The Very Best Thing of All (5755 hits)
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Submitted by Uber Madness 2004 (View user info) at 2005-01-09 22:20:21 EST
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Entry 1
I stared at the smoking hole in Rami's chest for several seconds. Rami was looking at it too, a look of puzzlement on his face. He gingerly touched a finger to it. It came back with a hint of blood on the end. I had never seen anyone shot before. I had been expecting something more like the movies, perhaps, with a huge whole and a massive spattering of blood. The reality was no less horrible though, and even worse than that. At the moment, I was watching my friend of almost twenty years die.If I hadn't answered the phone that day, he'd still be alive. When I think back on the whole thing, I wonder if it would have been worth it. Even after all this time, I still don't know. Rami had been my friend since college. We'd both enrolled in physics, but partying and drinking had been our real major. When we switched over to geology, we both meant for it to be a temporary thing, an easy course load for a semester or two to get us off of academic probation. Like so many things, it hadn't turned out the way I was hoping. He took a job with UNAID, a disaster-relief program for earthquake victims. I ended up in a shit federal job in California working with a bunch of seismologists who were more boring than a PBS pledge drive. I was broke all the time, living in a two-room rathole, which was all I could afford. That's why I answered the phone that day in my office - I should have been out in the field taking measurements, but I was dogging it that day, sneaking a drink from the bottle in my desk drawer.
"Gold," was all Rami said when I picked up the receiver.
"Huh?" was my witty reply.
"Gold. A million bucks worth. Are you in?"
"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, the Southern Comfort in my burning belly making me a bit slow on the uptake. I had, however, heard the words "gold" and "million" very clearly.
"I'm talking about a million bucks in gold, tax free. I'm coming in tonight on a direct flight. Pick me up at LAX, flight 413. That is....if you're interested."
I had no idea what to say. I breathed silently into the phone for several second. "Hello?" Rami asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. What time does your flight land?"
I picked him up that evening and the two of us went back to my house. I told him there were better places to get a drink than the rotgut I kept, but he wanted absolute privacy. I was embarrassed to show him where I lived - I had exactly one hundred and thirty-four dollars in the bank and a house full of Wal-Mart furniture. Rami clapped me on the back when I told him and said that we'd soon both be richer than we'd ever dreamed.
"Gold, good buddy. What do you know about it?" he asked.
"Nineteen point three grams per cubic centimeter," I replied. I was, if nothing else, a competent geologist, familiar with minerals of all sorts. "Yellow streak. Malleable. Ductile. Sessile. Often confused with iron pyrite, which leaves a black streak and forms cubic crystals. One of the noble metals, along with platinum and palladium. Usually..."
"Yes, yes, right, right, show off. You're forgetting the most important fact though - four hundred and forty-one dollars per troy ounce, by this morning's paper." Rami unfurled from a cardboard tube a large set of what I thought were architectural plans but turned out to be a geological survey from somewhere in Sierra Leone. He spread them on the coffee table and started talking. I wish I'd known then the events to come would lead to his death. I think I would have stopped him. God, God, I hope I would have. I just don't know. I was broke, I didn't have a two nickels to rub together. Would I have stopped him? Would I have let him continue, knowing what I know now? I wish I knew for sure.
"About a month ago, I was doing a survey for a UN-sponsored environmental group in Sierra Leone. It seems the government there has been leasing every square inch of territory it can for coal, gas, and diamond mining, and they haven't had much of a care for the indigenous wildlife. They've been strip-mining huge areas of the country for years. Forget the EPA, these guys don't have time for that. You should fucking see it, Adam, it's a mess. They basically just ripped the top off the land the way you'd pull cheese off a pizza. My group was there to see if the area could be reforested. I don't think they were expecting me to find what I did."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out what I instantly recognized as a large, well-formed quartz crystal. When he handed it to me, I knew instantly that it was far more than that - it was heavier than any quartz. I held it up to the light and gasped at what I saw. Threads of gold, like fine, metallic spider web, ran throughout the crystal in a dense, haphazard pattern. Even in the cheap fluorescent lighting, it glimmered like fire.
"The stuff of real wealth, Adam," Rami said, grinning at me. I looked back at him, awestruck. I'd never seen native gold before.
"Time is short though. I hid the find as well as I could, dummied up my reports, but we don't have a lot of time. The army will be coming through to sweep for rebels in less than two weeks. When they find the gold, the Sierra Leone government will nationalize the mine. I have a plan. We can be in and out before the military makes its move. Just on our backs, we can carry away a fortune."
I turned my eyes from the quartz to Rami's face, back to the shining stone. "Rami, I don't want to sound like an idiot or anything, but isn't this stealing?"
Rami clapped his hand to his forehead. "Adam, come on, for Christ's sake! Who do you think is going to get the lion's share of the money out of this deal? The people of Sierra Leone? I've worked over there, Adam. I work with the most corrupt bunch of public officials you've ever imagined. You think the politicians in this country are dirty? Over there, they'd sell your kidneys for a sack of wheat, if they thought you were worth that much. The government is going to pick this place clean. The money is going to go straight back into the war to control the diamond trade. Probably a few years from now there will be another war over this very mine when the rebels learn about it. In a way, we're doing them a fucking favor, giving them less incentive to fight. Not much. I'm telling you, this mine is worth billions. Any way you slice it, we're not doing a damn thing to hurt anyone of virtue."
I listened to him for awhile as he detailed the civil war, the rape and murder that he'd seen during his visits. He told me about the civil war. "Taking this gold," he told me "is like taking a hot coal out of a volcano. Yes, you take some of the heat off, but not enough to matter. I'm not trying to make it seem as if we're doing anyone a favor, but the reality is nobody is getting hurt." That was Rami for you. He would never have hurt anybody, I know that.
His plan was really quite ingenious, I have to admit. He explained it to me with all the restrained excitement of a kid talking about the Christmas presents he expects. "These private pilots have licenses to take tourists on day flights over the beach and wildlife preserves. Only we're going to bail out with parachutes. I have a guy lined up who will do it for ten thousand."
"Why the fuck do we have to do that? Can't we just walk in? You have UN credentials." I was having second thoughts about the whole thing - I didn't even like climbing stairs, much less jumping out of an airplane.
"No, we'd never get the equipment we need to the mine in time. You can forget about roads, and a car or truck will draw too much attention anyway. If an army patrol stops us, it's over. Our best chance is to parachute in at night, then hike out."
We had, according to Rami, at most nine days, before the army moved in. A flight across the Atlantic would take at least two days to charter, and Rami was absolutely adamant that we leave two days before the army began its march.
"If we get caught by them, we're dead men," he said gravely. I believed him. He showed me a diagram of the coal-fueled smelter, a simple yet efficient device that he had devised purely from scratch.
"I figure one man can smelt ingots, while the other two dig,"
That froze me for a moment. "Two?" I asked.
"Yes, we're going to need a third guy. I've done some estimates, and I figure that we need at least two people digging to keep whoever is smelting supplied with ore."
"Can't we take turns?" I asked. Rami shook his head.
"Somebody has to continuously be tending the smelter, feeding it coal. We need three guys. I was thinking Gus."
I wish he hadn't said Gus. I wish I could have talked him out of it. I wish I could have thought of someone else. But at the time, Gus, our former college roommate who dropped out in his junior year, seemed like a fair choice. He was dead broke, working odd jobs around LA, and greedy as hell. He was at my house exactly thirteen minutes after I called him.
"Yeah, but how much?" was the first thing he said.
"I figure if we work hard, with minimal sleep over three days, we can fill three packs, roughly eighty pounds each. "
"How much is that worth?" Gus said. He was leaning forward in anticipation.
"Roughly six hundred thousand dollars apiece, for three days' work," I rattled off.
"I'm in," Gus said instantly. Rami looked to me. I nodded.
Two days later we were on a single engine Piper PA-35 over the coast of Sierra Leone, and I was definitely sure I had made a huge error. The ground was impossibly far away. How insane do you have to be to skydive? There are people that PAY to do it, for fuck's sake!
Not that I had much choice in the matter - I had no experience sky diving, so Rami was hooked to me and we did a tandem jump, with the two of us secured to the same chute.
Gus had done it once before, so he carried the mining equipment. When we went, I know for sure I would have pissed my pants had I been able to. Even my bladder was paralyzed with fear. I think even if the gold had been stacked neatly in bricks on the ground below, I wouldn't have done it.
As we came down, I saw desolation like I had never seen before. Even in the moonlight, it was impossible to miss. The ground had been literally torn open like a gaping wound, and I knew immediately that not the slightest amount of care for the earth had gone into this operation. The very rock had been exploited for all it was worth, the earth raped by bulldozers and backhoes. Deep, gaping slashes marked places where exploratory shafts had been dug, the surrounding land simply peeled off to get at the coal underneath. When the rainy season came, this entire area would turn into a huge pit of mud and slag. The topsoil was totally gone - nothing would grow here naturally for decades.
