The '49 Indian

by Craig Moody

  Vivid Imagery Publishing

  www.vividimagerypublishing.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Craig Moody

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Vivid Imagery Publishing first edition February 2017

  Vivid Imagery Publishing books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail Promotions@vividimagerypublishing.com.

  Publishers Note: This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art illustration by Gable Rynning

  Cover art digital editing by Melissa Vespertine

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-9986558-1-9 (Paperback)

  ISBN 978-0-9986558-2-6 (eBook)

  For Gable. Your love inspired this story and your presence anchored and energized me to write it. You have blessed my life in more ways than I could ever express. You are my Gauge.

  To Mom, Tiffany, both Memas, and every single teacher, friend or relative who ever encouraged me to write. This is for you.

  To Emmylou, Dolly, Madonna, and every artist whose lyrics have influenced and inspired me. Thank you.

  And most of all and most importantly, to the Higher Power who blessed me with the calling to channel and deliver this gift of words and storytelling into the world, faithfully guiding me through each step of the process. I am forever grateful to be your humble steward.

  His face was shaking, his body trembling. I wrapped my arms around him, choking back a sudden sob as he lifted both hands to cup my face. I opened my eyes to see the reflection of my expression staring back at me in the darkness of his gentle gaze, my brimming tears evident even in the shadowed closeness of our faces. I watched as my reflection fell from the black hole of his eyes and down the pinkness of his cheeks. The sob escaped me as he again pressed his lips to mine, our skin so close that the water of our eyes began to mingle like the confluence of two rivers.

  The ’49 Indian

  Table Of Contents

  I. Summer, 1983

  II. Spring, 1984

  III. Winter, 1984

  I.

  Summer, 1983

  The Florida sun caressed my skin and blinded my eyes as I strolled the Fort Lauderdale sidewalk. The slight summer breeze whistled atop my pores like lips over a bottle top. The muffled sounds of the constant traffic ebbed and flowed against the small bones of my ears, echoing its monotonous drone to the vacant corners of my mind. Cares and worries slipped from my focus like raindrops on a windshield, the brilliant summer day a rhythmic, slow-moving wiper of the brain.

  The fevered pace of my legs generated a pulsing dance of water upon my skin and a throbbing churn within my veins. A young man of twenty, I strolled along the street-side as confident as a king, yet naive as a toddler. The summer held its promise of adventure, my imagination wild with the possibilities of innocent mayhem and sinful passion. The whispered voice of my soul spoke gently of its intention, singing a song of the future wrapped in warmth within the familiar melody of my heart. The city skyline was not the only magnificent sight dominating the horizon. Beneath the confines of my mind, in the lairs that defied time and logic, a steadfast knowing of truth reverberated through my head like a gunshot fired in a canyon. This would be the summer my manhood would blossom. This would be the season I came to life.

  Then, like a beacon rising from a desert mirage, I saw it. The building that had enslaved my curiosity for years. My mother called it a “den of sin”; my father would only scoff and grumble without saying a word, his judgment and assessment of the establishment clear and concise without verbal language. I, however, exploded with wonder. The shadowed sight of bare-chested men or cleverly disguised strangers ignited the limitless wick of my imagination like a stick of dynamite. It took me years to conjure the courage to simply entertain the possibility of walking near the place, much less venture inside. Today was it, though. I had planned this for months. It was time.

  Pausing before the door like a weathered soul at the threshold of the afterlife, I stared in a paralysis of fear and disbelief. The years of imagining, the months of planning, my heart pounded so loudly inside my chest that I swore I could comprehend a meaning to its sound. Was it encouraging me to pull the handle? Was it screaming a drumming warning to turn and run? I didn’t know, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t care. There was no turning back now.

  Grasping the enormous metal handle in my hand, I paused, swallowed, exhaled, and pulled with all my might. In an instant, the pungent sting of chlorine wrapped itself around my body. The glaring blast of the summer sun prevented my eyes from finding any form of vision beyond a black rectangle. My nose captured the striking smell as my ears absorbed the bass-heavy throb of disco music.

  “Shut the door!” an irritated voice barked from within the darkness. As I quickly released my hand from its grip on the handle, the heavy door creaked and groaned in frustration, slamming its weight with force against my back. Like a poker chip being removed from the game, I slid into the lobby of the bathhouse as if placed there by some unseen force.

  “Cash only,” the voice continued, the identity behind it still mysterious in the darkness of the space. My sun-exposed eyes ached in their struggle to focus on the scene before me.

  Slowly, the neon glow of the room came into view. Posters of half or fully naked men plastered the walls in a multi-layered wallpaper. The visual intensity of explicit sexuality fired across my brain in an unexpected blaze, its sensual effect trickling down my limbs like lava. Never in my life had I witnessed such a direct and blatant display of human sexuality, be it male or female. The countless images of exposed groins and erect male genitalia overwhelmed my cognizance to a point of near overload.

