Visible Wear

“The first thing I always remember is the smell of the ocean carried on the brisk salty breeze. Those were the last days of the summer of ‘69. The sun still burned bright and the sand glowed as radiant as all the bronzed bodies laying, running, laughing, and playing on it.

All of us there that day were celebrating our last summer day together before most of us went our separate ways. Zig would soon be off to join the Air Force, Amy was starting college at Berkeley, Link and Penny were going to Africa with the Peace Corps, Viv was starting her own business downtown, and Sheila and I were looking at classes in community college while working part-time. Life was pulling our numbers apart and despite whatever promises we made we all knew that the days of the Foggy Street Gang, the moniker we’d given ourselves since we all became friends at Foggy Street Elementary, were fast coming to a close.

We’d spent the day as we’d spent every day of that week. Some of us would show up in the early morning, claiming our site on the sand, and sharing an early beer as we waiting for the others to gather. There were stories shared throughout the day, the same ones we’d all heard thousands of times before but couldn’t get enough of these last days. When the others would finally arrive we’d fire up the coals in the barbeque and we’d watch Zig and Link try to out hotdog each other on the waves.

By late afternoon we’d have exhausted ourselves with eating, drinking, swimming, and playing volleyball and frisbee. We’d wrap up, talk about how the days never lasted as long as they used to, share a few more beers and memories, and then walk off to home or wherever else the evening took us.

I always walked Sheila back home to her mom and dad’s place. We’d eat dinner on the way at Dickie’s, share one of their strawberry shakes, and walk in silence, hand-in-hand, back to her house. At her doorstep we’d embrace, kiss, whisper our vows of love, and shed a few tears. We were already sad to be losing our friends whom we’d known for so long that we’d just taken their presence for granted. So we’d hold on, a little longer each night, and then I’d go home.

That very last evening had gone just as all the recent nights prior. The deliberately slow walk home, dinner at Dickie’s, the strawberry shake shared while we gazed softly at each other’s face, and the silent walk home, hand-in-hand. As we stopped at her doorstep, Sheila kept her face down and I knew what she was feeling. Tomorrow would be different, tomorrow Zig, Amy, Link, Penny, and Viv were all going away. Tomorrow we wouldn’t be going to the beach, we wouldn’t be reminiscing about the Foggy Street Gang’s exploits, and we wouldn’t be saying goodbye as a group anymore.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and Sheila looked up at me. Her eyes were glistening with moisture but she held herself back from crying. I cupped her face in my hands and she again lowered her face. I held her close, feeling her short breaths against my chest and I kissed her forehead. She glanced up again, the tears running paths down her cheeks. I let go of her to wipe her tears away but she held me tighter and started kissing my lips with an impassioned urgency, as though time itself were coming to an end.

I once again closed my embrace, my hands running across her back and along the back of her head. I returned her kisses and they grew more passionate each time our lips met. Soon we were panting, desperate for each other’s breath. Our eyes locked and we knew this night would not end here on her parent’s doorstep.

We snuck around to the back door, feeling momentarily foolish, and made our way quietly from there to her bedroom. Sheila closed the door, pausing after the click of the lock, worried that it was much louder than normal, and pausing again after she thought that her sigh of relief was too loud too.

We immediately began kissing again with rekindled ferocity, our hands searching each other as we removed all but our bathing suits. Then, drawing one deep breath, we took the final step and stood before one another, lost in the sight that beheld each of us. I held Sheila again, kissing her more gently this time, as the warmth of her skin radiated like the sun against mine. Despite her warmth she shivered slightly so I stopped to look at her, to ask if she wanted to proceed. She nodded and I kissed her once more, and we lowered ourselves to the bed.

That night so much had changed. Life was moving on and Sheila and I moved along with it. The next day I began my job at Dickie’s and Sheila began hers at the bike and surf shop, and classes started the next week. The biggest surprise, however, was a few days later when Sheila told me that she was pregnant. Nine months and four days later your dad was born. Things were a little tough, but we both graduated college and managed to earn a decent living within the next few years.

And that’s my story, the story of the night your grandmother and I came to know the beauty and pleasures of each other’s bodies, the night we both lost our innocence, and the night your father was conceived.”

“Oh god, grandpa. Now I’ve got the image of you and grandma Sheila, and, that’s just wrong. It’ll take years to stop associating that image with the thought of sex. I can’t have sex while I have something like that in my mind.”

The boy’s grandfather smiled as he thought, “Sometimes it’s just too easy.”

