Amplified Flaws

Fictional, with some truth, growing up; wild rebel boys, tequila, lessons in life: DO NOT TRY THIS! FICTION!!!

AMPLIFIED FLAWS

 

Her father gave her the new red pinto on a warm day in May, the year she turned 15 gaining the freedom she coveted like other girls at school wished to be prom queen. She baulked at that idea and gave up the cliqued high school girl uniform along with cheerleading, silly pajama parties full of the same boring girls, too worried about makeup or the Spice Girls, volunteering for the new republicans toting posters and banners alike. She was like a cat, free to roam and hunt invisible if desired consistently curiously absorbing every tickle of information always useful and sometimes toying with the “know it all.” The clones of the June Cleavers, which their Christianity taught judge, not, did every second of their miserable, boring life.  Oh how she hated conformity.  The shy illusive girl with long auburn hair, was different, still unique, nonjudgmental, free thinker, like a gypsy in all her glory, still humming to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors, wishing Kirk Cobain had never married Courtney Love, like what the hell happened with that, like the girl interrupted a mix between Jolie and Wynonna depending on her mood and would fit in quiet nicely with the outcaste ones.  The thought of being beautiful, later told by many, was the most ridiculous foreign word.  They did not know her then, now or ever would.  Too busy thinking of the next big purchase to brag about on social media or the same with their clone kids; preaching the love of our Lord, while at the same time, blasting out posters of reform, keep the natives out, their taking our jobs, knowing all the while, they don’t even work, demeaning everyone that takes another stand or God forbid opens their minds with, “let us pray for her.”  The judgers, the perfectionists, that dined once at the governor’s mansion and still talk of it like their best friends, drinking the wine continental, speaking of Ivy League colleges for that offspring, while poor mouthing about the lack of money, all a farce, it tucked away in their trust funds neatly expressing keen interest in the poor children with no food feeling content they donated unwanted clothing to goodwill. 

In high school, they approached wisely with caution.  She was like the spider monkey her Uncle Charles brought home, that tender sweet face, head down, seeking approval with that pirates smile, but when you became too close, she would wrap around your face sharp teeth pressed against that lily white skin and if you decided to take a snack, she yacked it away before you could blink.  It’s probably an afterthought, but you could describe her as somewhat antisocial.   

“No outing without a proper escort,” her father insisted.  Why are girls pulled to the rebel in the crowd, why was I?  Was it the long Ted Nugent hair blow dried to perfection or maybe his quiet posture? Nope.  In retrospect, simply the adventures, so many to occur without doing anything but quietly and keenly observing. They flocked together he and his posy with amplified flaws all molded together to form the most gargantuan peccadillo ever created.  A mound of misfit boys, like in the movie, when Gary Busy says to Keanu Reeves, they are ghosts, when you see them you will know.  They were all savants in their trade, and thus beware all high school jocks or college boy drifting back home for holiday.  For their secret meeting, were at the least a cataclysmic collision, a generous memory still frozen in their minds, seeping into their nightmares lowering their self esteem ‘till this day 30 years later.

She thought nothing of his money or houses owned by this 19 year old with his Chevy van and the bed in back, quite a sight the first time he picked her up.  Hum, she thought, not me and of course the quest began, but no confluence would ever occur. So she must make the most of every moment of her freedom and did. But it would be much later when she drove that red pinto, bright as tabasco, and she burned that asphalt road, listening to the radio.

He and his cousin ruled the small town with loud excitement every weekend.  They were known to everyone including the police, but this was a time when their Uncles’ influence, and his boisterous personality like his son, the cousin and backdoor deals too all just a phone call away when they walked over pounded stomped or made new tracks, of that line he would always say, ‘They’re just boys, being boys.’  He did a lot of favors for one and all. He almost smells like a mobster and in some ways I suppose money does have its benefits for no one ever crossed him, why would they?  If they needed anything his warehouse was full of every item imaginable for a home, a yard, a garden, like the Lowes of today, but his supplier, and their suppliers no questions asked, “money for nothing and the tricks for free.” * His large frame, like those of his Dutch ancestors’ but a parrot nose did carry much weight in our small town. Many the backdoor deals completely with a handshake and a wink as the custom goes the favor lasts an eternity.