  I jumped as the massive door re-exploded open behind me, the same blast of sunlight engulfing the tiny lobby in a brilliant sheet of white, breaking my hypnotic trance. A figure bumped my side as it passed, the unexpected human touch exhausting my courage and crippling my excitement. I turned to leave, when the same voice broke my movement.

  “I can’t have you blocking my doorway, kid,” it snapped hastily. An awkward realization that I was now being watched by several pairs of eyes slowly began to drip over my flesh like warm July rain water. “You need to pay your entry and move along.”

  Like a moth to a flame, my body moved toward the voice in a stumbled shuffle. A window, covered with multicolored bars, stood between me and the source of my commander.

  “$2.50. Cash only.”

  Coins began to bounce over the concrete floor as I fumbled in my jeans pockets for the funds. I could hear the voice sigh in frustration as I bent to retrieve the rogue quarters. Clumsily unfolding two one-dollar bills from their sweat- tinged, crumpled state, I placed the cash and coins onto the counter below the rainbow-colored bars. I was barely able to move my hand away, when a shadowed fist pulled the money into the darkness.

  “Go ahead. Towel in the bin when you

  leave.”

  A buzzing screech, followed by a gunfire- like pop, signified the release of the door’s lock. Anticipating the further disdain of the voice, I stepped toward the sound and reached into the dimly lit void until my hand secured a door knob. Gripping it, I twisted the metallic sphere until
an exhaust of cold air assaulted my face. Taking a

  deep breath, I pushed the door as far as it would go, my shoes sliding onto a ceramic field of tiles. I now stood alone in a tiny corridor, the ominous buzz of the overhead florescent light bulbs protesting their labor to the chamber below.

  Allowing the door to slam shut behind me, I gathered my breath and permitted my feet to discover more of the tiled walkway. My eyes began to water as the acrid stench of chlorine filled my nostrils like a toxic gas. In the distance, the shuffling sounds of water and voices could be heard accenting the air of the space to come. The pulsating throb of the disco music seemed to capture my shoes and further my steps. It was as though each thud of the bass forced my movement into the darkness. I continued to creak across the humid-covered flooring, when a new voice broke my trance.

  “Hey, baby, no one wants the mud tracks.

  You need to ditch the gear.”

  Nervously, I held my breath, unsure as to where the voice was coming from.

  “Lockers are to your left.”

  Without hesitation, I turned my body to the left, sliding my shoes forward until they clicked the metallic wall of the promised lockers. My eyes began to focus as I quickly removed my shoes and jeans, rolling them into a ball and shoving them into one of the slender aluminum squares. I stood in a breathy silence until the same voice again invaded my stillness.

  “Are you just gonna stand there in your shirt and briefs, or are you gonna drop trou and grab a towel like the rest of us?”

  A short burst of laughter followed the words, the voice a sudden warm and semi- welcome sound.

  “Towels are to your right, baby,” the voice directed.

  Assuming I was still being watched by the mysterious presence behind the ticket counter and fearing its scolding, I pulled my shirt above my head, quickly placing it with the rest of my garb. My heart raced as my fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of my briefs. Flickered images of my mother and father jumped before my eyes like some life-flashing vision one sees just before death. I felt my pulse skip and lurch as I slid the soft cotton down my thighs and to the floor. I nearly fell over as I pulled the undergarment from around my ankles. Confidently tossing it with the rest of my clothing, I slammed the locker door shut and reached into the faint purple glow for a towel, white, stiff, rough, and ridged. I wrapped the towel around my waist and secured it as tightly as possible in the lower right corner of my abdomen. My pulse now deafened my hearing as I turned to face the stranger who lurked in the darkness behind me.

  “Much better,” the voice remarked as I took my first step forward, the slimy suction of my bare feet against the tile floor so slippery that I feared for my balance.

  “I’m Eddie, by the way,” the voice informed me as a hand slid down my lower back.

  “Dustin,” I choked, my voice cracking under the unexpected sound of my throat. Stating my name was the first audible sound I had made in hours.

  “Glad you are here, Dustin,” the voice continued, the hand now firmly gripped along the topside of my towel. “First time?”

  “Yeah,” I stumbled. “How can you tell?”

  The voice burst into laughter as a dimly lit face slowly appeared in the faint glow of the fluorescents.

  “Oh, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, baby. You’ve got the look of a lamb wandering into a lion’s den plastered all over that beautiful young face of yours.”

  I smiled, but my slight comfort was instantly broken by the forceful intrusion of the stranger’s tongue against my own. Panicked, I pulled away, instinctively wiping my lips with my forearm.

  “Oh, come on now,” the voice laughed in a cough-heavy cackle. “I know you may look innocent, but you sure as hell know what goes on in this place.”

  He pulled the back of my towel, quickly leading me beyond the corridor and the lockers. Before I could speak or resist, we were in a tiny room, a small brown cot and a stool the only furniture I could clearly distinguish.

  “Let me show you how it’s done, Dustin.”

