Flipside by Byron Wayne Scott - HTML preview

By Byron W. Scott

Life is a gift
What do you do with it?
Do you increase your inventory?
Add to your stress and worry?
Accumulate possessions
Along your road?
But it’s so hard to climb the mountain
With such a heavy load
It will weigh you down
And wear you out
And turn you from your goal
--from the Songs from Long Road
By C. L. Walker—

 

1 Flipside

 

Mighty peculiar.

 

He had raised his head from his paperwork and discovered an unusually large

 

number of people milling about the bookstore. Each and every individual was

 

dirty, ragged and unkempt. It looked like a convention for the homeless. He had

 

no idea there were so many destitute people in such a small town.

 

Equally puzzling was the fact that everyone had managed to slip past him without

 

being noticed. His desk faced the entranceway. Had he been that absorbed in his

 

work? He watched for several minutes as they very quietly and unobtrusively perused

 

the stacks and racks of books, and finding no reason to hassle anyone, he soon

 

returned to his deskwork.

 

A moment later a slight commotion caused him to lift his head once again. He

 

was shocked. The number of people had increased tenfold and had become a

 

menagerie of all social classes. Women in expensive fur coats mingled with the

 

poor. Booths, stalls, and tables had been set up in the aisles, causing the bookstore

 

to resemble a flea-market.

 

A sickness developed in his stomach. He had been the one left in charge, and

 

things had gone to hell-in-a-hand-basket in no time at all. How had it been

 

possible?

 

A young couple began to set up a booth next to his desk. The man worked

 

vigorously while the woman tried to contain two restless children.

 

It was the last straw. In one swift motion he pushed himself away from his desk

 

and stood up.

 

“Y’all are gonna have to leave,” he sternly announced, although he knew full well

 

that the situation had already grown out of control. “I’ve got work to do, and I

 

can’t do it with all of this going on!” He waved his arms in frustration. The young man working beside him calmly lifted his head. “Arrangements have

 

already been made,” he said in a slow drawl.

 

“Nobody said anything to me!”

 

“That’s the way it goes. Management.”

 

Credit fumed. Surely the manager would have mentioned something of this

 

magnitude, wouldn’t she? Damn! As much as he hated walking out on the job,

 

one thing was certain—he couldn’t work in the middle of a flaming circus!

 

He nimbly avoided the burgeoning crowd as he stomped through the room and

 

then stepped outside onto the sidewalk. He wasn’t surprised when he discovered

 

that there wasn’t a soul in sight.

 

“Everybody in town is already in the damn bookstore,” he sarcastically asserted to

 

himself as he gazed up and down the lifeless street.

 

He watched with interest as a gust of wind picked up some curb-side litter. It was

 

lifted high into the air in slow, lazy swirls. Suddenly taking note of the

 

background, Credit realized with a sudden jolt that he wasn’t where he had

 

thought he was at. This was not his quiet home town in the East Texas

 

Pineywoods, but a run-down, northern industrial city!

 

He searched for an explanation and like a revelation the answer immediately came

 

to him. It originated from a source that was deep inside himself, and the conclusion was undeniable. This was all a dream. It was the only feasible

 

explanation. Not only did it explain the number of homeless people, but also how

 

they had gathered so quickly. Not to mention the fact that he had never worked at

 

a bookstore before in his life.

 

A sudden urging overcame him and he decided to take advantage of the situation.

 

Spontaneously, he took a few running steps and then leapt high into the air with

 

reckless abandon. Miraculously, instead of dropping back to earth, he defied

 

gravity and continued to rise into the air with increasing velocity. It was as if he

 

was being pulled through the sky like a kite, with strings attached to his pelvic

 

bones and shoulders. He arms and legs dangled behind him as he raced along. His

 

stomach was relentless in its pleas for him to stop.

 

The next moment he was hovering motionless in mid air, observing the city

 

below. The hilly topography reminded him of Syracuse, New York, although he

 

had never before seen it from the air. He wondered if his dream had actually

 

transported himself to that locale. For some reason it did not feel right. His

 

conviction was not absolute like it had been when he had realized that he was

 

dreaming. He suddenly itched to be on the ground once more.

 

He spotted a clearing in the trees below and then pulled himself toward it, landing

 

light as a feather. As he familiarized himself with his new surroundings, he noted

 

that while the field where he had landed was treeless, it was far from being an empty lot. Amongst overgrown weeds were barrels of waste products and stacks

 

of rusty, steel I-beams.

 

A group of men were standing beneath the trees on one edge of the clearing. One

 

of the men noticed Credit watching them and pointed him out to his friends.

 

While they were too far away to be heard, Credit watched with keen interest as

 

they conversed with exaggerated animation before scattering along the tree-line.

 

Their movements did not appear friendly.

 

The gang surrounded him at a distance and then began to advance towards him,

 

silently communicating with hand signals. Some of the men sported knives. Steel

 

blades glistened in the sunlight.

