Billy Ray Chitwood's Blog, page 7
January 13, 2017
Passing Glory
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Passing Glory
PAST
We practiced all summer, between beach time and part-time work. We worked hard to become Western Rose High School’s best tandem quarterback and wide receiver in the football history of our school and our state of South Carolina.
We? Bobby Borden is the wide receiver of whom I write. The quarterback is Danny Miles. That would be me.
Coach Collins ended our Spring Practice session with this locker room announcement: “I’m already second-guessing myself in telling you guys this, but here goes. The team assembled in this locker room may very well be the best group of athletes we Coaches have had for years. I’m talking about all positions. I’m talking about depth, I’m talking about speed, about execution of plays on offense and defense.”
The coach paused, did that little lip press and nod thing he does when he’s about to say something big.
“What I’m saying to you group of young men is that you are potentially as good as any South Carolina State Championship team this state ever crowned…”
Pause.
“Now, it’s good if this news pumps you up, but do not, repeat, do not, get your thinking going off in the wrong direction. The teams you will be playing this Fall and Winter will likely be hearing something similar from their coaches. What I’m saying is real, and I mean every word. You can be South Carolina State Champs this year. Keep believing these words! Make them your mantra! BUT, do not ease up on the practice field. Execute your plays, play your positions like you’re in that State Championship game.
“Remember this point: regardless what you hear and read in the various media, do not go into any game thinking the other team is a ‘lay down’. Each team you play this year will be reading of your newspaper heroics and will be posting their bulletin board hypes, having their pep rallies, practicing hard just to humiliate you. Stay within yourselves, know you’re good, but go into every game knowing that the other team has watched the video tapes, know as well as they can your strengths and weaknesses and are waiting to pounce on any mistake or turnover you make.
“We Coaches will do all we can to have you prepared for battle, but you are the guys that have to play the game…and, don’t worry, we’ll keep reminding you of this little locker room chat.
“Remember, football is just a game but it can teach you some important life lessons and lead to bright futures – if not in football, in the business world.
“The last thing I’ll mention is also very important. Each time you take the field against that other team, remember to have fun! Practice will be at times very tiring because the Coaches want to hone your skills, have those skills ingrained so they will be second nature, and you will be glad when bedtime comes. Whether a freshman, sophomore, junior, or senior, the rewards are waiting for you when you finish your academics here at Western Rose, scholarships for some, jobs for others, and I guarantee you that these years of playing a rough sport and learning in those classrooms will have you ready for the even tougher competition in the adult world…”
PRESENT
Bobby Borden gathers in his large soft hands my long high-floating spiral on Breton High’s 17-yard line. Bobby works hard to make it all the way to the end zone but the Breton safety has the right angle and tackles my best receiver on the 12-yard line…
Coach Collins predicts correctly about our team. We make it all the way to the South Carolina State Football Championship Game in Clemson, South Carolina.
Coach is right about something else. We build a 24-3 lead at halftime and come out too full of ourselves in the second half. The Breton Warriors make some good adjustments, stop us cold in the third quarter and score three touchdowns – on our two fumbles near our goal line and a punt return.
The coach at the end of the third quarter huddles the players on the sidelines and gives us a reality check. “You’re playing too tight guys and rushing your assignments. We’re here in this exalted stadium with a huge crowd mostly on our side, and they are dying a little bit each time we make a mistake. Look, this is your game to win or lose. You work hard to get here. You believe in yourselves. You know you’re as good or better than the Breton Beavers. The Western Rose Warriors need to take a few deep breaths and rev up for a big finish. Danny, make your reads, audible when you see a one-on-one possibility for Bobby. The Breton safety doesn’t look full-speed to me. Maybe you work on him. Be ready to scramble, Danny, because they are going to keep blitzing you…try a screen pass or two to get them away from the blitz. You linemen are doing a great job. Keep it up. And, Bubba Hopkins, hit them hard up the middle and over tackle…”
The horn sounds for the third quarter.
Coach Collins finishes with this: “All the Coaches are proud of you guys. You’ve got fifteen minutes to build some great memories… Love you guys!”
We all pile on hands, yell loudly, and take the field.
Well, the fourth quarter goes well for us except for some stupid penalties that stop our drives. Our defense is terrific, holding the Beavers to sixteen total yards. So, now, we’re on the Beavers 12-yard line with nine minutes to play in the game, huddling, and I’m calling a fake hand-off and throwing to Bobby at the post. Bobby fakes the defensive double coverage players out of their jocks and makes our tandem a thing of beauty… The huge, awesome crowd and our sideline goes wild. My heart does little flip-flops!
Touchdown! Extra Point! 31-24…
The Beavers take the kickoff on their own 6-yard line, and our special team guys get the runner on the 13-yard line. The Warriors are feeling good. We have the beavers on their own 13-yard line. They try a couple of running plays but our linebackers fill the gaps.
