palmer, sir,” Charlie yelled.

  “Are you on leave or AWOL, Charles?” Officer Biwer asked.

  “I am out of the Navy, sir,” Charlie barked.

  “Charles, it’s just you and me out here and I am not that far from you, so you don’t have to yell. While you were in the Navy did you make it to the Big Show?” Officer Biwer asked referring to Vietnam.

  “Yep, I did and I wish the fuck I hadn’t,” Charlie replied.

  “I was an M.P. outside of An Khe in Two Corps. We were attached to the 173rd Airborne,” said Biwer.

  “Kinda fucked up, huh?” asked Charlie. He then leaned up against the car and slid down the side of it until he was sitting on the road. “It was fucked up, Officer Biwer, really fucked up.”

  Charlie kept repeating that phrase until he began to cry.

  “You had a rough time of it over there, Charles?” asked Officer Biwer.

  Charlie did not answer him. He was in the middle of drunk-sobbing and could not stop. He just looked up at Officer Biwer and cried some more.

  “Listen, Charles, I’m going back to your car to get some clothes. If I leave you alone here will you promise to stay?” Officer Biwer asked.

  Charlie nodded and tried to speak, but could only cry. Officer Biwer walked down to Charlie’s car and came back with jeans and a T-shirt which Charlie donned.

  “Charles, you can’t be standing naked out in the middle of the road pissing on people’s cars,” said Officer Biwer.

  “I wanna get run over,” said Charlie.

  “I figured as much,” Officer Biwer continued, “but here’s the problem, Charles. While you’re trying to commit suicide out here, you’re going to cause some mother driving her kids home to veer off the road to avoid hitting you. Then you’ll have caused an accident and possible fatalities. Now, you wouldn’t want that would you, Charles?”

  Charlie shook his head.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to give me your car keys, and then you’re going back to your car and sleep off this bender. In the morning, I’ll give you back your keys and you can drive off. Does that sound like a plan, Charles?” Officer Biwer said.

  “Can’t you just shoot me instead? Please?” Charlie asked.

  Officer Biwer chuckled when he said, “Now, Charles, you know I can’t do that. I’d have to explain to my watch commander why I shot you and he hates for us to waste ammunition ‘cause we got budgetary constraints. Then, your parents would want to know, and what am I going to say to them? As much as I’d like to oblige you, I think our best move would be for you to get in your car and sleep it off. Whattaya say?”

  “Oh, okay,” Charlie said, moping.

  Officer Biwer walked Charlie back to his car; Charlie gave him the keys and got in the front seat. Officer Biwer got a coat out of Charlie’s car and laid it over his chest.

  “You get some sleep, Charles. I’ll be driving by here to check on you,” said Officer Biwer.

  Charlie was asleep almost as soon as he laid back his seat. Officer Biwer shined his flashlight inside the car to check out the contents. He poured out Charlie’s stash, went back to his car and radioed in the situation. He went back to check on a soundly sleeping Charlie and then drove off.

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  In the darkness of the closet, the cascading of Charlie’s life was briefly interrupted when his eyes opened and he saw his pants wet with tears and urine. When he looked up he saw the gun swinging up, and Charlie knew the boy was about to pull the trigger. He was overcome again when the cascading projected Jimi Hendrix playing at Monterey, Teresa loving Charlie in the hay of a horse stall, Darla, Mahatma Ji and the Guru from the ashram. He felt Rusty in the backseat being cared for by Darla.

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  When he opened his eyes the next morning, Charlie thought someone had packed his head in a block of cement. He closed his eyes immediately to shut out the sunshine. When he slightly opened them again and looked out the window, he did not see anything recognizable and wondered where he was and how he got out there. He levered the back of the seat to an upright position, squinted into the rear view mirror and saw a patrol car parked behind him. The patrol car door opened and a policeman came up to his window.

  “I bet you got a pretty mean hangover, Charles,” said Officer Biwer.

  “Fuck. Bad. How do you know my name?” Charlie asked.

  “You don’t remember streaking the highway pissing on people’s cars last night?” asked
Officer Biwer.

  “That bad, huh?” replied Charlie.

  “Bad? That ain’t the half of it, you wanted me to shoot you to put you out of your misery,” Officer Biwer said. “Who’s Teresa? You were giving her a piece of your mind last night.”

