140 Mettle Begin

Katheena said, “What the hell are you talking about Will?”

I gulped. I was about to call her out.


When you have hit rock bottom, only then you are free.



What else do you have to lose?



You have to go All In and risk it all. It's simpler when there is little left.


But not like this:



“Tommy Hewitt said that you are a lesbian.”



Katheena charged at me. She did. She fucking charged at me as I sat there in the dust.



I moved to the right because I am right-handed, but it didn’t matter.


Her fists pummeled me, and I did not defend myself from her.


When she was tired from her spent adrenaline, she sat crying on my chest and stopped slapping at my face. I was thankful that she didn’t have her beer bottle in her hand from before.



I brushed the desert mud out of my eyes and stared up at her.


She said, “You do not have the right to say things like that to me.”




She was right. You have no right to pull someone out of the closet, and fuck you if you ever attempt such a thing.


There I was thinking only about me and my sudden need for The Truth and fuck all else.

Fuck everyone else and their own shit to deal with.


It was like I was expecting the rest of the world to suddenly catch up and be honest to me, even if they weren’t quite yet honest with themselves.

Shit did I have a lot to learn.



Katheena got up off me and walked down the side of the canal, into the fading sunset.



I rolled over onto my hands and knees and shook the desert dust off of my clothes and dug the salty mud from my eyes and then staggered up to go after her.



You know, I always seemed to be chasing after her. It’s like waking up from a really good dream, and you want to get back to sleep and try to get back into it, to continue it, to see what sort of ending such an excellent thing might take you.


These were waters I had never before navigated. I have never tried to understand how them women’s brains work, and this was not the time for learning. But it would not end like this. I would not have it.


She kept her pace, slow and steady, and I felt like I was about to wake up. So I quickened my pace to stay dreaming. It would all make sense, I was sure of it.



She got further away from me, even though I was speeding up. She became a dot on the horizon, and I lost her in the sun.


Crows cawed off to the right in the pale pink and orange of the fading day.

I looked down off to the side and saw footprints in the desert dust. These were quite dainty. They led away from the cement water canal, that man-made river, and off to behind a cement-block wall.

Katheena looked up at me when I came around it.


“Get the fuck out.”


“No. I won’t.”




“Get out Will.”


“Nope. I’m not leaving.”




“Get The FUCK OUT OF HERE!”


I stood my ground.



She did not get up. She just glared at me. Her make-up was all fucked up.



I said, “I can’t leave you. It’s chust not possible. I have nothing else left here in this desert wasteland, no reason to stay. There’s only you. So if someone is going to get the fuck out, it’ll have to be you. I’m not leaving.”



All In.



= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =





It was different this time. It began with a kiss, and it did not end with mayhem. Beyond that, it was like coming home, if that makes any sense at all to you.


A connection, a sort of unspoken communication that can tell you things you had not considered before… well… this is what it seemed to be.


Lost in the desert, but finding a secret path not traveled by many before you might be what you had been seeking.


Perhaps there is a home that does not involve simple geographical change?




Huh.



++++++++++++++++


She said we would make a perfect couple, but not in the way I had thought.


What the hell did this mean?



Fuck buddies? Booty Call? Ass on a rope?



Cheap?




No.



I think, looking back, she meant that we had some sort of connection which transcended such a thing as simple physical pleasure.




It meant something more than that stuff.




It involved both of us finding our Mettle.








With,



And because of,



each other.





Gawdamn, son.




+++++++++++++++++++




A watery angel, a nanabush jokester, a golden crow lady, a little lion man, a wounded savior, an imprisoned truth seeker, a saved lost soul, and a well-hearsed devil. It was like a friggin Alice in Wonderland sort of story.



You were thinking Wizard of OZ, huh. That’s funny, but probably it is more apt. Good for you.


I laid my leather down in the dust, and I laid Katheena on top of it. Always mind your leather.


I had some new things to show her. But it went beyond that. Ya know.





= = = = = = = = = = = =











Big Bryan could not greet me properly as he had wanted to, with a simple hand shake. He was restricted. His wired jaw prevented him from talking loudly through the phone as we sat across from each other with several panes of bullet-proof glass between us.



But he had learned how to speak quite clearly between his clenched teeth. Every phrase was spoken in a gritted grimace, like he was so pissed off that he could not open his mouth.



He sounded like Clint Gawdamn Eastwood. “Will. So good to see you my brother.”


I gulped. “Bryan, how they treating you?”



He looked around behind him and swung his face back. “Get. Me. Outta. Here.”


I sat back, eyes wide open. “Huh? Really?”




Then he laughed as loudly as he could from behind his prison of teeth. “I’m fucking with you!” He got spittle on the glass.


I sat forward. “Don’t do that!”




He laughed again.




When he settled down, he said, “Nah, I got me some bitches in here. It’s OK.”

My eyes went open-wide again. “You got bitches? You turning the other cheek dude?”




He chuckled again. “No, man. I mean that I’m running shit here, in my own little circle.” He saw the look of relief on my face and laughed again.




Fucker.



Then he said, “How’s Sean doing?”

I thought about this for a second. I did not know where to begin. “He’s healing.”



“Good. Uh, what else, Will? You look like you’re about to call the Kremlin for tickets to the DEFCON ONE show.”





“Hah? Oh, well, his girlfriend is a bitch. Actually, she’s a rich bitch.”

“Huh. Well, that figures. Dude likes money. But fuck all, who doesn’t, eh?”




I nodded. “She sure has plenty.”


“How plenty? We talking a new BMW every other year, or a new Mercedes when the ashtrays get full?”





“Bryan, we talking a new Benz to match the new purse.”

“Oh. Fucking wow, Will.”





Bryan settled back for a second, grimacing. Of course, that was his only look now. Even when he smiled he was grimacing. “Why she a bitch?”


Good ole Bryan. Always seeking the truth. So I said, “She called me out for being a whoredog.”




He chuckled again. “Was she right?”

I could only nod.


Fuck.




“So, how’s our girl Katheena doing?”

Man. This guy would not give up.




“She’s good.”


“How good?” He laughed, like he already new something.





But he did not know one thing.



He did not know that he was right.






Fuck fuck.











I suddenly wanted to go visit ole Glinty McFlintlock at his place out in the desert dunes.




Maybe it was time to start finding out for myself what in the hell was up with all that shit.







LINKS










The Truth About Katheena, from Tommy Hewitt. I had promised him that I would keep it secret, and I did. But a secret is not a secret to the one it is about.



What are you doing?!! Birds with mimic ability learn bad parenting skillz, yo.


Sorry about the following, which reminds me of all those times I got caught masturbating in the church apse when I was an altar boy…




How about something nice for your Saturday Morning viewing?

Here’s an interesting exploration about over edited action scenes in movies like the Transformers. This one is about the Dark Knight big chase scene. Damn fine.

In the Cut, Part I: Shots in the Dark (Knight) from Jim Emerson on Vimeo.

Antidote to brain, here’s brawn. Honest Abe got an arm and a foot Too bad about his bulletproof skillz yo.




Fix your videos with YouTube magic?





This is for DNR administrative assistant “Cookie” who thinks I have an addiction to tape. Seriously, the huge sample containers need to be secured well! She’ll never believe me…

Tape Generations from johan rijpma on Vimeo.

Your Superhero name is…?





Dandy Warhols. Dancey electro. Dotta song.












God Help You.


God Help Us All.





---willies out.















OK, one more for my lady. She is of the Crow Clan. It's an all night thing, baby.













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