Abduction Revelation II: Truth Be Told (The Comeback Kid)

by Unknown

  Like most dreams, not much made sense. But I did sense that I had been there once upon a time and that I was feeling lost and homesick. This would be one of many dreams I would be having in the near future.

  After a few more miserable days, I said it’s time to pick yourself up and dust yourself off, kiddo. Wallowing in misery was not going to get me anywhere but a ticket to a nut house.

  All this navel gazing had gotten me thinking. Why was I here? No, not the esoteric question, just plain, down to earth, why was I here in California? I had no family and no one I could call a dear friend. My brother and his wife were still in Saudi Arabia. I missed my roots of the good ole’ Midwest. I missed my old friends and my family.

  I concluded that California was just not my forte. Sure the weather was great, the beaches pleasurable, but the natives were not all that friendly. They all seemed wrapped up in their own private little prissy worlds.

  ******

  “Do you ever change your clothes?” I asked Monroe. We were ambling down the main thoroughfare in a Dome. The pure scented air and the lush vegetation put me in mind of God’s biblical Garden of Eden.

  Yes, I have several of these suits.

  Monroe indicated to the gray metallic fabric jumpsuit which clung to his body. I was still getting used to the telepathy thingy with Monroe invading my head with his thoughts. Got to get used to the irritating fact that the little critter don’t talk just thinks thoughts at me. I scratched under the head helmet device that made telepathic communications possible. Sometimes it makes my head sweat and itch.

  “I mean, do you ever wear anything but those funky jumpsuits? Any of you?”

  I looked down the street to see clusters of the alien looking beings all wearing the same boring gray attire. I’d be a monkey’s uncle if I could tell them apart. They all looked the same, with their buggy eyes, no ears, and thin lips. The gray outfits just made it that much harder to tell them apart.

  They are practical. They keep you at a constant temperature, they are impervious to water, resist tearing, have anti-inflammatory chemicals impregnated in them, and are cheap to manufacture. You will get yours soon.

  “No way Jose’. Not my style. I don’t want to look that boring.”

  It is mandatory. Who is Jose’?

  I had an overwhelming feeling of loss. Like I’d been plucked like a dandelion in a field of clover. Pulled up by the roots, dumped in no man’s land, with no four leaf cover in slight. Not my lucky day.

  *****

  I woke from this dream with a conviction that I needed to go back to my grass roots. I began searching the company ads for suitable jobs. So when I saw a job opening posted for a Manual Technical Writer in Kansas City, I applied as I had always had a desire to write.

  Kansas City, here I come. They got some crazy little women there, and I…just wanna go home.

  So, in November 1978, at the age of 35, depressed, homesick, and brokenhearted, I packed my bags, loaded up my pride and joy 280Z, and headed back home.

  The Comeback Kid was making another life-changing decision. Would it finally be the last? Will I finally be able to find some peace of mind that would last? Two to one, I bet your thinking the odds are not in my favor. At this time in my life, I’d best pass on the odds.

  Right off the bat, I reconnected with some old friends and family. The second day on the job, I ran into an old friend with whom I had worked in the Instrument Shop when I was first hired with TWA.

  “Hey, Ricky. How’s it going? Long time no see.”

  Oh, the memories. We had some fun times partying together back when we first hired on.

  “Son of a bitch. Where in the hell have you been? Haven’t seen you in ages. Good to see you, my old friend.”

  “We’ll have to get together sometime and I’ll fill you in,” I replied. Knowing that he wouldn’t believe half what I would tell him.

  I especially enjoyed connecting with my family. Unfortunately, not with my kids who were still on the East Coast with their mother.

  “What’ca been doing the past few years?” They all wanted to know.

  “Nothing much,” I replied.

  Yea, if only they knew. And if only I knew.

  It was the first time I had been with family in six or seven years. Right away, we celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed those holiday meals Mom would cook. And how much I missed teasing my sisters. They were all married with families of their own. I had nieces and nephews I had never met.