The Beavers are now facing third down and six yards to go for a first down. The Beaver quarterback calls a screen, and we blitz. The speedy and small motion guy jukes our linebacker, catches a high pass, and outruns our safety and two other defensive backs for a touchdown. Great play! And I hate it!
Score: 31-31!
With the football changing hands two times, we now have one minute and three seconds to play in the game. We miss an opportunity to take the lead. We score on a pass play, but the touchdown is nullified because of a holding penalty. After two more dumb penalties, we punt to the Beavers.
The Beavers have the ball. After our defense holds, it’s fourth down on the Beavers 40-yard line. Their Coach calls the team’s final time-out to go over the options. There are only twenty-one seconds left on the game clock when the players go back on the field.
The quarterback almost loses the ball from the errant center, but recovers and lofts a long 35-yard pass to his wide receiver who catches the ball.
On our sideline, there are lots of groans and many heads are hanging low. Our safety hits the wide receiver with a jarring tackle on our 10-yard line and the football goes straight up into the air about fifteen feet. Our safety twirls, looks up, and the ball falls into his arms. He then races ninety exciting yards for a touchdown, dodging, stiff-arming, turning, twisting.
Happy moments for Western Rose Warriors.
Score: 38-31!
That’s the way the score stays as the ensuing kickoff return was the last play of the game. The runner is tackled on the Beavers’ eleven-yard line as the clock runs out.
The noise is deafening! People are rushing onto the field. Players are embracing, some crying tears of joy, some tears of defeat.
The western Rose Warriors are the South Carolina State Football Champions!
FUTURE
Bobby Borden and Danny Miles got their athletic scholarships and went on to play as a star tandem passer/receiver at Clemson University where they had three winning seasons and bowl appearances. AND, they could have played pro ball but decided a business partnership and marriage was more important to them.
They married their high school sweethearts, had wonderful families, and built a major sports products business. They stayed friends throughout their lives and occasionally watched a replay of their victory over the Breton Beavers.
They never forgot Coach Collins and his assistant coaches. They never forgot the glory of winning the South Carolina State Football Championship and their great games at Clemson. The bruises and jarring tackles of past football glory became arthritis and hip replacements eventually. Their football experiences made them competitive in business and they achieved most of their goals.
Glory came with business more often than football victories, and the elation always came with each goal achievement, much like that championship game in Clemson, South Carolina.
Glory with all its euphoria fades but can temper the rest of our lives. The football experience often has for some of us a subtle current that never leaves our minds and bodies. When the right Coaches meet the right players, there can be magic in the transference.
Past glories and the sports’ lessons learned have a place always in the hearts and memories of those who experience them. Those lessons can weave themselves into positive outcomes for life’s problems. When faith, humility, love, and family are added the human spirit thrives.
Flash Fiction by: Billy Ray Chitwood – January, 2017
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CONGRATULATIONS TO CLEMSON UNIVERSITY- NATIONAL FOOTBALL CHAMPS!
January 2, 2017
‘The Way We Were’ – Then and/or Now
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The Way We Were – Then or Now
We awake in the cave, our minds blurred by realities of living.
Moira goes deeper into the cave to bathe.
Somehow, we have ended up here above the land we now see through the opening of the only home Moira and I have ever known. We eat certain vegetation, sweetly sour berries, and meat from the kills of our crude weapons. Over time we have developed a language that allows us to communicate with each other.
Who are we? What are we? What is our purpose? Are we creations of some bewildering fate that allows us the awareness of thought? We can think and therefore we exist. There must be more than the hunt, the kill, the cave in which we live.
What of this thing I hold in my hand, heavy and gouged by the passing of time? How is it I know to call it a rock? I throw the rock into the wall of the cave and it bounces here and there, finally landing not far from the great opening.
Moira’s question breaks into my thoughts.
“Why do you throw the rock, Meito?”
Without looking at Moira, I fumble with the dirt and pebbles on the ground where I kneel, I respond. “I throw the rock because of my confusion and our way of living…the rock has thickness, weight, and no feelings. Why can’t we be like the rock?”
Moira stands a few feet away from me. She has just come from the cleansing water pit deep in the cave, her long black hair wet and stringy. Her pretty face and deep brown eyes show innocence and purity. The meager animal skin she wears clings to her body and does little to hide the sensual fullness of her youth.
“Because the rock has little function,” Moira answers. “Because the rock has no feeling, cannot hunt, kill, and show love. Meito, we have this same conversation so often. This is where we are and must accept our destiny. We have made our lives better than when we met some years ago, hopeless and lost in this wild mountainside. We will go on and trust in our love. I believe there is some spirit power that will guide us to where it is we are going.”
