Tramping, part 14. Art by measwell.
I was in Key West now for days doing who knows what, and enjoying it. Making friends, singing with Pedro at Mallory Square while everyone watched the sunset. Many businesses downtown would close for this, makeshift signs on the doors that said “See you at sunset!” and most took that daily break. A lot of tourists were confused by this routine pause of the industry they supported but we didn’t care. The customer can be right later.
Dad would be gone now and then, too, often with Cheri. If they were away together on business I'd stay home, tending to Captain and Farfel or other peripheral help. I remember once a coded phone call had me getting cash out of the safe and driving to meet them briefly in Miami, handing it off, and going right back home to wait for further developments should they arise. No details asked or given, just glad when they made it back.
The Ponderosa was our refuge. We'd hang out mostly at their place or, with our separate houses, not. Cheri and I got along better as time passed. Honestly, I wasn't part of the program at all when they got together and at first she really didn't know what they were dealing with, especially after my Ohio episode. She was an attractive woman who seemed used to men giving her lots of attention. I was, as my standard, courteous and considerate, but something of my naivety and indifference to impress seemed to also baffle her.
She may also have been less comfortable at times with a feeling of isolation on the property, especially when Dad was gone too long which could add to that anxiety. I think she was used to a much more social setting but hadn't established a lot of friends here yet. They were doing a lot of drugs, especially coke, which can be isolating too. It can add to thinking of what may seem like great ideas for the moment, but often not great in retrospect, and too often the idea was chopping up another line. Not something I did a lot of, but they… okay, I did a lot too but didn’t like downers. Had my share of nosebleeds, but this is a minor and major league comparison.
I should be clear, I don't advocate recreational drugs for anyone. There are so many factors to consider and everyone is different in many ways, metabolically and otherwise. Some people are allergic to peanuts, some eat them a lot and some can't get enough.
We may have had enough. Dad returned one night so I left them alone but while sitting on my porch balcony later I heard a loud argument, getting louder, coming from their place. After quite a bit of this Dad came storming out and quickly drives away, tires spewing rocks from the driveway, very uncommon.
I go back downstairs and she opens the door. I'm asking what has happened and she says kind of nonchalantly that he took the gun and going somewhere to kill himself but I shouldn't be alarmed, it's divine providence. Come in, and she'll explain. We'll do a line. There's no use chasing him because he is probably off the island soon, possibly going to Islamorada, or somewhere, she doesn't care.
She begins by saying their argument concerned recent relationship difficulties and she felt it was time to end their time together, which is news to me and from what I had just witnessed, news to him too. She soon elaborated that it felt like she and I might be a better union. She began citing divine providence that led to her outlook on this, and if that wasn't bizarre enough she began referring to biblical references, the Rose of Sharon and King David in particular. Really odd because this religious talk had not really come up before as part of our general conversation. She started undressing while talking about the Song of Solomon which had been one of my favorite poetic dialogues until then. I knew she was high, but thought she had gone mad at this point.
I walk out. This was very confusing to say the least. Dad drives back as I'm walking to my place and walks into his house to see Cheri standing naked by the open door. He walks in, she runs in. The door slams shut and a great row begins inside with both of them yelling with turmoil soon added and articles being broken. I run back down at this and they stop when I come in, both of them broken up and down and torn. She slumps on the floor with a broken nose and he walks away with some heavy scratches on his face and arms. I help her get dressed quickly and tell Dad I'm driving her to the closest hospital over the seven mile bridge in Marathon, but I'm coming back. Stay here. On the way, she's not talking. I stay to see that she is taken care of and go back to the house. He is drinking and distraught from the situation and his actions, as well he should be, but that he's not going to be killing himself over this. Frankly I am not assured, and wonder what the hell just happened. No information is given except she's a stupid bitch.
All three of us were already scheduled to fly to the Caymans the next day, business. As usual, I don't know the particulars. Early that morning I drove back to the hospital to check on Cheri but she had gone. Back to the house, no one is home. I find Dad at the airport waiting on the flight, stoic, so we fly with an empty seat between us. We don't talk much at all. It was supposed to be a week and he stayed in his room mostly, coming out the third day to talk with the Colombians and keeping up appearances, and privately seemed to be coming out of his funk to a degree by the fourth day, when he flew home early. I stayed the rest of the week, getting some peace and my own shit together.
When I return, he seemed to be, well, not okay but out of the danger zone. He had a lot of paperwork and money laid out on the kitchen table and was getting some of his affairs in order, likely preparing for any backlash from their brawl situation. He seemed vehemently indifferent and closed to me. There was nothing I could do and thought it best to leave him alone. I went to Key West for a couple of days wondering what was next. These are completely uncharted waters. Overall, not a good time.
I came back the next night and found my place had been quite trashed in my brief absence. Hm. That’s odd. Downstairs I knock on their back door and Cheri opens it, spits in my face and pleasantly but without smiling tells me to come in. Dad must have been doing some work because he was standing in the front room with a hammer, raising it over my head saying that he's killed better men than I, and I have ten minutes to get my shit and myself off of his property, and out of their lives. I'm not sticking around to debate. No freaking clue what has happened here but this was serious and I took the chance to leave and live.
