Entry #422222, added on 04-28-06 @ 12:21 pm EDT
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PART TWO
Chapter 1
From Why to Whynot
Skinner half expected to find his house a shambles, as he pulled into the garage. Pleasantly, nothing appeared to be amiss, and he headed for the bedroom. Pressing the send button on the intercom, he shared the events of his day. He also told Quonah to expect him in the middle of the night. He did not want to take any chances that he would be observed when he slipped out of the area.
The next several hours were spent gathering a few of his remaining possessions, and once again reading the meager information he had discovered about Whynot, California. As he finished going through the information for the second time, he was amazed at how little there was. He felt like it was an accident that anything could be found. Almost as though a wall had been built around the place, and all that was known were guesses made by those on the outside. Finally, as eight o’clock made its appearance, he placed his gathered items by the kitchen door and returned to the bedroom to try and sleep.
Setting an alarm for two A. M. he lay down to rest. Convinced he would be unable to sleep, he knew it was important to get whatever rest he could. The shock of the, buzzing, alarm was like a glass of cold water thrown in his face. Sitting bolt upright, he fumbled with the alarm to turn it off, and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was amazed to discover he had slept very soundly and felt quite rested.
The ambient light from the face of the clock allowed him to find his clothing and shortly he was ready to depart. Just as he was ready to exit the back door he turned back and entered the laundry room. Taking the magnet from the dryer he went to the floor safe, and lifted the bottom plate. Gathering up the rest of his I. D.’s, and the remains of the thousand dollars, he replaced the bottom plate, and magnet. “Now,” he thought, “I am ready,” and slid silently out the door.
Making his way through the shed, and across the alley, Skinner found the pickup delivered by Rodger. The key was exactly where he had said to leave it and he stowed his few possessions. Taking a minute to look over the vehicle he shook his head. Rodger just could not suppress his inherent flair for the exceptional. A nineteen-sixty-four Chevrolet stepside 4X4 pickup, painted a bright canary yellow. “Nothing noticable about this ride,” he chuckled. The truck was equiped with a matching camper shell, custom mag wheels, and four inch lift. “Hell there isn’t a redneck north of the Grapevine who won’t remember seeing this beauty.” Thinking, “I hope it is true that the best place to hide something is in plain sight,” he made his way towards Quonah’s apartment.
Having no doubt the door was open, he turned the knob and entered. Quonah was wide awake, and he had prepared breakfast, and coffee. While they ate, Skinner gave Quonah his itenerary. Because of the circuitous route he planned, he informed Quonah it would take at least two days to complete the trip. He handed Quonah the extra I.D.’s, asking him to hold onto them for safety. For the next hour they discussed the events leading to his having to leave, and Quonah, added his cryptic insight.
“My friend, you are a good human being, and therefore a follower of paths of light. This part of your life is necessary, based on the paths you follow, so do not despair. All things will be exactly as they are supposed to be. Living it, like the true warrior you are, is the best you can do.”
Skinner had to admit he had no idea what this meant, however the words seemed to make the situation more meaningful. Thanking his friend, he made to leave. Before getting to the door he felt Quonah’s hand on his arm. “Here my friend you will need this cloak of invisibility.” Turning to see what the hell he meant, Skinner saw a new Stetson extended towards him. Delighted with the gift, Skinner thanked Quonah once again. Unable to contain himself he stated, “The only way it could be any better would be if it was bright yellow like the truck.
They both laughed and shook hands, Quonah added that Skinner should not be surprised, no matter what happened. Skinner pondered this advice as he walked to his truck. “One of these days it will all come together and I will understand what the hell he is talking about.” With this thought the engine roared to life.
Chapter 2
Feathering the Nest
The Neighborhood Café was a Bee hive of activity. Mel De La Casa had called a general meeting of the community, and this always produced an excited crowd. She felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body. Today she was going to make the single most important announcement since their founding. Time and again different ones had stopped and asked what this meeting was about. She had resorted to the age old obsfucator by replying, “This too remains to be seen.” Nobody complained at this phrase, for it had been used for decades to inform the members it was important, and they must wait for everybody to be present.
