COUNTRY ROAD
And drivin’ down the road I get the feelin. . .that I should have been home yesterday. . .Country roads, take me home to the place I belong.—John Denver
The coolness of the air made me shiver, yet sweat from my furrowed brow burned my eyes and blurred my vision as I struggled to open my eyes. When I finally got them open, bright lights of many colors blinded me and forced my eyes shut once again.
I could sense movement around me, which compelled me to force my eyes to open once more. The bright lights and my blurred vision made it difficult to make out my surroundings. I watched, as ghostly shadows reflected off the walls, and danced about with spastic, yet graceful movements.
I lay on a surface that was translucent and unsupported, giving me a feeling of floating on air.
In my blurred vision, I could make out a large circular device with multicolored lights positioned above my torso. Sharp pointed utensils protruded from the middle of the sphere.
I felt naked under the snowy white cloth that covered most of my body. Strange high pitched eerie sounds reverberated in my mind.
Something lifted the cloth and started probing and prodding various parts of my anatomy. My inspector played with me as if I were its favorite doll.
An altered state of consciousness cloaked my mind. I began to laugh, then cry, as I floated off to Disneyland, while the melody “It’s a Small World” played in my head. I had no idea what was so funny or sad. Nonetheless, tears poured from my eyes, further blurring and confusing my surroundings.
After doing whatever they had intended, my abductors implanted a memory block and a tracking device and sent me on my way. Their plan was now initiated. This would be my first abduction. It wouldn’t be my last. I would have no memory of them until many years later.
This event happened on a cool, crisp, clear autumn evening in 1960. I was heading back home after dumping the trash at the city dump a few miles north of town. There was no roadside trash pickup in those days. Taking the trash to the city dump had become my weekly chore since I’d turned seventeen and gotten a car.
Dad had found a mint-condition 1947 four-door Dodge sedan for a mere fifty bucks. It looked to be brand spanking new, with not a scratch on it. A widow had been storing it in her garage since her husband had passed away several years earlier.
I had been working a couple paper routes for the past few years and had saved up the money to pay for the car and the insurance. At my age, pedaling a bike was getting embarrassing. Dad finally decided I had matured enough to drive a car.
I named her Betsy. She was a beauty, my pride and joy. But only for a day, as she would quickly turn into an embarrassment.
My very first stop was to pull into a gas station.
“Whut’ll it be?” Asked the attendant.
“Fill her up,” I said, with a big smile on my face. I was in seventh heaven and on cloud nine.
Not only did he fill her up, but the attendant checked my oil, the water in my radiator, and the air in my tires. He even cleaned the windows. You don’t get that type of service in the near future!
Later that evening, as I returned home from the city dump, I could see dust kicking up from the gravel road behind the car in the rearview mirror. The only sounds were those of the engine purring and the radio playing the “devil's music,” which was what our parents were calling the new rock and roll sound. They were really going to come unglued when heavy metal would come out a few years later.
It was a peaceful evening, and there was not another car in sight. The stars were slowly making their appearance. There was no moon. I was dreaming about joining the navy in a few months, after I graduated from high school. My mind was a thousand miles away as I sailed the seven seas.
All of a sudden, my little dream evaporated as I noticed three blinking blue lights in my rearview mirror, rapidly approaching, in a tight formation. I couldn’t tell if they were on the road or in the air. They approached with blazing speed, and in the blink of an eye I had something tail gating me.
Whut the heck? Not even Superman cun travel that fast, I thought.
Dad burn it, some nut driving up my ass. Hey asshole ,back off. For crying out loud, read the darn driver’s manual. Ten miles per hour, for one car length.
You can probably tell that I’m a little pissed. Might be some road rage brewing here.
But who pays attention to the manual after they get their driver’s license? Certainly not the dude riding my tail. But that would just be the start of my problems with this tail gater, cause suddenly, my whole car started to vibrate. I felt a tingling sensation and every hair on my body stood straight up. Before I recognized what was happening , a humongous brilliant flash of colored light exploded within my head.
Confused and dazed, I realized the car was not moving.
How could that be?
Everything was still and quiet, except for the car engine, still purring, and the radio still playing that devil’s music. I sat with my hands glued to the steering wheel. My grip was so tight that I could feel the muscles in my forearms tighten. In the darkness I saw that the headlights were illuminating an embankment that ran alongside the road.
Holy cow! Whut in the world jest happened? I wondered.
I was shaking like a leaf on a windy day. The mind can play tricks in times of crisis, so I told myself to calm down and think. Because I was a teenager, thinking could sometimes be a new experience for me and could sometimes cause dangerous results, my folks had once told me.
Since the car’s engine was still running, I decided I’d better haul ass and get on back home. The folks would be expecting me shortly.
I shifted to reverse and tried backing away from the embankment, but the rear tires would only spin. I began to smell burning rubber. This was not a good sign.
I realized that the front wheels were embedded in a ditch that ran along the embankment. I was not going anywhere.
Now whut?
I looked around inside the car and noticed some bizarre sights. The front and driver’s side windows were smashed, making them resemble giant spider webs. I tried opening the driver’s door, but it wouldn't budge.
I tried the passenger door. It was stuck too. I tried pushing on it with my shoulder. It wouldn’t budge. Next I tried kicking it. It was being very contrary.
Frustrated, I crawled into the backseat. Both back doors were jammed shut too. I started to panic, and this made me mad. I kicked on both doors and cursed (good thing the folks couldn't hear me), but that didn’t help, either. I still couldn't get any of the doors to budge.
Okay Tommy, pipe down and think.
I took a deep breath, told myself to relax, and decided to crawl back in front. There had to be a way to get out of the car. I tried to roll the window down. It was stuck. All the windows were stuck. That’s when I again noticed the spider glass driver's side window. That just might be an escape route. After several kicks, each one a little harder than the last, and a few more curse words, the window finally gave way.