As I stand, a smile appears on Moira’s face and her eyes sparkle with an unfathomable certainty. She sees my heavy brown beard part and show its own smile. I go to her, and we embrace.
“You always lift me out of my depression. We will let life happen as it is destined to happen. The people we see hiding behind trees, fleeing from us – as we flee from them – maybe, one day, we can unite and get out of the caves… You are beautiful, sweet Moira, and your love is enough for me.”
We soon leave the cave for our hunt.
It is a beautiful day on the mountain.
Flash Fiction by:
Billy Ray Chitwood – January 1, 2017
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December 25, 2016
Winter Musings
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Winter Musing
The trees are bare and ungiving
Like the souls of sick minds,
Their dead leaves floating in the
Wind to a winter of indifference.
Among the chaos of winter urges
Comes the hope of a white dove,
Spreading its inviting wings of
Devotion to an ancient Deity.
Soon the loveliness of Spring and
Fertile minds will convene again
To delve into the mysteries of life,
The primeval phenomenon of Faith.
Billy Ray Chitwood – Christmas day – 2016
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December 21, 2016
Believe It Or Not
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Believe It or Not!
“It’s difficult…”
“It’s also illegal…”
“Can’t tell my wife, my kids, my in-laws, my friends…my country.”
“These are the most frustrating moments of my life!”
The Shrink sat in his stuffed leather chair, legs crossed, staring across the short space with imperious blue squinted eyes. Dr. Keeley paused for several seconds, his white hair and beard giving him an appearance of some ancient scholar whose mind held all the answers. “Do you wish to discuss with me these concerns, Mr. Taylor?”
“I do. I have to talk to someone, or go nuts…no humor intended. The information I have is smothering me. May I ask, is our conversation totally private and cannot be divulged to anyone?”
“That is correct, Mr. Taylor. The information you share with me is private and assured confidentiality. Feel free and secure in sharing your information with me.”
“Does that hold true for divulging government ‘Top Secret’ data to which I’m privy and have signed ‘Non-Disclosure’ agreements, under penalty of fines and imprisonment?”
“I can only tell you of my ethical standards and ask that you be sure whatever it is you wish to discuss has some medical basis, that is, it is detrimental to your mental and/or physical health. I can say I’ve had no one before you discuss with me any ‘Top Secret Non-Disclosure’ data.”
“Well, there’s no one with whom I can talk, or, at least, feel safe in talking…even my good wife. You know, most people likely have a predisposition about ‘Conspiracy Theories’, and what I will tell you certainly qualifies…although it’s the absolute truth. It’s been a real problem for me, watching our country for years go down what I believe is the wrong path, and, now, with me privy to this information, I’m feeling like we are near the Apocalypse stage… Damn, where do I start?”
“Take your time, Mr. Taylor, and try to relax,” said Dr. Keeley.
After a few quiet moments, Mr. Taylor spoke. “I will not tell you how I obtained this information, nor will I mention any names or locations. You will listen and perhaps think I’m rational and sensible, yet a big part of you will doubt and presume I’m a fruitcake…”
Mr. Taylor waited for a moment for Dr. Keeley to reply. He did not.
Mr. Taylor proceeded. “There is a new Army being built in our country as I speak, an Army the likes of which the world has never seen, except, perhaps, in ‘Star Wars’ or ‘Terminator’ movies. The machines will indeed take over the world – THAT is my fear! I’m talking about bio-sensitive machines, huge machines that can move at the speed of sound, including human-oriented robots that can take different shapes, robots and machines that cannot be destroyed.
“There is a global central command here in our country that will electronically, intricately, with scientific, technological fail safe certainty, control these machines and human robots and send them to the troubled spots of the world… ISIS and all the other terrorist groups will be eradicated within weeks, not months, years, but days and weeks. Talk about art imitating life! This is Science and Technology imitating life – or, maybe somehow more accurately, creating new non-organic life forms and machines.
“While I want ISIS and all evil eradicated, Dr. Keeley, my fear is we are creating a human wasteland. We are letting the wisdom of history and the ages fall upon deaf ears. We are messing with an ‘Intelligent Creator’s Grand Plan’…unless we’ve been duped by the tenets of Faith – and, I don’t believe that. Barbarians who behead and burn people alive, of course, deserve their eradication for their ideology is pure evil. What about the emotions of love and compassion? What about that intricate nine-month cycle of birth? What about the beauty all around us, the oceans, seas, deserts, and mountains? Are we…”
Mr. Taylor, lost in his passionate oratory, looked across at Dr. Keeley. He was slumped in his chair, his chin on his chest, eye glasses askew on his face… There was a soft snoring sound, louder with each breath, emanating from Dr. Keeley’s benign face.
Mr. Taylor slammed his right foot down on the lovely wooden flooring.
