CandySlice
This is a Dark ride
This is one I wrote in 2005 and I think in retrospect it needs a little re-tooling.
All comments and crits are welcomed
EVIE
Tonight I sit on the horns of a dilemma and the left one is gouging into my butt making it hard to sit here and type. But choler drives me on, as it always does and I find myself a-straddle my chair banging out my frustration and venting some long over-due poison onto the key board that is gathering in a pool down by the Cntrl key threatening to blow out the whole system in a final flash of righteous anger-spawned green fire that will likely ignite the drapes and bring the whole Magilla crashing down around my ears : Just like everybody always said it would someday.
The object of my disgruntle is my friend Evie. We'll call her Evie for our purposes here. Right? And I'm writing this because I can't say it, which would probably be the thing to do because she needs to hear it. But not from me. Not now. Especially not now when I'm still wiping the foam off my mouth. That was a good fit I threw a while ago. I wish you could have seen it.
Evie is my friend and I'm a person that doesn't have an over-abundance of friends. Not because I'm not loveable, I certainly am, but my tenure on this planet has taught me to be careful about who I let in. Because people sometimes come at you under the guise of friendship or love when all they really want to do is feed .
Feed on your energy, your emotions, your bank account, your refrigerator~~ anything they can get at with their greedy, grasping little claws. I'm cautious. And that's not to say anti-social. I'm fiercely loyal to my true friends. They can count on me for anything from a ride home from work when they lock the keys in their car to a three A.M. call on a long dark night of the soul. I'll talk as long as they need. Listen as long as they want. But for the rest I'm mostly careful about how much energy, money, food and time I'm willing to part with. Vampires, even of the emotional variety have to be invited in so I don't leave the welcome mat out there any more. I'm not a kid and there isn't that much marrow left in these old bones to suck out.
On that note: There's not a lot about me that says 'Old Lady'. . . yet. Granted, I'm creeping up on 58, hoping it won't notice, but I ride my horse everyday and can still put up respectable numbers at the gym. I bench a light-running 125. Not bad for an old fart and I take Zero shit from those little tiny-hineys down there.
I've survived the Eisenhower 50's, Haight-Ashbury, VietNam, Nixon, the death of Jimi Hendrix, Voo-Doo economics, the birth of political correctness as a way of re-writing history and lying to ourselves, Bill Clinton's salute to the Presidency and the guy next door that pees off his balcony. And every now and then when some sweet, unknowing little yuppie larva asks me what an old gal of my years knows about Rock and Roll I tell them, as kindly as I can, that I attended the birth and I'm sorry they missed it because as far as I can tell it's dying a slow torturous death at the hands of Rap.
Okay. I'm calmer now. Possum The Cat, my life-partner these days is out from under the bed and the neighbor, he of the early morning urine ritual, has quit banging on the wall.
Evie.
Evie is two years older than me but just as feisty and fun-loving and I love her dearly. A great spirit has Evie. One I hope will see her through these next few weeks.
I met her in the early '90's when I moved in next door and backed into her car. She was freshly divorced, on her own for the first time in her life and about a self-destructive and angry as any woman I'd ever seen. Her husband, 'Bob' for our purposes here, turned 45 and did the predictable thing. Left her for a younger woman just at the time the two of them were about ready to start enjoying the fruits of a 23 year marriage, the raising of three splendid boys and the beginning of early retirement and extended travel. He hooked up with not exactly a trophy wife, rather a booby prize, who, as I understand it, is riding him like a demon from Hell, even as we speak. Good for her. We don't need to go any further into that. It's too late for him now and since about all we can expect to hear from that quarter is notice of the massive coronary infarction I'll leave that sleeping, twitching dog where it lies. These things have a way of working themselves out. Never underestimate the power of Karma.
Evie is one of those women who makes a truly great wife. And Bob's departure left her on the edge of madness. I was between husbands myself at the time and took a much more philosophical view of the thing, but poor Evie, married at 17 was a backwash of nerves and weird behavior. The very traits that can open my heart like the ejection seat on an F-111. Evie was a babe in a very deep, evil dark wood who'd never seen more of life than bake sales and PTA meetings, little league and pot luck suppers. I, on the other hand have lived a life of debauchery, gladly, and have seen plenty. Three times divorced, I keep pets longer than I do husbands and rightly so in most cases.
After I had my insurance agent fix her busted bumper we got to be friends and commenced running the clubs together. Fresh up from Florida and ignorant of Texas ways she taught me the two step and we went honky-tonkin' every weekend.
The drink was Crown Royal and that in vast quantities. Water back. Salute!
