Strange Awakening by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 17

I guess I was exhausted, because I didn’t wake up until the next day’s 6AM first sign of light. I remained on the couch watching it. I had some sort of confusing dream, but couldn’t remember it a few seconds after opening my eyes. I laid there until the sun’s rise was full over the hills, watching it through the window right in front of me. I went to the kitchen to make coffee. While it was percolating I looked out the kitchen windows in the direction of the yellow house. As we were separated by about 300 feet of trees I couldn’t see it, but didn’t see any devils with guns in the vicinity, either and was thankful for that.

When my coffee was ready, I considered carrying it outside to a spot where I could get a better view, but decided against it, as I didn’t want to risk starting the old pattern again.

After the coffee started to restore my senses, I realized that I had to analyze the next possible events.

First, let’s say everyone else was right and Butch and I were wrong. In that case I’m in no physical danger, but that suggests that the two of us are delusional. I guess that’s possible, but wouldn’t it be impossible for both of us to have the same delusion? Maybe, maybe not, but no matter, as I’ll have no trouble in this scenario.

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Second, let’s say that the guy who hit the deck when Butch shot was not hit. So, if he’s still alive, what would he do next? If Mason was telling the truth, there is a new tenant in the house. The question is; “Does the former tenant want retribution?” I can’t know for sure. If I stay here unarmed, I’m an easy target. If I stayed at Butch’s he’d probably find both of us eventually, but at least Butch was armed. So, the suggestion is that I need a gun and the knowledge of how to use it. Butch could help with that. Though we technically didn’t file a police report this time, I did file one previously and if I wind up dead, the former tenants, assuming they can be located, will be the first suspects, assuming Sergeant Mobley is not in on it. Messy. No end to the shit.

Third, let’s say Butch did shoot the guy dead. That means somebody else came in, removed the body and took away the evidence. So, I get the same bottom line questions as scenario two, resulting in the same best solution; get a gun and learn how to use it.

I can’t think of a fourth scenario, but that might be because I’m delusional. Never mind, that leads everywhere and nowhere at the same time. To pursue this line of thought would result in attempting to use logic to analyze insanity. The only possible suggestion is to conjure up some faith in my own mental state of health. That shouldn’t be hard. Everyone I’ve ever

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met thinks that they are perfectly sane, despite unspoken reservations on my part in many cases.

So, easy, that settles that. I can stay home with a pistol under my pillow, to maximize safety. Wait a minute. I should say to maximize safety regarding outsiders. It doesn’t maximize my safety, if I am indeed delusional.

I opened drawers and closets all over the house, but wasn’t fully concentrating on the search. Rather, scenarios one, two, three, four and tangents affixed thereto, kept revolving around my head. I got some food, kept opening doors and drawers and did a lot of staring at the sky. This effort was tiring, confusing and time consuming. When I looked at the kitchen clock the arms said 12:00, presumably PM as the sun was out.

Wasn’t there darkness at the break of noon somewhere? If I was delusional, maybe I could be in Iceland or Tibet. This whole effort is proving to be a waste of time. I decided that I could never be sure of anything, but at least I had the excuse of having had a brain tumor. I wondered what Butch was doing and decided to drive to his house.

He was having a similar morning, with similar confusing thoughts exacerbated by the presence of his parents, who kept asking him what was wrong? He didn’t have any good answers and the only possible way of offering meaningful retorts of any

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merit, would require the writing of a short story, not conducive to contemporary conversation.

He was walking out the back door to take a solitary walk in the woods when I arrived. When he didn’t turn around to see who was coming down the noisy gravel driveway, I yelled out,

“Butch.”

He stopped, turned, looked at me and said; “Oh, you.”

“Yeah, me, what’s wrong?”

“That’s what my folks keep saying. Can’t anyone say anything else?”

“Okay, forget it. I don’t really care what’s wrong any more. Do you want some company?”

“I only want the company of someone who doesn’t keep saying that something is wrong. There may not be such a person.”

“Fine, I’m with you. I just say it a little differently.”

“I can hardly wait to hear that.”

“If I don’t know what the problem is, why bother thinking about a solution.”

He just looked at me and kept walking into the woods. I followed silently.

A bit later he said; “You know, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in all this shit.”

“What shit is that?”

“Save your wisecracks for someone who doesn’t know you.”

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“My mother told me never to talk to strangers.”

“You had a mother?”

“I’m not really sure.”

Butch half smiled and laughed when he said; “You are the most fucked up person I’ve ever met.”

“I think I’m complemented.”

“You are a dick head.”

“Not to seem trite, but you’re pretty fucked up yourself.”

“Thanks, at least I’m not drinking.”

“Do you want to get some wine?”

“No, I think I’m going to the bowling alley to see my old girlfriend, Alice. The last thing I want to do is show up sloppy drunk.”

“Want some company?”

“Are you kidding me? You’ll manage to say something to her and fuck it up.”

Though I didn’t really like that comment, it was probably pretty accurate. Though I didn’t know for certain, my analysis of perceived current events indicated a strong possibility.

I said; “Well, I’ve got some cool duds for you to wear. I brought back your clothes.”

“I’m not wearing that ridiculous shirt. It was a gift from a relative and I wouldn’t ever wear it.”

“It’s so bad, it’s good.”

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“Then keep it and wear it.”

“Do you want your pants back?”

“Sure.”

We quietly walked another five minutes.

I said; “Generally speaking, relationships with girls don’t go that well when you have no income.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’ve got an idea for a gambling scam. Do you play cards?”

“I played some.”

“Seven stud.”

“Sure.”

“Good. Let me run my idea by you.”

Butch gave me one of his amused ridiculous looks and said;

“We’re going to pull off a scam. Instead of ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid’ this is going to be ‘Butch Wino and the Flaky Brain Kid.’ Be a little realistic; you have brain damage and I’ve been drunk for years.”

I said; “That’s where you miss the point. If you haven’t noticed, the rest of the world is drunk and brain damaged, too, but doesn’t know it. We have the advantage because we do.”

The End, until tomorrow

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