  With that said, the man snatched the towel from around my flesh, the cold, chlorine-heavy air now the only covering gracing my exposed nakedness.

  “Mmm,” the voice groaned before disappearing into the space below my hips.

  Before I could utter a word, the man’s mouth fully engulfed the entirety of my manhood. The warm sensation of his tongue caused my member to jump and pulse from the sudden entrapment.

  “Eddie,” I whispered, finding his head with my hands. “Please, Eddie. Stop.”

  With instant and extreme power, my hands were knocked from in front of me. The bones just below my lower forearms raced their message of pain to my brain. I opened my mouth to again protest, when I felt the force of his enclosed fist repeatedly meeting the tender skin around my left eye.

  “Shut the fuck up, little faggot!”

  The voice was now in my face, the twisted and gnarled expression just inches from my nose.

  “This is what you came here for!”

  The man stuck his bare foot between my own, pulling it back and knocking me to the floor. Gripping a fistful of my hair, he pulled my head upward, my throat too stretched for me to vocalize. My breath deflated from my lungs as he launched his knee into the center of my spine. My hands slid from their crawl-like position and toward the wall. I could feel the rattled clack of my teeth as my upper and lower jaw impacted the ceramic plane of the floor. The pain was immediately forgotten as the press of the man’s hips lowered my buttocks to the ground. I cried out in agony as he forcefully entered my body, the invasion of his appendage an excruciating burning. His fist slammed my mouth before I could cry out again.

  My head pounded against the solid wall as Eddie thrust his pelvis into mine. The taste of his fisted fingers pressed tightly against my teeth was that of cigarettes and pool water. The flashed images of my mother and father again appeared across the film screen behind my eyes, on an endless, tormenting loop. What I wouldn’t give to simply fall into the scenes that flickered over the darkness behind my lids. The love, the safety, the security of their comforting presence, all a stark contrast to the nightmarish reality I now found myself in. Tears streamed down my skin and onto Eddie’s hands. I could taste their salt-heavy presence as they soaked his fists.

  “Fuck!” he screamed, lifting my face from the floor with a handful of my hair. “Fuck!”

  He continued his chant, his body convulsing under the strained cry of each outburst.

  “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

  Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Eddie released my hair, my head falling with a solid thud to the cold, moist floor. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing. I didn’t know if my eyes were open or closed. All I knew was that it was over.

  A cold and nearly lifeless body on the floor, I did not move as I felt the man lift himself from behind me. The feel of his wet skin unsticking itself from mine was the only sensation I could mentally compute and physically recognize.

  I felt his presence looming above me, his breathing hard and shallow. Clearing his throat, I heard him summon mucus from his upper chest, lifting it from the hollows and across the open cavern of his mouth like a cannon, the sound of his spit a weighted bullet as it splattered across my lower back.

  “Fuckin’ faggot.”

  His insult fell to the floor as heated and hateful as his saliva. I lay in silence as I felt him swoop his towel from the ground and wrap it around his waist. He paused, cleared his throat again, hurled the wet contents onto my backside, and then exited the room.

  I didn’t move for what felt like hours. My breath continued on its own, my heart sounding its pulsing drum in my ears like a tribal war cry. The constant ache of my lower body was the only evidence I held for my continued physical existence. Despite the circumstantial chaos, my mind was still, my ego silent. The quiet voice of my soul assured me of my well-being, though I could still sense its weeping.

  Slowly, I began to move, lifting my body from t
he floor as if it were fractured glass. I felt myself rise into the darkened space which had floated above me like a poisonous gas, inundating my lungs and stinging my face. I didn’t care where the towel was. I simply moved my hands along the slime- like texture of the walls until I found the small door. Pushing it open, I gasped as the cooler and slightly familiar air of the hallway entered my body. Stumbling, I slid my feet along the dimly lit corridor until I reached the locker area. Fumbling through the haze that surrounded my eyes, I somehow located my clothing within the first locker that I tried.

  Tossing the garments onto my body without thought or care, I shoved my feet into my shoes and limped to the exit. It was then that I felt the warm, thick sensation running down the back of my legs. Pausing, I slid my hand into the rear of my jeans and toward my inner thighs. Returning the hand to my face, my heart skipped and stuttered as the unmistakable crimson stain of blood found recognition within my brain.

  Pressing the bloodstained hand onto the door, I erupted into the lobby as if escaping a life- sentence prison term. The still unseen voice of the ticket booth shouted something in anger as I clumsily stormed through the entryway. The blinding light of the street stunned my senses as I fell onto the sidewalk. The heavy metal door of the bathhouse slammed behind me like the echoing roar of a medieval dungeon. Then, the world went black.

  ***

  I awoke to the sound of hospital machinery whirring and beeping around my head. Slowly opening my eyes, I toured the room with blurry vision, taking in the scene before me. A faded peach color adorned the medical-equipment-heavy walls. A large television set murmured in the corner. A balloon and flowers accented the table at the foot of the bed. My mother sat beside me.