Me and Bill

Me--I was a friend of Bill..Now Bill--he was --well,a couple of times I thought maybe he was going to be the cause of my demise in addition to being a friend.
Bill was a full blooded Cherokee -- he loved his whiskey dearly and on a regular basis. So without getting into stereotypes too much,lets just say he was also a wild man on a regular basis.The two were not mutually exclusive.
I first realised this valuable fact when we went to get some beer at a little marina outside of town. Bill went in to make the purchase and I stayed outside to relieve myself and enjoy the warm summer evening. Birds were arcing the air in elliptical patterns over the water,taking their sustenance of insects for the night,prior to nesting.The shadows were strong and dark on the east sides of the cottonwoods that hovered by the waters edge.A pleasant evening,as I remember it. My reverie was broken by shouts,the banging of doors, running feet and loud hollering. Out of the bar comes Bill ,moving very fast heading toward his pickup with several sailors 30 or so feet behind him.They were not happy sailors and from what I could see of Bill in the 3 or 4 seconds I had to contemplate the scene--Bill was not much happier.

Now,right here I should mention something that could have turned out to be kind of important.Should have,actually.Bill's old pickup had to be pushed to get it started and as that remembrance bubbled up into the forefront of my brain,I began to see that maybe we had a situation.Well,as it turns out ,a few seconds was all I needed to make a decision.I sprinted toward the truck trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do when I got there.

 

I enjoyed reading this. I think it would work well as the first chapter of a novel: I'm curious about the specifics of Bill's bad behavior. What does he do that would cause people to chase him down the street? Nice writing. :cheers2:

--QP

 

Sounds like an opening sequence for a film...

One thing: we know a little of Bill's backstory-- enough to intrigue us.
But who is "me"? is he also a Cherokee? Some other tribe? Is he even a he?
--------------
Scratcho,
"Once Upon A Time in Hollywood" got me a job writting a film under direction of a Studio System Producer. And She preaches '"Backstory, backstory, backstory".

Hence my response.

 

The other incident that comes to mind with me and Bill ,the incident that provided a reason for me to stop and seriously consider whether it was worth giving up a portion of my health by hanging with him--happened on another warm summer night.

It was serious,but could certainly have been much more so.I digress.

As you may have surmised,Bill was an interesting character that had some qualities unequaled by anyone I've known since.Or before ,for that matter. His family members ,including his two brothers ,his sister and his parents were quiet people.Just as I had learned over the years,native americans were taught to be.Never said much at all.Didn't need to say much.Stoic.Carried on with the daily routines of small town life--jobs,home making,attending summer league softball games --an occasional trip to the movies. Regular routines that all our families enjoyed in a dusty little farming town that did not provide much else. We were simple folks and didn't need much else,I guess.Then there was Bill.I met him when he was discharged from the navy and I knew straightaway that there was fun to be had around him--if you were carefull ,as I was to learn.
I say I met Bill--what I mean is that Bill was 24 or 25 and he sort of insinuated himself into my group of 15 or 20 friends that were in that odd place --that space in time that occurs when feckless teens don't know what's next,no plans whatsoever--just drinking and attempted sex that becomes uppermost on restless minds before everyone finally gets a clue. Eventually we all left--to destinations known and unknown. Bill never left.I suppose he was buying beer for the next group of young ones--and the next after that and so on. His famous entendres to young girls almost got him in trouble more than once ,but Bill stayed in town.I think he figured the town would be completely submerged in whiskey and in a very bad way if he didn't devote a sizable portion of his time making sure all were safe from such a fate. A Bill story would get to me through the friends with whom I stayed in touch now and then.

The last Bill story I heard involved Bill ,an apartment complex,several running Mexicans, and a chrome 45 caliber pistol. And some bullets.What I'll say about that incident is that it didn't pay to piss off Bill,Mexican or otherwise.

Bill and I were riding around one summer evening in his spiffy(does anyone say spiffy anymore?) '51 Ford with not much to do,except drink and cruise for girls hoping to surprise ourselves by actually having sex with them,which of course almost never happened in the 50s.Differant world.Oh,I heard rumors,but that was it.Anyway,we decided to drive to an even smaller town 10 miles down the road and go to an infamous joint called "The Black Cat" to replenish our beer stock.

The "Cat" was well known around the county for being the one place where the black folks and the Mexican farm laborers could drink and feel somewhat comfortable and not be subjected to the scathing looks of the whites in the local watering holes. That is until fights inevitably started --sometimes with fatal results.This was in the 50s.Differant world.Or maybe not.Be that as it may ,we pulled up and parked a couple dozen feet east of the door to the "Cat" and Bill went in. I was 18 and probably could have gotten in easily enough,but I stood next to the car ,smoked a Kool and listened to the pounding blues and loud voices emanating from the darkened joint.