 

With his escape route cut off, Credit decided to make his way for the central slag

 

heap. Under different circumstances, he would have been quite alarmed at such a

 

situation, perhaps even terrified. But he knew he had an ace up his sleeve, and it

 

made him feel confident to the point of becoming smug. He decided to have some

 

fun by taunting his pursuers.

 

“Hey, amigos!” he gleefully shouted. “Are you sure there are enough of you?

 

Perhaps you should bring your sisters to help you, no!?”

 

He cackled loudly as he leapt atop the tallest stack of steel girders. Even then, he

 

was barely out of reach from the ground below. His remarks brought scowls from the young men and caused them to quicken

 

their pace. They gathered below him in a circle, seething with resentment but

 

confident they would soon get their just revenge. The leader of the gang stepped

 

forward with a smirk upon his face.

 

“You have nothing to fear from us, gringo,” he whined. “We even forgive you

 

your insults. All we want is your money. Our fair share. So you come down and

 

we split it up, OK? We even let you keep some. OK?”

 

The gang members shuffled their feet as they gloated.

 

“I don’t believe you are macho enough to take my money,” Credit shouted back.

 

“Even your sisters are no help.” He smiled wickedly as he motioned towards

 

several of the men. “Perhaps you should send your madres to rob me!”

 

The jest made most of the men madder than hell. They lost patience. When he

 

saw a revolver being drawn, Credit quickly leapt into the air, hooting with

 

laughter at their dumbfounded looks of despair when he continued to rise into the

 

sky.

 

He followed a parabolic path of flight until he landed in a residential back yard.

 

His new setting felt exceedingly familiar, although it eluded his actual recall. As

 

he scanned the area for a clue to jar his memory, he spotted Mark and David

 

talking to each other near the back fence. Apparently, they had been tossing

 

horseshoes. The incongruity of the situation did not elude him. While they were two of his

 

best friends, they were from different times and places. They did not know each

 

other. And yet each of them loved to challenge his goal in life—his quest for total

 

freedom. Their contention was that it was both an undesirable and an unattainable

 

goal. His contention was that he would never be able to view the world as it really

 

is unless he freed himself from the strong cultural distortion and bias that was

 

taught to everyone as they grew up. But because total freedom was such an

 

abstract concept; since there were no maps that delineated the way and certainly

 

no lists quantifying the possible rewards, Credit was never able to adequately

 

define his position and rationale. Sometimes not even to himself.

 

But now an opportunity had presented itself. He would give Mark and David a

 

demonstration of what could be accomplished if one did not get caught up in the

 

pursuit of land, money, and material items; what was possible for every man if the

 

constraints of society were loosened. He would perform a grand leap into the sky

 

and then return! They would be impressed.

 

“Hey, guys!” he shouted. “Get a load of this!”

 

When they turned to look he leapt confidently into the air.

 

To his sudden consternation, he rose only fifteen feet before losing his balance.

 

With no physical control over the situation, he watched wide-eyed as his feet

 

swung out in front of him. He turned a backwards somersault and then landed awkwardly, though softly, on his hands and knees. As he struggled to regain his

 

feet, he could hear the snickering coming from his friend’s direction.

 

Silently cursing them, he reassured himself of his ability and then once again

 

attempted to walk the sky.

 

And once again he turned a backwards somersault before returning to earth, this

 

time landing lightly on his back. This time his mounting embarrassment was too

 

much to overcome, and he continued to lie on the ground.

 

Shit, he mused, now these guys are going to think I’m flakier than ever.

 

“What’s he doing?” he heard David ask.

 

“I don’t know. But whatever he’s up to, he’s not hurting himself,” Mark replied.

 

“I noticed that, too. He’s on to something, but I don’t know what.”

 

“He looked like a fish flopping around out of water.”

 

“Hey, Credit, try it one more time!”

 

“Yeah. Once more! You can do it.”

 

“You gotta knock on wood.”

 

“Yeah. Knock on wood!” He heard the knock on wood as he pushed himself up from the ground. He

 

heard it plain as day.

 

There it was again.

 

He decided it would be best to open his eyes and answer the door. 2 Bonnie

 

The loud rapping brought him quickly to his senses. He rubbed his eyes as he sat

 

up.

 

Another loud knocking brought him to his feet. As he peeked through the front

 

door curtains a grin spread across his face.

 

“Let me in, damn you! It’s cold out here.”

 

He opened the door and Bonnie drifted in with the cool, spring breeze.

 

“What’d you do? Fall asleep?” A guilty grin was his only reply.

 

“I wish that’s all I had to do was sleep all day.”

 

“I just had the most amazing dream I’ve ever had.”

 

“All about me, I suppose?”

 

A noncommittal chuckle was his initial answer. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he

 

said.

 

He was well aware that the dream had stamped itself into his memory and could

 

now be recalled at will, as if an actual event in his life had occurred. Two aspects

 

of that dream stood out. The first was very intriguing; the fact that he realized

 

within his dream that he was indeed dreaming. It was an extraordinary and

 

unlooked for development. The second aspect was more troubling; the fact that he

 

felt endangered by a Hispanic gang. He considered himself to be free of prejudice.