  “She’s a girl I met in ‘67,” Charlie said. “Are you going to bust me?”

  “Charles, you were alcohol-disabled last night, so I’ll repeat what I told you then. We’re both ex-military who served in Vietnam, so I’m going to let you off with a warning,” Officer Biwer continued. “Please, don’t make me regret that, okay? No more drinking and driving, no more running naked on the blacktop and definitely no more pissing on people’s cars. Folks in this part of Nevada have guns and I’ve seen them use ‘em for a lot less. Where ya from?”

  “My parents live in Manhattan Beach.”

  “I’ve been checking there and Hermosa Beach for job opportunities,” Officer Biwer said. “I’m getting tired of the desert. Where ya headed?”

  “I’m not sure. I need something to eat. Where am I?” Charlie said.

  “You’re on Highway ninety-three. If you go up the road twenty miles you’ll hit Wendover, Utah. They got a Denny’s up there,” Officer Biwer said.

  Charlie was looking around inside his car for something to drink.

  “If you’re looking for your booze, I poured it out,” said Officer Biwer.

  “I’m looking for water. Do you have any?” Charlie asked.

  Officer Biwer opened the trunk of his cruiser and gave Charlie a plastic gallon bottle of water. Charlie drank about a quarter of it and poured some of it over his head.

  “Am I pushing my luck if I ask you for an aspirin?” Charlie asked.

  “I just happen to have some in my Batman Utility Belt,” Officer Biwer said wryly. He unsnapped a flap on his service belt and gave Charlie a small envelope of aspirin. “Charles, I don’t want you putting any families in jeopardy with your shenanigans. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for being cool,” Charlie said.

  Officer Biwer tossed Charlie the keys to his car and went back to his cruiser. He started his car and pulled up alongside Charlie and said, “Maybe you should give that girl Teresa a call.” He tipped his hat and drove off. The next time Charlie would meet Officer Biwer would be in far more serious situation, with much more on the line.

  Charlie sat for a moment and drank more water. Replenishing his alcohol-parched body with water cleared his head and along with the aspirin, eased the hangover. He slowly shook his head, thinking of being naked on the road. Officer Biwer said he wanted to be shot. There was no way he wanted to die and if getting drunk made that an option in his delirium, then he was going on the wagon for a while. And, Teresa, a girl he met in the summer of 1967; he thought he was over her. An encounter nine years ago still resonated.

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  After Charlie graduated high school in 1967, he planned to work the summer on an offshore oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. He hoped to work off Delacroix Island south of New Orleans. Just as he had in the summer of his junior year, he went to a bar in Harvey, Louisiana, a refinery town across the Mississippi River from New Orleans, and put his name on a list with other men who wanted work. While waiting to hear his name called for a roughneck job, he read John Steinbeck’s Travels with Charlie.

  Because the book recounted the trip around the United States Steinbeck took in a camper truck with his dog, it piqued Charlie’s wanderlust. After finishing the book, Charlie sent a postcard to his parents telling them he was off to see America. On May 22, 1967, a week after he had come to work in the Gulf, he packed his bag, walked out onto Airline Highway and hitchhiked to California.

  After four weeks of thumbing rides, Charlie ended up at what looked to be a fair near Carmel, California. As fairs went, it was different from what he had experienced in Oklahoma. Instead of livestock and carnival rides, people were selling beads, incense, lamps, and weird clothing. He found a vacant horse stall where he hid his bag and walked out to the tents and booths amongst the oddly dressed crowd.

  People were wearing floppy hats, leather vests, and wide bottomed jeans. The girls’ jeans had really short zippers. These must be the Californians he had been hearing and reading so much about: hippies. He also saw a group of dangerous-looking guys moving, not so much in a group as in a pack. They wore denim vests with Hells Angels written on the back.

  While maneuvering through the crowd, he heard a girl’s voice from behind him say, “You’re not from around here, are ya?”

  He turned around to see a group of girls waving smoking sticks in the air. They were passing a hand-rolled cigarette amongst themselves.

  A beautiful blond girl in the group said, “You’re not, are ya?”

  “No, I’m from Oklahoma.”

  One of the other girls said, “El Cajon?”

  “No, Tulsa.”

