| General Fiction posted March 27, 2024 | Chapters: |
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The great escape
A chapter in the book Right in the Eye
Right in the Eye, ch 5
by Wayne Fowler
In the last part Suzanne planned to help Slim escape the long-term care facility.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“You made it!” Suzanne had the passenger door open. She took the file folder from me so’s I could get myself into the contraption that warred against even a small-statured feller like me as I fought gettin’ fit into it. I could tell she was bitin’ her tongue to keep from yellin’ at me to hurry. No doubt she’d lose her job as well as whatever license she had, were we caught.
I don’t know why, but I half expected Ben Persons to be waitin’ for me outside the door.
“Why’re you takin’ this big a risk?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was stupid, a kinda sad expression on her face. Her hand on my arm said she forgave me.
“Because you would do it for me. You’ve been in there for longer than I, or my parents put together have been alive. I don’t understand it at all. Maybe humanity would benefit from studying you. But you want to live the rest of your life.
So here we are.
“The problem is … I think they’ll come to my apartment. My neighbors, the nosy cretins, will blab. I’m afraid you need to get completely out of Denver. That won’t be easy.”
We agreed that she would take me to the bank where I could withdraw my fortune. She also agreed that the best way would be for me to get my own automobile. Cars For Less/Low Down/We Tote the Note was where we said our goodbyes and she got my thanks. I’m sure she felt how sincere I was when I wiped at my tears. It helped a lot, her makin' like she was my daughter. The bank prob'ly would have called the law, or the hospital place listed in the paperwork. And the car seller woulda got ever' dime.
Fast Eddie set me up in a Bronco. I thought it only appropriate. Since I couldn’t come up with a driver’s license his side of dickering got a might rough. He did, though, agree to give me a drivin’ lesson and take me to a filling station and show me the ropes. I let him think I’d just escaped from prison. Knowing that the town of Pueblo was the direction I wanted, that’s where I pointed to. Cerrillos was my destination. I had a map (that I couldn't use, not knowing how to even find where I was on it). But Suzanne wrote down the road numbers, so I oughta be fine.
Steerin' that Bronco, though. Why, you'd think it was a real bronco. Plum wore me out.
+++
To say that things, the world I mean, had changed would be a ridiculous statement. It was like I was on a different planet. Some open spaces between developments were a lot like I remembered, except for the cement roads. And all the fences. And what Fast Eddie called blacktop. ‘Course I’d seen, more like heard really, the changes on the TV that they’d kept on in the room that I’d shared with more old codgers than I could remember. Since the television set was mostly out of the direct line to my good eye, I didn’t see much of it. Some of the changes were all right, not too bothersome, I guess. Wasn’t their fault that they were like they were any more’n it was mine. Knowin’ what automobiles were and what they could do was not the same as drivin’. Let me swear to that. Can’t count the folks I put in the ditch the first day out. Sure, they thought I was drunk. Prob’ly called the law soon’s they could get to a telephone. Wouldn’t know how to use one, myself.
The Bronco took a chunk outta my roll. Left enough, though, that I shoulda been able buy a decent rifle. Hah! Fat chance of that. Feller at the store said I could get one easy enough out of the newspaper. Didn’t need one that bad. Thought I’d just wait ‘til I came across one someway.
I wasn’t exactly on the run. Didn’t escape from no prison. I was properly discharged from a hospital – a free man. I don’t think there was a warrant out for me. Or even any kind of hunt, at all. No matter, I didn’t want to advertise myself. Far as I knew, all I was guilty of was traffic stuff, drivin’ the way I did. But I didn’t know, maybe the gov’ment did have some kinda ownership of me. Even if they didn’t, I knew they could shackle me whenever they wanted and all I could do about it was cry in a sock.
Not exactly retracing my route, since I was in a coma while gettin’ to Denver, I passed landmarks that I’d heard of. I saw the butte they called the Castle Rock. I’d heard about it. Couldn’t see it, myself, what, with the curved top. Went through Pueblo where the massacre by the Utes and Apaches wiped out a trading post in ‘54. I missed the gold rush of ’59. I was on my way ‘til Greenhorn Mountain got in my way. Thought maybe I could start my own rush there. No such luck. But joinin’ a crowd a day late ain’t no way to get fresh bread, I can sure you of that. Johnny-come-latelies to a gold rush gotta be real lucky. An’ that ain’t me.