The three of us unlatched our chutes and struggled to carry the heavy smelter to the coordinates that Rami had calculated. In the dark, struggling with only shoulder-mounted flashlights, it was heavy, sweaty work. At last, we unearthed the shaft that Rami had told me about, and dragged the heavy smelter inside.
"Where is it?" Gus demanded, kicking at the floor with one boot, as though he expected the ground to be paved with precious metal. "Where's the gold? I don't see it. Where the fuck is the goddamn gold!"
Rami smirked, then turned on the portable floodlight. The gleam was immediate, like yellow fire. I looked up and saw that we had entered a giant geode, crusted all on all sides with spikes of quartz crystal. Through every one ran the spidery veins of wealth. In the rock of the wall, I saw a vein of gold as thick as my wrist. The white light of the lamp entered each crystal and returned a pale yellow. I, like my companions, was awestruck.
"How is it that they never found this?" I stammered. Rami shrugged.
"Most of these exploratory shafts are drilled with equipment, not dug by hand. They probably dug this shaft by machine, tested some of the ore, and went to work elsewhere. It's just chance that they missed it. Their loss is our gain."
"How are we supposed to get the gold out of those rocks?" Gus asked stupidly. I was really starting to get annoyed with him. Why else did this idiot think we dragged a two-hundred pound smelting assembly with us? Rami rolled his eyes as well.
"Help me unpack the smelter. You'll all need to know how to work it. Two guys dig, one guy smelts. There's plenty of coal around to run the smelter, but DON"T LET IT GO OUT. If it goes out, it will take hours to reheat. That's money we'll be losing. Every minute is critical, every second is cash, and at four hundred and fifty bucks an ounce, that adds up quick."
We unloaded and set up the device, which was very simple in its operation - a metal crucible heated by burning coal with a small pouring ramp that led to a rectangular mold. Rami began heating it and instructed Gus, obviously eager to get started, to mine a piece of ore as a demonstration. We watched incredulously as the crystal placed in the crucible began to glow slightly. I heard what I thought was a very subtle keening, as though the crystal were vibrating with energy. The gold within became a fiery white liquid, slowly dripping from its place within the hard quartz into the pan below, where it rolled lazily down the pouring ramp into the mold. Gus, as fascinated as I was, quickly knocked two more pieces of ore and handed them over, and we watched the process repeat.
I have to admit, gold is enrapturing, transfixing. What I was looking at was no mineral in a textbook, no arrangement of subatomic particles. What I was looking at was raw, unadulterated wealth. Everything that came from riches - power, fame, prestige, control over others - stemmed from the fiery white liquid that we were forcibly extracting from the earth. Men had killed for it, braved dangers unknown and endless gulphs of horror in quests for it. Empires had been built on it. The Aztecs and the Incas had been destroyed for it. And here it was, before us, the greatest thing is in the world. The very best thing of all. Or so I had thought at that moment.
Gus and I took up picks and went to work. Sometimes we handed Rami quartz crystal, sometimes rock ore, sometimes heavy nuggets of pure gold. Each went into the crucible, the metal turning molten and sliding down the chute into the mold. When the mold was full, he switched it out with a new, empty one while it cooled. When it was solid enough, he twisted a small handle on the bottom and out popped a bar of solid gold about two inches wide, three inches long, and about an inch thick. Gus did not look impressed.
"That's it? We've been working for an hour!" he complained. Rami placed the gold at the bottom of his backpack. "Gold is dense, my friend. The longer you stand here yakking, the less gold gets mined."
"How come you put it in your bag?" Gus asked suspiciously. I noticed for the first time that he was holding the pick in what was not exactly a neutral position. "Why not start with mine?"
Rami sighed, more annoyed than anything. "Regardless of which bag I begin to fill first, Gus, whatever gold we mine will be equally divided among the three of us by weight. We will rotate every hour to divvy up the work fairly. OK? Now get cracking asshole. You're costing all of us money."
Gus stared at Rami for several seconds, then came back to his position with me and started swinging again. We worked hard and fast, Rami smelting the gold as fast as we could pile the ore up. By the end of the hour, two more bars had joined the first, each as beautiful and lustrous as their kin. By now we were both sweating copiously and stopped to take water and rest. At Rami's insistence, we'd brought a ten gallon water barrel and several canteens each. After seeing the desolation outside, I now understood why he had felt it to be so important.
"Okay, let's rotate," Rami said, getting up and stretching. "Adam, you work the smelter, I'm on ore duty."
"How come I'm not smelting?" Gus snapped.
"Because that's the sequence I have planned out. You smelt next. Then we take an hour break. If we keep at this pace, we should be able to reach our limit a bit early and getout of here. Now get over here and fucking help me."
They went back to work and I shoveled more coal in to the burner as the ore piled up. Things moved briskly at first, with us working for three hours before taking an hour break, and the gold began to accumulate in our packs, bar after bar. When I took the first ingot out of the mold and held the still-warm metal in my palm, the muscles in my shoulder and arm flexed with the weight of it. Holding it was like holding the keys to the world. When I set it down in one of the knapsacks, it was with the same reverence I would have for a crucifix.
An hour later, we switched again, and I kept a careful eye on Gus. Not just because he was an idiot who might let the burner go out, but because I noticed he was piling most of the bars he was smelting in one pack, probably the pack he intended to carry. I nudged Rami and whispered it to him. He glanced and waved his hand in dismissal.
"Doesn't matter. Even if he only fills his pack at first, we'll have enough to fill all three before we leave. This shit is heavy. There's a limit to what even the greediest man can carry, don't you know?" He smiled at me and I was reassured. We went back to work. When it came my turn to smelt again, I noticed that of the seven bars we'd created, five had found their way in to Gus' pack.
The going was slower than we expected over the next two days. Some of the crystals had gold totally encased within and we didn't have equipment to smash the tough quartz. The ore had to be abandoned - we couldn't afford to waste precious space carrying mostly rock. Gus began to get very vocal about the slowing pace, especially when we stopped for our rest.
"We should keep working! We're behind!" he yelled. I kept an eye on the pick, which he was waving about with abandon.
"Shut up, you idiot," Rami growled. "We have a forty-three mile hike over rough terrain back to Freetown that we have to finish within two days. If we're too exhausted to make the trip before the military moves in, we're fucked. We need some rest, no matter the cost."
"Fine, you assholes rest, I'm going to keep working,"
"No you will not, dickhead!" Rami screamed. He was irate, his eyes squeezing shut with the force of his bellowing. We need to fucking SLEEP for an hour. We cannot do that with you banging a fucking pick around. You will sit your dumb ass down and rest for an hour. Then we'll go back to work, no sooner, no later, you understand?"
I was nervous. I saw Gus' hands gripping the pick tightly, knuckles turning white, and I was worried about what might happen. I spoke up softly. "Gus, you can't keep the smelter burning as well as mine. Take a break and we'll be back at it in an hour."
Gus never took his eyes off Rami, but he did throw the pick down and settle down on his sleeping bag. Rami nodded off instantly, but I feigned sleep for a little while. It didn't take much of watching Gus' gaze shift from Rami to the sacks of gold bars for me to realize I was genuinely starting to become afraid.
I wish I'd known what was going to happen. I felt it coming, but it seemed as unreal as it was inevitable. How could we fight amongst ourselves? There was over a million dollars in pure gold to be divvied up, plenty for all of us. Except, I discovered that when it comes to men and gold, there is no such thing as "enough." How many Aztecs died on Spanish blades in the quest for gold? How many slaves had been made to mine for it? How many knives had been slid between ribs over gold? Would history ever be able to count them all?
"It's time to go," Rami announced. I looked out the shaft entrance to see the dawn gently breaking in a sea of purple and violet. The sun would soon break the horizon, but if we left now, we'd get a good start before the heat of midday. Rami had timed it perfectly.
"We're not done yet," Gus said. He pointed to the bags, which were only about two-thirds full. Gus' ham-handed attempt at filling his bag had been for naught - Rami and I had simply filled our bags at an equal rate when we smelted.
"Yes we are. The military will start its sweep in exactly forty-eight hours. We will not be here when they arrive. Or at least I won't. "
"We can carry more," Gus insisted. His voice was oddly calm. As I shrugged my heavy knapsack onto my back, I begged to disagree with him. The thought of hiking over forty miles with this load on my back was not one I was relishing.
"We're out of time. It doesn't matter how much we can carry. We go now." Rami bent to pick up his knapsack.
"Get your fucking hands off the bag," Gus growled. Rami looked up into the barrel of a black revolver. He had likely hidden it among the gear and fetched it this morning before we had awoken. "You two dickheads, get the picks and get to work. We're not leaving until the fucking bags are brimming."