Evie, after the tears and mental breakdown had decided to throw her hat in the ring in a bid for town slut. Houston is a pretty big town, but Evie, at the time I met her had a good lead on all the competition. I say this with as much love as is humanly possible because I, of all fucking people, know just how wrong a woman can go behind a bad man. And to her credit, at 40 something, I would have voted for her. She was a shooting star. And her sense of humor, once she decided to smile, was exquisite.
She was the one who coined the phrase that still makes me laugh to this day:
'Forget about the motel. Just throw me in the back of the pick-up and screw me in the parking lot.'
I never actually performed that trick myself, and I'm citing lower back pain here as the only reason for abstention, but I wasn't with Evie every minute so I can't speak for her. And if she did? Then power to her!
Well, work schedules changed, she moved further away and the drinking and carousing dwindled down. You can only have so much fun and I was over my quota anyway. We stayed in touch, got together as often as life allowed, going antiquing, day-trips out of town and the occasional Crown Royal until six years ago when Evie called me to tell me there was a new man in her life.
I was cool with that because Evie is one of those women, like I told you, that really needs to be married. Or at least hooked-up in some meaningful way. She's a wife / mother / country girl right down to her socks and I was glad. Until I met Jay.
Jay, it turned out, was 25 years her junior. Which is still cool . . . I guess. I've mothered a few chicks in my time. But my take is that younger men should only be taken on by younger women. Younger men come equipped with too much bull-shit, too much drama and nowhere near enough balance between testosterone and common sense. I love 'em. I swear I do, but they are time-consuming and should be reserved 'For Entertainment Purposes Only'.
Jay is a big, hulking specimen and I got the connection straight away. Big. Imposing. Fast talker. Yeah. Evie had found a protector. And this is a very common dynamic with older, single women. 'Someone to watch over me.'
Fine.
Over the next two years I tried to like him. I really did. But, of course, I got to know him and you know what that means. The familiarity bred contempt of the most savage proportions and in case you might think it was jealously on my part then you need to talk to the rest of the family. They caught on to him quicker than I did.
Jay was and is the kind of guy who can't keep his mouth shut. The kind of guy who's always trying to run a scam and doesn't realize he's not the smartest person in the room. A phoney of monumental, Herculean dimensions. A liar of pathological proportions that will always be running a weak story on anyone that will listen, trying to promote the lie that he's either a member of the CIA or a 'connected' member of the Mafia.
Yeah. That guy.
Sooner or later everybody stumbles over one of these meat-heads. And gets onto them pretty quick. Everybody but Evie. She was blind to Jays bull-shit. Everyone else considered him a massive joke. Everybody except me. I know the breed.
When they married I took Evie into the bedroom, under the guise of pinning on her corsage and got down on both knees, I'm not exaggerating, and begged her not to marry him. That was my contribution to their union. That and a case of domestic vino. For the disposable wedding you give the disposable present. And after that I more or less disappeared.
I knew he was mean to Evie. And it broke my heart. From a distance. After he maxed out her credit cards, got her to sign on a loan for a house, (which he thinks he's keeping, but I think NOT ) he cheated on her in the most obvious ways because the Jays of this world are inept in all fashions except selecting and preying on one victim at a time. It got to the point I only heard from Evie when Jay had pulled another stunt. She'd be crying and distraught, I'd listen to her tale of woe and proceed to tell her but exactly what he was going to do next and Jay never let me down. He was as stupid and predictable as all his kind are and it made me crazy that Evie wouldn't see it.
It ruined our friendship . . .almost. Because like I told you, I'm fiercely loyal to my friends, even long-distance. But Evie's self-imposed misery was more than I could watch. And every time anyone tried to talk sense to her, she would just get more obstinate where Jay was concerned. An exercise in futility. And I'm not all that fond of that kind of exercise.
I knew what was coming, Hell yes! I knew. I knew what she would do and I knew what he would do so finally I quit answering the phone. For the sake of my sanity and the growing certainty that Jay was dangerous. Not in a cunning, evil way because cunning and evil denote a certain amount of intelligence. No. Jay was dangerous in the way a six-foot-three, 250 lb. baby with a razor blade in his hand is dangerous.
And again, Jay didn't disappoint.
Evie is in the hospital tonight. She finally found her voice, got up on her hind legs and lowered the boom on Jay so he beat the shit out of her.
She's at Spring Branch right now. In the I.C.U. Her oldest son is on his way down here from Austin and the boys who live here are out looking for Jay, calling for his head. But it won't help because her heart and her spirit are already broke and the sparkle has gone out of her eyes. Maybe forever. I hope they don't find him. It'll just mean more tragedy because someone will get hurt or someone will go to jail.
And nothing will do any good for Evie who lays there wide awake, trying to cry around a broken jaw.
I'm so mad right now I don't know what to do. But who, exactly, am I mad at ?
