Here I Thought I Was Normal: Micro Memoirs of Mischief
Page 14
“A-A-A-A-And we have a …” before the DJ could say “winner” Caesar was up and I was down.
And that’s where I stayed for the rest of my time.
When I regrouped with my friends, none of us felt well. The acid in our stomachs, the exertion out on the floor and the rancid bear smell all over us was all we could stand. We went behind the building, saturated in sweat, and heaved everything from our stomachs and then some.
When I looked up, one of my friends said, “Dude, your neck is bleeding.”
Crazy was in the Air
Steve, Eddie and I drove out to visit a summer friend who was at his parents’ weekend place.
Summer friend is a term we created to refer to someone we hung out a lot with over one summer but not really before or after.
He took us up by the yacht club and marina along the river feeding into Lake Erie. We hopped a fence and climbed a train trestle.
“We do this all the time,” our summer friend said.
And he walked out, following the train tracks, high over the river.
“Don’t look down and you’ll be all right,” he mused.
The thing was you had to look down to know where to place your next step. We had grown up jumping off a cliff into the lake at the edge of our neighborhood but this was different.
“This is crazy!” one of us muttered.
We each said something to that effect as we found ourselves looking at nothing but sky on both sides of us and water below, “This is nuts!”
As we stood cautiously in the breeze, we realized how far up we were. It was hard to imagine actually jumping. Land wrong and then what? Hit a boat and you know what!
“What’s that sound?” Steve asked.
“A train but don’t worry, we have plenty of time,” our friend replied matter of fact.
We didn’t know where the sound was coming from and we certainly weren’t sticking around to find out.
We looked at each other and said, “Screw this.”
But as we turned to walk back, our friend said there wouldn’t be enough time. He then went into a spiel that sounded like a safety course on how not to kill ourselves. We listened to him, the train, him. Basically, the gist was to look both ways before jumping to make sure your body wouldn’t meet with a passing boat upon landing.
“Feel the tracks!” Eddie said.
And with that, he was the first to take a leap of faith.
Before we saw how his landing went, we looked back and then forward, saw a couple of boats and jumped anyway.
I don’t know what went through those boaters’ minds when out of nowhere four human cannon balls plunged into the water all around. But by more than one account, they damn near jumped out of their skin judging by the expressions on their faces. One boater looked like he was being electrocuted the way his shocked body gyrated after Steve came within feet of blasting a hole through his boat.
We ignored the angry calls thrown our way by the boaters. Slowly we swam to shore. It was an exhilarating moment for us. But nobody was up for doing it again.
Car Accident
It was summer and we were picking up snowmobiles.
There were five of us crammed into an old Ford Pinto. This was a small car that was once recalled for a faulty gas tank that was rumored to cause fires or explosions upon impact.
I was around 21-years-old. Eddie was a lifelong friend and his mom’s boyfriend, Lloyd, needed help. So it was the three of us, our friend Steve and a friend of Lloyd’s. The car was well maintained except the seatbelts had been cut out of it. It was Lloyd’s pride and joy since he was a teenager, or so Eddie told us.
The three of us friends were in the backseat and Lloyd and his friend were up front. We were cruising down Walker Road towing a trailer. With no warning whatsoever, a lady with a baby sailed through the intersection from our left side, on Jaycox Road, and both cars hit doing 35-40 miles per hour. The only skid marks were those left from tires AFTER the collision.
I was sitting behind the driver and on the side hit. Upon impact, my head careened into the metal divider between the front and backseat side windows. It ricocheted to the middle of the car where it met Eddie’s head. An instant later, we were stopped and all was silent if even for a split second. I consciously recognized the fact I was alive. So was everyone in our car. I couldn’t believe it. The windshield was shattered to a million pieces and the car was mangled.
I wiggled my toes to make sure I wasn’t paralyzed. Then, I yelled loudly that I wanted out of the car, now—now—now!
Everyone motivated to get out. That’s when I noticed Lloyd’s jaw just hanging from his face by loose skin. He had broken it on the steering wheel. The steering wheel was broken too so maybe the dashboard snapped the bone, I don’t know. His friend was in shock. His face was shattered much like the windshield. It looked like a jig-saw puzzle – a bloody jig-saw puzzle.
Outside of our car, we heard an engine racing in high speed. The car that hit us was raised on a large rock and landscaping set back from the corner. The three of us friends approached it and looked inside. The driver, a young woman, was smashed in the area where the front seat passenger would put their feet. Her whole body was in that small space. She wasn’t moving so we thought she was dead for sure. In the backseat was a baby in a car seat. He had a slight scrape above one of his eyes. It was tiny, just like him but it stood out against his soft creamy skin. He giggled up a storm when he saw us peak in at him.
Eddie and Steve had the sense to go around the other side and somehow wiggle into the tilted car and kill the engine. I just made baby faces at the baby trying to keep him happy.
