The 2009 Roadtrip: Part 8

Kiss—Sonic Boom

MoTW—Trick 'r Treat


12:15 am: After downing a cocktail of Nyquil mixed with Kahlua, my
screaming peters off to sporadic outbursts of whimpering. I feel I'm
ready to go back to sleep.

12:25 am: Which I do.

5:20 am: Wake up and watch morning tv after going outside in my pajamas
to grab a smoke. I don't give a fuck about much anymore, especially not
the strange look the desk clerk gives me. It's not like I'm naked.

8:15 am: The woman says that she wants to see the house where I grew up.
I told her I didn't want to revisit that nightmare anytime soon. She
gets her way by threatening me with a used hypodermic needle she found
under her bed. We agreed that we would drive by the house and wouldn't
stop since she cares about me a whole lot.

9:00 am: I'm showered and wearing a nifty new combo of Hawaiian shirt
and non-matching shorts. Off we go.

9:20 am: After admitting that I had recently been through a lot and
probably wasn't in the best shape to drive, I surrendered the car keys
to the woman. Off we go, yet again.

9:45 am: I'm surprised I'm able to find my home street after these many,
many years. Yet nothing's changed so I guess that makes sense. We drive
down the street and I point out the house. It's no longer painted black
and the windows are no longer lined with tin foil. The razor wire
surrounding the property is also gone. I guess things do change.

9:47 am: Yeah, this is good. The woman gets one of those wild hairs up
her ass and pulls into the driveway and starts honking the horn. I duck
down in the seat as she keeps pounding on the horn.

9:48 am: A guys runs out of the house holding a meat cleaver. I guess
it's my brother. Right behind him is a hunchbacked woman ably supported
by a chrome walker. Behind her is a distinguished looking gentleman with
muttonchops. Guess that's ma and pa.

9:49 am: My brother is waving around the cleaver and motioning the woman
to lower her window. She does just that and tells them I'm finally home.
He looks happy and shouts something to ma and pa and they look happy and
then we're all happy and the woman is giddy because she's gotten us all
together after all these years. We're invited in for tea and crumpets.

9:54 am: Back inside the home of my youth. Nothing's changed. Still the
same orange shag carpet on the floor and walls. Some things never

10:30 am: After out teacups and crumpet plates are cleared away by the
one-armed butler, I ask to see my old room. They seem confused by this,
not sure where exactly I stayed so I took them upstairs. My room was the
first door on the left way back then. Now it's a sex/reading room.
Bookcases filled with books line the walls with the occasional open
spaces taken up with handcuffs and chains moored to the wall. Actually,
while looking at this I hazily remember that my room was kind of like
this. Maybe one less bookcase and more Pink Floyd and Partridge Family
posters on the wall.

11:30 am: Finished the tour of the whole house and then alarms started
going off outside. Ingrid, the Swedish cleaning woman, told me it was
probably another escaped mental patient from the new insane asylum
recently built behind the house where there used to be a private pool. I
guess things have changed.

1:15 pm: We're told by the cops outside that it was safe to leave the
house, the prisoner had been captured. And by captured they meant shot
over 60 times on the front lawn.

1:20 pm: We shook hands all around and promised we would call and come
back again very soon.

2:00 pm: The woman dropped me off at the hotel and went off to do some
more shopping.

2:01 pm: Had a cool, refreshing smoke. Good thing I brough a carton
because there's absolutely no fucking way in hell I'm paying eight
dollars a pack in NJ. I'll stick with around five bucks a pack, thank
you very much.

2:10 pm: Back in the room and turn on the tv. Start watching something
about the mating ritual of the Siberian donkey and drop off to sleep.

6:05 pm: Woken up by the phone because it's ringing. It's not like the
phone would wake me up any other way, like yelling at me. I guess it
could wake me up if someone used it to bash me over the head. I finally
gave up thinking about stuff like that and answered it to a) stop the
ringing and, b) because that's what you're supposed to do since it might
be something important.

6:10 pm: Guess someone would think it was important. The woman's been
nabbed and some people want to talk to me or else I'll never see her

6:18 am: I go outside to smoke and think about my options.

COMING NEXT: Things take a turn for something or other.

Stephen Johnson

The idea of building a website with Bob came from Stephen in the days of message boards and chat rooms. We settled on the name and the rest is history. Retired since he hit the ripe age of 25, he spends most his time doing odd-jobs around the house and digging thru trash bins for "stuff that's still good." Stephen has contributed several short stories and hosted the "Lunatic Ravings" column since the beginning (1999). The idea of writing weekly columns came from Stephen before blogs or blog sites ever existed. So, I guess that makes him THE FIRST BLOGGER IN THE WORLD!!!

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