LYNNE, MY SAUCY SISTER

I believe our friends become like our family at some point; that is, if they stick around long enough to get tagged with the moniker of "family." I have a few long-term friends who are the sisters I never was blessed with having. Some would say I was lucky because I missed having to share my clothes, toys and secrets with someone who could get me in trouble by snitching on me. While a sister might snitch, a true friend has lips so tight nothing can pry them opened. My sisters from another mister or two/partners in crime are Lynne, Margie, Lisa, Theresa, Carol, Joyce and Linda.

We meet many people throughout our lives and some of those people have a profound effect upon our lives and destiny. Some people enter and remain with us always while others enter and exit remaining just long enough to alter the path upon which we walk. Although Lynne faded from my life for a period of time, the footsteps she left has remained with me always. I'm truly grateful to Lynne because she entered my life at a point when I needed to be saved...mostly from myself because I was hell-bent on burning the candle at both ends. My demons had led me down a narrow path of darkened, self-destruction and then I met my savior, Lynne. There are many who would disagree with me by saying Lynne fed my demons, but those people didn't see how I teetered on the edge before she came into the picture. They didn't see how Lynne saved my life by befriending me, by extending her hand to pull me away from the edge, by giving me an alternative to my misery. They didn't see my pain, but she did. She may have never totally understood it, but she saw it and was there for me.

To say I was in awe of Lynne is a severe understatement…everyone was in awe of her! She was the quintessential woman every young teenage girl dreamed of being. I remember the first time I ever saw her. When I opened the kitchen door returning home from gadding about and walked inside my house, I heard voices coming from my brother, Brian's work out room. Ever since he had come back from Vietnam with the title of Heavyweight Champion of the 7th Fleet, he seemed obsessed with the three B’s: boxing, body building and babes. My middle older brother was Mr. Body Beautiful of Bangor, Maine (a fictitious title I gave him.)  Needless to say, he spent a lot of time pumping iron so he’d have a perfect physique. And oh, how he loved the females to admire him and yes, admire him, they did! I opened the door and poked my head inside to let him know I was home and also to be a little nosy. I wanted to see what female he had back there trying to impress with his biceps and other things!

When I opened the door, standing in front of me was a vision of everything I thought I wanted to be. She was a tall, dark-haired beauty with beautiful brown eyes. (Maybe Bob Seger wrote his song Night Moves about Lynne or someone like her.) Her body was perfectly shaped and she stood confident in her hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a shirt unbuttoned just enough to show some tantalizing cleavage. Her blue chambray shirt was tied in a knot around her midriff to show off her abs. No fucking way! Did she work out also? Later, I found out she was a go-go dancer at some local nightclub and that’s how she met my brother.

She smiled at me as she eyed me up and down. I guess I passed inspection or maybe I failed because she immediately took me under her wing. I thought it was only because she was dating my brother, but opportunities like that don’t come often, so I just played it cool and went along for the ride. Whatever the reason she had for befriending me didn’t matter to me. I was just a kid, but the road I walked on with Lynne gave me an education I’ll never forget.

Shortly after meeting Lynne, my brother told her to NEVER give me any drugs. NOT EVER!!! At 14, I was already experimenting with most illegal substances, but the availability seemed to widen immensely as soon as she came into my life. Although she never gave me any hard drugs and didn't do any herself in my presence, being in her inner circle gave me the contacts to get anything I wanted. She and I would occasionally smoke a joint together, but that was more a social thing to do than it was to get high. Smoking dope for me was never really any big deal…it was just something everyone did. Adults had their cocktails as a social lubricant and the younger generation smoked weed. From where I stood, everyone appeared to get lubricated somehow!

When my brother and Lynne broke up, we continued being friends. In fact, by that time we spent most of our time together. I was blinded by Lynne’s aura, but I doubt if I had seen my role in the grand scheme of things it would have changed anything I did. I saw Lynne as my ticket out of Bangor, Maine and so when she suggested leaving, I jumped at the chance. She was older than me and was street savvy. I felt safe with her and as long as I was with her everything seemed to flow in what appeared to be a positive direction.

Lynne and I developed a strange relationship on the streets after we left Bangor. I could do as I pleased without any questions asked, but she always insisted on knowing where I was. I complied with her request because she took care of me and for that I was grateful. The streets of Boston became my new playground and Lynne became my guardian angel and surrogate mother. I watched how Lynne operated and she did whatever she needed to do with the grace of a cat to support us, but I was on a need-to-know basis so many things just weren't discussed. I complied by not asking too many questions.

Eventually, I started doing stuff intentionally to piss her off because after all I was a snotty teenager. You know how teenagers can be! I pushed her buttons often, but she rarely got angry at me. I certainly deserved a swift kick in the ass, but she never gave me one. One evening while she was "out," I got into a poker game with a group of guys who lived in the same building as us. They liked to party and so did I. When I foolishly lost all my money, I got cocky and used Lynne as a bet. When I lost, I immediately had an “Oh shit!” moment. I couldn’t believe I had done that! I really caught hell on that one, but I deserved it. Lynne graciously paid off my bet and made the winner a very happy man. I never played poker with that group again but was frequently asked to do so. Go figure!

It was a fast crowd and although I was readily accepted into it, there was an unspoken rule that no one was to mess with me in any way. I was COMPLETELY OFF LIMITS! I simply became the one who everyone liked to laugh with, hang out with and get high with. And Lynne was the one they all lusted after. I accepted my role and knew my place. I never tried to actively change it because I knew what I would be going up against. But the day did come when I was noticed first and Lynne was virtually invisible. That day immediately changed everything and my path was permanently altered once again.

I look back on my time with Lynne in those early days with many emotions. It's hard to believe she's gone now. Her Golden Years were filled with some major health problems that eventually led to hospice care and ultimately, her death. The waves of grief that consume me come at odd times and luckily most of them are when I'm by myself so as the flood gates open, I don't have to explain why I'm crying. 

Story to be continued...

