Are you doing all right?

     

    "Yeah", said Ben,"this is basically a sports chair, I can lift it into the car easily and I'll pop a wheelie for you after I've had another bourbon."

    Dutch had been driving to Chicago and stopped at Ben's house outside Tulsa. They had been fraternity brothers at Yale in the Sixties. Dutch was divorced and Ben's wife Ginger had died three years earlier.

    "I admit that I'm shocked to see you in that chair", said Dutch, "how did it happen?"

    "I was driving to Houston to a woodworking show and a stupid girl came right at me on a two lane road, I had no place to go."

    "Must have been awful", said Dutch, downing a beer and sitting uncomfortably on a day bed opposite Ben.

    They traded stories until late afternoon when Dutch began to rub his right wrist repeatedly, seemed distracted and kept looking outside at a gathering fog. Ben figured Dutch wanted to get back on the road and said, "How about another beer?"

    "I've got something I need to tell you" Dutch said, "and I'm glad you can't swing at me".

    "I know about you and Ginger, she told me years ago. I don't own a gun and I can't hit you from here but come closer and I'll throw some bourbon on your crotch.

    "I'm sorry", said Dutch.

    "We were all screwed up back in L.A.then", said Ben, "I had it coming. Fact is, I'd like to screw around now and can't."

    "That's not what I wanted to say", said Dutch, "you know I worked for the company".

    "I don't know that", said Ben, "but how did it go in Laos and how many Arabs did you have to fuck over before you got sick of it?"

    "Just listen to me", said Dutch, "I've never told anyone this and I can't sleep for more than four hours before I wake up in a cold sweat. This stuff stinks on you for a lifetime. I was in that salt mine in Iraq. I killed an old man, stroked out on me. We tortured a fourteen year old. I can't get this shit off me."

    The two of them sat for the better part of an hour not saying anything, a fire burning itself out in a small wood stove. A chill set in, Dutch was shaking, rubbing his wrist. "I can't get rid of these feelings", he said, standing and reaching for his wind breaker.

    "Look, Dutch", said Ben, "you can stay here, I've got a spare room all set up and some left over casserole from the lady next door."

    "Thanks", said Dutch, " you are the only guy I know who I can talk to." He walked straight to the door, opened it and disappeared into a night mist.

    "Jesus, what a day", Ben thought to himself. He wheeled over to a wall unit mounted on a sliding track, reached up and pulled it down. Inside was a mini wood lathe which tilted forward so Ben could work from his wheel chair position. He was turning a project for the lady next door who had chipped a leg on her antique cherry table with a vacuum cleaner.

    "That poor damn bastard", he said to himself, "I wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now."

     

    Oxy Mora.  12/19/14

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Comments

    Dedicated to fellow daggers after a hectic week of news and such.. As Smith once said to me, put it out there, cause if not now, when?


    Well done, Oxy. Thank you.


    I really appreciate that, barefooted.


    This is the type of tale that makes me wonder why so few men could say NO when it mattered. Their tortured tales of regret mean nothing to their victims.


    Good point. Thanks.


    What a wonderful piece of writing.  Bravo Oxy!


    Thank you, Smith.


    I like this too!

    Dutch is a prob because it always takes me back to Ronny?  hahah

    I can't get rid of these feelings!

    Although I still have thoughts about Ginger?

    Thank you

     

     


    Much obliged, Day.


    Good one, Oxy.  I've often wondered how torturers must feel when they hit the light of day and realize what they've become.  As you write, the "stink" must never go away.


    Thanks, Ramona.


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