Twenty years earlier the back room of the Café had been expanded to the size of a gymnasium , and today it was clear it may have to be expanded again. Mel watched, as the crowd continued to swell. There was electricity in the air and everybody in the community could sense something monumental was going to happen today. Slowly the flood of humanity slowed to a trickle, and then it was time.
Mel stood and walked to the dais. It took all her resolve to hold to the established format, however, once started she knew this was how it should be. Business as usual and in that light she greeted those gathered.
“I believe today is one of the most important days since our founding. There is no sense in trying to pretend otherwise, for by now I am sure most of you have sensed this fact. Nevertheless, before we get to this announcement, it is important we conduct business as usual. We are an orderly society with a common purpose. This day could not have occurred without our dedication and adherence to our goals. That is why I shall adhere to our procedures once again today. I am honored to have been selected as your Neighborhood Sachem, and in that role I tell you we are an extremely successful entity. Just how successful will be demonstrated by the reports of our enterprise Sachem’s, so let us bring them forward for their information.”
Mel then hoisted an enormous book over her head and called on the first of the enterprise Sachems. Complete silence met this act, and there was not a person in the hall who failed to realize the significance of the gesture. Everybody knew of the existance of this book, however, never had any of them actually seen it. As A. W. Catlett and his wife Christine approached the dais a roar of approbation shook the hall.
Anybody, who was watching this response, could only take it for what it obviously demonstrated. Al, and his wife jointly held the position of Sachems of the farming enterprise, and in this community this was considered a foundation stone of their values. Quality of life was the driving force of Whynot, and therefore they prioritized food, water, air, as the foundation of this force. Al, and Christine were only the second Sachems to hold this position, however they had done so to the complete satisfaction of the community. This was important, for it was the community, which granted these positions and the community could take them away.
Holding up his hands Al brought silence to the room, and then he and his wife gave their report. Farming production would be up ten percent this year and thanks to the processing enterprise usage would again be one-hundred percent. This usage included a ten percent retained product to cover any shortages which might occur. This retained product was to insure the quality of life for their community, and cover any disasters, which might occur. This had always been their policy for this allowed them to maintain a one year supply of food for community insurance.
By time the meeting had proceeded through the list of enterprises from,food prosessing, utilities, commercial, cultural, and political, the crowd was growing restive. They knew these presentations were mere formality required by the by-laws of the community, and played little role in why this meeting had been called. In truth, Whynot was secretly the wealthiest community in the nation. After almost four decades of existance, the unique structure of this community had empowered every family to the level of millionaire’s. while this allowed a very comfortable life, the ostentation of the nation at large was not a factor here. If a reporter came, and interviewed any one of these people, they would have been amazed when asking about their personal goals. Universally they would be told none of it mattered unless everyperson on the face of the earth was likewise empowered, and they would not rest until this was the case. This desire was what this meeting was about, and all present knew today was a foretold day leading towards this result.
The final enterprise Sachem, having completed their report turned, and made this declaration, “I now give you our Neighborhood Sachem, once again, and the much awaited news she has to share.”
Mel rose, and approached the dais. The moment was greeted with respectful silence as all noted the book she brought forth. She lay the book on the dais, and opened it to a selected page. Looking about at the gathering of her friends she spoke: “As I am sure you are aware, this book is the writing of the Butte Wizard. This book has been entrusted to the care of your Neighborhood Sachem’s since the founding of our community. It is now time to make a formal report on the progress we have made towards meeting the requirements expressed in these pages.
She lowered her head, and read, ‘You must reach the number of two-and-a half million voters willing to speak as a single voice. This shall make you the single most powerful political factor in the nation. With this kind of power you can protect yourselves from persecution by the system at large.’” She looked up into the eyes of her friends, and informed them, “Through the auspices of, Whynot, Texas, Ohio, New York, and all the other communities of Whynot, we have done this.”