Rami looked at him silently for a few seconds. I won't lie, I was terrified. The Sierra Leone army was not known for its investigative methods. If we were killed out here, no one would know. No one would care. Our bones would be picked by buzzards before noon.
"No," Rami answered. There was dead silence in reply. "You can't mine by yourself, and you can't smelt an appreciable amount of ore with only one man digging. You need three people, just like I said. Shoot me, and you won't have three people anymore. You'll be fucked, same as you are now. You only have two options - put your gun down and follow me and Adam to Freetown with the sizeable fortune you have on your back, or stay here by yourself and get caught and probably killed. I'm leaving. You coming, Adam?" I nodded.
"You forgot the third option," Gus said quietly. Rami didn't notice that he had thumbed the hammer back on the gun.
"What third option?"
"I can simply take yours."
That was when Gus pulled the trigger. That was when my friend took a bullet in the chest. That was when I watched him keel over and die, the smell of cordite sharp in the damp morning air.
Then the gun was turned on me.
"Take his gold in there and fill the bags," I obeyed. I felt like I was going to burst into tears, but the animal within me told me that if I was to survive this, I would have to move decisively and mourn later. I dragged the sack off of Rami's back. He rolled over as I did so, his vacant eyes staring up at me. I couldn't meet his gaze. I just started moving the bars into the two sacks when I felt the gun at the nape of my neck and heard the cylinder click as he pulled the hammer back with his thumb again.
"I know what you're thinking, Adam. You're thinking that there will be time to get me during the hike, time to kill me then. You're thinking there will be a time when I won't be paying attention, or when I'll let my guard down, so you can avenge your friend. It won't happen. I'm taking a full sack of gold with me. If I have to kill you, I will. If I don't, I won't waste a bullet. You just make your little hike to Freetown, I'll follow you, and that's the end of it,"
I didn't start breathing again until the gun lifted away. Gus strolled patiently outside as he waited for me to finish packing the two sacks. He lifted the now-full bag with a satisfied grunt.
"That's much better. Let's get going,"
The hike through the barren desolation was appropriate, given the circumstances, nothing but black, barren, rocky ground as far as I could see in the foggy morning air. We abandoned the smelter and other equipment, now only needing the compass. Freetown was a port town where a freighter to England, the Kestrel, would be docked. A small bribe to the captain and we'd be on our way to Dover, then London would see a flight home. Right then, home seemed ten times farther away than four thousand miles.
Within two miles of our trek, we were sweating copiously. The day had rapidly heated up, and the rough terrain and heavy packs were making things even tougher. I reached to my hip for my canteen, and then turned to Gus.
"Oh God, no,"
"What is it now?"
"My canteen is gone. I must have left it back at the site!"
"Really. Isn't that fascinating. Keep going."
"Please," I said. "I need a drink, and your canteen is full." Gus looked down at his hip, then at me. A look crossed his face that I can only describe as a cross between a smile and a grimace.
"Yes, it sure is, isn't it. But nothing in life is free, guy. The way I see it, our partnership is pretty much over. You want a drink, it's going to cost you one of your gold bars,"
I stared at him, eyes wide with horror. "You've got to be kidding me,"
"Sorry, guy. You want to keep walking, I'm right behind you. You want some of my water, it's gong to cost you in gold."
I stared at him helplessly for a few moments, then unshouldered my pack, took a bar off the top and handed it over. He crammed it in his pocket, his pack being almost full. I reached for the canteen, but he never took his hand off it as I tilted it back and let the cool water clean the inside of my dry mouth. Before I was done, he snatched it back. "One drink, one ingot. You want another, it's going to cost you."
I did indeed want another, but I just picked up my pack and continued on. I'd be needing a drink before long.
The sun made its way overhead and descended in front of us, as if trying to bake the last of the moisture from our bones before giving up the day. During the hike, no less than five of my ingots had found their way into Gus' pants pockets. He had shoved the fifth in his back pocket. Each time I pleaded with him for a drink, I handed over a bar of gold to him. We stopped to rest at an outcropping of stone, a little more than halfway through the journey, weary and footsore.
I watched him for awhile, but he slept lightly, and his hand never came away from the pistol. I hoped in my mind that he would jerk involuntarily and pull the trigger, but he did not. We rose three hours later and continued our trek.
The second day was even tougher, as we climbed mostly uphill out of the massive pit of the strip mine. Gus waggled the canteen at me. We were both sweating profusely.
"Nice cool water here. Only I've been thinking. The supply is starting to get a little low, and the demand has kept steady. I think three bars would be a fair price."
"You fuck!" was all I said. He only laughed, but I saw his hand move a little closer to the pistol.
"That's bad buyer-seller relations right there," he chuckled. "What, you don't like my product?" I had not choice. I handed over three bars and sipped from the canteen before it was wrenched away.
And so it was that I discovered in its entirety what gold will do to a man, how greed can be as pure as a gold nugget fresh out of the earth. But I knew that, had known that from the moment I saw the first ingot fresh out of the mold. For love of gold, a man had died. I intended to see to it that another would before the journey ended.
I handed over my gold and drank. I was sweating, panting, eagerly handing the small bars over. My pack grew lighter and lighter, while Gus soon dragged the contents of his pack and half of mine with him. He stopped drinking, because every sip that he took was one that he couldn't sell to me, just as I knew he would. I drank and he grew richer. Or so he thought.
At midday, I made my move. I turned to him, my tongue literally hanging out of my mouth. I offered him four bars from my pack, if only he would give me a drink. Gus had been silent most of the day. He snatched the bars from my hands and tossed me the canteen as he looked for places to shove his booty. I drank deeply, then snapped my fingers in front of his face to draw his attention.
He didn't seem to understand what he was seeing when I held the empty canteen upside down in front of him. I tossed it away.
"Are you thirsty now, Gus? Because it seems I was wrong." I reached into my pack, which was quite light now, and pulled out the canteen I had hidden in it when I had been loading our bags with Rami's share. "I do indeed have water. Would you like some? Perhaps five bars of gold is a fair price?"
Gus staggered towards me, nodded, his eyes unfocused. I saw him reach for the pistol, but I slapped it out of his hands easily. He was too weak with dehydration, as I knew he would be. He hadn't had a drink in almost a day of hot sun, just as I planned it, just as I knew his greed would lead him to do. He looked stupidly as the gun slid down the embankment, then reached into his pants pockets and took the bars out of them. He had stuffed them in his back pockets, in his socks, in his belt. He took them out and offered them to me. Each time he did, I raised the price.
"Seven," He offered seven. "Nine." He offered nine. "Thirteen." He delved into his pack for them, fumbling them on the ground. "I know, I know, it seems unfair. I mean, you carried all your gold and most of mine all this distance, only to lose it. Do you know how I hid my canteen in my full bag, Gus? I left four bars behind. That's what it was worth to me to watch you die,"
He uttered a strangled croak and staggered at me. I brushed him aside - he had a good fifty pounds on me, but in his state he was too weak. He fell to his knees and I kicked him in the ribs, hard. The coughing sound coming out of his mouth was music to my ears. I looked up into the bright sun and saw that the buzzards were circling. I knelt next to him, dropping a single ingot in front of him. He seized it in his dusty hands.
"I hope this was worth your life. Be thankful though," I pointed above to the circling carrion birds. "You won't die alone." He clutched feebly at my shoe. I kicked him off easily, then loaded my bag to the brim with gold. Behind me, I dragged his pack. I heard Gus panting as I left, and once I heard him scream hoarsely. An hour later, I looked back and saw the vultures spiraling down from the sky. I grinned in satisfaction and drank before continuing.
Freetown was an hour beyond that. I hitched a ride with a rural farmer, bribing him with a hundred dollar bill. His eyes lit up when he saw it, more money than he would earn in six months. I laughed as I felt the breeze go by in the back of his truck. The poor man had no idea what real wealth, real value was. He only knew greed. But I, I knew better. I knew then, just as I know now, that gold is hardly the very best thing of all.
Revenge is.
- VS -
Entry 2
I stood under a maple tree, in the early snowfall, in the night, in the cold.It was quiet. I could hear the minute sounds of individual snowflakes as they struck the bare edges of dead leaves on the ground.
A maple leaf fell from the tree, spiraling down. It was the color of fire. The leaf landed on rough granite and stayed there a moment. Snowflakes pattered onto it.
Casey always loved maple leaves.
*
In 2001 I attended my twentieth high school reunion. I didn't want to go, but my best friend, then and now, practically begged me to show up.
I wasn't looking forward to seeing a lot of those people. Most of them were bitches, shitheads. It would be cool if I was going back a millionaire, or as someone famous, but I wasn't. It would be cool if I was going back with a wife and kids to brag about, but I didn't have that, either, just a long line of fucked up relationships.