I guess I could lay in wait for the balcony pisser. He'll never see me coming.
Dylan
2005
All comments and crits are welcomed
EVIE
Tonight I sit on the horns of a dilemma and the left one is gouging into my butt making it hard to sit here and type. But choler drives me on, as it always does and I find myself a-straddle my chair banging out my frustration and venting some long over-due poison onto the key board that is gathering in a pool down by the Cntrl key threatening to blow out the whole system in a final flash of righteous anger-spawned green fire that will likely ignite the drapes and bring the whole Magilla crashing down around my ears : Just like everybody always said it would someday.
The object of my disgruntle is my friend Evie. We'll call her Evie for our purposes here. Right? And I'm writing this because I can't say it, which would probably be the thing to do because she needs to hear it. But not from me. Not now. Especially not now when I'm still wiping the foam off my mouth. That was a good fit I threw a while ago. I wish you could have seen it.
Evie is my friend and I'm a person that doesn't have an over-abundance of friends. Not because I'm not loveable, I certainly am, but my tenure on this planet has taught me to be careful about who I let in. Because people sometimes come at you under the guise of friendship or love when all they really want to do is feed .
Feed on your energy, your emotions, your bank account, your refrigerator~~ anything they can get at with their greedy, grasping little claws. I'm cautious. And that's not to say anti-social. I'm fiercely loyal to my true friends. They can count on me for anything from a ride home from work when they lock the keys in their car to a three A.M. call on a long dark night of the soul. I'll talk as long as they need. Listen as long as they want. But for the rest I'm mostly careful about how much energy, money, food and time I'm willing to part with. Vampires, even of the emotional variety have to be invited in so I don't leave the welcome mat out there any more. I'm not a kid and there isn't that much marrow left in these old bones to suck out.
On that note: There's not a lot about me that says 'Old Lady'. . . yet. Granted, I'm creeping up on 58, hoping it won't notice, but I ride my horse everyday and can still put up respectable numbers at the gym. I bench a light-running 125. Not bad for an old fart and I take Zero shit from those little tiny-hineys down there.
I've survived the Eisenhower 50's, Haight-Ashbury, VietNam, Nixon, the death of Jimi Hendrix, Voo-Doo economics, the birth of political correctness as a way of re-writing history and lying to ourselves, Bill Clinton's salute to the Presidency and the guy next door that pees off his balcony. And every now and then when some sweet, unknowing little yuppie larva asks me what an old gal of my years knows about Rock and Roll I tell them, as kindly as I can, that I attended the birth and I'm sorry they missed it because as far as I can tell it's dying a slow torturous death at the hands of Rap.
Okay. I'm calmer now. Possum The Cat, my life-partner these days is out from under the bed and the neighbor, he of the early morning urine ritual, has quit banging on the wall.
Evie.
Evie is two years older than me but just as feisty and fun-loving and I love her dearly. A great spirit has Evie. One I hope will see her through these next few weeks.
I met her in the early '90's when I moved in next door and backed into her car. She was freshly divorced, on her own for the first time in her life and about a self-destructive and angry as any woman I'd ever seen. Her husband, 'Bob' for our purposes here, turned 45 and did the predictable thing. Left her for a younger woman just at the time the two of them were about ready to start enjoying the fruits of a 23 year marriage, the raising of three splendid boys and the beginning of early retirement and extended travel. He hooked up with not exactly a trophy wife, rather a booby prize, who, as I understand it, is riding him like a demon from Hell, even as we speak. Good for her. We don't need to go any further into that. It's too late for him now and since about all we can expect to hear from that quarter is notice of the massive coronary infarction I'll leave that sleeping, twitching dog where it lies. These things have a way of working themselves out. Never underestimate the power of Karma.
Evie is one of those women who makes a truly great wife. And Bob's departure left her on the edge of madness. I was between husbands myself at the time and took a much more philosophical view of the thing, but poor Evie, married at 17 was a backwash of nerves and weird behavior. The very traits that can open my heart like the ejection seat on an F-111. Evie was a babe in a very deep, evil dark wood who'd never seen more of life than bake sales and PTA meetings, little league and pot luck suppers. I, on the other hand have lived a life of debauchery, gladly, and have seen plenty. Three times divorced, I keep pets longer than I do husbands and rightly so in most cases.
After I had my insurance agent fix her busted bumper we got to be friends and commenced running the clubs together. Fresh up from Florida and ignorant of Texas ways she taught me the two step and we went honky-tonkin' every weekend.
The drink was Crown Royal and that in vast quantities. Water back. Salute!
Evie, after the tears and mental breakdown had decided to throw her hat in the ring in a bid for town slut. Houston is a pretty big town, but Evie, at the time I met her had a good lead on all the competition. I say this with as much love as is humanly possible because I, of all fucking people, know just how wrong a woman can go behind a bad man. And to her credit, at 40 something, I would have voted for her. She was a shooting star. And her sense of humor, once she decided to smile, was exquisite.