The silence erupted into a thundering round of applause, and this was just as quickly silence by her raised hands. Reading once again she stated, “There will come a Clarion, and when they come you will know them by these words written against the existing order of the world. ‘This system does not seek to cure the disease of crime, it seeks to profit from it. Until all people have been empowered by the system under which they live, this problem cannot be solved. Equality of value for all citizens must guarantee equality of the neccessities of life. For in fact these are the factors, or causation of crime. That is right, the simple expedient of wanting to participate, and be valued are the cause of crime, and until addressed it shall never be cured. This cannot be done until the people see this fact, and demand a change is made for the betterment of the society. At its basic value this can only be viewed as profiting by holding this percentage of population in slavery. As long as one percent of the population controls ninety percent of the wealth this shall never change.
"A fair redistribution of these resources is required along the line more fairly expressed thusly. Ten percent may hold, and have usage of thirty percent of the wealth, for this provides incentive for the advancement of humanity. Seventy percent must accrue to the remainder of humankind. This then gives acknowledgement to all citizens of our country, and of our world reducing any neccessity for crime. For when you are acknowledged and giving possession of wealth it is not likely you will jeopardize it by criminal acts against society.’”
Finished reading from the book she set it aside and held aloft a newspaper. “Now hear this,” and reading again repeated word for word the message previously read from the book.
She went on to tell her neighbors of the further instructions of the book. “When this occurs we are to send for this Clarion, and introduce him to our system. This summons is to be worded thusly,
‘There has never been a felony committed in Whynot, California.’ If this is the true Clarion he will not be in a position to refuse this call. This person will be the driving force in opening the shroud we have maintained on our efforts. We shall then begin the steps required to bring all humankind to the bounty that should be guaranteed to every citizen of the world. The summons has been sent, and we have been informed the man is on his way.”
This last information created an anticipatory mummur in the gathering. Mel informed them it would be their responsibility to protect the Clarion when he arrived, and all must be vigilant. “You won’t miss him, for he will be driving a bright yellow ‘64’ Chevy stepside pickup.” This got the laugh she knew it would and she informed the meeting this was not a joke. After a brief question, and answer session, everybody knew what needed to be done.
With final words of warning, “They will not be far behind him, so we must be ready to use all our power to secure his safety,” she dismissed the meeting.
Chapter 3
To Arrive, You Must Survive
Three-thirty A.M., and he pulled from the parking lot. Winding through the surface streets he made his way to an entrance on to the Hollywood Freeway, and headed south. Inspecting the interior of the truck he noted the detail that had gone into it’s refurbishing. All leather upholstery, and modern digital instruments surrounded him. If he had not been familiar with the age of the truck he would have thought it a new production. The powerful throaty hum of the engine informed him this was no stock power plant. Cruising at fifty-five he decided to step on it and check out its power. Instantly the truck leapt forward and the rear tires broke loose in response. “My God,” he thought this thing is a monster, as he slowly settled back to a comfotable fifty-five miles per hour. Making note of the modern sound system, he checked out the CD holder and was pleased to pull out Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks.” “Well this is going to be a nice trip after all.” As the music burst from the speakers, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. “How many copies of this recording have I worn out,” he wondered.
Ahead, the signs indicated the Santa Monica Freeway, and he entered heading west. Shortly he was headed north on the Coast Highway. Highway 101, and the dark waters of the Pacific Ocean could be glimpsed as he drove. His thoughts were on the music, and he wondered at the times he had driven ten hours straight without changing the album. He was sure, with this music, and a hand full of similar, “Perfect driving records,” he could drive forever. Carole Kings, “Tapestry,” Jimi Hendrix, “Experience,” Jesse Collin Young’s, “Songbird,” Steve Earles, “Guitar Town,” it just could not get any better.