MY SECRET ADMIRER

After moving away from Pensacola in 1985 to get a "clean" start someplace else, I took the summer to get my head together and to figure out what I was going to do and how I was going to do it. One day while my children and I were at a secluded spot on St. Joe Beach, I spotted a man walking towards us in the shallow surf. He had long dark hair and dark, piercing eyes. Tanned and shirtless, he effortlessly navigated his way through the shallow surf. As he approached, I saw he was dragging something behind him on a line. My kids got excited when they saw all the fish he had caught. He stopped so they could investigate his catch.

As they frolicked in the water playing with his fish, he sat on the beach making smalltalk with me. As he eyed my lean, well-oiled body, I kept expecting him to make his move, but that never happened. When he left I watched him walk away until he was no longer in sight. It wasn't until that moment, I realized we hadn't even exchanged names. It was just a random meeting that meant nothing, but it remained stuck in my head for some reason. Who was that mystery man? Each day, we went back to the same spot, but I never saw him again. It really was just a brief meaningless encounter. By the end of summer, the trips to that secluded spot on the beach came to an end with the start of school. I also had taken a job at a local motel on Mexico Beach and worked my way very quickly from maid into the general manager's position. 

The owner, who was more than burnt out seemed eager to relinquish her duties to someone capable and willing to be manager so she could do other more important things like shop until she dropped and visit her daughter in Tallahassee a few hours away. As my life settled into the sterile reality of life without drugs, I seemed to work more and more until my life was filled with little else. One morning Robin (one of the maids) raced into the office to clock in before going to work. Before leaving, she turned and quickly told me I had a secret admirer almost as an afterthought. As she stood there waiting for me to respond, I noticed she had one of those "oh girl, you're gonna get it" smiles on her face. I looked up from the desk and coyly told her that I accept roses from all my secret admirers. What else could I say? 

The idea of having a secret admirer seemed ludicrous, but the very next day, a dozen long stem red roses were delivered to the motel with a card saying "I accept candlelit dinners!" I immediately looked around to see who was watching me. Was I on Candid Camera? I even wondered if one of the guests might have sent them. At first it felt creepy, but as I looked at the roses throughout the day I felt flattered and wondered what the man was like who had sent them to me. Curiosity got the better of me and by the end of the day being manager was at the bottom of my list of priorities. I had a new mission. I needed to meet my secret admirer. 

When Carol and Robin (mother and daughter) came to work the next day, I cornered them for details, but all they would tell me was that my secret admirer was a house guest of theirs from New York. He was family friend who was visiting and who had made some very typically male comments about me when he saw me a few times when he had dropped them off at work. I saw my interrogation wasn't going to net me any real information, so I was going to have to keep my eye out for this man, so I could discreetly check him out for myself. When I got home that evening, there was another dozen roses waiting for me with a card saying "Well?" 

I hardly slept that night wondering what thoughts were going through this man's head and what he wanted from me. I figured I knew what he wanted, but I guess what I really wondered was where all of this was heading. I had never played cat and mouse quite like this before and wondered if this was how it's done in New York. If so, maybe Florida wasn't where I needed to be! The next morning as I got ready for work, my thoughts were still on him...whoever he was. Should I meet him? If so, how should I meet him? Where should I meet him? When I went outside to leave, my car wouldn't start. Carol and Robin only lived a few blocks from me, so I called and asked if I could hitch a ride to work with them. 

Robin told me she'd be there in a few minutes to pick me up. A few minutes later, a car I had never seen before pulled into my driveway and sat idling by my backdoor, but no one got out! All of a sudden it hit me who was sitting in the car. My secret admirer had come to give me a ride to work! As calmly as I possible could, I walked towards the car and then hesitated before opening the door. As soon as I opened the door and slid into the front seat, this mystery man, my secret admirer wearing a huge smile on his face, asked me where I wanted to go. To my utter dismay, it was the fisherman I had met on the beach four months earlier. I asked him to drive me to the store before going to work if he didn't mind. 

He howled like a wolf in response. I laughed and thought I must be even crazier then he was to be in his car with him, a complete stranger. I made it to work eventually in one piece and without me asking, he was there to give me a ride home. He asked if he could look at my car, so I felt obligated to cook him dinner...no candles, but a meal that definitely started the ball rolling. For the next few days while my car was being repaired, he told me to use his car. Each day when I returned home, I fixed dinner and we seemed to fall into an easy way of doing things that felt right. He howled a lot and I laughed at him for doing it. And in those first few days, we had some of the most mind numbing sex I have ever had in my life. 

If nothing else, for me that definitely sealed the deal. Over and over again I asked myself, "Who is this mystery man?" And what did he really want from me? A few years later when the truth finally surfaced like it usually does if you wait long enough, I found out he had removed my distributor cap in the middle of the night to disable my car from starting. Our meeting from start to finish was just another one of his elaborate manipulations. When he let me borrow his car while he worked on mine, I discovered that he had a duffel bag full of laundry in his car that had somehow gotten wet. I asked him if he wanted me to wash and dry it before it mildewed and got ruined. He thanked me and said yes. 

When I had finished washing, drying and folding all his laundry, I asked him where he wanted me to put it. At that point, it seemed like a logical thing to ask since he hadn't left my house since the day I met him. He told me to put his stuff wherever I wanted to put it. I hesitated for only a second or two before walking into my bedroom and putting all his freshly laundered clothes away in the extra dresser I had in my bedroom. That decision started a 5 year relationship in which I learned that Italians and Irishmen are a fiery combination and one that would have been better suited by putting his clothes back in his duffel bag and sending him on his way. And as many times as I should have done exactly that, I rode it out for 5 years until I was just a broken shell of a person and all I had left was my very bruised survival instinct and shriveled ego. That bruised instinct was what finally saved me from my nemesis and secret admirer, the Anti-Christ as I affectionately called him. His real name was Sal and he was a very bad man.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART IX

If the mistakes we all make make and the regrets we all have were made into a game show, I think many people would stand in line waiting to be crowned king and queen. I think a large, shiny trophy to stick on a shelf as a conversation piece and dust collector might be a nice thing to have for all the time and effort we all devote to making mistakes and having regrets. I don't necessarily want to be crowned, but I want a trophy! Damn it! Wait a minute I do have a trophy. In fact, I have a few trophies. 