She was the one who coined the phrase that still makes me laugh to this day:
'Forget about the motel. Just throw me in the back of the pick-up and screw me in the parking lot.'
I never actually performed that trick myself, and I'm citing lower back pain here as the only reason for abstention, but I wasn't with Evie every minute so I can't speak for her. And if she did? Then power to her!
Well, work schedules changed, she moved further away and the drinking and carousing dwindled down. You can only have so much fun and I was over my quota anyway. We stayed in touch, got together as often as life allowed, going antiquing, day-trips out of town and the occasional Crown Royal until six years ago when Evie called me to tell me there was a new man in her life.
I was cool with that because Evie is one of those women, like I told you, that really needs to be married. Or at least hooked-up in some meaningful way. She's a wife / mother / country girl right down to her socks and I was glad. Until I met Jay.
Jay, it turned out, was 25 years her junior. Which is still cool . . . I guess. I've mothered a few chicks in my time. But my take is that younger men should only be taken on by younger women. Younger men come equipped with too much bull-shit, too much drama and nowhere near enough balance between testosterone and common sense. I love 'em. I swear I do, but they are time-consuming and should be reserved 'For Entertainment Purposes Only'.
Jay is a big, hulking specimen and I got the connection straight away. Big. Imposing. Fast talker. Yeah. Evie had found a protector. And this is a very common dynamic with older, single women. 'Someone to watch over me.'
Fine.
Over the next two years I tried to like him. I really did. But, of course, I got to know him and you know what that means. The familiarity bred contempt of the most savage proportions and in case you might think it was jealously on my part then you need to talk to the rest of the family. They caught on to him quicker than I did.
Jay was and is the kind of guy who can't keep his mouth shut. The kind of guy who's always trying to run a scam and doesn't realize he's not the smartest person in the room. A phoney of monumental, Herculean dimensions. A liar of pathological proportions that will always be running a weak story on anyone that will listen, trying to promote the lie that he's either a member of the CIA or a 'connected' member of the Mafia.
Yeah. That guy.
Sooner or later everybody stumbles over one of these meat-heads. And gets onto them pretty quick. Everybody but Evie. She was blind to Jays bull-shit. Everyone else considered him a massive joke. Everybody except me. I know the breed.
When they married I took Evie into the bedroom, under the guise of pinning on her corsage and got down on both knees, I'm not exaggerating, and begged her not to marry him. That was my contribution to their union. That and a case of domestic vino. For the disposable wedding you give the disposable present. And after that I more or less disappeared.
I knew he was mean to Evie. And it broke my heart. From a distance. After he maxed out her credit cards, got her to sign on a loan for a house, (which he thinks he's keeping, but I think NOT ) he cheated on her in the most obvious ways because the Jays of this world are inept in all fashions except selecting and preying on one victim at a time. It got to the point I only heard from Evie when Jay had pulled another stunt. She'd be crying and distraught, I'd listen to her tale of woe and proceed to tell her but exactly what he was going to do next and Jay never let me down. He was as stupid and predictable as all his kind are and it made me crazy that Evie wouldn't see it.
It ruined our friendship . . .almost. Because like I told you, I'm fiercely loyal to my friends, even long-distance. But Evie's self-imposed misery was more than I could watch. And every time anyone tried to talk sense to her, she would just get more obstinate where Jay was concerned. An exercise in futility. And I'm not all that fond of that kind of exercise.
I knew what was coming, Hell yes! I knew. I knew what she would do and I knew what he would do so finally I quit answering the phone. For the sake of my sanity and the growing certainty that Jay was dangerous. Not in a cunning, evil way because cunning and evil denote a certain amount of intelligence. No. Jay was dangerous in the way a six-foot-three, 250 lb. baby with a razor blade in his hand is dangerous.
And again, Jay didn't disappoint.
Evie is in the hospital tonight. She finally found her voice, got up on her hind legs and lowered the boom on Jay so he beat the shit out of her.
She's at Spring Branch right now. In the I.C.U. Her oldest son is on his way down here from Austin and the boys who live here are out looking for Jay, calling for his head. But it won't help because her heart and her spirit are already broke and the sparkle has gone out of her eyes. Maybe forever. I hope they don't find him. It'll just mean more tragedy because someone will get hurt or someone will go to jail.
And nothing will do any good for Evie who lays there wide awake, trying to cry around a broken jaw.
I'm so mad right now I don't know what to do. But who, exactly, am I mad at ?
I guess I could lay in wait for the balcony pisser. He'll never see me coming.
Dylan
2005