The miles slipped by, and shortly he had passed through Oxnard, and made the change to Highway 33. Now would come the starkness of the Tehacapi mountains, and the barren reaches of the Coastal mountains, as he drove through Taft, and on towards Avenal, and Coalinga. A person would find it hard to realize that this route was skirting the greatest farming region in the world. Enormous farms were here, and watered by the California Aqueduct they produced more produce than any place on earth. Fields so large a man could put in a full days work making a single pass working the ground.
Skinner had often viewed this region, and he had never failed to be amazed by the perfectly straight furrows that disappeared into the horizon. No more clear definition of the value of water could be demonstrated than the remarkable transformation of this arid desert.
For the first time he thought of his situation. It was useless watching to see if he was followed, because he knew if it were the Feds following, they would be far to sophisticated to be seen. Hopefully he had managed to leave unobserved. This would only give him limited respite, for he knew they would find him. Distance, and time, these were his goals. If he could accomplish that, he just may find an answer, which would give him a way out of this mess.
The sign for Taft passed by his window and the skeletal remains of pipes and pumps, leaning derricks, told the history of the region. Here was the bedrock of the Getty fortune, made exploiting the oil once so plentiful in the area. The ghostly stalking derricks marched across the skyline, a stark tale of dreams, and hopes for the thousands who had given their blood to the soil. Many had come but few had prospered, once again the efforts of many had filled the pockets of the powerful. How sad the nations resources had never benefited the citizens of that nation. He could not help but think, “This was not what the founding fathers had wanted when first they wrote their remarkable documents, and brought forth this great nation.
He wondered if they realized that greed would produce the very thing so many had fled in the Old World. Powerful Princes and Barons, again had taken control, grabbing the heart of this great land for their own use. Of course they did not call themselves Princes and Barons, ‘But a rose by any other name.’ Well it had been a remarkable effort, and just how could it have been made more fair?”
As these thoughts swirled in his head it occurred to him, that, here was a whole new villian to beard. If he thought he was in trouble now, what would it be like to take on this topic?
Avenal, Coalinga, these once thriving oil towns now getting their life blood from the system he had written about. The justice system had placed a prison in this desolate region and this was the breath-of-life now sustaining their existance. He thought of cars and the love for them Americans had. If their cars were broken, how would they feel about a system, which passed laws against broken car’s, and locked them up rather than fix them. Oh, what an outcry would be heard, and people would rear up and throw out the rascals who proposed such a system. Yet nobody rose up, and proposed fixing a system which produced broken people. Why? He realized the answer was not all that complex. The new Princes, and Barons, or the one percent who controlled ninety percent of the wealth of this nation, would be required to give some of it back.
A quick shake of his head to clear these thoughts, and he decided to take One-Ninety-Eight to Hanford. It was mid-afternoon and he was tired and hungry. He would find a place to rest and eat in Hanford, and he would get these dangerous ideas out of his thoughts. As he traveled across the region he could almost imagine the beating heart of a great, ‘produce,’ giant thrumming in his ears. Here was the true wealth of the State springing from the watered desert, and he could feel the countless millions who’s life were sustained by the food grown here.
“What the hell was happening to him,” this thought came into his conciousness, and he pondered it for the balance of his drive. It was not turning out to be a trip of healing, and repairing the damage he had brought to his life. It was as though the drive was adding fuel to fire of discomfort first stirred by the offending article he had written. He hoped he could control these thoughts, because the last thing he needed was more dragons at, which to tilt.
The humor of the situation made him laugh, as he drove past Lemore Naval Air Station, for here in the driest of regions, our water forces were trained. A short drive further, and he was on the eastern edge of Hanford, and pulling from the Highway he found a neat but old motel in which to stay. As he registered he wished he had chosen one of the other ID’s under which to travel. Just as he knew would happen, the minute he registered as, “Jesse James,” the comments began to fly. When he had acquired this ID, he had thought it funny, now he realized it would be hard to remain invisible with this name. Assuring the clerk the town’s banks were indeed safe, and no he was not seeking work, and yes he was alone, he managed to escape with the key to his room. Hind sight being twenty-twenty, he was thinking that if he were flexible enough he would kick his own butt for his prideful act.
