Billie Jean

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Motown music was never my thing, I would have been more excited to see Jackson Browne or Eric Clapton, maybe Ry Cooder or Bonnie Raitt. One of the people that were the soundtrack of my own life. So on that night, 25 years ago, I wasn’t prepared to be blown away by this guy but, of course, I was. I remember speaking with my sister the next day and listening to the way this performance had affected her in a similar fashion. We had both been mesmerized, caught unexpectedly by this display of exceptional talent. Seeing an amazing artist in a peak performance like this, brings a realization of just how rare and unique these moments are and an even greater appreciation for a fleeting glimpse of the superstar moments that too often lay dormant in all of us.

You Bastard!

We immediately recognized the sound of Jon’s old Chevy laboring up onto the swale out front while Carla and I were having lunch on the back patio. Both Jon and his car shared a hacking cough that announced their arrival. He often stopped by unannounced, as I did with him.

Anticipating the click of the gate as he came through the side yard, I knew there was just enough time to take one last big mouthful of the warm chicken and cheese enchiladas with sour cream that we had reheated, leftovers  from last night’s dinner at Ned’s Southside.

Chewing quickly as Jon approached, I got up from the lawn chair to greet him, and partially stumbled forward with my head down, feigning an odd but unmistakable urgency. He had already begun to continue our conversation from earlier in the day: “That eyeglass place fixed me right up. The girl who adjusted my glasses…”

He didn’t finish his sentence before I blew out my lunch all over the grass at his feet, successfully splattering his shoes. Jumping back as I lurched forward falling into him sloppily and getting a bit more enchilada sauce on his right sleeve, he bravely tried to support me. As I was bending deeper and retching a few more times for dramatic effect, Jon started to recover his senses and say something when I stood straight up, grinning. “Care for some chicken enchiladas? They’re great!” He could only come up with “You bastard!” as I smiled and called Rufus over and pointed to the mess on the ground. “Here you go boy, lunch!”

Jon is so gullible, I'm always getting him with something and he goes for it every time, hook, line, and sinker. Like when we were squirrel hunting in the woods back in Virginia. Walking along an old path together, Jon hung back to water a tree. I saw my opportunity to scurry up ahead, and pulled a warm Tootsie Roll from my jeans pocket, popping it into my mouth, being sure to tuck the wrapper back out of sight into the same pocket. A few quick chews and I spit the glistening mess out onto a rock in the middle of the path. Dropping back again, and walking in tandem, the two of us came up on the rock. I pointed, “Oh look, animal droppings!” Jon stopped to contemplate the shape and size of the droppings, mulling over the unstated question of what kind of animal had left them there and when. I knelt down, “they’re fresh” I observed as I slowly pushed a finger into the largest piece. “and warm!” Jon started to squirm, “that’s gross, I hope you get some kind of animal disease” I just smiled as I lifted a large dripping chunk up for close inspection as I told him: “You can tell a lot about what kind of animal it is from the smell…and taste” Jon looked down at me with horror as I quickly popped a chunk into my mouth and started smacking my lips and using my tongue to mop a sloppy brown shit circle around my lips. “Tastes like Fox” I said. “Probably a Red fox but could be Grey. Definitely female though, and she‘s got kits!”  Jon started stammering.

Grinning like a fool, I took another big glob and was pushing it toward Jon as he stumbled backward. “Here, you taste it and see what you think.” He couldn’t scramble backward fast enough.

Later, even after I had cleaned-up in a nearby stream, Jon kept his distance, convinced that I had shit for breath and brains. He thought I had totally gone over the edge. It wasn’t until I pulled out another Tootsie Roll and offered him one that the truth dawned on him. I smiled a large chocolate grin as he turned red and lashed out: “You bastard”!

I’ve been doing the same stupid stuff to Jon since we were kids in the fourth grade. Why he thinks that just because we’re old now I wouldn’t pull such juvenile stunts anymore, I have no clue, He goes for it every time, getting red and very angry, spitting oaths at me about never again this and that. But he loves to tell the stories over and over throughout the years, and I love to hear them too. I’ve already got some great plans for his wheelchair, his toothbrush and a hidden camera in his bathroom when we’re eventually relegated to end our days in some nursing home. I love the guy and he loves me, and when I get him all worked up by pretending to be dead, I look forward to hearing him blurt out: “you bastard!”. That will be like the sweet sound of angels calling me home.

hmh

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing..

The “Defense Intelligence Agency”...DIA, I loved telling people: “I'm DIA” That's where I wound up when my college deferment ran out. I hustled my butt over to the Air Force and joined up before the Army got it's hooks into me. Then I opted for computer operations. In 1971, that was big stuff. The fact that there were few computers on the front lines in Vietnam hadn't escaped me, so that's what I picked. After some brief, and often pointless training (any of you guys remember “pass in review”?) I wound up assigned to the Pentagon in the DIA. We kept records on Red Chinese missile sites and Jane Fonda. Mostly I ran a huge copier on the graveyard shift making multiple copies of top secret documents earmarked for distribution to the big brass with a need to know. One night we managed to talk another airman, actually an airwoman, out of her panties and up onto the copier for a nice sit down picture session. Although we were always supposed to open the copier up after every run and pull the drum to wipe it clean of residual images, in the heat of our good fortune, we didn't. The next day the joint Chiefs of Staff were handed their top secret documents, just like every other day. But that day there were way more dots in the background of the text. Dots that if you pulled the document away and got some distance, became quickly recognizable to every man in the place. All of a sudden the picture came into view and any thoughts of Vietnam or Chinese missile sites were immediately shut down. Every joint chief began thinking with his reptilian brain stem... “Well Hello Honey!” I like to think that, along with my late night buddies, we helped to do our small part for the anti-war movement that day...or at least briefly shift the focus to even more important things...