Nearby, residents flocked to the scene and took some of us into their homes to get first-aid while we waited for an ambulance. An old man took me inside a very old stone home. He patched me up enough to release me back to the professionals. Actually, he said I should stay and he’d get them to come here but I insisted I return to the scene and my friends to help.
When I came back outside, flashing lights were everywhere. Lloyd’s friend was in shock as they rolled him into an ambulance. Lloyd was screaming for a cigarette before he was taken to the hospital. They learned you don’t tell Lloyd no. Someone obliged and placed a lit smoke in his lips. It was quite a sight to see a man with his jaw dangling to the side of his face dragging a cigarette best he could.
After a few puffs, he pitched it and said, “Now you can take me,” got in another ambulance and they were off.
Eventually, we all ended up at the same hospital. By the time I made it through the “assembly line” I learned that everyone survived even though some injuries would stay for a while, even long-term.
Lloyd was horribly upset by the whole thing afterward and burdened himself with guilt even though the accident was the other lady’s fault. She had not noticed her stop sign and cruised through at about the same speed we were cruising from a 90 degree angle.
Knowing what had happened, it’s truly amazing life wasn’t lost that day. I don’t know how my head took the blows it did without something drastically going wrong.
Down The Road
“Pull off here, I have to take care of something,” Tommy said.
“Already? We just left!” I complained.
Having officially started our road trip, I just found out my driving partner had to test to get his driver’s license back. Between the written exam and driving exam, I asked how he did.
“I think I got a hundred percent this time,” he smiled as an officer came out to meet him. “Let me have your keys.”
I had a small sports car, Mazda RX 7, and it was packed to the gills.
“What’s all this?” the officer asked, somewhat surprised as she opened the passenger door.
“When I blow this popsicle stand, we’re down the road – Florida or bust!” Tommy said with his signature grin and enthusiasm.
She shook her head as if to say, NOW, I’ve seen it all!
Winding through the mountains of
West Virginia on the Interstate proved difficult. It was dark, the fog was especially thick and Tommy was sleeping. Numerous times, I almost turned into the dividing wall as my mind played tricks on me. My eyes followed the reflecting strips with such monotony they just danced in my head. After a really close call, I woke Tommy so I’d have a co-pilot.
We switched driving duties at every fill up. The gas tank was nearly empty and we hadn’t seen signs for a gas station in a quarter tank or so. We were desperate so we decided that the next time we saw a sign, we’d follow it no matter where it took us, as long as it eventually led us to gasoline.
We ended up miles from the highway, navigating the hilly terrain deep into no-man’s land until we finally spotted a glow on the edge of the rural road. It was a run-down place with nothing – and I mean nothing – else around. We pulled in, pumped the gas and went inside, together, to add munchies to our purchase. It was very late at night. So we were surprised to see several guys hanging out.
As we walked past two of them sitting on top of a floor cooler, I noticed their filthy bare feet. Nobody said anything to us except the guy behind the counter and even that exchange was minimal. When he spoke, his accent was so thick, I really couldn’t understand him. We could feel all eyes on us, perhaps even some whispering. It was uncomfortable to say the least. And it became obvious to me how easily we could disappear and nobody would ever know what became of us.
When we plopped back into our car seats, Tommy said, “Get the hell out of here!”
I didn’t notice until later that I drove two consecutive shifts. It may have been an honest mistake but my co-pilot’s nickname was “The Shark!”
Somewhere in Florida, Tommy woke me up. I squinted, the sun was so bright. He pointed my attention to the car keeping pace next to us on the highway. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get rid of my “window head.” I even had some drool. And that was before we got a Spring Break “peep-show” from the car full of girls pacing us.
About an hour later, we were still full of energy, traveling at our cruising speed of 80MPH. A police car flew up on us like we were in a school zone. Tommy pulled to the slow lane thinking we were busted but the cop car blasted past us, trailed by several other cop cars.
“What the hell, Tom!” I yelled in dismay.
Tommy was in hot pursuit of the police convoy, traveling in excess of 100MPH.
“Oh, they’ve got bigger fish to fry so I’m taking advantage of our police escort,” Tommy said with a grin.
Soon, we found out why. It was a horrific sight. A van of spring breakers must have lost control and rolled for nearly a quarter mile, based on the carnage strewn along side of the highway. We slowed down considerably after that.
We stayed with one of my old Army buddies on the Atlantic coast and hit the beach. One day, we drove to Ft. Lauderdale but spent most of the day at an outdoor bar with a roof. It was raining steadily. That didn’t dampen our time. At least that’s what I gathered from the other partiers pointing video cameras our way – until “naked man” on a balcony across the street stole the show.
Before scooting up the coast to Daytona, Tommy spent an evening “working” for a friend of my Army buddy. The friend repossessed cars and Tommy was invited to help him. Tommy had the time of his life.