It would be cool if I went back and showed them all up somehow, got them back for treating me and my friends like shit back then. I didn't.
In the end I settled for simply giving them something to think about. A new perspective on the past.
*
I flew into Syracuse International on a Friday, and Donnie picked me up. Soon we were headed north on the interstate. It was weird to think that after all this time I would soon be back in Watertown. I hadn't been back in the fifteen years since I had left.
Donnie pointed out that I had gained some more weight, and I pointed out that he had lost some more hair.
"This is gonna be awesome, man. It's gonna be wild." Donnie was just about jumping out of his seat with excitement. "Awesome," he muttered again.
He must have shot his load right in his pants when he got his invitation from the Watertown High Alumni Office.
Donnie was one of those guys who actually had enjoyed high school. I had not.
"Just shut the fuck up, Donnie, and keep your eyes on the road."
That got me a reproachful look.
It was the end of October, and although there wasn't any snow on the roads it was pretty cold. I'd been away so long I couldn't remember what the chances were that we might hit black ice.
As Donnie drove up the 81, we passed towns with names I hadn't heard since I was a kid. Nothing ever really changes in this part of New York State. Some people, like Donnie, find it a comfort. People like me find it stultifying. Donnie eagerly pointed out what changes there were.
Fair enough. I'd played host to him out west, every time we'd gotten together.
As we got closer to town he pointed out things that had changed from things I hadn't cared about to things I wouldn't care about. I tried my best to release intrigued grunts every now and then.
We passed a big car lot outside town. The sun was setting and it was getting colder. Well, colder for me, anyhow. I reached over and turned up the heat a notch just as Donnie hit a button on the radio. Our hands collided.
"Dick."
"Knob."
It was like being sixteen again, and Donnie was the only person I wanted to be that age with.
The Eagles were singing Hotel California. Christ almighty, you knew you weren't a kid anymore when a song that debuted when you were in high school was called a golden oldie.
I wondered about my old favorite radio station. "WOTT still around?"
"Yeah, but they've gone FM. It's all shit." Donnie hooke d athimb over his shoulder at the car lot. "Kevin Fisher owns that now."
I was quiet a moment. "I hated that fuck."
"Yeah, and he's selling Chevys for God sake. Chevys!"
Donnie was and always would be a Ford man. He said 'Chevys' with the same distasteful emphasis most of us would put on 'oozing puss,' or pedophile.'
Kevin Fisher. He was on the football team. He hung out with Tom Bleeker and Bruce somebody. Fucking Neanderthals. The girls that were always with them were the Three Ys. Stacy and Kelly and Nancy. I hated them too. They were pretty hot, but they were always ragging on the less popular girls.
Donnie had a good eye. He was a great artist, a great photographer. He did all the shots for the yearbook a few years in a row. He got around, people knew his face.
Nobody really knew me at all, because I liked scribbling stories and always had my face buried in a novel or a notebook. The only people who really knew me were Donnie, and Casey.
Sitting there with warm air blowing on my legs I felt a sudden guilty jolt. I realized that I hadn't thought of Casey Gray in years. Years. Jesus Christ.
Long dark hair, eyes such a dark blue they almost looked black, pale skin, kind of skinny, always dressed in black, always listening to music. When Sony came out with the first Walkman Casey had to have one. Her dad was always shouting. Her mom was quiet and fat. We lived on the same street.
Casey had a good voice, and she could play the fuck out of her guitar. The first and only time she ever showed off her talent in public, she got booed.
She had her music. I had my books.
Man, that was a long time ago.
The moment we started at Watertown High kids made fun of Casey almost as much as they trashed me. I was able to shrug it off.
Casey started wearing black.
Things were starting to look familiar.
Donnie asked me if I was hungry and I said I was.
We pulled up next to a Denny's on Arsenal Street and went inside. Donnie got a bacon cheddar cheeseburger, fries, and a coke. I got a couple of Boca burgers, and a chocolate shake.
"You still not eating meat?" Donnie had been convinced for years that I was just going through a phase, and that one day soon I'd cave and get a steak.
"That shit's deadly, man. Parasites, bacteria, viruses. I'll pass."
We got a table and sat down to eat.
"How's your dad," Donnie asked around a cluster of fries.
"Good."
I'd moved my dad out to be with me after I sold my first novel. He was a widower, and I didn't want him being alone. After a couple of years he met a nice lady and got married again and moved to Phoenix.
"Your mom?" Donnie's dad had died a few years back. He shared a big house with his mom.
"Good." He chewed and said, "The writing going okay?"
I shrugged. Every few years I sold a novel. Horror stories or thrillers that went straight to paperback. They were shit, really, but it kept me out of debt and paid the mortgage. I wrote under a pseudonym.
"You?"
"Same old thing."
I knew Donnie was doing okay even as he returned the shrug. He'd trained himself how to do all kinds of PC maintenance, hardware and software. Or something. I didn't know jack about the damn things. For me a computer was a fancy typewriter with a built-in pile of reference books.
Donnie belched and sat back. "There's some kind of little get-to-know-you thing tonight. Tomorrow is the real reunion. I thought we could swing by tonight. Grab a beer."
"Okay." I knew it would suck. What the hell.
"Want to crash at my place?"
"Sure," I said.
*
We drove over to the Sheraton. There were maybe twenty people in the bar. Music was blasting and colored lights were flashing. I could hardly see or hear a thing. There was a lot of back-slapping and bellowed laughter. Most of these people had never left Watertown. They probably did a variation of this every night.
Donnie and I got a couple of Buds. A tall, heavyset man sauntered over to us.
"Don Peterson! How are ya, man?"
Donnie put on a big fake grin. "Doing all right, Kevin."
"Gonna show tomorrow?"
Donnie grinned again. "You bet your ass."
Fisher laughed, and shook his head. He was gray and balding, and he had the beginnings of a serious beer gut hanging over his belt.
I seemed to remember that Fisher or one of his asshole friends was booing the loudest the first time Casey ever performed a song in front of a crowd. I called them motherfuckers and told them to shut the hell up. There had been a teacher right behind me, and I got a week's worth of detention.
Fisher looked at me, squinted, and let his mouth hang open. "John Smith! The Pilgrim!" He bellowed laughter.
Twenty fucking years and this guy couldn't come up with a new line? Jesus. I was surprised he didn't follow up with any of the other old standbys, calling me four-eyes or Ritchie Cunningham.
I pushed my hair out of my eyes. There were one or two strands that were as white as snow. The rest was as red as it had been twenty years ago. I got ragged about the hair almost every day back when I was a kid.
Fisher rubbed his chin, glancing at my hair with distaste. "Are you going to the reunion?"
"Thinking about it," I replied.
"Well, fuck," Fisher said. He walked away.
I looked at Donnie. "What the fuck was that?"
Donnie shrugged. "It's gonna be a bunch of fat asses and their fat wives. All the cliques getting together. I guess outsiders like you and I aren't supposed to show up."
"Fuck, man. Let's blow this popsicle stand."
"Go got it."
*
Back at Donnie's place things were a lot more familiar.
We killed a few hours getting shit-faced and talking about high school. Donnie was helping set up some sort of 'memory lane' multimedia show at the reunion. He dragged a box of slides out of a closet and set up his projector, mumbling something about putting the things on a CD one day.
"It'll be cool showing the slides tomorrow," Donnie said. "A touch of days gone by."
The slides were already in carousels. He loaded one in.
Click. There I was at seventeen, sitting in the cafeteria, looking at a sandwich like it just came out of someone's ass. Click. There was Donnie, posing by the engine he had to rebuild in autoshop. He got the thing kicking and it was vibrating so strong it broke out of the wooden frame it was set in and rolled across the floor. Click. There was the chess club, the cheerleader squad, the football team, the AV club, the debate club. Click. Kevin Fisher. Click. Tom Bleeker. Click. Bruce somebody. Click. Stacy. Kelly. Nancy. Kevin and Stacy. Kelly and Tom. Nancy and—"
I couldn't stand it. "What the fuck, man?"
Donnie shrugged. "They are the popular ones. They have to be represented."
Click. Peter Hemmings. Now there was one weird bastard. Hair sticking up in tufts, oj stains on his shirts, and a fucking genius. He made me look extroverted.
Click. "Hey, remember her?" Donnie paused the projector. There was something about his tone that irked me. "Casey?"
She was standing under the big maple tree behind the school. She was holding her Walkman, the headphone wires disappearing into that crazy tangle of dark hair. She looked small and alone.
I was always behind the times when it came to music. Casey was astounded by my utter lack of familiarity with current bands and songs. And she was always lending me albums and cassettes and telling me to give them a spin.
When we were kids she always had a transistor radio with her. When Sony came out with the Walkman, she was the first kid in school to have one.