  The girls all fell out laughing like that was the funniest thing they had ever heard. The pretty blond girl smiled at Charlie and offered him the cigarette.

  “No thanks, I don’t smoke,” Charlie said.

  The girl said it was weed, but Charlie did not care what brand it was, he did not want to smoke it.

  “My name is Teresa. What’s your name?”

  “Charlie.”

  She inquired, “Charlie from Tulsa, do you mind if we walk with you?”

  He said, “Okay.” The girls fell out laughing again, but he was not sure what was so funny.

  One of the other girls imitated his accent, “Oh-KYE” turning the ‘A’ sound into a long ‘I.’ “It’s oh-KYE.”

  ”That’s what I said,” said Charlie.

  Sensing his unease with the girls laughing, the pretty blond walked up next to Charlie and put her arm inside his arm saying, “We’re stoned. We think everything’s funny. It’s kind of stupid, huh?”

  As soon as her arm touched his body, he was enthralled.

  She said, “Charlie from Tulsa, you’re pretty strong. Do you lift weights?”

  He told her about playing football in high school, bailing and lifting hay in the summer, and working offshore oil. She wondered why he came out to California from Oklahoma.

  “Well, Charlie from Tulsa, I like you. Do you wanna go to the concert tonight? We got an extra ticket?”

  “I haven’t got plans to do anything else. Yes, I would. Please,” Charlie said.

  “You are very courteous. I like that, Charlie from Tulsa,” Teresa said.

  He thought he would have a little fun with Teresa when he said, “You don’t have to keep saying Tulsa after my name ‘cause I know where I’m from,” making all the girls giggle.

  Charlie asked Teresa where she was from and she answered Pismo Beach. Charlie said, “Well, I’m glad to make your acquaintance, Teresa from Pismo Beach. If we got married in England, your name would take a week to pronounce: Mrs. Charlie Pismo Beach hyphenated Tulsa.”

  She had to stop and laugh. Charlie watched her bend at the waist as she squeezed her knees together. Her eyes watered with tears and her blond hair cascaded down on her shoulders. He had never caused so much mirth in a person. She was laughing so hard she held onto him for balance and he liked that. At eighteen-years-old, Charlie Palmer was in love up to his eyeballs.

  “Well, Mr. Charlie Pismo Tulsa Beach-“ which sent everyone into peals of laughter –“glad to make your acquaintance,” Teresa said.

  They strolled the fairgrounds together. When the sun started to set, a gate opened. They went inside and sat in chairs in the middle of a large open-air area. Charlie had never been to an outdoor rock concert and he did not understand why everyone was smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. There was a screen onstage with a pulsing light and massive speakers. The wonder of it all made it an electric night for Charlie. Teresa kept her arm inside Charlie’s and would fall into him when she laughed, captivating him with each successive nudge and bump.

  Tommy Smothers, the M.C. for the evening, told the crowd that the Beatles were a no s
how because they could not land their yellow submarine. He thanked everyone for coming and told the crowd to fly safe and have a good night.

  Teresa spoke briefly to the girls she had come with and then turned to Charlie.

  “Hey, Charlie from Tulsa, where are you staying?” Teresa said.

  “I found a horse stall and I left my bag there. The stall’s got a stack of hay which should make for a great sleep.” Charlie thought he would have fun with her and said, “The stall is big enough for two, but I hear the room service isn’t all that good. Would you like to sleep under the stars, Teresa from Pismo Beach?”

  He watched her face and could not tell if she was insulted or intrigued. He liked her a lot and thought he might have blown it. He was about to say he was only kidding, when she touched his face as sweetly as anyone had ever done.

  “Charlie from Tulsa, I would love to.”

  Charlie literally gulped. He was going to ask her if she was kidding, but she picked up his hand and squeezed it. She turned to the other girls and blew them a kiss.

  “You take care of our girl, Charlie from Tulsa,” said one of the girls.

  “Yes, ma’am, I will protect her with my life,” Charlie said. “The stalls are over there. I only have one sleeping bag, so you’ll have it. Will you be okay with that?” Charlie asked.

  “I think that will do just fine,” Teresa answered.

  They snuck under a rope at the stables and walked into a hall filled with vacant horse stalls. Charlie stopped at a stall in the center and let Teresa walk in first.