Trouble every where they turned, they sought it out, it came to them like wine to a wino, or the mark to the con.  They reveled in it.  The cousin an Achilles of sorts with long strawberry blonde hair, tall legs, a born salesman not of trinkets or machinery but of insane adventurous conquests always pushing the limit, exceeding it like the Christmas Grinch, taking it all but never filling that empty hole, that broken heart twisted like wild poison ivy, that left you in pain still scratching every orifice and your head wondering how he did it.  A beauty lost amongst his Austen Healy, jeep, camera sport limited edition and Harley. The guilty conscious of divorced parents as limitless in their overindulgence as he in his games of pleasure for one and all and all for one in that group of misfits.  He was jealous of his cousin with but one van and even though he was wealthy, the cousin, fivefold in his assets and persona as well.  He wanted everything of his like the spoiled child, even me. Just another conquest but never with me, and the more I said no, he would go from kind and sympathetic to lighting quick anger, like a light switch.  I only saw felt it once and still recall the helplessness and fear. The cousin wasn’t around and he pulled me under the pool water angrily, into the deep end gasping for breath continually pushing me under, I finally caught my breath. I saw the true demons of his personality no doubt brought on by the salacious divorce all the catholic rituals forced to attend had unleashed a monster and I do believe he pushed everyone for more and more crazy thrills to feel alive for a part of him was dead, thirsting for that feeling of contentment, maybe one he has never known. Just because I said no to that charming alluring confidence he spewed like an oil well a pit that many fell into over the years. That was the time when all three, me still 15 jumped into his convertible Austin Healy headed for the coast without a word to my parents, although I told the escort it was fine.  Smelling in the cool light coastal air, the cousin to the store for beer, and that’s when the arrogant one made his move and he always got his way until then.  I had to call my parents and the frenzy began, but I returned home the next day, the virginal princess, influenced by hormones, and the “bad cousin” they surmised giving warm hugs; mother looking me up and down for any change, any blemish, but all the blame put upon the cousin that drove me against my will, oh the sympathy, oh the naivety when parents want to believe.  Don’t get me wrong, that never happened again and I did love them so. It was only a couple of day of freedom, oh but it was my catnip and I couldn’t wait for more.    The melody of Free Bird roaming about, rising and rushing within the Malay of optimism playing within her mind’s eye. And, she did see them right smack up against the stage, before the plane crash took Ronnie away.  That night, he was smashed, fell off the stage, and his brother took the microphone; a sign of the sad times to come.  Just another day in paradise….just a tiny flicker of the obscene surreal adventures to come, and she did wonder how they survived it all but remembered they didn’t.  A couple of the pack once glorified in all their litigious God given talents, corrupted and influenced by the odious cousin, but it was always their brilliant flaws filled with life’s’ passion now rest peacefully at the memorial park where children feed the ducks never knowing just beyond the lake beneath those headstones lay rotting bodies, some teeth still intact smiling with perfection like they know more than the living.  

On this winter’s night, she could see it a mile away, for above all the mark was to be known, or it could be her.  They walked into the bar and there he was waving a $100 bill around, no doubt home from school with his preppie clothes and God help him for he was about to be a mouse in their game and in the trap he would fall.  The odious cousin was the first to approach buying a round for all and played into his hands, insisting on tequila shots, “keep 'em coming.”  It was like a beautiful waterfall flowing into the river of his blues, the tributary where he will meet a death of sorts, a part of his innocence, that security he felt until that day ripped from his cerebellum; all illusion gone -safety taken asunder, like the baby feels when he must give up the bottle, a transition occurred, but this is different too.  He will not join the water but will forever be at bottom of that blue water bobbing up and down, like me gasping for air, in his nightmares to haunt him forever and many days for the rest of his life - a lesson will be taught; never be the braggart again, always leery of the stranger with big smiles and the mere mention of liquor and forget about the smell of tequila to his dying day brings forth an uneasy feeling, that etched memory, they are everybody or somebody, his security gone forever like a snowflake in the hot savannah sun. Poof, dissipated, like his pressed shirt, pants, panties and pride gone with his long winded mouth, carried like a frenzied wind throughout that pool hall. He had entered a realm, a space few survived intact, those braggarts scarred with souvenirs left by the outcasts imprinted upon them forever.