Once in awhile I stumble into doing the right thing. Although I truly didn't want to go back to Pensacola to give birth,  I did because it was the right thing to do. Changing my mindset to think of the life growing inside me FIRST before anything else didn't take long to accomplish. The remaining months of my pregnancy were spent getting healthy and preparing myself for motherhood. In my spare time, I couldn't help, but reminisce and wonder if all the abuse I put my body through would ultimately affect the child I was about to have. Everything I had experienced in the last few years was still fresh in my memory...sometimes too fresh! 

My mind didn't just linger on past lovers. I thought more often of my friends and the zany times we shared together. I can't help but smile when I think about the time Carol and I burned a cross in Gene's wife's front yard or how Carol would go topless on Panama City Beach like she was sunbathing on the French Riviera instead of on the Redneck Riviera. 

I couldn't help but smile when I thought of how we shamelessly flirted with Larry Gilley and Chip Coatney (one of many Coatneys in that area), but did so not because we wanted either of them. We did it because we could. We did it to give people something to talk about. And I guess we did it because we were bored and they always seemed to be around. One time we pulled them over just to mess with their heads. That act never required too much effort because it was like shooting fish in a barrel. I proceeded to rub myself all over Larry and told him I was getting him ready for Lana Carol (now, there's a great Southern belle's name) and believe it or not her last name was the icing on the cake. Lana Carol Duck lived conveniently directly across from the Cat's Eye and Larry Gilley "belonged" to her and Chip was her younger brother. In those days the  word "cougar" hadn't been coined just yet, but that's exactly what Lana Carol was...a hot mess who was an older blonde hussy with big boobs and a southern accent most Southerners would kill to have. When I used the word "foreplay," Larry looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Now, tell me how one goes about explaining what foreplay is with a straight face. At that point, the mood was gone and we sent them along their merry way while Carol and I laughed our asses off.

Two of my favorite Chip Coatney memories involved me playing strip poker with him and a group of people. Chip designated himself as being dealer and thought he was slick by cheating. I knew what he was up to, but kept my mouth shut. I just played along then told him I knew he had been cheating when I was sitting there as naked as a jay bird (how naked do jay birds get?). I earned his respect for doing that, but that respect was short-lived. Not long after Mr. Cardshark saw me without my clothes, he decided he'd annoy me one evening at the Cat's Eye. He kept razzing me until I had my fill. As we were told to take it outside by Leon Anderson, the owner of The Cat's Eye, Chip decided that calling me a "lanky-legged Yankee bitch" was a smart thing to do. It might have been a great strategic move for most people, but Chip wasn't a

fighter. Chip was a hemophiliac, and when I tackled him and we started rolling around on the ground in the parking lot outside, I told him I was going to make him bleed if he didn't apologize. Guess what? The thought of profusely bleeding and not being able to make it stop, made him apologize quickly. When in Rome, do as the Romans do! Be fierce! Be a gladiator! And never give up!

My list of doing stupid stuff included a trip to the woods one night to be shown an actual KKK meeting place. It was a small church stuck in the middle of nowhere and the inside was set up like a courtroom. The thought of white-hooded racists possibly showing up made it a quick trip. Being inside that place really did give me the heebie jeebies. Add going for a leisurely trip down the snake and alligator infested swamp (the local creek) with the sole purpose of shooting down hornet nests that were hanging from the cascading branches. The hornets were only part of my concern...what about the HUGE spiders, the water moccasins and the rather hungry looking alligators? All the rocket scientists I was with assured me that the swarm of hornets would fly the opposite way and not towards us, but to this day I don't know how certain they really were of that. To me that's called wishful thinking while being willfully ignorant. The odds were 50/50 at best and I guess that makes me a dumb ass for going along for the ride.

Do you know how you know know when you're truly fried? It's when you make a 14 year old drive a stick shift about 20 miles because no one else was able to do it. That same 14 year old tagged along most places with us because he was the younger brother of my current boy toy, Kenny Rowe. One night when all of us had our fill of Vincent, we made him go sit in the closet in my bedroom with the door closed. Everyone was surprised he stayed there and we all assumed he had fallen asleep. When Theresa came home, she went into my room to change her clothes. Let's just say Vincent feasted his eyes on seeing his first living breathing naked female and Theresa wanted to poke his eyes out for sitting in the closet with the door cracked open just enough to get a good look at her.  

Let's not forget the time Theresa thought drinking homemade moonshine was a great idea. What wasn't so great was how it took four grown men to get her out of the car. Moonshine will make you CRAZY and when you're already crazy to begin with, moonshine makes your inner redneck shine brightly.  Those four brave men (bless their hearts) got the shit kicked out of them and Theresa never remembered it the next day, but they did.

I remembered the toilet paper we would steal from the wayside park at the creek because when you're on a tight budget you have to cut corners somewhere. Sometimes it was either buy toilet paper or buy food (bologna.) Hmmm! It's not too difficult to figure out what we bought and what we ripped off. It was all good until we actually had to use the "free" toilet paper. Isn't it said that in life "you get what you pay for?" I kid you not that state of Florida spares no expense when supplying toilet paper for its public restrooms. Only the best for for our rumps. Let's just say the toilet paper was like wiping your backside with a course piece of sandpaper that had wood splinters attached to it, but thank goodness all of us became very skilled at removing sphincter splinters.

What story would be complete without it including someone who shoots any insects that find their way inside their house? Yes, you read that correctly. When it comes to oak roaches and if you live somewhere that oak roaches thrive, you know no matter who you are or where you live they will find their way inside. I think they like air conditioning! When it's 90+ degrees outside and almost 100% humidity, every living creature likes air conditioning. Now, you can cut down on the number of the little bastards that find their way inside by having an exterminator

service spray around the outside of your house, but things in Nub City aren't done that way. While visiting some people one night, we all were sitting around the kitchen table when an oak roach rudely made an uninvited appearance on the kitchen wall. The next thing I know, the resident gunslinger pulled out a handgun and blew a hole in the wall. I think the proper terminology for doing that is the word "overkill." 