 

 The Summer of 69 Podcast [4:59m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Ah, it’s you dear child, you’ve finally returned.

I was starting to doubt that I’d ever see you again. It’s been so very long now, since those days, and I’d been waiting for you ever since. You had shown me a kindness then, as you do now, and I’d truly hoped I would one day see you again.

I’ve lived many years, have had many memories, and have seen many changes. I see you too have had your changes as well. I may not have had all these years of memories, had it not been for you. I still remember the illness, how cold and weak I had felt. It was you that gave me strength not to just lay down and surrender. It was you, the little girl from my memories of so long ago.

Strange thing, this passage of time, so much can happen in the blink of an eye. Ages can pass in that instant, and yet, sometimes, your memories can take back all those years. I remember you now as I remembered you then, I still recognize the person that you are, even if you do not look quite the same. I must have changed too – I wonder, do you still know me after all these years?

—

Hey, you.

I bet you think I’d forgotten about you, right? Well, I haven’t. I also haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you either. I said that I’d see you again someday. I’d meant it to be sooner, much sooner than this, but I knew no matter what that it was a promise I would keep.

Maybe you don’t even remember me, they say your kind never forgets, but I remember you. I wasn’t sure I would recognize you, after all these years, but you know, I do. I think I can see in your eyes some recognition of me as well. Do you still remember me?

I used to think about you all the time. My mother said I was obsessed with you. I asked about you, you know? I wrote letters all the time asking how you were. They say that if it hadn’t been for me all those years ago that you would’ve died. I don’t know if that’s quite true, all I did was to visit you and tell you stories. They say though, that if it hadn’t been for that caring attention that you would’ve gotten worse and they would have to had you put down.

I don’t know why I did it, exactly. I was just another girl enjoying a field trip, but I knew when I saw you that you needed me there. I came back every day for a week just to talk with you. It must’ve wore thin on my parents but they never let it show. Of course, I knew just as well as they did that after that week I would be moving away and I couldn’t come back for a long while.

I’m sorry I let it be so long. It’s good to finally see you again, old giant.

—

I know these little ones about you, though we’ve never met. They’re of your same presence, they share your same warmth. I see in them much of what I see in you, though with some differences. Perhaps they are your children, or your children’s children. I too have had children, and they have had young of their own.

Listen, do you hear that? That is the newest addition to my family. She was born not five months ago. She is my son’s daughter, my granddaughter. She follows me everywhere, mimics much of what I do. She’s still learning to use her trunk. You should see her when she tries to lift the tree trunks as I do. I can’t imagine the world without her, without any of my family.

How much you have given me I wish I could even begin to say. I’ve awaited your return after all these years, and yet I still do not know the way to express my gratitude to you.

Thank you.

—

I’m afraid I can’t stay as long as I’d like to, old friend. These are my grandchildren. My granddaughter and her husband live near my childhood home. I’m spending the day with them, although I admit this trip here was really just an excuse to see you again.

Is that little one there your child? Or maybe she’s your grandchild? I wonder how much of the past fifty years has brought us the same. She reminds me a lot of when we first met. She’s very sweet, the way she follows you and looks up to you. She must sense the same goodness in you that I noticed when I first saw you, lying ill in the veterinary pen.

I don’t suppose you understood any of those stories I told you then. They were all just silly nonsense anyhow. But you always seemed to listen when I told them to you. It was you who inspired me to keep telling stories to this very day, you know. I’ve had quite the career as a writer and an actress, and I’ve written a series of children’s books about a little girl and a noble elephant she befriended.

Speaking of children though, these youngsters are eager to keep moving and won’t let an old lady sit still very long. I promise I’ll see you again, and I won’t wait another half decade to do it. In fact, I’m here another week, so I’ll see you again tomorrow and maybe I’ll have another story to share.

 

 An Elephant Never Forgets [4:49m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

My name is Jimmy Reynolds and I’m a professional badass.

People ask how the market is for a badass, and I tell them it’s alright. ‘Course, I’m the only game in town so all business goes to me. The next question people hit me with is “what does a badass do?” The short answer is whatever needs doing.

For those seeking a more thorough picture I tell them about a day five years ago.

That day was Friday, August 10, 2001. I’d gotten a call from Mack, my agent, about a job I was needed for. The client was Sandra Jenkins, 35, divorced, and superfine. Her problem was her ex-husband, Buster. Buster was short, pudgy, and a moron. If all I had to do was to kick Buster’s ass I’d probably have taken the job for half price. But when Mack calls I know it’s never that easy.