The noise brought Dr. Keeley upright in his chair, announcing: “We will meet again this time next week if it is convenient for you…”
“Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” asked an irritated Mr. Taylor.
“Of course, you give me the same ‘conspiracy theory’ every week at this time. I practically have your words memorized. I’m hoping each week that I shall hear additional information about your theory. Are you taking the medication I prescribed for you?”
“You have prescribed no medications for me, Dr. Keeley…if you are a Doctor! This is my first and only visit to your office. You are a conspiracy yourself, a real ‘quack’, if you ask me!”
“And, you tell me that each week, Mr. Taylor.”
“So, why do you take my money? If you can’t help me, why do you continue seeing me?”
Dr. Keeley rose, walked to the exit door, opened it, smiled gently, and bid Mr. Taylor goodbye with these words, “It’s ‘ground hog day’ each week for you, Mr. Taylor, with your monologue and our dialogue repeating itself. Please take the medication. It can help you. As I’ve told you, the original Mr. Taylor died shortly after seeing me the first time. I’ve also told you that at each visit. If you are one of the ‘human-oriented’ and ‘bio-sensitive’ robots, you should have the new army re-program you…you should have the new army re-program you…you should have the new army re-program you…you should have the new army re-program you…”
Mr. Taylor stood mortified. On and on went the would-be Dr. Keeley with monotonic sameness and the same gentle smile.
“Oh, my God! The new army has begun its new computerized ‘key people replacement process’. What can I do? What can I do? What can I do? What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?”
Flash Fiction authored by: Billy Ray Chitwood – December, 2016
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December 19, 2016
The Soul of a Dreamer
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The Soul of a Dreamer
or
Play Me a Tune, Piano Man
With this post I get to show not only some of my ‘warts of longing and wanderlust’ but an abiding romanticism that has tagged along with me through my life. The Piano Bar Is symbolic of some younger years when I was going to live forever, a time when I could play out fantasies and dramatic ‘movie scenes’ of a lonely and desperate man, a time when the amber juices made me not so lonely and desperate…when a young lady fell prey to my somber moans of despair, often leading from The Piano Bar to my hotel or motel room. My symbolism here likely matches well with many a fellow comrade seeking nebulous new beginnings. Those who might ‘wonder’ about a moral character issue, the ‘Romantic’ can quickly dispel the issue – given the time!
I’m not going to write in much detail about those nomadic days, my longings, my searching, my quaint poetry (also known as my etchings). Instead, I give you a song, a composition in my head and heart from some contemplative and mystic area of being I shall never fully comprehend. In some ways the song might remind many of Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’ song… That was never my intent to intrude on Billy’s very special material. In fact, Billy Joel’s song never entered my mind until later…besides, Billy Joel is a professional at what he does…and it’s likely okay with him if a guy wants to make a fool of himself.
The reason for my amateurish ballad piece is this: we have a beautiful house which we (my wife and I) have decorated. In our den over the fireplace mantel there is a colorful painting of a piano. As I type away on my laptop the blogs and the current book on which I’m working I constantly pause and look at that painting. At the end of the day I occasionally have one highball (usually a rum concoction of one sort or another), and, with each sip and loss of one or more brain cells, Bacchus stimulates me to sing aloud the words as I gaze at my piano painting…several times, until I feel I’ve captured the soul prompt. Here are those words
Play Me a Tune, Piano Man
Play me a tune, piano man…
Sing me a song from the years.
Play me a tune, piano man…
Bring back the joy and the tears.
Make all the words sad and lonely…
Sung whiskey tenor with heart.
Sing them all warm and embracing.
Keep the crowd rapt from the start.
Now give the keys some gaiety…
Give the crowd reason to smile.
Play ‘til the bar room is closing,
‘Last Call’, folks, for a while.
Play me a tune, piano man…
Sing me a song from the years.
Play me a tune, piano man…
Bring back the joy and the tears.
Song written and sung by: Billy Ray Chitwood – October 23, 2014
Now, if you wish to actually hear me sing the song A Capella, move the mouse on over to: https://goo.gl/FPGYH6. (You Tube)- booing and laughing are permitted since I cannot hear you hurting my tender feelings…my wife left the den when she heard the song – she never told me later that she had a need to retch…
That’s it, music lovers! Please return to your favorite pastime! (Think I’ll write another song…)
Hope you will visit my Website:
Preview my 14 books, a few book reviews, and some comments by the author.
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December 17, 2016
Love and Consequence
Love and Consequence
Love and Consequence
“Action! Camera!” the director bellowed through the megaphone.
The two actors stared into the eyes of each other for some seconds.