  When I was sailing the seven seas, I had my ship mates and a girl in every port. I thought at the time that was all I needed. When I met Fiza and found my soul-mate, I realized that something had been missing. But it was only now that I was home again that I understood what family truly meant. Seeing the world was nothing like seeing your roots.

  But I had to get accustomed to Missouri weather again. One day it would be 75 degrees and then be snowing the next. You know the ole’ Missourian saying; “If you don’t like the weather one day, stick around because it will be entirely different the next.”

  I took up golf and joined the TWA golf league. Dad and Mom played, so I had something fun to do with them. It also provided us time to reminiscence about when I was growing up. More than once, I was reminded how ornery I was. Now we could laugh about the stories.

  Of all the games I have ever played, golf was the most difficult. And here I was thinking I was pretty good at playing sports. But golf? I wouldn’t break a score of 100 until the age of 45. I broke 90 a few years later. Then, after I retired, I broke 80. Hopefully, someday I will be able to score my age.

  But it’s the 28 holes-in-one that I like to brag about the most. Especially the one at Pebble Beach. Most golfers are lucky to get just one in their lifetime. So, when I boast about my 28, you can imagine the disbelief on people’s faces. Then I confess, I got them on my X-Box Tiger Woods Golf game. Yes, I suppose I still have a slight ornery streak in me.

  Ever wonder why golf is 18 holes? History says golf was started in Scotland. My namesake’s country! During a discussion among the club’s membership board at St. Andrews in 1858, a senior member pointed out that it took exactly 18 shots to polish off a fifth of scotch. By limiting himself to only one shot per hole, the Scot figured a round of golf should be finished when the scotch bottle was empty. They only had one hole, so they would play it 18 times.

  Ever wonder why a golfer shouts four when hitting near another golfer? Why not shout six or two? The Scots would shout fore warning. Americans shortened it to fore.

  So how did golf get its name? (G)entlemen (O)nly (L)adies (F)orbidden. Hey, ladies, I’m only quoting history, so don’t go getting all riled up.

  I also joined the TWA tennis league and played on the TWA softball team. I was reconnecting, doing all the things that I had enjoyed in my youth.

  I took to my job like a duck to water. I used my experience from when I was working on the plane’s avionics systems to write the Overhaul Manual’s test procedures used in repairing those systems. More of a shock was when I went from the union (IAM) to management. I didn’t mind so much because I was enjoying my life once again and it was about to get even more pleasurable.

  She must have woke up her magic sticks, ’cause I was soon under her spell, and she soon made a devil out of me…

  Her name was Colleen, and if you recognized the song, she was a Black Magic Woman. Now, how can that be, you might wonder? Well, hold your horses, I’ll get to that part of the story shortly.

  This woman made a devil out of me when her big brown hungry eyes locked onto my innocent baby blue ones. Her magic spell blinded me and I surrendered to her magic sticks.

  She was tastier than a chocolate cupcake, with a joyful personality sprinkled on. She had an infectious smile that radiated extreme sexuality.

  Cleopatra eat your heart out.

  This Black Magic woman waltzed into my life at a most opportune time.

  For the first year after moving
from California, I hardly dated at all. Fiza’s disappearance was still haunting me. I would flirt with a few girls at work but never got into anything serious.

  Colleen was one of these girls. As she was married, I never thought about taking it further. But she was definitely occupying my fantasy dreams, which I was having quite regularly.

  Hot dignity-dog if Colleen didn’t work in an adjacent office, so I would see and chit chat with her daily. Her friendly smile made getting up and going to work a joy each morning. I developed a crush, big-time.

  In our conversations, I eventually spoke of Fiza. Colleen was very compassionate and understanding about what I had gone through. That’s when we really connected and became very good friends. I started vitalizing she wasn’t married.

  Saturday Night Fever had made disco the ‘in’ thing. It was totally cool to dance like John Travolta. And the ‘in’ place to hang out was the Plaza, where hot-blooded males could connect with hot-to-trot females. It was fun, relaxing, and, of course, a good way to meet and impress chicks. If you remember, that was how I had met Fiza.