I didn't stay in town long, wondering what will happen when we meet again here, whether this can be resolved or should I be concerned about being dropped off in the ocean at night. I finally decided to just leave and go back to Ohio to sleep in my old spot in the barn. What the fuck did she tell him? How high were these people?
This was quite the upheaval but we keep moving forward, yes? Back in the homeland winter was on. I stayed a few days on the farm and played with my old dog, Stupid, then set up with Bones again. Jan and the kids had left, so the spiritual malaise had spread up here too. I see. Dark times for all, then.
One of Bones’ frequent visitors, Yahoo, suggested I help work on a house that he was buying. He wanted the downstairs to be his new tattoo shop and I could start a stained glass shop. We would teach each other our skills.
The house was in Houston, a nearby small town in the same county, pronounced Haus-tõn. Two stories, with two bedrooms upstairs. Downstairs, the center front door opened into the small foyer. Inside on the right was a door with my new stained glass design interspersed with crystal pendants for those decorative interests, operating in the daytime, and on the left a door that looked like it may have been kicked in, broken and set on fire at least once. This was the tattooing area, often open at night. Yin and Yahoo.
This was the early 1980s in northwestern Ohio so skin art was not a popular fashion statement as it later became. The clients were a rough crowd and occasionally those who wanted to be daring, mostly young guys from nearby towns and farms. The room for this was in the back with a pool table, weightlifting equipment and a punching bag for clients and their guests. They almost always brought onlookers. I also brought in one of my prize antiques, a white porcelain barber chair with black leather from the 1920s, according to the manufacturer name and date on the fancy metal footrest. Growing up, Mom took us to auctions and barn sales a lot, I had a few items. Our farmhouse looked like part of an overstuffed museum.
I practiced tattooing on potatoes. Cut one in half and needled at it, cut that in half to gauge the depth. It was odd because I have a deep aversion to needles. Blood isn't the problem, but needles… ew. Don't know why. However, this was just decorative work and I could overlook it.
I did help on our farm for planting season and in Houston tattooed about 20 clients that spring and part of the summer but really wasn't enjoying it. A young farmboy came in with his friends and I overheard him talking about how pissed off his Mom was going to be but he'd just turned 18 so she couldn't stop him now, he always wanted a tat. The image he had in mind was his car with the words “I love my Chevy” on his right bicep. I suggested something else, because this is permanent, dude, and believe it or not, you might not love this car forever. Also, I heard you talking about your Mom being mad about this so instead, how about “I love Mom” in traditional form like an old sailor style. This way she'd be pissed that you got tattooed but would love the message. It's a mindfuck. He liked that idea, then asked that I add a picture of a pig which I did with a heavy sigh.
I missed the Keys. I was thinking of a visit to Key West and seeing some friends there for my birthday but not stopping at Dad's this time. A unique opportunity for this arose with Yahoo. He had an old car, a Mustang, maybe, I forget, that he'd put a lot of money into but he couldn't sell it at the asking price. He surmised that if it was stolen and wrecked, he would collect insurance and be done with it. I could drive halfway to the Keys and fly back from there later. It's a plan.
A solar cigarette lighter is a slightly concave shiny metal disc with two tiny prongs pointing up from the middle that vertically holds the cigarette above. Combustion develops when the sun's reflection from the disc centers on the end of the cigarette. If placed on a car dashboard with flammable liquid spread about on the cigarette and car interior in the early early morning hours of a rural field in South Carolina, this allows time for walking offroad several miles through dark dense forests where demons must exist to a truck stop on the highway, and hitching a ride with a commercial truck to Savannah, GA, before conflagration develops from the sunshine before noon.
Savannah is a beautiful place with huge ships going by on the river. I did enjoy taking some time walking around and seeing the architecture, spanish moss, oak trees next to palm trees, plus there are railroad tracks going through downtown which I follow out a few miles to a nearby train yard but this wasn't promising. A lot of fuel cars, no open box cars and now it's getting dark.
I keep following the sets of tracks, I don't know exactly where I am but decide it will be hitchhiking time, wherever a good spot to start that is. The train yard area here is now fenced in but I see a lit road nearby. Parked just inside an opening is a police car, idling in the dark. Hey, maybe they can provide directions.
Approaching it from behind in an isolated train yard in the early evening with a backpack and an umbrella wasn't a good idea, I thought later. When I said hello it seemed to startle the officer and she jumps out of the car, hand on her holster, and told me to wait there while calling for backup. The tracks are private property, you shouldn't be here. They ask the standard questions of who, what, where and why am I carrying an umbrella (because I'm traveling and it might rain) and took me to a nearby guard shack to sit down to wait for another officer, who questioned me and sat with the first two to wait for another. Who did the same. When the fifth one came in to ask the same questions, I suggested he ask the others sitting there, the first two at least should have these answers memorized by now. After a small bit of conferring I was taken to the City Mission to stay for the night, aware that this could have turned out worse.
I left in the morning via the major highway and was lucky. Only one day and three rides later with a layover at a gas station in Port Orange and I was back in Key West with no other memorable instances. I went to Mallory Square to watch the sunset and sing.
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