Last, but not least, what story is complete without revealing a truly bitchy moment that doesn't paint me in a very favorable light? Yes, I know most of my stories don't paint me as Miss Pristine Princess. One day while we were "in town" we saw Gary Harris and Judy Wood just about fell over and most of the female in those parts chased after him. Yes, he was fine looking, but there was something about him that just didn't appeal to me. Maybe it was because he knew he looked good. The day before he had stopped me while I was taking a walk and asked me to ride with him out to Lucas Pond. His thinking was that the police wouldn't harass him between point A and point B if he had a girl in the car with him. He had a whole trunk load of weed to deliver, so in I got and away we went to Lucas Pond. I could tell Royce was surprised to see me with Gary even though I wasn't really "with" him. 

When Carol and I saw Gary the next day, Judy couldn't wait to invite him to the party we were going to have that night. I guess she thought by inviting him, it would give her exclusive rights to him and what I thought was that she needed a lesson in rules of the meat market. First come! First serve! When Gary showed up that night, I never gave Judy a chance to claim her prize. As he and I slid past her, I whispered to her, "Sorry, Judy. He's mine tonight." I really didn't want him, but for some reason I didn't want Judy to have him and he seemed more than eager to get me alone. What can I say? I was just smoother than she was and maybe she learned a lesson not to assume anything when it came to the meat market. Gary never spoke to Judy at all that night

    

and the next day she decided to go back to Orlando where she lived. Another one bites the dust! I hate when that happens!

For all of you who have made it this far...Part Ten is the last segment of this glorious year long tale of woe. At this rate,  it'll take me the rest of my life and then some to write my entire life story so my descendants can see the gene pool from which they come. 

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VII

The remnants of a broken heart linger for a long time. To cope with all those ugly feelings I felt I made myself believe I didn't want someone tagging along after me like a puppy in search of yummies. Just fuck me hard and go your ass home or wherever, but remember your way back just in case my itch needs to be scratched again. That's how I came off, but it wasn't really how I felt. Like anyone else, I wanted to be loved by a special someone...my special someone, but I was quite clueless when it came to making that happen so instead I threw up my wall and acted like an alley cat in heat. That was easier than admitting what I really wanted. I had myself convinced I didn't deserve to have a normal life with someone who loved me. It was definitely a dangerous slippery sloop! Yes, it was easier to be a saucy tart...it was familiar territory and I was good at it. The other option scared the hell out of me and I was clueless. REALLY CLUELESS!

With the holidays fast approaching I set up my monthly doctor appointments to fall so I could spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. That meant I'd be eating actual food instead of bologna sandwiches. My mother was a fantastic cook and I was really looking forward to all the goodies I knew she'd make. So off to Pensacola I went with an insatiable appetite and a bag full of dirty laundry. 

I was keeping my fingers crossed that my "Christmas" follow-up appointment would be my last since the pain in my abdomen was finally getting better. My mother chauffeured me to the base and patiently waited for me outside the examination room.  The doctor I saw wasn't who I had been seeing, but that was normal for the military way of life.  Patients got stuck with whatever doctor was available at the time. Rotations sucked and I hated it because no one was ever given the luxury of having their doctor get to know them. Patients were merely a number and a name and nothing more. I had been fortunate to have seen the same doctor for my last few appointments, but that had abruptly ended. Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

Now with my feet up in the stirrups and the white sheet strategically draped across my legs, the doctor readied me for a pelvic exam. I knew the drill, but liked it about as well as any woman liked being poked and prodded without any foreplay or a few kind words. This doctor took a little longer examining me than the last one had. When he was finished, he stood up and casually asked me if I knew that I was 4 months pregnant. What? Did I know what? I told him that I had been being treated for an ovarian cyst. The last doctor told me it was quite normal not to have a period, so I never got too concerned about it. As reality set in, I felt the color drain from my face and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What in hell was I going to do with a baby? Babies can't survive on bologna sandwiches and mushroom tea. When I left the room I was totally dazed and confused.  My mother took one look at me and said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" No lecture followed. No sermon. No interrogation. No bright lights and rubber hoses. Whatever followed would be entirely my decision to make...alone.

So what do you get when you have a lot of unprotected sex? BINGO! The previous idiot doctor had been treating me for an ovarian cyst. Did he get his medical degree from the University of Hard Knocks? Guess what, Einstein? My cyst grew arms, legs and a head and was eventually named Christina and nothing quite slows your roll like facing an unplanned pregnancy. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with any old friend from those days it all seems like yesterday. All our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VI

Shortly after my early September birthday, I developed a dull persistent pain in my lower left abdomen. At first, I ignored it hoping it'd go away because I was 19 and invincible. Around the same time several bursts of reality snuck into my brouhaha life. Jesus, I hate when that happens!  Nothing kills a good buzz like quite like reality.

First, if I wanted to eat on a regular basis and have a roof over my head I was going to have to get a job. My first attempt at doing just that was a complete wash out. I went to work at Christo's, a small five and dime store in Chipley and almost as soon as I was hired, I was fired. The reason? Are you sitting down? I wasn't wearing a bra. Hell, I didn't even own a bra, but it wasn't like I was flopping all over the place and wearing revealing clothing. Unless you really looked hard, my firm breasts pretty much stayed where they were supposed to stay. Of course, Carol and I had a good laugh over my plight. Other than putting me back at square one, it really wasn't a big deal.

