(This is revision number 9,864,513 of this story. Not really, it just seems that way.)

Cast of Characters:

***Cody Schroder - narrator and main character of the book
***Matt Cochran - Cody's lifelong best friend
***Tommy Thompson, Chad Pisscotty, and Tony Brownwood - Cody's social friends and players for the Longhorns football team
***Bee-Bo the Clown - a "ghost" from Cody's past
***Willie Nelson - one of Country music's Legends
***Brock Daniels - Long time Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's father
***Morgan - Tommy Thompson's red-breasted parrot
***you, the reader

****************************

"Hello reader, my name is Cody. Welcome to my world," I've always wanted to say that and I just did. "I have a sneaky suspicion we're going to become rather attached to each other."

Please don't take that remark as an egotistical comment. It's not intended to be. It seems I have a way of making friends with most people I chance meeting. Currently, I am a Freshman at the University of Texas here in Austin majoring in criminology."

I can hear you ask me right now, "Why on Earth would you want to study the science of preventing criminal behavior? There's no money in that field at all. You're wasting your time, dear boy."

"Well, to me money's not everything. And, the short answer is because it's hard to stand in the shadow of a very famous man and not want to emulate him. I'll explain that comment later."

Right now, I'm seated on the balcony of the Blind Pig Pub with some of my friends. We're chug-a-lugging a few ice cold Budweiser beers and swapping stories if we have one. You know, just chilling out.

Dimmed lights and thick cigarette smoke filled the inside of the bar. Those nasty, disgusting, cancer sticks were the reason we sat outside to enjoy the cool puffs of gentle breezes that blew across the vestibule. From our vantage point, the views of Downtown Austin are amazing. Off in the distance I see a rainstorm has gathered over the jagged landscape.

How did we finagle, by devious means of course, alcoholic beverages to consume? Fake IDs are easy to obtain at many places here on campus and will get you into anywhere you want to go. Mine says I'm twenty-two. That ages me about three years. Maybe we rocked society's norms, but isn't that what college kids do?

It was Bee-Bo the (Not So Funny) Clown who once told me, "You gotta be bad to have a good time."

Believe me, there's a real character if ever one existed. And, I have crossed paths with several of them. You'll meet him here in the pages of my autobiography. Anyway, as I reflect, I go back to the International Year of the Potato. That's 2008's magnum opus.

"Don't glance around the room and wonder who I'm addressing this comment to? Yes, it's you, reader. I'm talking to you again. You'll find I like to do so from time to time. I love the interaction. And, you never know when I might. Now, tell me the truth, did you remember that juicy input about 2008? I didn't, and I'm somewhat of a trivia buff. Insignificant tidbits of knowledge just seem to float my boat on down the river, if you know what I mean."

Ten tender years. That number represented my age back then. And, I maintained much more important things on my mind...like surviving.

DJ Mack, the "Knight in Black" as he liked to bill himself, blared music inside the bar. The tune he played was a sad one. A teardrop rolled down my nose from the pain the song inflicted.

Willie Nelson sang, "Whiskey river take my mind. Don't let her memory torture me."

Suddenly, Morgan squawked a loud harsh cry. He's the red-breasted parrot perched on Tommy Thompson's shoulder. Prominent orange plumage can be found on his neck, thighs, and wings.

Tommy once told me, "I've had him since he hatched out of the egg."

Tommy's one of my running buddies. He migrated to Austin from Ann Arbor, Michigan to play defensive end for the Longhorns.

As they say around here, "Hook'em, Horns! Football..That's what life is all about in these parts."

Curious, he asks me, "Wasn't Astatula scorching hot?"

My mind races back to the small community. Mind you, Astatula's not my home town, just where I grew up. I was born in Palo Pinto. There's only forty-six miles road distance between them, but in many ways they were worlds apart.

I recollected how heat from the sun radiated off the blacktop and danced a choreographed pirouette. You saw the waves shimmy. I swallowed a nacho chip whole, sans any jalapeno peppers. I'm not into those fiery green hellcats. A slight hint of salt covered the crisp tortilla.

I told Tommy, "Most summer days the temperature averaged ninety-two degrees in the shade with matching humidity, thank you very much."

My lifelong best friend Matt Cochran sat on my right side. Matt represented the biggest reason I was in Austin. I'd followed him to the University of Texas, where he held a full ride scholarship to play quarterback.

"Highway 62 dissected our peaceful farming town," he interjected into our discussion.

His statement carried weight. Endless fields of snow-white cotton was one of the main crops for many of the stubborn, insular, Astatulan sodbusters we knew. The fluffy stuff lined the fertile banks of the Double Mountain Fork Brazos River. Interestingly enough the Brazos River contained the full Spanish name of "Rio de los Brazos de Dios," which translated into "The river of the arms of God." Try saying that one three times in a row real fast. You've got ten seconds. I double dog dare you.

For the benefit of those seated with me at the table who didn't know, I explain, "The convoluted meandering of the estuary carried its flow along the southern edge of Crosby County."

Tommy asks the group, "Doesn't that sound like a geography lesson?"

I continue telling them, "The deep and wide Yellow House Canyon sat further to the west. And, the recreational Sullivan Lake on the Llano Estacado Mesa, which happened to be part of the Great American Desert."

"Geography can be so dry," Chad Pisscotty chimed in. He rested on my left.

I look at him and reply, "Locals jokingly referred to the mesa as 85 percent sky and 15 percent grassland."

I peek over the balustrade railing in front of us to the busy street below. Traffic flow is heavy for a Wednesday night. Cars, city buses, taxicabs and trucks fill the four lanes of 16th Avenue. A few pedestrians stroll by.

Mentally, I return back to my companions and state, "But, there is a reason I told you these interesting tidbits about Astatula and I plan to keep right on talking for some time to come."

They laugh and one of them says, "You know what kind of a chatterbox Cody can be once he gets started."

I did like to talk.

"Aren't there a whole bunch of those wind turbine things up in that part of Texas?" Tony Brownwood wants to know between sips of his stale brewski.

I shift my position in my chair to a more comfortable one and respond, "They're everywhere, as far as you can see. And, get this, the government pays you to operate them."

"That's just what I want to do when I graduate. Be a wind farmer," Chad laughs. More reserved than the rest of us, he seldom speaks

What I find mesmerizing about the wind turbines are the elongated tentacles on top of those 345-foot tall babies. Around and around and around they spin in a non-stop circular motion. Will make you dizzy to watch them for any length of time.

"They always reminded me so much of the way your life transpired," Matt remarks.

I can not deny his comment. Too many times I felt that way, like I was racing out of control. Self-expression highlights our gab. We all continue to talk with swagger.

Within the pages of my autobiography you will find a wide cast of assorted characters. You will also discover a poignant story about family life and the resilience of the human spirit. But, there is so much more than that to be explored. Because, through my self-reflection and personal candor, you will learn that my story is also about the unexpected bond between three unlikely companions after they became embroiled in mass murder. In addition, I will share with you heartwarming and excruciating insights, as well as friendships that transcended conventional explanations. Matt and I the classic example of that.

So, pull up a chair. You might as well join our little party. You're here anyway. I'd offer you a drink, anything you like, but I'm at UT and you're wherever you are physically located.

I'll start by telling you, "I grew up the ward of a healthy specimen of a man named Brock Daniels. He stood six feet two inches tall and tipped the scales at 220 pounds. Everybody liked him. And, you still want to know why I'm studying criminology?"

"For the last twenty-three years he's been the Sheriff of Astatula," Matt informed the group.

I pause and state, "Whoa, Matt. Let's slow down and start at the beginning. Shall we?"