Now,I have to say right here that some people you come across in life just have a way of making you mad--just pissing you off and there are plenty of 'em. Bill was one such man when he was on the drink.I have to confess--I would like to know how Bill got it done--but I never found out.I was ,as noted,subjected to the results of Bill's talent in that regard more times than I care to remember. It took about 60-70 seconds after Bill went in the "Cat" to hear a distinct change in the noise level from inside and about 10 seconds after that , Bill came out at a much faster pace than I felt necessary and as I noticed--no beer. As expected ,3 or 4 very sizable black men came out of the place ,matching the pace my friend Bill had set and they did not look very happy. They did look like they wanted to have a serious discussion with somebody.Don't mean to go overboard here ,but when men come boiling out of a place with balled up fists and tight faces --well--I call that serious. I was standing by the passenger door when Bill reached the car.He nudged me out of his way and reached into the car,opened the glove compartment and out came the BIG chrome 45. His next move was to stick that big gun right up against the closest man's forehead,which immediately froze us all in a frightening zen moment.I knew right then,that this night was about to get interesting.

 

Thanks guys.I have told some stories over the years in the Hippie forums,especially in the archives in "I accidently had sex with a couch".The "me" is me because the stories are true.The stories have endings--actually kind of funny endings,but maybe left to the imagination is better.

 

Your screenplay--nice Kay.Very nice.I can't wait to see it come to fruition.---------Joel

 

See,the thing is, I never would have wanted the early morning hour to end as it had.But it had.For once,I was responsible for the --uh--what I guess I should now call "the fiasco" instead of Bill,the usual suspect,the wild- ass Cherokee I ran with. Bill and I had sucked the life right out of a 5th of Jack beginning that afternoon and thereafter had engaged in about the only summer fun to be had in these parts.Bonfire at the river--girls,drinking, girls.And drinking.The incident in question unhappily unfolded when the hour was such that the sun would soon be peeking its' distant face over the Sierra Nevadas to the east and folks were slowly starting to exchange their hugs and drunken farewells and edge toward their cars to leave ,while others had called it a night way before us diehard partiers. Probably 8-10 friends were left,reluctant to go home in case something --anything-- might happen to set this night off from the countless others that came and went over the years.The same things always happened .Drunken teen age wastrels going home with sand in ass-cracks,smelling like smoke and half sick from drinking too much. Regular all american pastime as we saw it.

I must digress.I have to admit that there was a period in my life when I absolutely would accept any dare from anyone to do just about anything, short of maiming any living creature. That drive to show others how brave(stupid?)I was,ocasionally cost me in time, money and skin. I won't go into a litany of my often nefarious stunts,but let me say that the stunt I pulled this early morning cost me big-time. Really big.

to be continued---------------

 

Bump.

 

Ready to write?

 

Pretty soon. How be you?

 

Cont.from post 1

As I covered the ground between Bill's old truck and my former position ,where pleasant reverie had occupied the evenings thoughts merely seconds before,I knew I had to formulate some kind of plan and quickly.Hopefully, a plan that did not involve my cranium ,several fists and bodily fluids.Namely, mine. Now ,Bill was a fast one and had lengthened his lead to several yards over the hollering,running herd of his pursuers and was about to reach the door of our only means of leaving this scene ,which could only be described at this point in time ,as a major clusterfuck.

Being a fairly fast thinker,especially when my very hide was at stake,I remembered Bill kept his spare tire and concommitant repair apperati in the back of said vehicle. Therefore,my plan was formed,however tenuous ,as a tiny little movie running in tiny frames on a tiny little screen somewhere in the recesses of my adrenalen-fueled think-meat. As I neared the bed of our untrusty steed,I vaulted the side easily,grabbed one of the aforementioned implements,vaulted out the other side and began to test the bravery of some of our finest servicemen by smack and by god! I've not met many who care much for testing their bones-- or courage for that matter-- by allowing someone to smack them anywhere on their bodies with a tire iron! Well,these boys were no differant as far as that goes. I suppose those brave and upset boys didn't count on a wildman charging out of the darkness ,yelling , clearing one side and out the other side of the truck bed wielding a dangerous piece of iron. Their hesitation was just enough for my friend Bill to get our getaway vehicle rolling and to get 'er started and hie us gone!

I never knew exactly what Bill said or did in that little bar that night. You never knew. It just happened. It always just happened.But I can say right here and now--that wasn't the last time My friend Bill and I shared in similiar entertainment.

Bill's dead now.--------------------------wish I could have a beer with my friend Bill tonight.

 

Sorry I didn't break this up more

 

Bill died because he fell on his bike,mashed his plums and didnt do anything about the swelling--got gangrene-and had to have his plums and stick removed!! Still died from the infection,but he wouldn't have wanted to live anyway without his little generals. He was a rowdy bastard and I do miss him. Moral of the story=if your plumsack swells up-don't except it as another phase of puberty.

 

Thought maybe I'd bump this for noobs---hope you enjoy.

 

Thought maybe I'd do it again---been reminiscing lately.

 

hahahahahahahaha-read on,bilches.

 

Oh, I'm shameless.

 

("...following now..." went the goblin)

 

Shameless indeed!!

 

Awwww--what the hell?