The poor bloke, all muscles and mouth, dressed to the tee, believing in his proven prowess, he was the hustler.  “No one wants to play, mumbling, complaining continues, however he was about to be answered by the friendliest guy he’d ever come upon.  A symbiotic relationship developing so quickly, it was too good to be true, like the brother he never had.  Oh, I wish he had listened to his thoughts " “too good to be true.”  Those word now a part of his internal system, a GPS system guiding him through life….unknowing unaware, feeling them, and sensing their presence.  When will the anvil drop again?  The anxiety and fear " panic at times.  PTSD, he wondered as he spoke to his Dr.’s confessing the tale, no one ever quite understanding.  And this chap, only one of so, so many poor souls, the only possible solace and he doesn’t know.  Well their plan was beginning to take shape. It is as if they were trained by Sun Tzu himself, The Art of War, chapter and verse sealed in those gigantic amplified flaws: laying plans, waging war, attack by stratagem, tactics, use of energy, weak points, terrain, ever so important, for it was theirs.  They owned it, knew every nook and cranny and they did attack by fire.  They scatter about the bar room, like the sly foxes they were.  Waiting for the sign knowing like precognition when, where and how.  There was nothing I could do; he would laugh me away, so would they.  So it had begun, again. The cousin, let him win and win, even though he knew and felt great pleasure in knowing it would come back 10 fold; the second fox approached.  The smallest of all, continuing to gulp the tequila, but what college boy missed was the amplified flaws, so important in life.  Protected, to the end and when this cast member all of 5 foot 4” approached wearing his black leather jacket, picked up a pool stick, unzipped jeans, ready to slam him over the head, the cousin, pulled him away.  They knew he was quick to pull out his knife, so they took the blade away.  Other flawed pack members approached, slowly with intention. He was the distraction of course, a way to remove college boy from the deluded safety of the bar, like the kidnapper knows to pull them away from their safety zone.  As we were told as kids, fight scream kick do anything but don't get in that car!  Stranger danger! Juiced up like a hot rod, the college boy, ready to show off those skills as star linebacker, still in his glory days against this slight man boy, brown beard, stuttering every word, hair covering his weasel eyes.  Oh how they laughed inside.  “This must be settled like men.”  The only way I can think to explain the fear to become him would be akin to me as a child of 8 spending the first night away from home.  The mother brought us to a drive-end movie to watch the exorcist and as I lay in that strange bed, the closet, what was behind it, could it be her spinning head? The stuffed animals, harmless in daylight, but in darkness tiny sprinkles began to take odd shape.  The stuffed dolls and bears were like the horrendous chucky doll and then the explosion of my screams and was safety taken home.  My mother upset I had seen such an awful demon filled movie, no doubt created by the hand of the devil himself.  I will say again he did live, but barely thanks to God’s grace a miracle of sorts, have I supposed. 

His shoulder length wild brown hair, flying about, they held back the small framed friend.  The gullible college boy filled with steam ready to make his new friend proud took his stand and gladly accepted the invite.

Never will I forget the first time I saw that strawberry blonde hair and his smaller friend.  Since the latter had failed a grade, he was at the junior high with the seventh and eighth graders.  We could hear the roar, that perfect purr of a Harley approaching, everyone alert.  He stood up tall, shook his long hair, his lean frame, tank top with jeans, and black leather biker boots.  Mouths agape, not just students, the teachers alike and his small friend ran up, took a helmet, which made sense a few moments later.  The pickup area of the large middle school had a long paved concrete drive.  We heard the roars as his fingers revved the motor, long legs straddling the cycle.  And it began, a wheelie, along that drive his small friends’ helmet hitting the concrete.  That day a legend was born. 