  One night, to my surprise, I ran into Colleen. She was there for a girl’s night out.

  “Colleen, how about I show you some of my disco moves?” I struck the Travolta pose, and she and her friends laughed.

  “Sure,” she responded, as she followed me to the dance floor.

  Donna Summer’s Hot Stuff got us grooving, and we ended up dancing the night away.

  How’s about some hot stuff baby this evenin’. I need some hot stuff baby tonight.

  Disco dancing was very provocative, sexy, and teasing, especially with a fox like Colleen. This girl got me HOT! HOTTER! HOTTEST! Apparently, she warmed up to me, too.

  You guessed it. One thing led to another and before I could shake a stick, my fantasy became my reality. My friend became my lover.

  Not again, Tommy boy?

  Come on. Give me a break. Surely you can understand the circumstances.

  I know, I had promised myself that I would never get involved with a married woman again. But Colleen was just so damned irresistible, and I would find out later, she got off on teasing me. What man doesn’t love to be teased by a sexy woman?

  I completely lost all my willpower as I was ripe for a pickin’. I figured, what the heck. Why not have some fun? I’d been miserable long enough. Most men who knew her would have loved the opportunity to be in my shoes. I must admit, this put a charge in my ego.

  Another challenge, another adventure, another conquest! It was time for ‘The Kid’ to get back in the saddle again.

  Tommy, when are you ever going to learn that messing around with a married woman will just lead to heartaches? Stupid is as stupid does.

  There I go using that phrase again. But darn, I figured she was well worth any heartaches I might endure.

  But wouldn’t you know it, if reality didn’t put a dent in my fantasy. Must have been those guilty feelings ’cause the first two times we hit the sack it just wasn’t clicking. Maybe I needed to get that guilty conscious bugger boo out of my head.

  Holy Cow, the third time was a charm. Either the bugger boo dissipated or I found her G-spot, because we connected like the two love birds in ‘Love Story’. It was like heaven had sent me an angel. From that moment, we enjoyed a fantastic relationship but unfortunately only for a couple of years. When fantasy meets reality, there is usually a hard knock somewhere down the line.

  Oh! By the way, before I forget, Colleen was an African-American (to be politically correct). She had the same skin tone as Fiza and Mageeda. Now I was finding myself attracted to petite, dark complexioned, brown-eyed, and dark-haired women instead of the tall, long-legged, blue-eyed blondes of before.

  In the eighties, interracial relationships were still frowned upon in the Midwest. But hell, that didn’t stop us, ’cause we both had an adventurous spirit and liked living on the edge.

  It wasn’t long before her husband started having suspicions and our exciting adventure became somewhat dangerous.

  After work one day, we were going to her friend’s house to chill. No sense in going in two cars, so she parked her car at a Quik Trip, and we rode together to her friend’s house. When we returned to her car, out pops this Mike Tyson look alike from behind a trash bin angrily shouting at us.

  “Where in the hell have you been? And what ya doin’ with this white dude?” he shouted as he approached the car, curling and uncurling his fist in a raging Hulk-like fashion.

  “You know this guy?” I asked her. My voice went up an octave in fear. I was physically fit but figured I was no match for this maniac.

  “He’s my husband,” she shrieked, flashing her brown scared eyes at me.

  He must have spotted her car while driving around looking for her.

  “Oh shit!” I prayed he didn’t have a gun.

  He didn’t, thank God. Somehow, she calmed him down by convincing him I was a co-worker just giving her a ride to her car. (Well, that night I actually was.) Whew, we were able to breathe for another day, though the shock probably took a few years off both our lives.

  This incident encouraged her to make a life changing decision. She decided she wanted out of her marriage. She wanted it to be just the two of us. Of course, I didn’t have a problem with that. We didn’t have to sneak around, and I wouldn’t have to share her anymore.

  We thought about living together, but she had a nine-year-old boy to raise, so we determined it would be best to live separately. She rented a townhouse close to me.