Around that time, Carol and I opened our small circle to a third person. Theresa was a local girl, but we deemed her acceptable anyway. Our two became three and now, we were three unemployed females in dire need of employment. We heard Evergreen Construction Company in Chipley was hiring laborers so the three of us went to fill out applications and all three of us got hired.  No bras required! Thank goodness! Interstate 10 still had large gaps of unfinished road between Defuniak Springs and Tallahassee in which Evergreen was contracted to help remedy. Our primary function was to lay sod on the embankments to prevent erosion as the overpasses were built. The job was a real no-brainer, but it was a job and it had its perks and disadvantages like most jobs. But what do all construction companies have in abundance? Men! Men with great tans and hard bodies! Oh boy! This was going to be fun!

I almost believed that the pallets of sod that were delivered to us were purposely full of fire ants just for our male coworkers entertainment. Yes, fire ants bite men, but when swarmed by a colony of pissed off fire ants, men could peel off their clothes without much commotion involved. With us women, as the ants swarmed and bit us, it involved being yelled at to strip down quickly in front of a cheering audience. If you ever encountered fire ants, you know that they dictate how you react and the speed in which you react. If you aren't familiar with them, trust me you you're better off staying that way.

Now, for a brief lesson on fire ants... If nothing else, always remember fire ants are called that for a reason!

This leg is just a tad bit hairy to be mine.

Fire ants can turn a blissful afternoon outside into an itchy, burning stream of misery. Recent testing of fire ant venom suggests that the venom contains poison that affects the nervous system. This may explain why some fire ant sting victims report hallucinations (and here I thought it was the mushrooms) and other similar symptoms, particularly after getting a large number of stings. A fire ant sting often begins with an intense pinching or burning pain immediately after the sting. This pain is relatively

short-lived, lasting anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. Next comes itching or burning that may be mild or intense. Itching tends to get stronger over the next few days. Fire ant stings produce a mark that sets them apart from other insect stings. The wounds are pus-filled blisters that are round and may look like pimples. Oh boy! Fire ant "acne" sounds like fun, doesn't it?

It wasn't long after we started working there that the foreman took a liking to me. First, let me tell you that it wasn't a mutual admiration. He wasn't ugly, but how he handled himself turned me off completely. He thought offering me an opportunity to learn how to operate heavy equipment would get him in my pants. What it got him instead was being told to go fuck himself instead. In hindsight, knowing how much heavy equipment operators make, I probably should have fucked him deaf, dumb and blind. Oh well, live and learn!

A couple of our fellow crew members immediately became our friends. Willie Van Lanningham (a typical, long-haired, country boy hippie) paired off with Theresa. The set up was supposed to be with me, but I passed because I was busy stirring things up with the oldest son of one of Washington County's finest. Kenny Rowe was a year younger than me, but with the thrill factor added in he more than made up for what he lacked in experience. Kenny's father was a deputy sherriff and it was oh, so fun helping to corrupt his first born. My unlikely pairing with Kenny started one night when a bunch of us were hanging out and Kenny and I went inside the store at the same time to get a Coke. The cashier commented on us being a cute couple because we both were wearing jean jackets. I guess we looked like the Bobbsey twins to her.  We looked at each other and said WTF? Neither one of us had anything better to do at the time, so why not do nothing together? We left the store arm in arm and stayed that way for awhile.

Carol paired off with Gene. And yes, Gene was a married man who whined all the time about his marital discord so Carol took pity on him and told him he could come live with us.  I often wondered if Carol had a death wish. At the time we first met Gene and Willie, Carol and I lived in a mobile home way out in the boondocks. The area was referred to as The Sand Hills.  Paved roads only existed in town. Everything out in the Sand Hills stayed dusty all the time except when it rained and then driving on those dirt roads was fun. Carol drove like a seasoned stock car driver. No terrain seemed to slow her down very much. She loved doing donuts on those slick roads and scaring the bejesus out of me.

One the advantages of living out in the middle of nowhere is that you could hear a car approaching for miles. One evening, as we listened to a car approaching we wondered who was coming to pay us a visit. We had already chased off all the regulars and was just about ready to call it a night. Had one of them forgotten something? When the car pulled in the driveway, I said, "OMG! It's Janice Arrant!" Carol flew to her bedroom with instructions that she wasn't home. That left Theresa and I to deal with Janice. Thanks a lot, Carol!

As the anticipated knock came on the door, Theresa and I just looked at each other. Neither one of us wanted to deal with Janice's nonsense, but I opened the door only to be greeted by a smiling Janice Arrant who was all by herself. Wait a minute! Wasn't Janice Arrant Psycho Bitch #2? Curiosity got the better of me, so I invited her inside. Janice was on her way to Panama City Beach for some serious partying and wanted to know if we wanted to come along. Just for a second, my brain seemed to short-circuit. What? She wanted us to do what? Why would we want to ever do anything like that with her?

I quickly regained my composure and thanked her for the invitation, but told her that we worked and had to get up around 4am each day to get to work on time. That explanation seemed to satisfy her and she left as happily as she arrived. Or as the old Southern saying goes, "She got glad in the same pants she once got mad in..." When Janice was no longer in site, Carol reappeared and the three of us speculated as to what she was up to and decided she had wanted to take us off somewhere and splatter our brains all over the countryside because we all knew she didn't really want to bury any hatchet unless it was to bury it in the back of our heads. The likelihood of one or all of us going off to "party" with Janice Arrant on a scale of 1 to 10 was about a minus 30.

One of the many bursts of reality we encountered on our way to official adulthood was that because we were employed and had our own place, everyone thought our place was party central 24/7. The problem was that our job really did require us to get up before the crack of dawn. Now, if you party until 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning that only leaves time enough to shut your eyes before your have to open them again. We learned quickly that working out in the heat all day required some TLC afterhours. We decided to tell everyone that our place was off limits during the work week, but let's just say that went over like a fart in church. Everyone just looked at us like we were speaking some foreign language and that we smelled foul. From that point on when we got ready to go to bed, we'd go regardless of who was sitting in our livingroom. We thought moving to Chipley to be closer to work might help, but the party and the party animals followed us. By the time we moved, Gene was living with us and Willie was there most of the time when we weren't at work even though he didn't officially live with us. 