Finally, the male actor spoke: “What am I to do, Penny? These corny words are not the words I wish to speak to you…”
“Cut!” yelled the Director, Simon Foxwright, lifting his heavy body from the canvas chair, walking toward the actors, his bewhiskered face wrinkling in bad temper, his glasses about to fall from his nose, his left hand scratching his bushy and unruly black hair. “What are you doing, Foster? You’re not following the script!”
Foster Kendrick slowly turned his eyes away from Penny and stared hard down into the eyes of Foxwright, gritted his teeth, shoved the big man backward and walked menacingly off the set.
“Why the hell did you show up this morning, Foster, you lame excuse for an actor?” yelled the director, watching his leading star walk away. “You walk and you never work again, big shot! You hear me, jerk-off?”
Foster disappeared into the shadows of the sound stage and a visceral hush fell upon the set.
The film crew stared at each other with raised eyebrows. Penny, the female lead, had not moved from the scene-opening position. Her lovely blue eyes were vacant as they gazed downward onto the powder blue carpeting, and her long blond hair lay curled and still upon her shoulders.
Foxwright’s wrath had him trembling as he turned to face the leading lady. “What the hell is going on, Penny? Foster was fine until the ‘action’ call. What happened?”
Penny did not move, and he spoke again. “Come on, tell me what’s going on! We’re losing time and money here!”
“I can’t talk now, Simon. I just…” Penny stopped abruptly, spun and walked hurriedly off the set.
“Come back here, Penny! Get back here, now!” Penny disappeared in the shadows of the sound stage. “You two are making huge mistakes!” he screamed, his voice reverberating in the large facility. He slammed the script board down, the carpet muffling some of its forceful sound. Simon then mumbled obscenities and threw his arms in wild swings through the air as he stumbled back to his canvas chair.
The silence was broken by the camera man from his perch ten feet above the floor. “What do we do now, Simon?”
The harried director flailed his arms. “I don’t know! I’ll go talk to them… You guys take a break but don’t wander far.” Simon looked at the script lady and assistant producer. “Take a break, ladies. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll see if I can straighten it all out.”
Soon the sound stage was empty.
Outside, the film crew drank their coffee, smoked their cigarettes and whispered among themselves.
Foster was reluctant to answer the soft door rapping in his dressing quarters.
When it became more insistent, he yelled, “Go away! I don’t want to talk to anyone!”
The rapping continued. Foster angrily rose from his chair, rushed to the door, and yanked it open, banging his head in the movement. He tenderly rubbed his brow and could feel a knot forming. Wisps of his black wavy hair stuck to the sweaty forehead.
Penny did not wait to be invited into the suite. She timidly walked in and took a seat in one of two stuffed chairs, her eyes shifting from Foster to her nervous hands resting now on her lap.
Foster sighed, slammed shut the door and took a seat next to Penny. He took a deep breath and spoke: “Why, Penny? How, Penny? I just don’t understand.”
“It just happened, Foster, I…”
He interrupted her, “Just happened! Just happened! I fell in love with you. You felt the same way, you said. How can you turn so quickly?”
“I didn’t lie to you, Foster. I do love you…but I’ve been lying to myself for so many years. When Ellie did the set scene with me, it was so real for me. I wanted her to touch me and I wanted to touch her…”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, stop! I don’t need to hear this. I’m not homophobic, Penny, but this is true life hitting me in the face. The woman I love is not in love with another man but with another woman…”
“Her name is Ellie, Foster. She is not just another woman to me. Yes, I love her… And I love you. Is that not possible, to love two people of opposite gender in the same way? It was not my intent to deceive you. I thought you were enough for me. Then, Ellie opened new desires within me…” Foster’s head was turning side to side. “I know this hurts you, Foster, but you cannot hate me… I love you…”
“And, you love Ellie! Where is this supposed to go, Penny? Are the three of us to form a ménage a trois and live happily forever after?”
“I would love the arrangement, but you don’t want that and neither does Ellie…”
“My God! I can’t believe what I’m hearing! So it’s been part of your discussions, has it? How cozy! This is ridiculous, Penny. It hurts like hell, but I must somehow get over you… Now, will you please leave?”
“Foster, please! Can’t we talk more about this? I don’t want to lose you!”
“And, you don’t want to lose Ellie, right?”
Penny lowered her head to her lap.
Foster stood, gently took Penny’s hand and led her to the door. “You must go now. We have no more need for talk. I will make arrangements to either kill the movie or have Simon replace me and re-shoot the prior scenes.”
“But it will be a financial ruin for us and…”
He interrupted her again. “You think about finances at this moment, Penny? I’m seeing yet another side of you that is not appealing… Now, please leave.”
He opened the door for her exit.
The movie was made with Foster’s replacement, and the two actors never spoke again.
Foster left show business for aviation. He had been a Navy pilot, would get his commercial license and fly the international routes for a well-known airline.
