Hey Melanie!
I just ordered your diary
for a friend (Vickie). Anyway, the reason I'm writing (I DO NOT like
writing!) is to tell you about what just happened. I think you'll get
a kick out of it.
A couple of nights ago, I catch Vickie just
bawling like a little girl. That's nothing new; she can be such a wuz!
Anyhow, I say "Okay, what's the problem?".
"Nothing!" she responds between sobs. "Oh boy. Here we
go.", but hey, I'm not insensitive, okay? So I ask again, this
time in a less aggressive tone, "Vickie? I know it's not nothing;
that's not why people sob their guts all over the floor. Just get it
out. Believe me, you'll feel better."
Well, it goes on like this for a while - verbal
ping-pong. I'm not going to bore you with the details. Suffice it to
say that I finally got it out of her. Turns out she sent you an email
blabbing her insides all over the place and was - are you ready? -
"so sad because she hadn't heard back.". Now, I cannot
picture how anybody in his/her right mind could be upset over
something like that. I mean, it's not as if she broke a nail or
anything, right (ha ha)? She continues "Bill, I just read some of
this woman's diary and it resonates so deeply within me that ... it's
like, remember "Killing Me Softly"?
"Yeah, I remember it." I say, thinking
'please god, don't let her get into the "song metaphor
mode".
"Well," she continues, now dabbing at
the corners of her eyes, "that's exactly how that hit me. Her
words were my soul. All this time of confusion and disappointment and
finally, I read something that not only blew away the fog, it lifted
my heart. I felt I would reach out to her and she would touch me
back." Good god! Hey, don't get me wrong, I love Vickie deeply.
She's like a sister to me. But sometimes, she is so damn abstract and
dependent that it just pisses me off, like big time. I mean, she just
sticks out her chin and says "Take your best shot!". Jeez
Louise!
It's like that time when she was a kid, must've
been three; maybe younger, 'cause we were still in L.A. Vickie's out
front of the duplex on the tiny lawn and this bigger kid comes by
trailing a string of colored wooden beads. Dumb Vickie goes right up
to this joker and says "Oh, those are so pretty!". Can you
believe it? Of course, the jerk shoves her down on her butt and of
course, Vickie responds by crying. She runs in sobbing to Mom and
tells her and Mom like gets pissed big time and tells her not to ever
let anyone push her around. Right-on Mom!
Anyway, that was the timeframe when I decided it
would be the best thing all around to keep that kid away from society
in general. So, I found this little room and locked her inside. Now at
this point you're probably saying to yourself "What a
jerk!". But, I'm not. Really. I did it for her as well as myself.
Besides, I threw her a burger or pizza now and then. What the hell,
right?
Well from then on, things went one hell of a lot
better for me, I can tell you. I had friends and did all the good
stuff, right? We moved to Chicago and I got this Red Ryder bb gun.
Damn, what a neat piece of steel and wood that was! Now, I'm not
bragging but (well, okay, I am bragging) I'm not a bad shot. Like I've
got an eye and a half. I'd always wanted to kill something and I
decided I'd do a crow. But (wouldn't ya know it?) not a crow in sight.
But, I see this black bird up on a branch; must've been what?, maybe
thirty, thirty-five feet away. Now, I don't know how much you know
about Red Ryder bb guns, but M16s they're not, okay? Nevertheless, I
set my sights on that black dot and squeezed one off. Pow. Sonofabitch!
I hit the damn thing square!
So I walk over, fully expecting to see a dead
bird, but no. The damn thing is laying on its back opening and closing
its little beak almost like it's trying to talk to me. Now, here's
where it gets weird! I thought I was completely alone, but who should
pop out but ... you guessed it! Vickie! Damn! She's here now and she's
doing it again. Damn crying. She never was able to forget that bird
and she NEVER lets me forget it either. I never got to kill anything
from that day on. Just a minute.
There, I can write again. Anywell (as Grandmama
used to say), the genie was out of the bottle, as the saying goes, and
Vickie really started messing up my life. Now, you gotta understand
that I was tall and (hey, I'm just being honest) damn good looking,
and chicks were starting to notice me. It felt good; damn good.
But Vickie's like looking up at the sky and sniffing flowers and WILL
NOT go back into her room. What the hell. I figure, I'm bigger than
she is and what harm can she do anyway?
What harm? I'll tell you what harm! She finagles
me (don't ask how, I think she may be a hypnotist) into stealing into
my folks' bedroom and putting on one of Mom's slips! Now this is
embarrassing! I wouldn't be blabbering this to just anybody, but I
figure you'd "empathize". Hey, I'm not going to drag (sorry)
us both through the next three years. Let's just say they were hell.
That kid had me wearing everything from merry widows to harem pants,
plus makeup, etc. etc. etc. But finally (don't ask me how I did it) I
got her back into that room. This time, I put one hell of a tough lock
on the door, and cut a small slit where I could slip food to her.
Bitchin' job Bill! Thanks.
Hey, I'm supposed to be putting together a
business plan for stage-2 of this rocket and I'm writing a note? God
help me! Gotta go. Bottom line, Vickie's out again and says this time
she ain't goin' back. So I've got my hands full. You CANNOT, in your
wildest dreams, believe what this chick is doing to my life!
Sincerely,
Bill G.
Pssst. Hi. It's Vickie. I'm just sneaking this
line in at the bottom of Bill's email. Please don't judge him too
harshly. Guys can be such idiots, you know what I mean? He means well
and has a good heart; he just doesn't let it show that often. Bye ...