The year was 1974. I remember eating a lot of plain bologna sandwiches and actually liking them. Often those bologna sandwiches were washed down with psilocybin mushroom tea from the mushrooms Gene and I had freshly picked earlier in the day. Gene knew all the best mushroom picking cow pastures and we always had fun goofing off. I guess when you’re young and stay perpetually high, eating anything tastes great even when what you eat is washed down with putrid-tasting mushroom tea cut with kool-aid in attempt to hide its horrid "earthy" taste.

So we moved from the desolate Sand Hills to a small 2 bedroom house on Highway 90 in Chipley, Florida (population: approximately 3,000).  That small move was like moving from back hills of West Virginia to New York City. My bedroom had these weird peacock curtains. Looking back, I really think those curtains were symbolic of my life and times…loud, proud and wowed. We would fell asleep each night listening to Lynard Skynard and would awake to Bad Company singing good morning to us. And in between there was sex, sex, sex…lots of drugs and a few bologna sandwiches to keep our strength up for all those midnight rodeos.

By the time, we made the move to Chipley the pain in my abdomen had gotten worse. I was beginning to get concerned and realized I wasn't invincible after all. I finally broke down and hitchhiked to Pensacola to see a doctor at the Navy Hospital. I was still considered a military dependent until I turned 21 unless I got married before then and the chance of that happening was even less than the chance of me going off partying with Janice Arrant. The Navy doctor examined me and told me I had an ovarian cyst and that it most likely would go away on its own without having to be drained. He put me on medication and wanted to see me again in a month. I wasn't

supposed to do anything considered too strenuous in that time period. I guess that meant I wouldn't be pushing Carol's car off as she put it in second gear and popped the clutch until further notice. I don't know if that contributed to the pain I was feeling, but I was ready to follow the doctor's orders and get back to my normal running speed.  All I knew at this point was that pain is bummer and I wanted it to go away!

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART IV

I saw the writing on the wall soon after my association with Carol began. Life with Carol was never going to be dull or routine. Although I was not guilty of the whole married man thing (as far as I knew anyway), in the eyes of many I was just as guilty as Carol because I knew what was going on. That type of thinking seemed to escape my way of viewing things and I decided early into my Vernon experience that I’d have some fun with my guilt by association. Peggy McDade (Psycho Bitch #1) sent her minions out to do some feather ruffling one day. Carol and I had stopped at the local generic hamburger joint to grab some lunch. While Carol was inside using the restroom, Janice Arrant (Psycho Bitch #2), a fiery spitfire about 8 inches shorter than me approached me 
while I was sitting in Carol’s car finishing my lunch.  When she announced that she needed to talk to me, I looked up at her and smiled sweetly. I told her that I don’t like being disturbed while I was doing 3 things. For future reference so she would know my list of do’s and don’ts, I was courteous enough to list them for her. I believe in arming a person with facts so they can make an informed decision. I explained my "don’t disturb me" sign is up while I’m sleeping, eating and fucking" and I let her know if she had something to say to me she was going to have to wait until I was done eating and then we’d talk. She left in a huff! You could almost see the steam coming out her ears as she walked away. Score ONE for the Yankee. Later, I got mixed reviews on what many thought was a foolhardy action on my part, but I can say I didn’t get my head blown off for my little power play that day. Risky? Maybe! But it was definitely satisfying, too. By the time Carol returned to the car, harmony was restored and the potential volatile situation was diffused for the moment…

One of my most memorable moments with Carol was when she introduced me to The Cat’s Eye one evening. The Cat’s Eye was a typical small town honky-tonk. It was the only place adults could go locally for entertainment, but in doing so, one stepped into the arena of barroom fights and many other rowdy, redneck activities. What I didn’t know when we entered the bar, Carol had an agenda.  Carol always had an agenda!  She scanned the bar and then quickly introduced me to a pleasant laid-back Southern hippie with long curly blonde  hair and a gorgeous smile, then announced she had to go meet someone, but would be back before closing. She assured me that I was in good hands and asked Rickey Brooks if he minded "babysitting" me. He made some cute remark about how hanging out with a Yankee might ruin his reputation, but he agreed to make an exception this one time. Carol mysteriously disappeared after enlisting Rickey's help for the evening, but didn’t return as promised.  Was that part of some master plan to hook me up with Rickey? I never asked and at this point I can only speculate. I'm sure if I asked Carol today that she'd give the same sly smile she was famous for back in the day.

Rickey and I hunted for Carol after closing. We found her car, but naturally it was locked and she was nowhere to be found. I left a note on her windshield telling her to pick me up at Lucas Pond where Rickey lived, but I didn’t expect to see her until the next day. During the course of the evening, Ricky and I had discussed a wide array of topics which even included revealing our favorite breakfast food and he seemed pleasantly surprised that this long-legged 18-year-old Yankee hottie had a brain. He confessed that he had a preconceived notion about me before he met me and that he had been wrong. I was equally surprised by his confession. Rarely, do men reveal things like that especially when they’re hoping to get laid. You see, I had a preconceived notion also…I thought getting into my pants was his motive for being nice to me and was even more convinced of that when we arrived at his cabin on the pond.

Kindred spirits inhibited all the cabins on the pond. The only late night/early morning sounds on the pond were the low melodic hums that came from the music within each cabin coupled with the sounds of nature from outside. The pairing made for an interesting effect. Rickey’s cabin was silent…dark, mysterious, yet inviting all the same. I tried to imagine what lurked within and was immediately amused by his "conversation pieces" hanging on his bedroom wall. Before me was a collection of women’s panties arranged into a huge collage. He noted my amusement as he asked me to select what music I wanted to hear. It wasn’t long after I had arrived, when the cavalry showed up to "rescue" me. Carol seemed surprised that Rickey and I were totally engrossed discussing music when she arrived and not in the throes of passion. Eventually, the four of us fell asleep. Carol and Chip took Rickey's bed and Rickey and I slept on the floor with Goats Head Soup playing in the background. As the song Angie came on the stereo, Rickey held me close and whispered in my ear, "we need to try this again minus the company." I couldn't help but notice how good his hair smelled and made a mental note to ask him later what brand of shampoo he used as I fell asleep with a smile on my face. That was just one of many nights I spent in the peaceful solitude on the Lucas Pond, but only after telling Rickey my panties would never be on his wall. 