He would happily marry a first-class business passenger he chanced to meet on one of his flights to Singapore. They would have two sons, a daughter, and become a family favored with good tidings and joy.
Penny would part from Ellie in a year after discovering deception in their relationship.
She would go on to become a famous actress but would never again have a serious love affair. She would become very private in her social activities and famous for the lovely starlets she introduced to the silver screen, many of whom sojourned as workers in her Holmby Hills mansion.
- Flash Fiction authored by Billy Ray Chitwood – December 16, 2016
Please visit my Website, preview my 14 books, view some book reviews, and author comments:
http://brchitwood.weebly.com
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December 16, 2016
Flowers and Fate
Flowers and Fate
“Red or yellow roses, Sir?” the older lady in the flower shop asked.
The young man in his early thirties smiled and raised his brow. “Now, how did you know it was to be roses, Millie?” He knew her from a name tag.
“It’s the body language, young man. Your step, your face, the happy gleam in your eyes.”
“Really! I’m that obvious?”
“You’re that obvious,” she teasingly grinned, “plus I’ve had this shop too many years not to know when love walks through the door.”
He put his hands on the counter and gently asked, “And, do you know how many roses I’ll be sending FTD today?”
“You’re a two-dozen fellow, I’m betting.” She pursed her lips.
“And, does my step, my face, and the happy gleam in my eyes tell you which color I’ll pick?”
“Red, of course! You’re obviously in love and you want the red roses to convey your love for the young lady.” She tilted her head slightly in a positive gesture.
“Why would I not choose yellow roses?” the man asked, amused by the conversation.
“Yellow roses would be fine, but you wish to make a deeper statement. Red gets the point of love across rather profoundly. They say, ‘I love you’. Yellow roses convey happiness and joy in more of a friendship fashion… My goodness, listen to me, giving you information you likely already know.”
“No, you’ve actually tagged me perfectly, and I thank you. It will be two dozen red roses, and I trust you will pick out twenty-four of your very best.”
“It will be my pleasure, plus an extra red rose to accentuate the strong statement. I shall make it a very special arrangement for you. You will wish a card sent with the roses…”
His name was Farris Stanley Ballanger. The flowers were going to Johnnie Ballanger, his wife. On a short business trip to help out one of his service station managers, he would be home tomorrow and wanted Johnnie to receive the flowers before his arrival.
Stan spent some time in thought at the counter as to the words he would put on the card. Smiling, finally satisfied with his choice of words, he placed the card in the accompanying envelope, wrote ‘Dear Sweet Johnnie’ on the front, and handed it to Millie.
Stan paid for the flowers and chatted a few moments more with Millie.
As Stan was about to leave the store, he asked: “Do you mind if I hug you, Millie? You are such a great person.”
Millie obliged, and Stan left the store.
Later around midnight as Stan closed and locked his service station, he was robbed at gunpoint, prodded to the ‘Men’s Room’ and shot to death at close range. His body was not found until daybreak when the service station attendants arrived for work.
Stan’s roses arrived the next morning before news of the robbery and homicide reached Johnnie. Her heart filled with love overflowing as she read what Stan had written on the card:
Love and Time Eternal
It matters not the hours, the days, the years, the lifetime we spend together!
What matters is all the love we have gathered in our hearts
That will last eternally…
Forever, Stanley
– Flash fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood –
December 16, 2016
In Memory of my Uncle Stanley Balsinger who lives forever in my heart!
December 10, 2016
Reality and Truth
Reality and Truth
– An Imagined Discourse in a Democracy –
Socrates – You say ‘the world is not fair’. How is the world not fair?
Citizen – There is inequality in so many facets of our lives.
Socrates – Why do you think that is so?
Citizen – Because the wealthy control our lives.
Socrates – Do the wealthy not create businesses and pay wages to workers?
Citizen – Yes, of course.
Socrates – Why do you not create your own business?
Citizen – Because I’m not wealthy, old man!
Socrates – Why are you not wealthy?
Citizen – Because I had not the money to go to college for higher education.
Socrates – Are there not business owners without college educations?
Citizen – Well, yes, I’m sure there are.
Socrates – So, why do you not create your own business?
Citizen – I have not the knowledge nor the money to create my own business.
Socrates – So, can you not study and get the knowledge to create your own business?
Citizen – I don’t understand the development and marketing aspects of business.
Socrates – Do you believe then that intelligence can be a factor in business?
Citizen – Yes, of course, I believe that.
Socrates – Then, can we say that people have different learning abilities, that some people are more intelligent than others?
Citizen – Sure, I believe that is obvious.
Socrates – Would it not be reasonable to assume then that not all people are created equal in terms of intelligence and ability?
Citizen – Yes, that would be reasonable to assume.