A quick trip to a near-by truck stop provided much needed food, and then to his room for the reflection and rest, which he knew would follow.
Admonishing himself to stop the thoughts which had haunted his travels, he dropped into a deep and refreshing sleep.
Chapter 4
Down Hill Run
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Skinner fumbled with the unfamiliar light. In the harsh glare he checked the time. Three A.M., and time to get on the road. A quick shower, and gathering his few possessions he stowed them in the truck, and backed from the parking space. A quick stop at the Truck stop for coffee, and some toast, and he was once again on Highway One-Ninety-Eight headed east. Very quickly he had crossed highway Ninety-Nine and was entering Visalia. Marveling at the growth of this, once little farming community he continued through town, and headed for Sequoia National Park. He was looking forward to spending an hour in the park. There was nothing he could think of that managed to set a persons perspective straight, better than standing among the ancient redwoods.
The winding entrance road had not changed and he slowly wound along the base of Morro Rock, and stopped to pay his park fees. Driving on to the lodge he parked, and got out of the truck. The café was just opening up, and he realized he was ready for breakfast. While awaiting his order, he could feel the power from being in proximity to the ancient giants. It was impossible for him to find the machinations of man very important, as a feeling of peace washed through his thoughts. His waitress, one of a cadre of young people who worked the circuit of National Parks, tried to engage him in a flirting conversation. Ordinarily he would have enjoyed the playful banter, however, his situation was not conducive to the ritual this morning.
Not wanting the girl to feel slighted he left a larger than necessary tip, and walked outside to wander among the trees.
The, “General Sherman,” a redwood of enormous size, and age was a requirement of any trip to this park, and he walked around it’s base. Scarred by the millineum it had stood sentinel over this area, it seemed to draw all the worries of life from his shoulders. He silently wondered at the thoughts of a person seeing these giants for the first time. Try as he might he could not recall his own feelings from his first visit. Quite likely they were a magnification of the feeling he now felt. Awe inspiring was his conclusion, and he smiled at the shock the first explorers must have had when walking from the brush, and viewing these behemoths. He chuckled at their nervousness, after-all if the trees grew this big, what were the people like? Paul Bunyon may have raised hell in Minnesota, or where ever, but he had never dealt with anything like this. As for his blue ox, well there is no doubt, “Babe,” would have just turned his back, and walked away.
The trees, having worked their magic, were soon disappearing in the rear view mirror, and he continued driving the loop, which would soon become highway One-Eighty, and lead him back to Fresno. Time, and miles, both seemed to fly by, and soon he found himself headed north on Highway Forty-One. Not wanting to deal with the thoughts of yesterday, he found himself playing mind games to hold them at bay. At first these games consisted of memories of his youth, however, this soon evolved into a game he often played, which he choose to call homilies. He had evolved this game to help himself defeat writer’s block, and over the years he had used some of these sayings in his writing. This had proven so successful a publisher had approached him about writing a book of these sayings, however, he had never taken the idea seriously.
He started this game by thinking of some of his more famous sayings developed over the years. “It does not matter what you think or believe. It only matters what is true,” and, “It is not the people at your feet holding you down. It is those standing on your shoulders,” one of his favorites was, “We are generally so lost in what we do, we confuse it with what we are, and fail to see what we can be.” He was amused that these simple thoughts had gotten so much recognition when he had written them. Over the years his writing had become known for these little quotable thoughts, and some of them had shown up in the strangest places. He laughed when he thought of the sizable income he received from a bumper sticker company, which paid him for the rights to distribute his sayings. It pleased him to think common-sense could pay so well.