I remember her giving me a single back in grade school, 'Kung Fu Fighting.' I was a big Bruce Lee fan as a kid, so I got a real charge out of that song.
She introduced me to a lot of great stuff.
Both of us had hated disco with a passion. She said she couldn't decide what was worse; Yoko Ono screaming like a psycho, or anything by ABBA. I had nodded like I knew what the hell she was talking about.
I looked at the image on the screen again, wondering what she was listening to at that moment, realizing that the only pictures I had of Casey were the ones in my mind.
Donnie was giving me a weird look.
"Why the hell are you leering at me?"
He pointed at the screen. "You and her."
"What about it? She was a friend."
"Yeah, but, come on. I was always surprised you didn't tell me about it."
"Huh?"
Donnie grinned. "You lucky bastard."
I was getting irritated. "What, are you talking in fucking code?"
Donnie's face went through a number of changes. He advanced the projector. Click. Click. Click. Pause.
A shot taken in the library, Casey and me sitting across from each other, both of us absorbed in books.
I had a vague memory of that day in May. Donnie had been dicking around most of the year and was scrambling to get shots for the yearbook. It was our second year at Watertown high. I heard later that Mrs. Goetz ended up chasing him out of the library.
Some thick neck from the football team had mooned Donnie. Donnie had taken the shot. The thick neck demanded Donnie hand over his camera, and Donnie refused. Then Goetz accused Donnie of "perpetrating obscenity in a hall of higher learning." That line made its way around the school like wildfire.
I also remembered Casey and I talking before all the commotion started.
I was unsettled by how much I was remembering, and how much I had forgotten.
These were my own memories, but I was only becoming aware of them in bits and pieces. It was like I'd thrown a book into a pond a long time ago. Now the glue binding the book together was giving away and the pages were floating to the surface one by one, in no particular order.
Casey had been really upset, kicking at my foot under the table. We'd shared almost every class in every grade throughout the years, so her acting like a dork and bugging me was nothing new.
I'd asked her what was up and she gave me one of my first experiences with the mystery of the fairer sex.
She ignored me. A minute later, she kicked my foot again.
"What?" I whispered. "Fuck!"
"Nothing."
"Okay, then."
I glanced to my right. Stacy and Kelly and Nancy were sitting a few tables away. They were giggling and throwing paper balls at each other. Mrs. Goetz was glaring at them. Kelly had her back to me. She was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Every once in a while she would rise halfway out of her chair to toss a paper ball across the table. I'd been sneaking peaks for a while now.
It was pathetic, but when you are seventeen and a bit of a dipshit loser, seeing a cute ass damn near bursting the seams on a pair of shorts is a hell of a treat. Even if the ass in question belongs to someone who always looks at you like you are dogshit caked to the bottom of her shoe.
I started getting a hard-on. It didn't take much back then.
Casey kicked my foot.
That went on for a few more minutes, my foot getting kicked, Casey and I hissing at each other, my dick going up and down.
The Three Ys left the library. I tried reading. Every time Casey and I looked at each other over our books, she rolled her eyes.
Finally I got up and left, telling Casey she needed a rabies shot, or something equally lame.
I looked at the picture of us on the screen. I was feeling really uncomfortable, so I got up a grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge.
When I sat down Donnie was putting the carousel into a cardboard box. 'Reunion' was written on one flap.
I felt like I had to say something. "You know, she and I, we never—"
"Hey, it's cool. I just thought she was into you. I mean, you liked her, right?"
Another memory. Fall. Our last year of high school. Casey and I were shoving each other and goofing around in my backyard, throwing piles of fallen leaves at each other. She was still wearing the black jeans and black t-shirts, but there was something different about her. She touched my face, I don't know why, and I responded physically. I had a raging hard-on, my heart was racing, and my mouth was watering. But this was Casey. Casey!
She was my friend. Just a dork, like me. Not someone that other guys would start to notice. But if she was becoming someone that other guys would notice, I didn't stand a chance with her. She wasn't trying to start anything with me, anyway. She was just goofing around. Or was she?
"Yeah. I liked her. Shit, man. I liked her a lot."
Donnie grinned. "I knew it. And she knew it too. She was just waiting for you to make a move, you goof."
A wave of feeling hit me so hard that at first I didn't realize it was sorrow.
Casey had died in a car crash about a month after we all graduated, right about the time MTV was born. Her dad had been behind the wheel, drunk, and probably yelling at her, as her mom sat silently, not telling him to knock it off. She would have loved MTV. Well, for the first few years, before it mutated into the shitbox it is these days.
"Too late to do anything about it now," I said. "Not that she ever would have felt that way about me. We were just buddies."
Donnie sat and looked at me for a long time. Then he stood up and spoke as if reading a proclamation. "You are a god-damned idiot."
He started opening another box of stuff going to the reunion.
"Remember how I used to film all the old assemblies when they put on variety shows and shit?"
I nodded. I'd helped him film some of the football games and pep rallies with his super-8 camera. Later he took everything he'd earned on a summer job and made a down payment on a second-hand 16mm Arriflex. He would record sound on a Nagra he borrowed from an Uncle, and he could combine the two and do one hell of a short presentation. He showed me how to splice film stock and sync up the sound. Those had been some fun times.
Donnie set some paper sleeves on the table. The sleeves had big red check marks on them. "I'm running some of those old films tomorrow. I transferred them to disk so I can run them in a DVD player. They turned out better than I expected."
He took a disk out of a sleeve. I could see that it was labeled 'Music 80-81.'
"I think you should see this. I always thought you never mentioned Casey because you just weren't into her. What was it, really? You thought she didn't care?"
I didn't say anything.
Donnie slipped the DVD into the player. "This is the concert that Casey sang at, that last year. Remember how everyone laughed and some guys booed?"
I nodded.
"Look for her face in the menu. It's somewhere in the middle. That's the bit you saw from the audience side. I think you should see it from the perspective I had, up on stage, filming her."
He handed me a pair of remotes, and another disc.
"I've gotta burn another DVD," Donnie said, going down the hall. "Be back in a minute."
I got the dvd running. Donnie had made titles and a menu.
Not long before we graduated, Casey performed at an assembly showcasing school talent. One of those school spirit deals. I remember Donnie walking around on stage and filming various acts.
I also recalled that I hadn't seen much of Casey the week before. She'd been rehearsing. One more thing I had forgotten all about.
I advanced through the menu until I saw a familiar mop of dark hair, and hit play.
Casey walked out onto a stage that was bare except for a stool and a microphone. She set down the guitar case she was carrying, and opened it taking out her beat up old Yamaha guitar.
The moment Casey sat in front of the microphone kids started laughing and booing, the latter a lowing sound like the moo of a cow.
I don't know if any song could have changed the opinions of the kids who were set to rag on her, but her choice of Janis Ian's biggest tune was just fuel for the fire.
Donnie was in front and to one side of her, and for a moment Casey looked right into the camera.
Again I felt my skin flush and burn with shame. How could I have let my memories of her fall so far away?
She started to sing.
"I learned the truth at seventeen,
that love was meant for beauty queens—"
Someone hooted laughter and that started a cascade of chuckles. Someone shushed them loudly.
Casey pushed on, singing with a voice that was sugary sweet and rough at the same time.
Kids started booing loudly. Someone shouted, "Shut up!"
Casey kept going, watching her fingers on the strings.
Donnie came back into the room and sat down.
Onscreen, a much younger Donnie was moving around Casey in a slow circle, keeping the camera on her, keeping the audience out of the frame.
I could hear an adult voice bellow for silence, I think it was Mr. Sawyer, the gym teacher.
Donnie made another circle around her, and in the bottom of the frame was her guitar case. I saw something that made me blink.
Casey just kept singing. I don't know how she did it.
"To those of us who knew the pain,
of valentines that never came—"
I grabbed the remote and hit pause, and then reverse. When Casey's guitar case came into view I hit pause again, and advanced frame by frame.
"No fucking way," I said. I looked at Donnie. He was looking at the floor.
I used the DVD player's zoom feature, closing in on the battered guitar case. The case was still open, and there was a picture tucked inside of it.
It was a picture of me.
I don't know how long I sat there, not really seeing anything. I was thinking of Casey. I didn't know, I told myself. I didn't know.
Deep down, I knew the truth though. It wasn't that I didn't know, but that I didn't have the guts to find out.
My mind filled with images, questions, a million 'what if's.'
The biggest of those was, 'What if Casey and I had been together the day she died? What if she had been with me, instead of getting in the car with her mom and dad?'
I couldn't see for a moment. I took off my glasses and wiped my eyes.
The player dropped out of pause mode, and Casey sang on.
Amid all the noise of the crowd I heard, "-ucker!"
That was me yelling 'motherfucker,' more of a squeak than a roar.
Casey finished the song. Donnie was shooting her from one side.