Fort Garland brought back memories like they were yesterd’y. Kit Carson. He was really somethin’. He wanted to do everything. Did most of it, too, I’d guess. Garland was started in ’58 to protect settlers in the San Luis Valley. Abandoned it in ’83 when they put the Utes on the reservation. Never mind that there were bands of Apache that still had their way now and again. Mount Baldy there in the Sangre de Cristo Range was where I had to spend two freezing nights hidin’ from an Indian that was perched as a lookout for somethin’ or other. I was just glad I hadn’t had my burrow with me on that climb. He’da looked me out quick. He prob’ly lit out soon after I got hid real good, makin’ me the fool for stayin’ under that rock for two days.
Alamosa now, was trouble. A good place to get yourself shot, either by some drunk, a bad man, or by a sheriff that should never’a been one. I’d rather pay more at some little pueblo of a town an’ pass Alamosa by. I was low on gas, but that didn’t stop me from passin’ it by this time, either.
So I ran out of gas. There were a few little towns that had no filling stations. I spent a little time watchin’ cars an’ trucks go by while I thought back on Saddleback Mountain off in the distance an’ how some fools wasted their time prospectin’ it. This land was bad for Indians back when I came through in the 60’s, or maybe it was the 70’s. Anyway, wadn’t too long an’ a cowboy in a pick-up truck stopped for me. Took me to La Jara. I’d never heard of it, but here it was, a big town. He was gonna carry me back, but another cowboy goin’ north took me. ‘Cept for runnin’ out of gas, those trucks sure had horses beat to blazes an’ back.
Antonito was once not much more’n a sheep camp and a Catholic church. Couldn’t tell it now.
I dreamed on LouAnne, wonderin’ how bad she had it after I left. Bad enough while I was there. A hunnerd years’ll take a toll, least on everybody else. I scolded myself for even goin’ there. Like she’d be standin’ there at the Yellow Cactus Saloon waitin’ for me.
Hot Springs, Ojo Caliente. I never did get to experience that. Won’t now either. Runnin’ out of gas set me back some. It was gonna be late if I made it to Cerrillos today. I looked for Gallego and El Rito and a few other tradin’ stops, but never saw hide ‘ner hair. Española now, I wasn’t surprised to see that place still there. Been there since the 1500’s. Only it was called somethin’ else then … somethin’-somethin’ caballo, or somethin’. Anyway, I was wantin’ to get to Cerrillos, not take a geography lesson. I was amazed, but not too surprised to see shacks scattered across the desert. I wondered where they got their water, though.
Agua Fria. Like I said, the folks at the hospital left the TV on all day long quite a bit. Heard a radio down the hall, too. There was a singer sang a song that had me goin’. Don’t know his name, or the name of the song, but it sure rang out to me. It’s a thousand wonders it didn’t wake me up. An Arizona ranger went to Agua Fria after Texas Red. Big Iron … that was it. Big iron on his hip. I don’t know if the story was true, but when I passed through, there was saloon talk about it. A ranger and Texas Red. Or … maybe the song put that memory in my head. Who knows. Agua Fria. Cold water. I never drank it. Couple beers, fill my tote, and I was on the road. Just like now, only I didn’t stop.
It was gettin’ dark, would be well after sundown when I got to Cerrillos. Wadn’t nothin’ but to do it, now, though. I had no idea what I’d find, if anything. I hadn’t eaten all day. Never thought about it. Drank some water from a fountain when I got that can of gas, but that was it. If there was a town anymore, I hoped it had a hotel.
It did, but they called it a motel, a motor hotel. Guess we coulda called ours a horse hotel, but maybe that’s where the name came from in the first place.