We rolled into Daytona wondering if we had enough money left for a room and if any rooms were even available. If not, we decided we could just live out of the car for a few days. A hotel on the beach advertised Playboy Bunnies and MTV as their guests. We were amazed that a room had recently become available. We snatched it, no questions asked.
I’m not sure about the statute of limitations so I’ll skip some of the other shenanigans we got into but worth a mention was the start of our last night. We left the outside concert at our hotel and retreated to an indoor club. Sitting at a long bar, we were an island unto ourselves. Partying was going on all around but not where we perched. Our little pocket of paradise disappeared quickly when a bunch of guys surrounded us. They seemed intent on squeezing us out to claim the bar as their own.
Tommy nodded my attention toward one of the guys and said in a star-struck voice, “I think that’s Tone Loc!”
“Who?”
“You know, the guy that sings, Wild Thing,” Tommy explained. “This must be his entourage.”
I clanked my beer glass against Tom’s and loudly broke into song, “WILD THING! YOU MAKE MY HEART SING. YOU MAKE EVERYTHING ..."
Tommy tried to shut me up, insisting I was singing the wrong “Wild Thing,” but the entourage finished, “…GROOVY.”
The Little Brick Shop
At the corner of our neighborhood, growing up, there were a couple of buildings that had stores such as Stop -N- Go, Lawson’s and Convenient over the years. When we were kids, it was where we used to get ice cream, pop and candy. Our favorite place was just a few doors down, set back beside an auto repair shop. It was a little brick shop. An older lady owned it. We called her Mrs. D.
The place was largely a beer store. It even had a makeshift bar in back where there always seemed to be one man on a stool, midday, watching an old television. Up front was a counter; in front of it was a cooler with freezer pops and behind it was candy land. Oh, and baseball cards. Mrs. D always smiled when we came in with our loose change or returnable bottles that we found along roadsides. We exchanged these for freezer pops, usually, or bottles of pop, candy bars and packs of baseball cards.
On the far side of the counter was a wall of candy held up high on metal racks. Beyond that were heavy brown cardboard boxes of beer stacked anywhere from one to seven high and two or three deep. We’d perch up there in our box thrones and talk, laugh, eat and open baseball cards until Mrs. D would finally peek through some candy boxes and say we had to move along. She usually gave us a good half-hour.
Running around all day, as boys, we’d find the need to pee, especially after drinking pop. There was usually no place near to go so we’d walk along the side wall of the little brick shop, far enough to get out of sight and “go” on the wall. Sometimes, we’d use our stream to graffiti words, then laugh and run away down a path that led out onto another street.
I’m not sure when the shop finally closed. I was older and didn’t go there anymore. When I got out of the Army and picked up some classes at the community college, waiting to move and transfer to a university the following fall, I got a side job making and delivering pizzas. The pizza shop was inside what used to be Mrs. D’s little brick shop. The interior was completely different. The pizza place was owned by a nice old man and his wife – a spirited Italian woman. Mr. and Mrs. C had shops at both ends of town. I made pizza at the far one and delivered pizzas from the little brick shop at the edge of my neighborhood.
Inside, there were booths where we used to sit on boxes while eating candy as kids. It was a slow midweek night and we didn’t need one delivery driver, let alone two. It was very untypical. So, my friend, Eddie (the other driver), and I just sat and talked in one of the booths. Mr. C slipped in and small talked along with us. Something piqued our interest about Mr. C so we asked questions about his life. He really piqued our interest when he told us what it was like to storm northern European beaches and then march through Europe during World War II. Now to us, this was just sweet old man C. But the stories he told of that invasion made our hair stand on end. Eddie’s cigarette turned into one long ash still in the shape of a cigarette. His hand never moved and he never took his eyes off the old man.
When Mr. C described the liberation of concentration camps, we hung on his every word. Empathy filled us. The night was still and the lighting dim. His voice reached into our hearts and gave a mighty pull. We could have listened to him until closing and beyond.
“Get up and get in the kitchen, these pizzas aren’t going to make themselves,” Mrs. C appeared in an apron. “Besides, do you think these boys really want to hear your tired old stories all night?”
Avon Lake’s Finest
Officers were friendly and some even had a great sense of humor. I should know; I seemed to run into them here and there over the years. One or two had a chip on their shoulder and of course, anyone could have a bad day. Some serious crimes happened from time to time but mostly the police kept us kids in check. That isn’t to say there weren’t kids doing some awful things, such as a druggie holding up old man Kekic’s gas station with a knife.
Old man Kekic had a small gas station in front of his house on Lake Road. When Mom pulled in, he’d pump the gas, check the oil, wash the windshield, and even check the tire pressure. Mom usually went inside to look at the tubs of candy to get us a surprise.