  Feeling confident in the relationship I took her to my sister’s birthday party. My whole family was there, and it was the first time they met Colleen. They had no idea she was African-American. All were cordial while we were there, but afterwards, Dad called me.

  “Don’t you be bringing that colored girl to my house,” he hissed.

  Whoa! Where did that come from? I hadn’t expected that from my Dad.

  “Okay, Pop, whatever you say,” I said, more than a little shocked.

  I never knew my Dad to be prejudiced. I hadn’t experienced that growing up. We didn’t talk again until after Colleen and I broke up.

  Amazingly, Colleen’s family had no problem accepting me, even after knowing that I was the white dude responsible for breaking up her marriage. I got the impression they hadn’t liked her husband much anyway. I never felt one bad vibe from anyone in her family, not even her father, which really surprised me.

  With us both working at the airline, we got discounted airfares. We took trips to Mexico, Spain, and England. In England, we visited my brother and his wife. They took to Colleen right off the bat.

  Mike had quit his job with Saudi Airlines. He took his family, his small fortune, and moved to England to open his own business.

  In Acapulco, Mexico, I did my first parasailing. As adventurous as she was, I couldn’t persuade Colleen to do it with me. A little bird told me she was afraid of heights. Like the champion that she was, she stayed on the beach and cheered me on.

  We took a trip to Malaga, Spain. The 36-hour flight was exhausting, and we needed to crash. I decided to go to the hotel pool to get some shut-eye and a tan to boot. Colleen already had a tan, so she stayed in the room. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep at the pool because there were female breasts galore.

  In some European countries, most women don’t wear a top at the beaches or swimming pools. Come on man, that’s not fair, especially when you’re an American, tired and need to get some shut eye. Someone, please tell me, how can one sleep with his eyes popping out?

  We also attended a bull fight. I’ll never do that again—it was gruesome. Blood squirted out when the matador stabbed the bull repeatedly with his sword. No wonder most cheered for the bull.

  We were a happy-go-lucky couple. We never had a disagreement or argument or said a cross word to each other. It was a very open and satisfying relationship.

  Yep, you guessed it, for one reason or another, they just don’t last very long for me.
Sooner or later the shit had to hit the fan, and sure enough, it did. When we got back from Spain, my ex-wife Claudia called with some disturbing news. BAM, right out of the wild blue yonder, the shit started flying everywhere.

  “I can’t control Kristy and Jason anymore. They won’t do what I tell them. I can’t take it anymore. It’s your turn to raise them now,” Claudia informed me.

  My daughter had just turned 14 and my son was 12. Years ago, Claudia had taken the kids and high-tailed it to the East Coast and now, when the going got tough, she said it was my turn to raise them. I felt like saying, “Hey, you made your bed when you divorced me and took them out of my life, now sleep in it.”

  But I realized she was giving me the opportunity to be the father I hadn’t been able to be all those years. She was giving me the opportunity I had always wished for.

  “Okay, no problem,” I reluctantly agreed.

  At that time, I didn’t realize I would soon feel like Little Red Riding Hood as the life I knew was about to be gobbled up by two big bad teenagers.

  At first, things went okay. It was the getting-acquainted-with-each-other again moment. Colleen, being a mother herself, was a big help. The kids accepted and enjoyed her and her son. But our no-strings-attached relationship was in for a severe adjustment.

  There were to be no more overnights with Colleen at my place. Had to set a good example as a parent. We could only be together alone at her place. And to do that, she had to leave her son at her folks, and I had to get a babysitter.

  I thought it might do us all good to take a trip together. So the five of us went on a family vacation to Greece and then to Israel. None of the kids had ever been out of the country so it would be a good experience for them.

  In Israel, we visited Bethlehem and the birthplace of Jesus. We visited Jerusalem and saw the wall that separates the Jews and Muslims. The trip was going reasonably well until the next to last day in Tel Aviv.

  We were touring the country by rental car. The three kids in the back seat constantly pestering each other finally got on my nerves. Colleen and I had our first argument.