In the last part Suzanne planned to help Slim escape the long-term care facility.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
“You made it!” Suzanne had the passenger door open. She took the file folder from me so’s I could get myself into the contraption that warred against even a small-statured feller like me as I fought gettin’ fit into it. I could tell she was bitin’ her tongue to keep from yellin’ at me to hurry. No doubt she’d lose her job as well as whatever license she had, were we caught.
I don’t know why, but I half expected Ben Persons to be waitin’ for me outside the door.
“Why’re you takin’ this big a risk?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was stupid, a kinda sad expression on her face. Her hand on my arm said she forgave me.
“Because you would do it for me. You’ve been in there for longer than I, or my parents put together have been alive. I don’t understand it at all. Maybe humanity would benefit from studying you. But you want to live the rest of your life.
So here we are.
“The problem is … I think they’ll come to my apartment. My neighbors, the nosy cretins, will blab. I’m afraid you need to get completely out of Denver. That won’t be easy.”
We agreed that she would take me to the bank where I could withdraw my fortune. She also agreed that the best way would be for me to get my own automobile. Cars For Less/Low Down/We Tote the Note was where we said our goodbyes and she got my thanks. I’m sure she felt how sincere I was when I wiped at my tears. It helped a lot, her makin' like she was my daughter. The bank prob'ly would have called the law, or the hospital place listed in the paperwork. And the car seller woulda got ever' dime.
Fast Eddie set me up in a Bronco. I thought it only appropriate. Since I couldn’t come up with a driver’s license his side of dickering got a might rough. He did, though, agree to give me a drivin’ lesson and take me to a filling station and show me the ropes. I let him think I’d just escaped from prison. Knowing that the town of Pueblo was the direction I wanted, that’s where I pointed to. Cerrillos was my destination. I had a map (that I couldn't use, not knowing how to even find where I was on it). But Suzanne wrote down the road numbers, so I oughta be fine.
Steerin' that Bronco, though. Why, you'd think it was a real bronco. Plum wore me out.
+++
To say that things, the world I mean, had changed would be a ridiculous statement. It was like I was on a different planet. Some open spaces between developments were a lot like I remembered, except for the cement roads. And all the fences. And what Fast Eddie called blacktop. ‘Course I’d seen, more like heard really, the changes on the TV that they’d kept on in the room that I’d shared with more old codgers than I could remember. Since the television set was mostly out of the direct line to my good eye, I didn’t see much of it. Some of the changes were all right, not too bothersome, I guess. Wasn’t their fault that they were like they were any more’n it was mine. Knowin’ what automobiles were and what they could do was not the same as drivin’. Let me swear to that. Can’t count the folks I put in the ditch the first day out. Sure, they thought I was drunk. Prob’ly called the law soon’s they could get to a telephone. Wouldn’t know how to use one, myself.
The Bronco took a chunk outta my roll. Left enough, though, that I shoulda been able buy a decent rifle. Hah! Fat chance of that. Feller at the store said I could get one easy enough out of the newspaper. Didn’t need one that bad. Thought I’d just wait ‘til I came across one someway.
I wasn’t exactly on the run. Didn’t escape from no prison. I was properly discharged from a hospital – a free man. I don’t think there was a warrant out for me. Or even any kind of hunt, at all. No matter, I didn’t want to advertise myself. Far as I knew, all I was guilty of was traffic stuff, drivin’ the way I did. But I didn’t know, maybe the gov’ment did have some kinda ownership of me. Even if they didn’t, I knew they could shackle me whenever they wanted and all I could do about it was cry in a sock.
Not exactly retracing my route, since I was in a coma while gettin’ to Denver, I passed landmarks that I’d heard of. I saw the butte they called the Castle Rock. I’d heard about it. Couldn’t see it, myself, what, with the curved top. Went through Pueblo where the massacre by the Utes and Apaches wiped out a trading post in ‘54. I missed the gold rush of ’59. I was on my way ‘til Greenhorn Mountain got in my way. Thought maybe I could start my own rush there. No such luck. But joinin’ a crowd a day late ain’t no way to get fresh bread, I can sure you of that. Johnny-come-latelies to a gold rush gotta be real lucky. An’ that ain’t me.