Buster knew some guys down at the shipping yard who it turned were members of a budding local mafia. He wasn’t in tight with them yet but he had done some things to endear himself to them. His ex-wife had seen some things he had done for the mobsters and it wasn’t pretty. I was to get Ms. Jenkins to the courthouse by 2pm where she would testify against Buster and in turn get placed in witness protection. If she made it to court Buster stood to be put away for a very long time.

At 11am that day I got into my green ‘64 Thunderbird with all original parts. I hit play on the tape deck and George Thorogood’s Bad To The Bone started up. Track one on my official badass tape, free with subscription to Badass magazine.

I headed to Johnny Chu’s Taco Joint for a breakfast burrito with some hellfire sauce – serious badassing calls for serious fuel. I wolfed down that breakfast burrito and chased it down with Redbull.

My watch read 11:20am, Ms. Jenkins’ house was twenty-minutes on the 405. Once there I’d talk to the cops stationed outside and then I’d take charge of the witness. That was at least a half-hour drive by itself to the heart of LA and I was looking at arriving about 1:30pm, give or take.

I got to the house at 12:20. A ricer who’d seen The Fast and the Furious too many times had thought he could slide right in front of a big-rig and pull ahead in time. Too bad his Subaru with coffee-can exhaust didn’t have what it took because his wreck cost me valuable time.

I got out of my car and walked to the car parked across the street. It was unmarked but everything about it said “cops inside.” I was halfway there when the cop stuck his head out the window and waved at me.

“Jimmay! How’s it hanging?”

Denny Sharp, we were in police academy together, before I decided it wasn’t me.

“Yo Sharpy, it’s hanging just fine. What’s the word?”

“Not a lot, Jimmy. Just a dark blue 1980 Buick LeSabre that keeps passing by. Tinted windows, real dark like, y’know?”

“Yeah, thanks Sharp.”

“My pleasure. Hey, seen Sandy Jenkins yet?”

“I’ve seen photos.”

“Wait’ll you see the real thing.”

“She something?”

“I’ll say.”

I’d never accuse Sharp of having great taste in women. His wife looked like an ugly man in drag, but if he could look past that Adam’s apple then I could cut him some slack. But mama, what I saw on ringing the doorbell really was something. Sharp was right, Sandra Jenkins was stunning.

“Jimmy Reynolds, Ms. Jenkins. I’m here to get you to court.”

“Sandy, Mr. Reynolds. I suppose you’ll do.”

“Jimmy, Sandy, and I’m the best there is.”

I opened the car door for Ms. Jenkins and I thought I saw her smile as she climbed in. I waved to Sharp and got in myself.

Ms. Jenkins was cool as a cucumber, sitting calmly with her bag between her feet. I stopped my glance there as I was getting on the freeway and traveling up those legs would’ve taken days to finish. Averting my eyes from certain doom I looked at my rearview and saw a dark blue 1980 Buick LeSabre.

“Ms. Jenkins,” I said, “don’t scream.”

I gunned the engine and cut across four lanes of traffic, barely making a tight gap between two soccer moms in SUVs. Ms. Jenkins had been screaming the whole time and hadn’t stopped yet.

“Calm down. They’re off my tail, now I really need to lose them.”

I crossed the double yellows into the carpool lane and used it to get ahead. Then I crossed back and played Frogger until I couldn’t see the LeSabre anymore. Twenty to thirty minutes to go. A little creative driving and I’d probably get there around 1:45pm.

The exit sign in view I spotted the LeSabre closing in on me fast. I don’t know how they did it, but they’d caught up and were heading straight for me. I looked around but traffic was tight and I had just three yards open in front of me.

I needed a shield, and lo and behold there it was to my left – A bright yellow Hummer H2 in all it’s gas-guzzling glory and some middle-aged guy with bleached blond hair driving it. I waved to get his attention then flipped him the bird. Road rage did the rest and he swerved at my car just as I sped out of the way. At that moment the H2 found itself losing momentum as the LeSabre wedged itself under the Hummer’s backside. Problem dealt with, I took the exit and headed to the courthouse.

Ms. Jenkins was a little shaken up but she gave good testimony. Buster was sent up the river with a life sentence and no chance of parole. Case over, Ms. Jenkins, Sandy, walked up to me.

“Thanks Jimmy,” she smiled. “I guess you really are the best.”

“Baby,” I replied, “you just might find out.”

 

 Professional Badass [4:54m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download