Stop Saying All Those Horrible But Perfectly True Things About Me

By Jerry Clark

23,000 word, mostly flash lit non-fiction with a small amount of fiction. flash fiction is under 1,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483545301

Book preview

knowledge

Non Fiction, Segments of a Memoir

Good lord, She was Beautiful,

I was just to dumb to know how dumb I was

Like the guy in Blazing Saddles who pulled a gun on himself, I had to hold a gun on myself to get me to confess this one. Its embarrassing to admit to anyone I was ever this immature. But since confession is good for the soul, I expect to suddenly be a better person three seconds after I get this written down.

I have always been easily charmed by accents, the simple usually are. It always added a bit more interest in getting to know those who had them. It took a bit longer for it to occur to me that if someone else had an accent, from their vantage point, I also had one. Meeting the young lady in this story was the first time an accent ever worked against me.

I guess I learned that I also had an accent, or just a funny, out west kind of way of expressing myself, when I observed someone tripping out over my use of words like, you bet, or dang right. It was almost beside the point that I was being perceived as a hick, heck, someone has to fill the niche.

But back to the beautiful girl. I was twenty years old. I was visiting relatives in El Dorado, Arkansas, my cousin and her boyfriend and I went roller skating. I spotted this drop dead gorgeous girl in the line up of skaters as we skated the oval.

Utah does not have as large an ethnic mix as New York, concentrated in a small enough place that makes it easy enough to meet each other. So when I spotted this dark haired Mediterranean beauty, I asked God to please let the music play long enough for me to get my arm around her.

Every two or three minutes a bell would sound to alert the guys to move up to the next girl, put his right arm around her waist, his left hand holding her right hand, then skate together to see if any magic happened. I have learned that some times disappointment is in exact proportion to anticipation, especially for way out west kind of guys.

I was getting closer to the Mediterranean beauty but still concerned the music might end. Little did I realize I was about to play a bigger goof-us than Jim Carrey in The Mask, when the blond walked into the bank where he worked.

The music did play on, at last, it was my turn, to put my arm, around that delectable creature. Never had I been so aware of the blood racing through my veins as my arm encircled her slim waist. When she turned her perfect Grecian profile my direction, her long lashes quivered, and seemed to acknowledge her prince was here. When this beautiful embodiment of female perfection opened her cherry red lips and spoke the words, hello, how are you, in the harshest Brooklyn accent to ever escape the lips of a human female.

The blood drained from my face, I glanced down to see if a Tommy gun was concealed beneath her skirt. The only similar accent this sheltered Utah boy had ever encountered was in the movies. And always it was the tough, bad guys that spoke like that and usually carried guns.

Looking back on my twenty year old juvenile reaction to this beautiful young lady, I can only shake my head at lost opportunities that would have enriched my life.

I wonder if My Fair lady was recast with a Brooklyn accent, if that might help some future immature person do a better job when they encounter a little diversity. I certainly regret not getting past her accent to discover the person behind the voice.

Train of Thought

Spencer owned a great looking 1947 Ford convertible. He, I and his girl friend Lynda were driving around the neighborhood one day, they were arguing over some issue, I was in the back seat, I was about sixteen at the time, they were a year or two older.

Spencer was determined to get his way in the argument, so he stopped the car on the railroad tracks with the train just a block away. I could see that we were on the spur that turned the train onto the property of the natural gas company so I knew he was bluffing, but she didn't.

Spencer said, let me have my way or were staying right here. Lynda opened the door to leave but Spencer grabbed her arm and pulled her to him which also closed the door again. Lynda was angry and told him to let her go or he was in big trouble.

Spencer said again, Your not getting out unless you let me have my way. She was squirming and twisting and kicking to get away, but he held onto her. As the train moved closer she began to get hysterical, her fear was transferable to me so that I kept looking at the spur to remind myself we were all safe. finally it was nearly upon us, the train blew it's horn a hundred feet away, Lynda collapsed into a heap of fright and hysteria, as the train passed right in front of us.

After thought

Looking back on this incident, two young guys, myself and Spencer. Why were we willing to stay in that car that close to the tracks with the train coming? Risking three lives, one, with no choice in the matter. I guess it boils down to the fact, at the time, we were just a teen age suppository of wisdom and knowledge. Old fashioned, red neck, dumber than dirt, wisdom and knowledge. Brains would come later.

Further down the track Lynda and Spencer were married. And why not, how many guys can offer a girl that much excitement. Don't remember how many caboose's joined them in their rail yard. Their marriage was full of excitement and finally, further down the track, a derailment.

Good Timing, Henry!

Disappointment is the lot of humanity. However those of a philosophical bent know that in order to truly enjoy life, you must have experienced the opposite of what ever is to be enjoyed.

Then there are those who believe that if they allow them selves to enjoy some happiness, that will cause the pendulum to swing back to the negative side, and thus are cheated of any real feeling of happiness, often called living in fear.

Is there some trait or quality that one can adopt to counter act this pessimistic tendency?

One woman came up with a solution that seemed to work for her, humor.

She could never get her husband to finish all the honey-dews she came up with for him and he had the old Pa Kettle attitude about getting things done. He would look the problem square in the face and declare, I've got to fix that, some day, then