Storytime... (KISS)

...the twisted little way I have of writing...

Friday, October 05, 2007

that old oak

Yeah, it's been a while. And what a story to tell.
So it started that night with a random meet up with one of the old family. He was part of Blane's power croud; the guy was sore that I had the family now, not him. He was one of the resistors. He thought I wasn't doing the right things with all the money. Yada yada... But when we met up with him, he seemed almost pleased to be there, rekindling connections, talking to us. Something had to be amiss, but I wasn't complaining. We went, as per his suggestion, over to another friend's house. Denny was a sweet guy, adament smoker and all was going well, we were talking cars and business, passing around the joint and having a few beers. I was the sober one... again. And when we left; rather hurriedly because the blue lights were announcing it was time to bolt, I told him he wasn't the only one I'd ever slept with, I'd ever loved. I hated telling him now, but I knew I had to tell him at some point. He got mad, didn't even give me time to explain that It wasn't like that. I give my affections to a lot of people, all business, all for one common goal between the two of us. I really only wanted to be with him. He got pissed and stomped on the gas. With the car spinning out of control, we created enough of a distraction. The cop followed us and Dare had a chance at getting away his own way while we baited the blue to us. The problem now was how to loose the heat. I didn't mean to piss him off that much, he liked me I knew, but with wheels screetching and gravel flying, we pitched sideways up an embankment and through the woods. He kept going through a field and a back-yard ball-park until the lights were a distant memory. I told him to slow down he was going to get us killed. He said it didn't matter, why would I care and fuck me. He said I didn't give a fuck about him so why should he slow down. I tried to clam him, talk to him, but words only made it worse. Screetching tires around a turn and down a back road. I knew the turn comming up was too sharp, we were dead meat. I would have grabbed the wheel and stomped on the break but this wasn't the time or situation for it, he was already pitching to the side and nothing I did at this point could help. I held on and watched as the tree came into the hood, he went limp against the steering wheel and in the dark of night I watched as bark and splinters flew everywhere... I thought I'd seen something just before the tree. I didn't have time to see if there was or what it was. Shutting off the car, I quietly cursed myself for the knee-jerk reaction. I just hope it starts back up again later. I crawled out of the car and stretched. Everything seemed fine. Looking over and over the car it was only a slight mash in the bumper - looked even driveable. Going to his side of the car he was still out, I shoved him over to the passenger seat, climbed in and tried the key. Started back up. Backing out, I saw minimal damage to the tree, it was like we didn't even hit it at all.
Later I learned why. It was because we didn't hit the tree, there really was something - rather someone - I'd seen, and they weren't very lucky that night. Thanks to them, we were. With minimal fiberglass work and a coat of paint, the bumper looked almost brand new, and no one could tell it was us who hit that tree. Some night. Poor guy, the papers practically martyred him against drunk driving and the local youth culture. Some local bum, street-walker, ex-cop. Well at least we didn't take out a kid or family with it all. I felt bad, and still bring a rose to that tree.
He ended up literally in that tree that night. I never thought bone versus wood would work out that way, but I think there is still a chunk of rib lodged in that old oak. At least when I visit I stare at it and I think that's what it is.
hit counter download
Tracker Raven