Well, back to the game.  To the warehouse parking lot they would go to get this argument settled. The parking lot began to fill with people cheering not unlike a football game; college boy was ready and excited as the smaller would leap at him, while each cousin stood horizontally, grabbing the other, to keep the “fight fair.”  The smaller one jabbing wildly in the air, kicking as one cousin would pick him up getting in quite a few good blows, nearly knocking the young drunkard out cold.  The smaller man boy was quick as a flying squirrel, darting around and about. This went on until the crowed had its fill of laughs.  It was time to show college boy a good time and there’s nothing better than tequila and the cousin also reminded the other to get a bottle of Tabasco, hot but good mix they thought.  We all piled in the van and I sat close to the back observing it all and what a sight it was.  They continue to blister him with liquor and I suppose they giggled even more teaching him to lick the Tabasco from his arm. 

Better than a lime any day, he said along with all the babbling of his many salacious conquests; every sorority girl had visited him, and blab, blab, then barely a blau - it was time.  They stopped the van at family apts. 3 " grabbed the key and a sheetrock knife.  The cousins came out with a piece of beige carpeting; lay it upon the asphalt laughing but eyes squaring up the size.  It was then the college boy now truly ripped was picked up laid in head out, and they cut the beige carpet to fit.  His head hanging out, halfway laughing as they rolled him up and plopped him in the center of the van floor.  To his home, his wallet long ago tucked away, his once neat clothing thrown out with a loud giggle bounding off cold wind.  It was a cold night in so many ways.  The ritual began, one cousin head his head, and the tobacco rolled down his gullet.  His tongue trying with all its' might but only one lonely, lowly, little word arrived: “HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT.”  It was like a poor parrot and then we stopped.  Van door slid open and the cousins picked him up at 3:00 am, they say that’s the witching hour and I do wonder.  It was after dawn when his mother saw him.  Thank God, he managed to roll in some sort of contorted way.  He couldn’t remember one single thing. I heard the Dr. said; mild hyperthermia on his face and still perplexed how he survived but conceded the tobasco was his saving grace.  It raised his body’s temperature and counteracted some of the alcohol intake.  I don’t know his name or where he is, but all I can say is cheers.   

Author's Note

Never submitted a story & left it: I will take your advise, thank you in advance. Just freeflowing, hope it's not too boring. Any suggestions, will be grateful. Fiction: Do not try this! Iqnore Grammar.

Reviews

[Pushkar Prabhat]

WoW!!!
Dale this is extyremely well written.............
about stupid innocent youth........brimming with energy...........
it is a tale of rebellion.........stupidity..........carefree............
i really loved it..........you should write more stories.
:)

[Matching Socks]

The crazy things we do when we're young... :)
Not me though, I was good.
Good story Dale!

[Confuser]

Ana, fiction - and as Momzilla put it: verbose, loquacious; a lot of other big words which mean: too wordy and she is correct. Thank you so much for reading.

[SmittyJas]

Nice piece of writings great imaginational write lots of wit and good story skills. College boys do foolish things when they get there freedom and their young enough to be so foolish to try what you have written here. So much for the glory of the good old days. Sounds like he awaken with a sight hangover and a headache to boot. I call this story Amazing Grace and the College boys.

[Confuser]

Smitty, you are so kind. This writing is so wordy, I need to make many changes. Glad you saw the fiction; my Dad would have wooped me good! No long hair or chevy vans HA. I like your name better. Thank you so much for taking time to read my wordy, very,very unpolished writing.

[SmittyJas]

To not have read this would of been my lose its wonderful story telling and words make the story interesting and smart. One fictional write from the heart. Blessings my Friend happy new Year.

[Confuser]

Same to you and your family Smitty!