She bent over and put the guitar back in the case. She closed the case, and walked off the stage.
The kids in the audience broke into harsh cheers.
The screen went dark, and another segment began. One of the Three Y's came out in a cheerleader outfit and started doing some embarrassing dance routine. This time the cheers coming from the crowd were the real thing.
I turned off the player.
Donnie stood up and cleared his throat. "Well..." he said.
I shook my head. "I didn't know. I didn't know, man. I swear."
Donnie nodded. "I know. I think you guys just... ran out of time."
He took the disk out of the player and slipped it into the paper sleeve. He put the sleeve with the others that had red check marks on them, putting them in the reunion box. Then he took another sleeve out of the first box. This one had no check mark.
"Now that you've seen that, you should see this," he said, tossing me the disk. "This is what Casey originally wanted to do for the show, but Principal Quinn and the teachers at the first rehearsal shit a brick. One of them said it was obscene."
"What the hell?"
Donnie laughed. "It wasn't that bad. And compared to the stuff you see today it's downright tame. Casey did the music herself. Borrowed an electric guitar and laid down two or three tracks. Then she played them back and did the vocal part live. She was good."
"Did I know about this?"
"No," Donnie said. "She didn't want you there. She had me film the rehearsal so she could watch it later and correct any mistakes she made. After the administration shut her down, she made me promise to never show it to you. She was afraid you'd laugh at her."
As if I couldn't feel like any more of a shit-heel.
"Watch it," Donnie said. "Lots of people at school thought her life was all gloom and doom with the way she looked and how quiet she was. You know she wasn't. You've just forgotten."
He passed by me on his way to the hall and gave me a gentle pat on the shoulder. "I have to help set this shit up in the morning. I'm gonna hit the sack. You okay with the couch? There's blankets and stuff in the closet and..."
"Yeah, man. Thanks."
When I was alone, I played the disk.
When I finished watching the disk I was laughing, and crying. I kind of felt like a pussy and I was glad I was alone, but I also felt a little better.
I thought about all the great tunes that Casey brought into my world, where the most familiar rhythm was the statacco sound of my old typewriter as I cranked out abysmal stories... and some say today that nothing has changed in that respect.
'Walk This Way.' The Doobie Brothers. The Ramones. The Eagles. Kansas. 'Paradise By The Dashboard Lights.' 'Still the Same.' The Boomtown Rats. The Vapours. The Jam. XTC. The Sex Pistols. 'Cruel to be Kind.' 'Love Stinks.' Blondie, the early stuff of course. Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. 'Against The Wind.'
I took the disk out of the player, slipped it into the sleeve, and put it in my coat pocket.
*
A few days after she had been booed off stage, I'd gone over to Casey's house to see if she was okay. She hadn't called me or dropped by to watch TV, which was weird. It was a Friday night. We sat in her room in front of her little black and white TV and talked for a bit, making fun of The Dukes of Hazzard. At one point she asked me, "Why can't I be one of the Three Y's?"
"What, are you kidding?" I'd replied. "You're better than that."
She'd given me a look that I couldn't fathom. Even when they're just kids, woman are good at that. It must be genetic.
I remembered that and wondered. Back in the library, had she been kicking me because she was jealous?
How could I have been so fucking thick?
*
I entered the big ballroom of the Sheraton alone. Donnie had arrived ahead of me to set up his part of the memory lane bullshit. I arrived late.
I checked my coat and somebody gave me a nametag. I didn't get any of the squeals of recognition at the door that everyone else seemed to get. It was like a TV-movie reunion. Balloons. A fucking mirror-ball on the ceiling. Six-foot tall blow-ups of old pictures, the popular crowd, of course. No shots of anyone sharing Peter Hemmings' status, or Donnie or Casey or me. There was a live band, and they were either drunk or just plain old-fashioned bad.
At least they had a bar.
I sipped a shot of bourbon, looking around the big room. There was a wide stage to one side. The band was at one end, a podium and microphone at the other. Between the band and the podium was a drop-down screen.
There was a smallish dance floor between the stage and a crescent of tables. Most of the tables were taken, and seating was assigned. The so-called 'popular crowd' was seated nearer the stage. I spotted Fisher and his buddies, and their wives. I also saw two of the Three Ys. None of them had aged well.
I found my name card on a table on the far side of the room, in near darkness, near the men's room. None of the others who were supposed to be seated at that table had shown up. I picked up the card and went back to the bar for another shot. I put the name card on an empty barstool.
I wandered to the station Donnie had set up. He had his slide projector there, along with a DVD projection system.
The band took a break and some balding guy with about nine chins stepped up to the podium to announce that the time for our trip down memory lane had come.
Donnie dimmed the lights and started showing slides, the familiar old ka-chunka-chunk of the machine getting a lot of laughs. Fisher and his buddies got cheers. The three Y's got cheers.
Almost everyone got cheers and applause, until the last few slides. The chess club got sniggers. The AV geeks got a guffaw. An assortment of minor players got scant recognition. I didn't get anything at all. I must have been the invisible fucking man back then. Donnie got a mix of applause and cat-calls. Then Casey appeared, standing under the tree. There were whispers and muffled laughs at the tables.
There were a few more slides, but I didn't see them. I was pissed. All this time, and nothing had changed. Casey was still a joke to them.
When Donnie started showing the DVD movies, the crowd was really into the show. Clips from various football games got explosions of applause and wild cheers. The cheerleaders got applause. An assortment of jagoffs who had run for student council seats got applause. Donnie switched disks, and played highlights of various talent shows. The cheerleaders and other dancing bimbos got cheers, as did a terrible band that called itself Molten Fudge. A few lame skits got big laughs. There was applause for snippets from musical performances, until Casey came on.
Beyond her singing, there was silence, broken by a few muffled laughs. In the half light I could see people smirking, shaking their heads.
A beam of light from the mirror-ball shone down on Kevin Fisher just as he let out a loud, exaggerated groan, and almost everyone laughed.
Son of a bitch, I thought.
I went back to my coat and got the second CD I'd watched the night before, the performance Casey had wanted to give at school, the one that was too racy or suggestive for the administration.
As the last of the old movies was projected onto the screen, I went over to Donnie and asked him to play the CD.
"That's not on the agenda," he said. "There's about thirty seconds of this old stuff left and then there are gonna be speeches and shit like that."
"Fuck them, man. Are you getting paid to do this?"
Donnie shook his head.
"Has even one of those fuckholes come up to you and thanked you for your efforts tonight, or are you just being treated like hired help?"
Donnie thought about it a moment. "Yeah, you're right," he said. "Fuck 'em."
"When I give you a signal, play the disk."
Donnie nodded.
The man with nine chins was making his way up the steps to the stage. I passed him and reached the podium just as the lights came up.
Chins whispered, "Excuse me, you aren't supposed to be here."
I whispered, "Get the fuck out of here, you bag of shit."
Chins hesitated. That was fine. All I needed was a minute.
I looked down at my former schoolmates. At every table I saw confused looks. I could see mouths forming words. 'Who is he?' 'What is this?'
I tapped the mike, and then spoke.
"As I look around this room tonight, I see a lot of fat asses."
I let that hang in the air for a moment. There was confusion. Questions. Uncomfortable laughter, in anticipation of a punch line.
Kevin Fisher looked like he was about to pass a kidney stone.
"I see graying hair, and receding hair. I see wrinkles, lousy facelifts, sagging breasts, and bulging guts. I see age spots and aching joints, and fading eyes and tired bodies that don't work they way they used to. I see old people, and from this day forward, whenever we think of each other, this is how we will remember each other. Old. Wearing out. Many of us closer to the end than the beginning."
I gave Donnie a thumbs up. He dimmed the lights.
"One of us is no longer here. One of us is remembered with derision, and scorn, if remembered at all. Her name was Casey Gray. And this is how we are going to remember her, for the rest of our lives."
The music started. Casey had used three guitar tracks, one was lead, one was rhythm, and one was just her slamming the shit out of the guitar to make up for her lack of a drummer. Her plan was to sing on camera and more or less fart around with her guitar as the pre-recorded and mixed tracks played on a pair of speakers sitting on the floor of a bare floodlit stage behind her.
Back in the pre-MTV days, this was what a lot of music videos looked like.
Casey started to sing, and her voice was strong, and sweet, and absolutely bubbling over with joy.
"Well you're the real tough cookie
With the long history,"
"Of breaking little hearts
Like the one in me..."
The Pat Benatar tune Casey was performing had reached the top ten by the time she died. Casey loved that song.
"That's OK,
Lets see how you do it
Put up your dukes,
Lets get down to it..."
Casey was wearing her typical black jeans, and black tee, but this time her clothes were skin-tight. She was wearing very little makeup. She shook her hair and wiggled her hips, and through it all she was smiling.