Skinner was surprised to find he had passed through the western portion of Yosemite, and had connected to Highway Forty-Nine. He began to feel at home, for he was now in a part of the State with which he was very familiar. Sonoma, Angels Camp, Jackson, names from the gold rush, and known to all as the beginning place of Mark Twain. Bret Harte, and Mark Twain, both memorialized by the community of, Twain Harte. Surrounded by the history of his State he drove on to Placerville, or Hangtown as it had once been known. Soon he would be able to see the sentinels that all residents considered a sign they were home. The Sutter Buttes, standing like a signpost in the middle of the Sacramento Valley, for all to view.
Driving in to Placerville he thought on his current situation, and two thoughts came to mind. “It is easy to hide in a corn field, if you are a stalk of corn,” and, “When we gather our resolve, and turn to face our pursuers, we find ourselves looking into a mirror.” In his case he thought it would be great, if facing his pursuers, all he found was himself. Well, reality dictates this probably was not the case, and he entered the outskirts of Placerville.
Rather than head west into Sacramento on Highway Fifty, or east to Lake Tahoe, he decided to take the American River canyon to Auburn. This was a winding steep drive into the depths of the canyon, however it had been some time since he had visited Sutter’s Mill, and he was sure nobody would think he had gone this way. Reaching Coloma, and the site where Marshal had discovered gold he stopped at the monument to stretch his legs. This remote barely accessible site had produced one of the greatest migrations in the history of the United States. Right where he was standing the impetus for the settling of the west was set in motion. More than any other event, the discovery of gold had fleshed out the boundaries of this country. Walking back to his truck he thought on the drive to possess, own, control, which had always been the fuel driving this country.
Driving up the northern side of the canyon his mind considered if it could have been another way. What if the resources of the nation had been assigned to the citizens of the nation? How would it have changed the structure facing them today? Suppose the person discovering these resources had received a ten-percent discovery fee, and all else had been held as wealth for the citizens. Surely poverty would have been eliminated, and a more balanced society would have risen. The people discovering these resources would have become more wealthy than others, but this would have been alright. After all reward should be achieved for those who take the chances. This is what keeps society from stagnating. However to own all the resources could only produce a devisive society highlighted by the disparity between the haves, and the have nots. “Hind sight makes it hard not to be right,” he was thinking as he entered Auburn.
Fatigued from the arduous drive, he thought briefly of stopping for the night. Upon further consideration he decided to continue on until he reached Grass Valley. This was only a short distance further, and he would be in position to finish his trip with a short drive in the morning. Taking Highway Forty-Nine he completed the drive to Grass Valley in about thiry minutes. Too tired to sit in a restrauant he ordered take out, and found a room for the night. After eating, and a hot shower he was ready for a good nights sleep. In the early morning he would be home with and easy hour-and-a-half drive. This was his last thought as he dropped heavily into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter 5
The Green, Green Grass of Home
As the morning sun fought it’s way through the towering peaks of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Skinner was on the road. He drove with a sense of anticipation. Each hill, and valley brought him closer to that kernel of strength that existed within all people…Home. He realized this road was as familiar as a well worn path through the neighborhood, and he knew precisely the hill which would open the vista of home. As the powerful engine droned it’s climb, he broached the crest, and before him was a vision of hope. Rearing from the valley floor were the defining sentinels, he was there. The Sutter Buttes, like no other symbol heralded his arrival. He could think of nobody, having grown up in their pressence, who did not feel these thoughts. A tiny mountain range, alone, as beckoning arms welcoming home their children.
“Strange these tiny hills should evoke such feeling,” he thought. Nevertheless he knew a sense of peace. For here was his turf, and here he would win or lose this insane battle. “What would be the outcome? Why had had his words caused such a stir? It was never his intent to anger.” Confusion stirred the cauldron of his thoughts. Each swirling of his mind brought to the surface, not answers, but yet again another question. “If a wrong was preceived, was it not the right thing to do…Set it right?”