Carol and I were always up to something...one night we decided to liberate pumpkins from a closed road side vegetable stand. Why? Because we could! So we did! We loaded her car up completely and made our getaway towards Lucas Pond. As we got closer to the pond, we ran out of gas. Great! Here we sat in the middle of nowhere on a dirt road late at night with a car full of pumpkins and not a gas station open in probably 10 or more miles. In Vernon, the sidewalks were rolled up at sundown and stayed that way until morning. The only thing we felt safe in doing was to stay put until daylight and then walk to the nearest gas station. I guess neither one of us wanted to run into a rattlesnake in the dark. As we settled in for the night, a truck approached us and slowed down as it got closer. It finally came to a complete stop when it was parallel to Carol's car. It was Royce Anderson. He was Rickey's friend who lived in the next cottage. After he got done laughing at our antics, he told us to hop in and he'd take us to the

cottages with the intention of remedying our gas situation in the morning. Like two naughty children, we obeyed him. As Carol and Royce walked to his cabin, I stood looking at Rickey with a "girls just want to have fun" look. He put his arm around me and led me inside.

When Rickey met my brother, Brian and his family, he could hardly wait to leave so he could mimic all of us. I had to admit that his fake Maine accent was right-on and I laughed hysterically at him. He definitely could "pahk da cah" (park the car) with the best of them. We went to all the usual places couples around those parts went (like softball games and other outings) and whenever we ran into Rickey's friends he introduced me as "Gail." Gail? But my name was Karen. He explained he did that because he didn't want any of his friends to know my real name and he thought the name Gail fit me. Okay! So I played along. I was Gail. Or Gale (a very strong wind). The only place Rickey wouldn't take me was when he'd go to Panama City Beach to do some "business." He said he didn't mix business with pleasure and that his business was risky and he didn't want to risk me getting busted. I was cool with that. I hung out with Carol while he conducted "his business" and when he returned, he returned to be with me. Rickey was different from most guys I knew. He really did pay attention to detail and seemed to enjoy surprising me. Our very first conversation led to him surprising me by making me my favorite breakfast...steak and eggs. Just when I began thinking this thing with him had definite real possibilities one night he didn't come back. Then one night turned into another and another and I didn't hear anything more from him. I'm not one to chase after anyone, so I just let it go. I assumed he had found something better to do than to keep me amused.

One night about a month after I hadn't heard from him, a mutual friend frantically tracked me down to tell me that Rickey had been in a horrible car accident and that he wasn't expected to live. He had been thrown from his car and the car had rolled on top of his head.  I really didn't know what to do. Was I supposed to go to the hospital? Was I expected to go to the hospital? What if I went and some other female was there? There I sat with my new boy toy, Kenny Rowe and I was seriously conflicted.  I wanted so badly to drop everything and rush to Panama City, but I was frozen where I sat. I was afraid to face losing someone I cared about. I couldn't do that again. I knew I couldn't see Rickey torn up and barely clinging to life. Everyone present was so impressed that I knew Rickey and Royce because they had a very tight group of friends that rarely admitted new people into their inner circle, but I didn't go into any details. I just acknowledged that I knew them and when asked how I knew them, I just shook my head as if to say "not now"and looked down. My eyes were full of tears, but I just sat there and did nothing. I mean what could I do? So, instead of doing the right thing, I chose to do what was easiest for me. My actions that night are something I deeply regret. Rickey, wherever you are, I'm so sorry for not showing you that I really did care when you needed it most. I was a coward!

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART III

So how does one get properly "rubbed" in Nub City? I have to admit that being a Yankee was a definite disadvantage at times, but being fresh meat more than made up for being a Yankee. Hey, believe it or not, many Southerners are still  fighting the Civil War and I definitely enjoyed enlightening them about who won that war. Yes, this Yankee had big brass balls that made riding on her broomstick a difficult undertaking.

After spending the summer in Maine, As I previously mentioned, I traveled South with my two brothers, Jeff and Brian and Brian's family.  Brian had enrolled in a school in Northwest Florida, so instead of flying home at the end of the summer, I hitched a ride on the family caravan going South. The August days in Maine had already started to feel like fall, so when we arrived at our destination to find summer still alive and well, we all were happy.  After settling in, we explored what there was of a town and easily found the local swimming hole.  It was located at wayside park just outside of town on Holmes Creek.  Of course, we became the immediate center of attention.  As newcomers, we were objects of continuous scrutiny, only to be studied from afar and not approached...at least not yet.  We needed to be fully vetted first before any serious mingling could happen.

We arrived at the creek in a 1969 green convertible Mustang, top down and music blasting. The Yankees had arrived! When in Rome, do as the Romans do... so we took turns jumping off  the rope swing into the spring-fed creek.  I can't adequately describe the sensation of hitting that frigid water, but if you've ever done it, it's an experience you'll never forget.  When playtime was done, we loaded up and left the park as pristine as when we arrived.  As we sat at the park entrance waiting to turn out onto the highway, suddenly behind us appeared a bright red Chevy Chevelle SS with wide black racing stripes.  Inside were two young Southern gents who were obviously a little braver than all the others had been.  From the backseat of the convertible, I motioned to my brother to gun the engine and peel out as we left.  The Chevy stayed right behind us...close enough so I could see the faces of the two guys inside.  As I looked directly at them, giving them my best "hello boys" look followed by blowing them a kiss, I said to my family, "I wonder who these two jokers are!"  As soon as we crossed into the "city" limits and turned down the road on which my brother lived, the two jokers disappeared into the haze of the lazy summer heat. 