Socrates – Could we not further assume that ‘equality’ is an unattainable goal?
Citizen – Sure sounds that way… But there are people who are poor and without these abilities. Some are infirm and cannot work at all. What about these people?
Socrates – An excellent question. What, indeed, about these people?
Citizen – It seems to me a civilized world needs to recognize the needs of these people and care for them.
Socrates – A noble sentiment! And, what about the group among the needy who would take advantage through fraud of this largesse?
Citizen – There most certainly would need to be a ‘fail safe system’ built into any program that addressed this issue.
Socrates – So, it would seem in many areas of a democracy that ‘equality’ is a noble thought but not an attainable goal. Our dialogue further implies that hard work and effort can lead one to her/his success in life…
Billy Ray Chitwood – December 7, 2016
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December 8, 2016
There Must Be A Better Way
There Must Be A Better Way
“Hey, Man, this is great stuff! Wow! The sky’s amazing! Look at all the colors… Awesome, dude! What’s this stuff we’re doing?” A teenager named Beasley was speaking.
Another teenager named Freeman spoke, “It’s sensimilla, bonehead, and those colors are natural colors this time of day. It’s not the sensimilla you’re feeling, and you just took your first two drags…after a few more drags you’ll be seeing those dark clouds swooping down on you. Depending on your tolerance level for sensimilla, you’ll be catatonic and unable to tell me your name.” Freeman chuckled.
“What about you, all-knowing one? How’s your tolerance level?”
“I know how to control it. You’re going after it like you’re trying to reach Nirvana in ten minutes. You have a surprise coming. You just don’t listen. I told you, take it easy with this stuff.”
”Hey, this stuff is legalized now in several states…it can’t be so bad.”
“I don’t know what the legalized states are using, but I seriously doubt it’s sensimilla…it’s heavy grass, and costly, man, but, what do I know?”
Two ‘joints’ were consumed within thirty minutes.
“How you doing, Beasley?” Freeman glanced at his neophyte friend.
Beasley’s eyes were opening and closing, wanting to stay with the narcotic effect. He was in a limp and listless waste land. He heard the question from his recently met friend, but he could not bring himself to answer. He was without energy and the ability to think.
Beasley fell back on the upper fringe of the hill, waggled his head occasionally, but was essentially motionless and useless.
Freeman eyed the prone body of his friend, laughed, and muttered: “The dumb ass bonehead! Couldn’t take it.”
Ten minutes later, Freeman was ready to leave the lovely hill that overlooked the ocean. He steadily lifted himself from the ground and moved to the mumbling, twitching body of his friend.
Freeman nudged him with his foot. “Come on, Beasley, get up. We gotta go. My girlfriend’s waiting for me.” Freeman only received more mumbling and twitching from Beasley.
With much more force, mixed with a little anger, Freeman roughly shoved Beasley’s body with his right foot, and it began rolling down the steep angled side of the hill toward the ocean.
Freeman carefully took measured steps to stop the body’s roll, but he had no leverage on the hill. He would go down himself if he rushed his movements.
Freeman waited for Beasley’s body to stop its roll, but, instead, it picked up speed. It was like Beasley was somehow helping the steep hill to propel him down…like, he was, in his mind, on some fanciful flight.
Freeman did not go further down the hill. Instead, he turned toward a gravel road where his car was parked on the less steep and shorter side of the hill.
Freeman had a moment of worry but it passed quickly. The grass was doing a nice number on him, keeping him calm, cool, and collected. He would check on his friend tomorrow.
The roll down the hill likely worked off the sensimilla, and Beasley would be fine tomorrow.
***
Headline on the local newspaper’s front page the next day:
Body of Teenager found near beach at ‘Lone Tree Point’.
FLASH FICTION by:
Billy Ray Chitwood – December, 2016
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December 7, 2016
From Italy With Love
From Italy With Love
I thought it was all over!
There were two problems. My single engine plane coughed, sputtered, and acted like it was out of gas – but the tank was filled just twenty minutes before at the air park in Genoa. The other problem was lack of control – without success, I tried to control the Aileron, that hinged surface in the trailing edge of an airplane wing which is used to control lateral balance…think of a seesaw, keeping it horizontally straight without either end dipping down.
Bottom line: big problem with the plane’s engine out and my inability to glide the plane accurately to a spot for landing.
I got lucky!
See the trees at the bottom of the picture above? Somehow, I managed to land the plane some ten feet to the right of those trees, with the right wing an inch or two from the sand and the nose about to plow into the ground. An abrupt action with the right wing somehow caused the plane to straighten its line and touched down roughly but then slowly moved to a stop with the friction of the sand.
No bruises, no cuts, no radio transmission, and no real damage…just some rattled nerves.