"Hit me with your best shot,
Why don't you hit me
With your best shot
Hit me with your best shot
Fire Away..."
Casey sang like I'd never heard her sing before, and when she reached the instrumental bridge she started dancing like crazy, just cutting loose. With the way she was using her body you would have thought she was either as sexy as hell or a mindless goofball having a shitload of fun.
I saw her as both.
"You come on with a come on,
You don't fight fair
But that's OK, see if I care
Knock me down, it's all in vain
I'll get right back on my feet again..."
And from the looks on the faces turned up to the screen, I knew what they were seeing.
They were seeing long, dark hair without a trace of gray, flipping and swirling like a free-falling piece of the night sky. They were seeing skin that was tight and smooth and free of any lines. They were seeing eyes filled with mischief and fun, eyes that would never be clouded with age. They were seeing little tits jutting out before gravity ever had a chance to get them in its clutches. They were seeing an ass so firm and tight you could bounce a quarter off of it, and sleek legs that were taut with seemingly endless energy.
They were seeing and hearing Casey in all her glory, in all the fullness of her youth. They were seeing her the way they should have seen her back then.
They were seeing her the way I should have seen her.
And this is how they would remember her.
"Hit me with your best shot,
Why don't you hit me
With your best shot
Hit me with your best shot
Fire Away..."
The song came to an end. As the picture faded Casey was breathless, and laughing, and waving 'bye-bye' at the camera.
Donnie shut down the projector and turned up the lights. I gave him a nod of thanks and walked out of the ballroom.
He told me later that the reunion was very subdued after that.
*
A lot of good came from that first trip back home after so many years away. I got to see Donnie again, and that was a good thing. I remembered Casey in all her goofy glory, and that was a better thing. And I realized that once upon a time, when I was pretty much a zero, I had been loved, and that was the very best thing of all. Instead of being filled with sadness, I was filled with hope.
I took a cab to the cemetery where Casey had been waiting for me for all those years I was away.
During the ride I thought of things Casey had not been able to experience in the two decades. She would have loved the internet, and being able to use a home computer as a recording studio, mixing her music and burning her own CDs. Like me, she grew up hearing about the Red Menace of the Soviet Union. She would have been amazed to see how that situation turned out. She never got to see how the first Star Wars trilogy ended. She never got to see Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I think she would have liked that a lot. She would have gotten a kick out of cell phones, and iPods.
Then again, she didn't have to witness AIDs, 9/11, the Indian Ocean tsunami, or any of the other shit that has darkened our TV screens and our lives.
I nearly castrated myself climbing a wrought-iron fence, but I soon found her spot.
"Hi," I said. "I'm back."
*
Since 2001 I've come back to Watertown once a year, to hang out with Donnie, and to visit Casey. The more I remember her, the more I miss her. The more I remember her, the more she inspires me.
I went back again last year.
I stood under a maple tree, in the early snowfall, in the night, in the cold.
It was quiet. I could hear the minute sounds of individual snowflakes as they struck the bare edges of dead leaves on the ground.
A maple leaf fell from the tree, spiraling down. It was the color of fire. The leaf landed on rough granite and stayed there a moment. Snowflakes pattered onto it.
Casey always loved maple leaves.
I watched the maple leaf quiver as more and more snow covered it.
I took a photograph from my pocket. Donnie had made a copy for me. It was Casey under another maple tree. So pretty, so long ago.
A gust of wind ruffled my hair, stroked my cheek.
The leaf spun free, shaking off the snow, and landed at the base of Casey's tombstone, a blaze of color.
Entry 1:
Acarnis
ACIDTRIP
apollo88
Badlands
Bizdorph
BLITZKREIG_BOB
bob
Bryan
CaptainAmik
checkyourmail
Disektor
domenad
EchoBoxing
engine13
espo
ess-arr
FleetEnemaBadas
foster
HadToBeDone
hcp28
Huber_the_Nose
hyprspacd
jgreening
JohnGalt
jojojojoan
Judoka
Loren1
lucid
MaximusPadus
mazman23
MyNameIsTim
Natsukau
nemo
professorfuckface
Rawrg
Robert_of_Duluth
RyuFu
screamfeeder
shitfuck
SilvrWolf
Siren
Slypher
spedmonkey
Stabkill
stevie_says
strider
Tastycat
Teephphah
TheSpook
TheSunGod
tidalfae
tlozoot
ToxicNarcotic
Viper_04
Wiggles
WillZone
xenon
youarsoghey
zakalwe
39 eligible votes (59 total) *
Entry 2:
Ainkara
algermetiphist
Arm_The_Homeless
AshK
Awko
Banga3386
bargled
Burn
c1ndy
cexshun
Circe
CJ
comicbookguy
corn_nugget
cshape
DataForge22
Death_Metal_Dude
Dirtbird
Divinity
Donitsu2002
DonkeyOnTheEdge
foodman
FuckTheArmy
FunnyAsCancer
Genko
GodChicken
godking
GoodInTheSac
Herpes
horse87
houseman
humor_me
Jack_McCallum
jeetkunetony
JMG114
JonnyX
Katastrofadark
LadyPlural
Lechuga
loki
Maestro
munkeypants
NerfHerder
NoahsArk
pen_name
polyamorousaj
potatomanjack
rad1101
ralphmacchio
rurumon
ruthless
salmonofdoubt
Shlongy
Sideburns
sixmilliondots
Smurfs
sparkle_pink
tammy
thaumaturge
ThineJericho
TigerLilly
tuesdaydelay
WiKi
William_Q_Percy
Worm
YELLOW-MAN
Yes
YouLookLikeINeedADrink
47 eligible votes (68 total) *
* Eligible votes are those made by users who had either (A) posted 3+ messages OR (B) written 100+ [lowered from 750+] reviews as of the beginning of the UberMadness! competition.
User Reviews
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-07-20 12:46:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Had to check what I may be up against next round, damn I forgot how good this post was.
Submitted by thorpe (user info) at 2005-06-03 08:31:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by nuhippiejenn44 (user info) at 2005-01-28 20:27:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WOW...I mean, my eyes were glued to the screen through the entire thing...I mean, don't get me wrong, there may be things that I would do or say differently, but all in all...both kicked tremendous ASS!
Submitted by celine (user info) at 2005-01-27 00:48:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I've seen the movie Entry 1 was based on. It was interesting at best, and being derivative of "interesting at best" is hardly something anyone should try for. But if that's what it takes to win UM, then I'm glad I was ineligible at the outset.
Submitted by Naery (user info) at 2005-01-21 01:46:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
number two, number two. Wow. That was fuckin amazing. Talk about bittersweet. Palpable emotions, intense and hardcore. really fuckin incredible. Thank you.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-01-20 05:39:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
So this one won the whole of ubermadness?
Damn.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-01-17 11:48:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Kazzerax (user info) at 2005-01-16 14:03:14 (#)
Ranking: 2
Domenad, you know Sideburns is winning the next one.
--
Pish! If I'm not in the next one it will be Dome and Badlands (and if I AM in the next one I could get tossed in round one - the wonder and the mystery of Ubermadness). THAT is a match I'd like to sit back and enjoy.
Submitted by Kazzerax (user info) at 2005-01-16 14:03:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Domenad, you know Sideburns is winning the next one.
Submitted by Fleury75 (user info) at 2005-01-15 10:58:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Absolutely amazing
both stories were great
the second one literally blew me away.
thanks all who entered ubermadness for weeks of enjoyable reads
my hat goes off to all of you
Submitted by TonyMontana (user info) at 2005-01-14 05:37:35 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
number 1 was fucking plagiarism at its finest. THAT WAS A FUCKING TWILIGHT ZONE EPISODE.
Submitted by tlovess (user info) at 2005-01-13 10:26:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I was trying to vote for entry 1. It is more original.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-01-12 23:11:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Domenad, I have to check the rules but I don't think I can compete in UMIII.
If that's the case, I fully expect you to bring it on home.
If not, then I have my work cut out for me.
That was one tough, nerve-wracking final round. Pretty fucking good for a couple of guys who were not mentioned once in the Ubermadness predictions thread, back in September.
Thanks for the votes and the comments, everyone.
Submitted by domenad (user info) at 2005-01-12 22:43:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Jack, congratulations on an excellent entry and a fine competition. I'm not used to second place though, so watch out next UM. I'll be back better than ever.
Submitted by The_Walrus (user info) at 2005-01-12 20:01:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
ah well, missed it by 32 seconds. I would've voted for #2 though, either wya it wouldn't have mattered. Congrats to the winner.
Submitted by The_Walrus (user info) at 2005-01-12 20:00:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Please say theres still time...
Submitted by Herpes (user info) at 2005-01-12 19:48:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2005-01-12 19:46:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Acarnis (user info) at 2005-01-12 19:30:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both were very good.
