Lesson learned

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Note to reviewers: There are two versions of the story here. The first is a heavily edited version which won honorable mention in a flash fiction contest. The second is the original. Please tell me which you prefer and why. Thanks.

Edited version:

I had to break into my own house. My girl – my ex-girl – was still living in it, and wouldn’t let me in when I got out of county jail. Said she wanted nothing more to do with me. I said it was my place. She said it was hers because she’d been paying the rent for six months. I said what about my stuff; she said she’d sold it to pay bills.

My old hound dog heard my voice and started barking in the background. “Shut up, Dawg,” she yelled. “Go away, Lacy. Don’t come back. You got nothin’ here."

“Gimme my dog,” I yelled. “Where’s my truck?"

No answer.

I found my truck back of the trailer where I was growing weed before they poisoned it. Now the field was just dirt. The back of the pickup was full of junk and dead leaves and the tires were flat. Probably the battery was dead, but I could fix that. I just had to wait.

So I just lay down in the back of the truck and waited until the lights went out and she had a chance to go to sleep.

I made no noise jimmying the back door – it wasn’t the first time, so the lock just pops out and you can put it back with no trouble. Dawg came out wagging his tail and whining.

An old bicycle pump in the truck pumped up the tires enough to get to a gas station. I swapped the truck battery for the battery in her car. Soon Dawg and I drove off into the night.

I’d learned my lesson and would start fresh. There has to be some land somewhere you can grow weed on, but I wasn’t going to have any dang undependable females involved this time.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Original version:

I had to break into my own house. My girl – my ex-girl – was still living in it, and wouldn’t let me in when I got out of county jail. Said she wanted nothing more to do with me. I said it was my place. She said it was hers because she’d been paying the rent for six months. I said what about my stuff; she said she’d sold it to pay bills.

My old hound dog heard my voice and started barking in the background. “Shut up, Dawg,” she yelled. “Go away, Lacy. Don’t come back. You got nothin’ here.”

“Gimme my dog,” I yelled. “Where’s my truck?”

No answer.

I walked around back of the trailer. My truck was there, where I was growing weed before they poisoned it. Now the field was just dirt. The back of the pickup was full of junk and dead leaves and the tires were flat. Probably the battery was dead, but I could fix that. I just had to wait.

So I just lay down in the back of the truck and waited.

When I woke up, it was morning and she had already gone to work or whatever she was doing, so it was easy. I jimmied the back door – it wasn’t the first time, so the lock just pops out and you can put it back with no trouble – and went in. She was almost right about me having nothing there. The only stuff of mine I could see was my ratty guitar with a busted string and my truck key hanging where it always did. The rest of the place was made up all girly. She hadn’t wasted any time taking over. I found the drawer with my papers still in it, miracle of miracles, and grabbed the truck title and my freaking birth certificate and GED. Then I raided the frig and found the dog food – not much of it, either – and left.

I had an old bicycle pump in the truck, and used that to pump up the tires enough to get to a gas station. That was a lot too much like work, and I was sweating before I got behind the wheel. Nope. Battery dead as I suspected it would be. Meanwhile Dawg had finally stopped barking. I went over and got some good doggie love until I heard her car pull up in front, so I jackrabbited back into the pickup.

I hoped she wouldn’t notice anything missing and come looking, but either luck was with me or she didn’t care. Eventually she brought Dawg back into the trailer and turned out the lights.

Lucky for me, there was a moon. I swapped the truck battery for the battery in her car. Even if she heard me leave, now, she couldn’t run me down. I jimmied open the back door again, quiet as I could and let Dawg out. He was barking like crazy, so I ran to the truck and he jumped in back and I started the truck.

Not so easy with that old gas in the truck, and the lights came on in the trailer, and she came out the back door yelling. The truck engine caught, though, and coughing and bucking, I got it going off the property. I barely got it to a service station to put in some fresh gasoline and pump up the tires. It took awhile, but no cops ever showed up, so I guess she said to hell with it.

As for me, I’d learned my lesson and was going to start fresh. There has to be some land somewhere you can grow weed on, but I wasn’t going to have any dang undependable females involved with it this time. Dawg and I drove off into the night.