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Wow, that's quite a story. We all have had (in the past) our wild years and I could tell some stories too about it. Maybe some day I will, but today still I'm too ashamed. Glad my kids don't know about it or they would say, you were far much worse than we. Very well written, Dale.

[Confuser]

Rudi: all fiction, but I did hear about a boy with tabasco, thank goodness, I've never been able to drink; in my whole life, only an occasional good glass of wine, no continental, my pickies bent.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Don't understand 'my pickies bent' (excuse my knowledge of English vocabulary)...but I like also a glass of good wine, my favourite is French Bordeaux of the St.Emilion region (Lussac St Emilion, Montagne St Emilion, Puisseguin St Emilion, St Georges St Emilion, all satelites of St Emilion and not so expensive) or Lalande de Pomerol (satelite of Pomeral and much cheeper) ... :) Rudi

[R Smith]

its a mighty interesting tale Dale and i really like your story writing style, i just tripped over a few mistyped words but once i realized the meaning i was thoroughly back on track, great story :)

[Confuser]

Sorry for typos: I wrote ignore grammar etc., but didn't think about someone stumbling: suppose freestyle, I don't stop and this is really for a younger generation, with all the pop culture mentions etc. Have to widdle it down. Hey just read a ch. of Momzilla book, great writing. Calm, characters, I like freestyle, no characters, names, etc. for now anyway. Got a lot to learn. Thank you for reading. I truly appreciate it so much, truly!

[MomzillaNC]

Your themes are interesting and your imagery is good.

NOTES: I recommend paring down the language. It runs rather verbose throughout.

[Confuser]

Thank you for reading. You know I'm but a novice, so you help very much. Thank you. Please tell me the name of your first short story; I wanted to read it; you said something like, believe or not my first, and then poof its gone. Thank you again.

[MomzillaNC]

"The Dance Plays On…" http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/MomzillaNC/1435011/

[Confuser]

Thanks. I'll type in the link; not computer savvy.

[MomzillaNC]

yw ;)

[Confuser]

................................................: Dale

[Joel Armstrong]

I liked it.Its an interesting read."She was like the spider monkey her Uncle Charles brought home.'' Hehe.I loved that one. Ive read your poetry too and i must say its really professional.Hats off to you.Do keep writing more stories.

[Confuser]

Joel, just a novice, but will try. Just wrote quickly yesterday am - whatever it is, it just is. Thank you, however. You know I like your writing.

[wordman]

well a legend was born,now i know what girls think about the bad boy schene lol

[Confuser]

Pure fiction, I suppose I'm full of bull. But maybe i can write a great story one day. Just testing the water. We need to have fun, No? Thank you so, so much for reading. Did see Ted Nuggent, didn't miss much if you didn't. Love Stranglehold, though.

[wordman]

you are a great writer,ted nugent sucks lol

[Confuser]

Sucks eggs, but that Stanglehold is great. You are a great writer, I am just a novice and you know it. Thank you for being so kind.

[Belle]

This flows incredibly well; I felt like I was being taken on an adventure too! Your use of similes and metaphors - and figurative language in general - is exceptional. I also love the foreshadowing of the Tabasco incident later on, when you referred to the red Pinto being as "bright as Tabasco". Your references to pop culture and famous figures throughout developed the context of the story and character very well. I especially liked the description: "...like the girl interrupted a mix between Jolie and Wynonna depending on her mood and would fit in quite nicely with the outcast ones." I adore your poetry, but I really loved this story too!

[Confuser]

Thank you so, so much for reading. Oh, I see a mountain of errors, but all in all, sat this am and began to write, this silly tale. I am so happy you liked it. First story I submitted and left; insecurities overflow. Thank you the review, things you liked. I am but a notice dear Bella. But it is fun. No?

[Belle]

You're welcome; it was a pleasure to read it!

[Confuser]

Hey, Bella your review is as interesting as the writing; just trying something new; Momzilla is right, too wordy throughout - must slow my brain down I suppose, I am A to the DDD. Was difficult to stay on focus. Anyway, I'll keep trying, can't hurt, No?