Fort Garland brought back memories like they were yesterd’y. Kit Carson. He was really somethin’. He wanted to do everything. Did most of it, too, I’d guess. Garland was started in ’58 to protect settlers in the San Luis Valley. Abandoned it in ’83 when they put the Utes on the reservation. Never mind that there were bands of Apache that still had their way now and again. Mount Baldy there in the Sangre de Cristo Range was where I had to spend two freezing nights hidin’ from an Indian that was perched as a lookout for somethin’ or other. I was just glad I hadn’t had my burrow with me on that climb. He’da looked me out quick. He prob’ly lit out soon after I got hid real good, makin’ me the fool for stayin’ under that rock for two days.
Alamosa now, was trouble. A good place to get yourself shot, either by some drunk, a bad man, or by a sheriff that should never’a been one. I’d rather pay more at some little pueblo of a town an’ pass Alamosa by. I was low on gas, but that didn’t stop me from passin’ it by this time, either.
So I ran out of gas. There were a few little towns that had no filling stations. I spent a little time watchin’ cars an’ trucks go by while I thought back on Saddleback Mountain off in the distance an’ how some fools wasted their time prospectin’ it. This land was bad for Indians back when I came through in the 60’s, or maybe it was the 70’s. Anyway, wadn’t too long an’ a cowboy in a pick-up truck stopped for me. Took me to La Jara. I’d never heard of it, but here it was, a big town. He was gonna carry me back, but another cowboy goin’ north took me. ‘Cept for runnin’ out of gas, those trucks sure had horses beat to blazes an’ back.
Antonito was once not much more’n a sheep camp and a Catholic church. Couldn’t tell it now.
I dreamed on LouAnne, wonderin’ how bad she had it after I left. Bad enough while I was there. A hunnerd years’ll take a toll, least on everybody else. I scolded myself for even goin’ there. Like she’d be standin’ there at the Yellow Cactus Saloon waitin’ for me.
Hot Springs, Ojo Caliente. I never did get to experience that. Won’t now either. Runnin’ out of gas set me back some. It was gonna be late if I made it to Cerrillos today. I looked for Gallego and El Rito and a few other tradin’ stops, but never saw hide ‘ner hair. Española now, I wasn’t surprised to see that place still there. Been there since the 1500’s. Only it was called somethin’ else then … somethin’-somethin’ caballo, or somethin’. Anyway, I was wantin’ to get to Cerrillos, not take a geography lesson. I was amazed, but not too surprised to see shacks scattered across the desert. I wondered where they got their water, though.
Agua Fria. Like I said, the folks at the hospital left the TV on all day long quite a bit. Heard a radio down the hall, too. There was a singer sang a song that had me goin’. Don’t know his name, or the name of the song, but it sure rang out to me. It’s a thousand wonders it didn’t wake me up. An Arizona ranger went to Agua Fria after Texas Red. Big Iron … that was it. Big iron on his hip. I don’t know if the story was true, but when I passed through, there was saloon talk about it. A ranger and Texas Red. Or … maybe the song put that memory in my head. Who knows. Agua Fria. Cold water. I never drank it. Couple beers, fill my tote, and I was on the road. Just like now, only I didn’t stop.
It was gettin’ dark, would be well after sundown when I got to Cerrillos. Wadn’t nothin’ but to do it, now, though. I had no idea what I’d find, if anything. I hadn’t eaten all day. Never thought about it. Drank some water from a fountain when I got that can of gas, but that was it. If there was a town anymore, I hoped it had a hotel.
It did, but they called it a motel, a motor hotel. Guess we coulda called ours a horse hotel, but maybe that’s where the name came from in the first place.
This is actually chapter 4 in my manuscript. I don't know if it's worth trying to correct, or just go with it.
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben Persons rescued in 1886
Ben Persons: young man with a calling from God, (1851-1890)
LouAnne: Saloon girl that Slim loved/idolized.
Suzanne: long-term care aide who took an interest in Slim's well-being
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben Persons rescued in 1886
Ben Persons: young man with a calling from God, (1851-1890)
LouAnne: Saloon girl that Slim loved/idolized.
Suzanne: long-term care aide who took an interest in Slim's well-being
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