I was an eighteen year old new kid on the block in this small Southern town with a population of less than one thousand.  This new position wasn't exactly the position I had on my bucket list, but this position definitely had its advantages. I could tell by the inquisitive looks people gave us as they drove by my brother's place that they hadn't quite figured out who belonged with whom and what was going on inside. This was something I was used to by now and always liked the initial reactions I got when the truth finally came out. And the truth always did come out...eventually! But for the time being, I was going to savor the looks I was getting and just sit

back and let people wonder. Being the object of speculation sometimes can have very interesting outcomes. I think it might be described best as mental foreplay. And in this case, the outcome was not only interesting, but a lasting one as well.

My brother, Brian liked the game. He liked being admired. I laughed when he set up his weight lifting equipment outside in the front yard next to where he kept his customized BSA motorcycle. Not long after he started his daily workouts, the drive-byes increased. The brave ones did walk-byes and even waved hello occasionally. We'd been there several days, when early one evening Brian decided it was time to take a walk "uptown." We strolled through the center of what seemed to be a one-horse town...a post office, a grocery store named the Dixie Dandy, a small hamburger joint named The Burger Smith, a gas station, a convenience store and of course, a real live honky-tonk on the outskirts of town called The Cat's Eye. 

A group of locals were clustered around a bench placed outside the post office. The area was considered the town square. As we approached, the noise from the small crowd died down in anticipation. When we reached the group, Brian stopped and we introduced ourselves to the handful of people who seemed quite mesmerized by our presence. We chatted long enough to show them that Yankees could be friendly. As we left we knew we had given them plenty to talk about for days to come. 

The ice had been broken and now I was anxious to see what would follow. In the next few days I met another female who became my first friend in Vernon. Carol was from Miami and like me, she had found her way to Vernon under unusual circumstances. Maybe the fact that we were outsiders was what gave us an immediate common bond. From the moment we met, it seemed like we had been friends forever and at our age that title came with the subtitle of "partners in crime." We were two new females in a very small town.  That dubious distinction earned us the title of being new meat...me, a thinly sliced, medium rare piece of roast beef riding shotgun and Carol, a slightly thicker sliced piece of brown sugar cured ham was at the wheel of her white Duster.  From the moment I met Carol I had a hunch that our time in Vernon was going to be a learning experience for both of us.  Looking back now all I can proclaim is how right I was!

Seldomly, do we meet people in life that can give their friendship without a price tag. I was fortunate to have found a friend in that one horse town who not only loved unconditionally, but also withheld making judgment calls as well. Carol was a true free spirit. Yes, she had faults and it was one of those faults that heightened the danger factor of our friendship and made our time together always an adventure.

I tend to gravitate towards the edge. It’s where I feel most comfortable. Maybe it’s the suspense, the thrill, the uncertainty of the outcome that makes teetering on the edge so appealing to me. Whatever it was, that certain something was a definite factor in what kept a smile on our faces in those days. The day I met Carol, we headed off to Panama City Beach to have some fun in the sun. The guy Carol was "with" had a friend, so the pairing off was a given. I usually don’t do prearranged dating set up by a friend, but I was bored and in dire need of some male attention, so WTF?

That trip to Panama City Beach turned out to be one that stayed with me my entire life. Donnie Arnold was the guy I was paired up with and I can't honestly say if under different circumstances he'd be someone who would have piqued my interest, but that day he had my full undivided attention. Carol and Jerry McDade "disappeared" down the beach while Donnie and I frolicked in the Gulf of Mexico and had sex for the first time right there in the warm salt water. We laughed because I lost my underwear and pictured some tourist finding them later washed up on the beach. We could picture that person trying to figure out how some female lost her panties on the beach. I should have stamped them IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO OWNER (with my address in very small text.)  I did, however manage to hold onto my shorts, so I didn't have to exit the water bare-assed.

 

We stayed overnight in a house near the beach and it wasn't until years later that I discovered that Donnie's family owned many beach properties and also a motel somewhere on Panama City Beach. I wouldn't be surprised if it was named The Dew Drop Inn or something equally redneck sounding. Looking back, I'm fairly sure that the place we stayed was owned by his family because there was no checking in process and like magic, he pulled a key out of his pocket that unlocked the front door.

Donnie and I didn't really talk that much because we were too busy doing other things. Getting to know each other didn't seem to be high on our agenda. Our midnight rodeo lasted all night and by the time morning rolled around, I felt like I had been bull riding and the bull had gotten the better of me. YEHAW! It actually hurt to walk, but I was too proud to say anything. My only request was discreetly asking Carol if she had a clean pair of underwear I could borrow since I lost mine the day before. Ordinarily, I would have gone commando, but I was so sore my shorts rubbing against me made the pain worse. We all had breakfast and then headed back to Vernon. It wasn’t until that morning while we ate breakfast that I found out that Jerry was not only married, but was married to a legendary bitch in those parts. Rumor had it that his wife, Peggy would just as soon shoot you as look at you. Yes, birds of a feather flock together and just as free spirits (aka "saucy tarts") tend to seek each other out and form alliances, the psycho bitches of the world do the same.

The next day I tried to hunt Donnie down to retrieve my ring he had slipped off my finger and had decided to hold hostage. When he removed my ring and put it on his pinkie, I assumed that he did it as a way of seeing me again. He knew I'd come looking for my ring, but when I did, I found out he had been arrested and was in jail in Chipley. Carol, a guy named Chip Coatney (he was one of the "jokers" in the red Chevy Chevelle I previously mentioned) and I drove to Chipley to get my ring. We stood outside the old jail and hollered up to Donnie on the second floor to get his attention. Chip immediately started to razz Donnie about being in jail and put his arm around me as he gave Donnie a hard time. I looked at Chip like he had lost his mind and Donnie laughed at Chip as he threw my ring out the barred window. And that was the last I ever saw of him. I never did find out why he had been arrested and to be honest, I wasn't curious enough to inquire. I just went about my merry way and figured if he was interested he'd look me up when he got out of jail. Until then I turned the page and started a new chapter.