Submitted by tuesdaydelay (user info) at 2005-01-12 18:55:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by cexshun (user info) at 2005-01-12 17:49:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by strider (user info) at 2005-01-12 17:31:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by youarsoghey (user info) at 2005-01-12 16:19:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Loren1 (user info) at 2005-01-12 16:03:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
This irked me:
"I see graying hair, and receding hair. I see wrinkles, lousy facelifts, sagging breasts, and bulging guts. I see age spots and aching joints, and fading eyes and tired bodies that don't work they way they used to. I see old people, and from this day forward, whenever we think of each other, this is how we will remember each other. Old. Wearing out. Many of us closer to the end than the beginning."
-----
"Age spots? Aching joints? fading eyes?? Closer to the end than the beginning??? FACE LIFTS?!?!?!"
At a 20 year HS reunion??? Jesus flavored jellybeans, now that was a bit much.
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2005-01-12 15:06:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by polyamorousaj (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:58:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn you for making this such a hard decision.
Submitted by nemo (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:48:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by NerfHerder (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:17:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
#2.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:16:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'll be happy no matter who wins.
But I'm guessing I voted for Jack, because I wanted to vote for Dome.
No offense Jack, but Dome beat me, so he's got to be King. No shame in losing to the King.
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:06:58 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
It doesn't count for anything... ANYTHING I SAY!!!
Sob...
Submitted by jgreening (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:06:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
But my vote doesn't count... *sniffle*
Submitted by Maestro (user info) at 2005-01-12 14:03:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both were awesome, did anyone catch the Big Lebowski reference (purpose?).
Submitted by Maestro (user info) at 2005-01-12 13:58:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Worm (user info) at 2005-01-12 13:30:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both were awesome, I would like to extend a GIGANTIC congratulations to the Domenad and Jack McCallum. You guys both have a lot to be proud of for even making it this far.
I voted #2 for the pace of the story and the subtle depth of the plot and characters. Outstanding work. I would have paid to read it.
Congrats again to both of you, I'm sure this will be a close race.
Submitted by Stabkill (user info) at 2005-01-12 13:21:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Domenad, I also read the bullshit comments about your story. I just thought... Hmmm, are these people angry because THEY failed miserably at ubermadness? Maybe they didn't get in and think they are bold enough to "go all the way"... Fuck those morons.
I suggest a new "ubermadness". We find a legitimate real WRITING CONTEST and submit entries to it. And if people can't afford the entry fee we can talk bart into a "one week uberboard" fund raiser to get money to submit for those who can't pay...and say we raise enough moola for 10 people to enter, then we will vote on those 10 people. 20 people? then 20. And of course, anyone can pay for it on their own.
You kicked ass even though you fell short, Domenad. But to everyone on the list that voted for you, YOU are the winner of ubermadness despite the results.
Submitted by loki (user info) at 2005-01-12 13:01:28 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
tough call
I'm not going to my high school reunion after reading this.
Submitted by SilvrWolf (user info) at 2005-01-12 12:52:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesomely done. It material like both of these that make me wish I'd had more time to continue in UM. It was an honor to go up against the best writers of this site. Congratulations to everyone. You should all be proud.
There can be only one...
Submitted by RyuFu (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:47:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WTF I'M NOT READIN ALL THAT! Just most of it.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:45:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, I can't even PLAGERIZE that well.
Nice job.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:44:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
yes but people could tell other people aim or the uberboard.........
nah just stirring shit, if you were dq'd for this I would lead the revolution.
Submitted by jeetkunetony (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:42:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:42:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by domenad (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:40:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:55:50 (#)
Ranking: 0
so author one is domenad.
wouldn't that mean a DQ?
In the final?
OMG THE DRAMA!
It is like american sport but mildly interesting.
------
You can't see the replies until you've rated, so it hardly matters. By the time you know, it's too late. At least I hope I'm right. DQ'd in the final, crap, that would suck.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:34:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was one fucking tough decision. Both OUTFUCKINGSTANDING stories.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2005-01-12 11:33:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
How can anyone vote for one of these over the other?
they were both outfuckingstanding.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:55:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
so author one is domenad.
wouldn't that mean a DQ?
In the final?
OMG THE DRAMA!
It is like american sport but mildly interesting.
Submitted by potatomanjack (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:42:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Talk about fucking novels here, I would've preffered shorter entries.
It was a tough choice though.
Submitted by domenad (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:38:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by tidalfae (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:28:49 (#)
Ranking: 0
Apparently author 1 watched the twilight zone marathon on new years too.
Such a good story, too bad its a copy.
----------
HUH? Are you fucking calling me a plagiarist? That fucking story is 100% original, came out of my own battered cranium. Don't ever call me a plagiarist.
What is this shit? In my very first post, I get people knocking me for ripping off "Good Will Hunting", a movie I've never seen. Now I get somebody saying I'm ripping off the Twilight Zone? This is BULLCRAP. So any vampire story I've ever done rips off Dracula? I don't like these insinuations.
Submitted by jojojojoan (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:36:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by tidalfae (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:28:49 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Apparently author 1 watched the twilight zone marathon on new years too.
Such a good story, too bad its a copy.
Submitted by Judoka (user info) at 2005-01-12 10:26:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Banga3386 (user info) at 2005-01-12 05:18:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
These both were absolutely incredible. Entry one had me gripped with fear, anticipation, excitement, and anger. Entry two had me nearly in tears. I have to give it to #2 only because of the ending.
VERY well done both of you, I will hold you both in the highest respects.
Banga
Submitted by CaptainAmik (user info) at 2005-01-12 05:15:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by sixmilliondots (user info) at 2005-01-12 04:33:18 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
almost made me cry.
good post.
Submitted by Stabkill (user info) at 2005-01-12 03:43:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Ainkara (user info) at 2005-01-11 23:48:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
These were both excellent.
Submitted by YELLOW-MAN (user info) at 2005-01-11 22:18:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Lechuga (user info) at 2005-01-11 19:20:27 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow.
Submitted by WiKi (user info) at 2005-01-11 18:26:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-01-11 18:21:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
FUCK, Fuckity fuck fuck. I don't know which to choose.
FUCK!
Submitted by Smurfs (user info) at 2005-01-11 17:21:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Stellar... should have chopped the last part though
Submitted by screamfeeder (user info) at 2005-01-11 17:03:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-01-11 15:21:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I didn't want to choose either. Both were off the scale.
Submitted by GoodInTheSac (user info) at 2005-01-11 15:10:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by Sideburns (user info) at 2005-01-11 15:04:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by ACIDTRIP (user info) at 2005-01-11 15:03:19 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by espo (user info) at 2005-01-11 14:55:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very close call. Both were great UM posts. For me, it came down to who made better use of the title, and I thought Entry 1 did a better job. Congrats to both authors - both deserve to be in the final.
espo
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-01-11 14:13:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Both very good, and although I liked #1's updated spin on 'Treasure of the Sierra Madre', #2's high-school reunion angst was better - dialogue needed a little polishing, though.
Submitted by Bizdorph (user info) at 2005-01-11 13:51:03 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-01-11 13:43:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was a very difficult decision. Both entries are fantastic.
The first entry was calculated and well thought out
The second entry brought tears to my eyes.
This might end up being a coin toss vote
Submitted by TheSpook (user info) at 2005-01-11 13:43:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by godking (user info) at 2005-01-11 09:12:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
WOW.
Submitted by Viper_04 (user info) at 2005-01-11 06:14:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Obviosuly both are exception writers to have gotten this far!
I had to go with the gold story because it was strong the whole way through, while the reunion story almost swayed me towardas the end it wasn't enough.
Both great stories and were a delight to read!
Submitted by Huber_the_Nose (user info) at 2005-01-11 05:05:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Burn (user info) at 2005-01-11 04:51:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by JohnGalt (user info) at 2005-01-11 02:05:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I have to pick one of these?!?!?!?!?!? Both of these are extraordinary. I just liked Entry 1 a little bit better. To be honest, these are 2 of the best things I've ever read on Uber.
Submitted by ThineJericho (user info) at 2005-01-10 22:37:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good. Damn good.
Submitted by Robert_of_Duluth (user info) at 2005-01-10 21:37:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
both excellent, only entry 1 because I though 2 was just a little bit lame.(still a +2 by far however)
Submitted by Bryan (user info) at 2005-01-10 21:32:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by lucid (user info) at 2005-01-10 19:07:24 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-01-10 18:57:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow, Author 2.... that was fantastic.
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-01-10 18:52:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, I cried.
Go Ubermadness.
Submitted by engine13 (user info) at 2005-01-10 18:09:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by bob (user info) at 2005-01-10 18:09:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I think Rawg hit the nail on the head.
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2005-01-10 17:11:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by salmonofdoubt (user info) at 2005-01-10 16:5