Skinner thought of himself as an explorer, his new horizons were the fabric of society. He researched, and thought. Read, and analyzed, in this adventure of discovery. He believed it was every citizens responsibility to strive for the best his society could be, and that, he felt, was all he had done. Hell, if he had been wrong, in his conclusions, why did they not just show the world this fact? There-in lie the problem, for clearly he had not been wrong. A megalithic fiefdom of punishment, and no real effort of rehabilitation. A nuclear reaction, feeding upon itself, and its fuel being a segment of society whose sole purpose was fodder for profit. “There had to be a better solution,” he thought, as he exited the foothills, and sped past the historical Seven Mile House.
Chapter 6
Anticipation
It was a good thing he did not blink or he would have missed passing through Hallwood, not that it would have mattered. Ten more minutes, and he was smelling the fragance of the Yuba County Dump, and entering the Eastern perimeter of Marysville. Highway Twenty ran into Ellis Lake, that is if you did not turn South or North. He, like most reasonable people took this precaution , and wound his way onto the Tenth street bridge. The Feather River divided the communities of Marysville, and Yuba City, with its border of water. One second you were in Yuba County, with it’s seat based in Marysville, and the next second you were in Sutter County, with it’s seat in Yuba City. For the zillionth time he found this curious, well he did have to admit, in comparison to the world in general this area was unique. Why outside of the county governments, a person could find pockets of remarkable common sense. Although these pockets were a shrinking commodity as the old-line farmers grew old, and passed away.
Eight miles west, and he was entering his home town…Sutter. Thank God there was still no stop light. These denizens of logic had not consigned their responsibility to a light bulb. Smiling from the relief of being home, he knew his time here was of limited duration. It was too commonly known this was his home. Many of his articles had compared the world at large to the values he had grown up with, and once he was missed, here is where they would begin to look. However, that was okay, for he would have time to get advice from his brother, and talk to his sisters. After all he did have an apology to make concerning invasion of diaries.
Three blocks from his family home he pulled up in front of a house. It was here that one of the original gang of adventurers from his youth now lived. Pipe, as he would always be known, would be surprised to see him. He walked to the door and knocked. As the door opened, memories flooded the faces of both, as they stood facing each other. The warm hand shakes and back slapping were soon replaced by a quick outline of their lives, and then Skinner told of his current situation. He closed by asking to leave his vehicle parked in front of his friends house. Pipe told him not to worry, and he should consider his home open twenty-four hours a day. He promised if anybody showed to much interest in the pick-up Skinner would be notified.
As Skinner walked the three blocks to his old homestead, he thought of the adventures he and Pipe had shared. he could not help but smile as he climbed the porch, and walked into the house.
R.W. Skinner, his brother, looked up somewhat startled, and then stated, “Thought you might be showing up, the big Indian said you had problems. Probably pissed somebody off…Right?” this brought laughter to both as they hugged, and shook hands. Skinner merely replied, “Yeah, probably did.” The rest of the evening, and far into the early morning were spent in discussing all the details of his situation. He managed to talk with both sisters, and fulfill his promise of contrition. By the time they were ready to sleep, Skinner had received promises of complete support regardless of the situation. While these promises were stated, in-truth he had never doubted that would be the case.
Before they retired, Skinner asked his brother what he knew of the town of, “Whynot,” and was surprised by the response. His brother was as confused as he, and stated this fact. R. W. had to admit he had never heard of the place, and was shocked to be told it existed only thirty miles away. With nothing more to say, they made ready to retire, and Skinner smiled as he prepared to sleep in his old room. Here he would sleep in his old bed surrounded by the minutiae of his youth. “Who says you can’t go home again,” was his last thought before falling asleep.
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© Copyright 2006 K. I. Smet (UN: k-i-smet at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
K. I. Smet has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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