Actually, I sat there behind the stick for some seconds and felt pretty good – hey, I had a story to tell my film buddies back in Santa Monica. We were still young, chasing the ladies, and telling each other our tall stories. Because I looked a bit like Steve McQueen, my buddies gave me the nickname, ‘Cool Mac 2’.
I pulled the leather flight jacket from my near 200 pound, 6 foot frame, flung it over my right shoulder, grabbed my clothes bag from the cockpit, and started walking toward the buildings in the picture’s foreground. Only a few feet into my walk I saw an old jalopy heading toward me. My walk only lasted some three hundred yards before the jalopy stopped and a man and woman threw some Italian at me. Some I understood but the gist I did not.
The woman was beautiful, and the guy, well, he was handsome enough, I guess, but he was much older than the lady…for some obscure reason, I was wishing the duo was daughter and father.
“Sorry, I speak very little Italian. Do you speak Enlish?”
“Jes, we speak some Engleesh, but you just crash yur plane! Are you hokay?” Such a lovely voice to go with the face and body.
“Yes, I’m fine. I got lucky. But I could use a phone and some assistance in reaching people who can help me. Would you…”
The older man stopped me in mid-sentence, “Get in the car. We will take you you to our home where there is phone and food.” His white whiskered face showed kindness and blended in with his white wavy hair. He instantly reminded me of Maurice Chevalier…you know, the French actor who sang ‘Thank Heaven for Leetle Gurls, for leetle gurls get bigger every day’.
Rosina was the lady’s name, and Pauli was the gentleman’s name. I immediately liked them and found them most cordial and friendly. It was particularly tough for me me to avoid glancing at Rosina. Her long dark hair went to the middle of her back, framed a beautifully tanned exotic face, and her bluish green eyes sparkled with flirty coyness. She was wearing a slightly loose tan dress, but, had it been tightly fitting, my heart might have leaped through my shirt. I had worked with some lovely ladies in films, and this Rosina beauty did not take a backseat to any of them.
Pauli asked me what I was doing flying a plane in Italy.
“Well, Pauli, my girlfriend and I broke things off, and I was between jobs, never been to Italy and have always wanted to come and see it in person. I’ve been in love with your country ever since Clint Eastwood made those ‘Spaghetti Westerns’, well, actually, all my life. This was a good time for me to come… Oh, my name is Faron Brady. Flying is a hobby, and I just thought I would see some of your beautiful country…didn’t get much accomplished, I’m afraid.”
We talked, got well acquainted, and I felt we established a great bond. Pauli knew who to call to handle the plane and the rental company in Cortona.
When Pauli and Rosina found out I had no lodging in Cortona for the night, they insisted I be their guest, spend a few days, and tell them all about America. I had an idea Pauli was perhaps playing matchmaker for Rosina – without her necessarily knowing it.
After Rosina left the conversation to refresh herself before dinner, Pauli showed me to my bedroom. He announced wine and hors d’oeuvres would be served before dinner and that Madame Rosaria would be preparing dinner for serving at 7:00 PM… Madame Rosaria had been Pauli’s mistress and house manager since his wife died ten years prior. Out shopping, I would meet her later.
Suddenly, I was very tired. I took off my shoes and fell across the bed.
The nap came quickly, and I don’t know how long I slept. When I awoke, Rosina was standing in the doorway with the most seductive smile ever put on me. I raised to an elbow.
“Is it near 5:00 PM?” I asked, trying very hard to return the seduction.
“Jes, you must freshen up and have some wine, the best Italian cheese, and hors d’oeuvres. We await you, Signore Faron.” She turned and left the doorway ‘in a most delightful way’.
Freshened, I joined my hosts in the living room. Madame Rosaria was a lovely lady as well and not a lot older than Rosina. It was a little scary! Both seemed to be putting the moves on me. Now, of course, this was likely an Italian ‘thing’ and not meant to be interpreted in a romantic fashion. Certainly, Pauli was not at all concerned by the actions of the ladies.
We drank, we ate, we laughed, we traded cultural distinctions and idiosyncrasies. It was one of the best evenings I could remember ever having.
In the end, Pauli and Rosaria went to bed, leaving Rosina and me alone in the living room, slightly tipsy and now fully engaged in our sensual maneuvers.
Believe it or not, I don’t remember how I ended up in bed alone. I could remember being sure earlier that being in bed together was a foregone conclusion. A lesson was learned: our cultural distinctions were definitely there and frustrating as hell.
Three days later, Rosina and I decided to be married in Cortona, honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast, then return to California.
Hey, I’m still stunned by the turn of events, BUT I must add, I am one happy ‘Cool Mac 2’… Steve McQueen, we miss you, buddy!
I cannot imagine anything in my life from this point on topping my Italian visit… I do indeed love that country – and, Rosina.
Billy Ray Chitwood – December, 2016
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