 

He certainly harbored no ill will towards any ethnic group, and he wondered

 

about the significance. What would cause a scene like that to creep up in his

 

dreams?

 

“When did you get back in town?” he asked, changing the subject.

 

“This afternoon. If you’d get a telephone, I could have called.” Bonnie glanced

 

around the room. The house was very clean, but essentially empty. Credit owned

 

only the barest of necessities; a few pieces of furniture, a refrigerator, a mattress on the floor in the bedroom. The man had no interest in consumer items. Yet he

 

was the most creative person she had ever met. And in his own way, the most

 

caring. The good looks were extra.

 

“Hey! You’re alone again!”

 

“Mark and De moved into their new house a couple days ago.”

 

“So who’s gonna cook, clean and take care of your other needs, now?”

 

He didn’t even attempt an answer.

 

“I don’t know what you see in Deanna,” she blurted.

 

Understanding, he reflected. Her eyes peer into my soul with recognition.

 

“She ain’t beautiful...”

 

She has sex appeal oozing from every pore of her body.

 

“...has a bitchy personality...”

 

She’s not happy with her marriage, with the direction of her life.

 

“...and she’s fat!”

 

“She’s not fat!” he snapped out loud. Immediately, he caught himself, shrugged his shoulders. “Overweight, a little.

 

If she gets serious about a diet, ol’ Mark will have a fox and a half on his hands.”

 

“She’s married.”

 

Yes, married. And to his best friend, no less. He smiled weakly, well aware of the

 

cliché he had become caught up in.

 

Bonnie was perceptive. It made him wonder exactly what it was he was doing.

 

Why Deanna? Why the strong physical yearnings for a woman he had known for

 

years as a friend?

 

Eighteen years ago, after his divorce, he found himself faced with a dilemma. He

 

could continue living within the cultural surroundings of his day, with all the

 

political processes and societal practices with which he disagreed, or he could

 

seek absolute and total freedom.

 

He opted for freedom, knowing full well that it would be a long, slow process.

 

Simply dropping out and running away from responsibilities, both financial and

 

emotional, was not a road that would lead to his goal. It would have to be a sober

 

and thoughtful process.

 

He was now very close to realizing his goal. His son would soon be graduating

 

college. His financial responsibilities would end. He had taken care of his other debts. He had only to cut his few remaining ties to the government and say

 

good-bye to his editor and friends before he could declare his total freedom.

 

Bonnie was a part time model. She had beautiful red hair and freckles, and a body

 

to boot; luscious breasts and a thin waist. And a wonderful way of making love.

 

When he first met her, she had been no more than a pleasant diversion. But the

 

more he came to know her, the more he realized that her beauty ran much, much

 

deeper than her skin. Bonnie had class and style. She could have any man she

 

wanted. He never dreamed that their relationship would reach the point that it had.

 

He wondered if that was the reason for his sudden infatuation with Deanna. Was

 

he unconsciously searching for an easy, if not messy, way to say good-bye to

 

Bonnie?

 

“You’re jealous of her,” he teased as he hid his feelings and moved closer to

 

Bonnie.

 

“Well, you make me mad! Falling for a married woman.”

 

He grabbed her around the waist and put his mouth to her ear.

 

“And you didn’t come over here to be mad, now did you! You came over here to

 

bounce around on the bed. Admit it!”

 

“I did not!” she said as she playfully struggled against his advances. He held her firmly and nibbled her with kisses until she finally relented. It did

 

not take long. She could sense that he needed her. They needed each other. It had

 

been a long time.

 

Afterwards she lay silently on her side, unusually reflective. Credit had never

 

been that rough with her before, that selfish. Was it because of his feelings for

 

Deanna? Would he feel less threatened if he was involved with a married woman?

 

Saddened and resentful, she pretended to sleep.

 

Credit sat awake, restless and agitated. He was sorry for the way he had just

 

treated Bonnie; ashamed that his thoughts kept drifting towards Deanna.

 

Impulsively, he gave Bonnie a firm shake.

 

“Wake up,” he whispered. “Let’s get dressed. We’re heading for the Hill

 

Country.” 3 Hill Country

 

She was sleeping soundly against the passenger door when he parked the truck at

 

the top of the bluff.

 

“We’re here,” he said as he gave her a gentle nudge.

 

Credit stepped outside and stretched. He glanced up and noticed the cloud cover

 

rolling in. There wasn’t a single star in the western half of the sky. He pulled the

 

flashlight from the knapsack, grabbed the tent and sleeping bags, and then tapped

 

loudly on Bonnie’s window.

 

“C’mon, sleepy head, let’s go. We’re here.” She stumbled out the door, moaning and stomping her feet. “I don’t know how

 

I let you talk me into this,” she grumbled. “What time is it?”

 

“About three-thirty. Hell, you ain’t got anything better to do.”

 

“I just come back from San Antonio!”

 

“Yeah, but this ain’t San Antone—it’s paradise. C’mon, you’ll love it here when