I crawled out of the car, staggered around a bit, and tried to collect my wits. I just happened to look to the sky and saw a full moon. Beside the moon were three small blinking blue lights, which flew off in formation and then disappeared into the night sky.
I didn’t give what I saw much thought right then because when I looked at the car, I almost went into shock.
Holy shit!
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The moonlight and car’s headlights lit up the area almost as if it were daylight. Betsy was a mess! She looked like something you'd drive in a demolition derby, or something that had just came out of a junkyard! How can this be?
The first thing that stood out, like a sore thumb, was that the door handles were missing, both front and back. It appeared that they had been sawed off.
No wonder the doors wouldn’t open.
The rest of the car was covered with dust, dents, and scrapes, front to back. The back fender was bent into the rear tire.
I walked around and inspected the car from several other angles. The back was perfectly normal, and the rear lights were still shining. The passenger side, however, looked the same as the driver’s side. The door handles were missing, and the car was dented and scraped from front to back.
The front of the car also looked normal, except that the sun visor on the driver’s side was crumbled and torn loose. Chrome strips were missing from nearly every part of Betsy. Without her makeup, poor Betsy was hardly recognizable.
Whut in the world could have caused all that damage?
I could only imagine what had happened. The car had to have skidded on each of its sides, possibly turning over and landing back upright with the front wheels embedded in the ditch that ran alongside the road. If the car had done all that, though, then how could I have stayed seated behind the steering wheel? The 1947 model automobiles had no seat belts or air bags.
None of this was making sense.
Since the car was still running, I figured I might as well try one more time to back out of the ditch. But first, I pulled the fender off the rear tire. I climbed back through the car window, put Betsy in reverse, and again tried backing up. The rear wheels spun and the smell of burning rubber once again filled the air. I tried rocking the car, to no avail. The front wheels were too deep in the ditch.
Now whut... I was fit to be tied.
I had run out of ideas and had just about given up hope when I noticed a set of headlights coming down the road towards me.
“Need some help, sonny?” Asked a farmer, sitting on his tractor.
“Yes, sir. I sure do. Think yew cun pull my car out of the ditch?” I asked.
“Let's give it a shot,” the farmer said.
Luckily, he had a chain. I helped him hook it to the car’s fender, and the tractor pulled the car out quite easily.
“Jesus, sonny, whut in God’s name happened here?” He asked, after surveying the car.
“Guess I must of had an accident,” I replied.
“You don’t say! The road’s done torn up near half a mile back. There’s debris scattered ‘bout everywhere,” he said, as he shook his head in disbelief.
“Cun’t imagine how the darn thing is still a-runnin’.”
“Yeah, me either,” I said.
“Don’t look like yew is hurt none,” he said, as he looked me over.
“Reckon not,” I replied, even though I felt my left elbow stiffening up.
“Must of been yew’en headlights I saw a-shinin’ in the sky back yonder. I wuz a-wonderin’ where those strange lights were a-comin’ from. Yew is one lucky kid,” the farmer said as he scratched his head.
“I reckon so. Much obliged for your help. I best be a-gettin’ back home. My pa will be wonderin’ what’s taking me so long.” I replied.
“No problem, boy. Yew jest best take it slow. No tellin’ whut else might fall off.”
“Yes, sir. I will,” I said.
The farmer climbed back on his tractor and putted on down the road. I could hear him mumbling to himself. Something ‘bout “city folks”.
I climbed back through the busted window and started the dreaded trip home.
Shit, how am I ever going to explain this to dad, when I can’t explain it to myself? I wondered.
It would be many years before I was to discover what had actually happened.
Just as I came to the city limits, I passed a police car parked alongside the road, facing in my direction. As I passed, going real slow, the officer looked up. He probably couldn’t believe what he saw. His eyes opened real wide and he started choking on the bite of sandwich he had just taken.
All I could think to do was wave: “Evenin', Officer Cooper.” He must have been real hungry, because I made it home without him pursuing me.
Teenagers tend to hide things from their folks. That seems to be a common occurrence in every generation. What the folks don’t know won't hurt them, or more, properly put, what the folks don't know won't hurt the teenager. Unfortunately, there would be no way I could hide this from my folks. I sat in the driveway for a few minutes, working up my nerve to go into the house.
As soon as I opened the front door, Dad was on me like a fly on shit.
“Where is yew been, Bud? It's been darn't near three hours since yew left,” he hollered at me. When I was in trouble, dad always called me ‘Bud’.
Three hours! I hadn’t realized it had been that long.
“I had a slight car accident,” I weakly confessed.
“An accident!” he shouted, as he rushed outside to see what I was talking about. The expression on his face, when he saw the car, would have stopped a grandfather clock.
“Whut in Sam Hill happened?” He asked.
“Don't really know, Pop. Maybe I hit a pothole and it caused the car to turn over,” I lied, grasping at a straw.
“Yew is not hurt?”
“No, I reckon not,” I replied.
“Well, it’s well past your bedtime boy. We’ll talk ‘bout this in the mornin’,” he said, still shaking his head and mumbling something I didn’t quite make out, except for the word, “teenagers.”
As I prepared to take a bath (we had no shower in those days), I noticed dried blood on my left shirt sleeve. I looked at my elbow and arm, but saw no blood. In the mirror I could see a two-inch scratch on my elbow. It wasn’t bleeding and looked to be almost healed. Then I remembered the car’s smashed side door window. My elbow must have hit it.
So why was there blood only on the shirt and not my arm? And the scratch looked to be almost healed?
Also in the mirror I noticed that my right upper forearm was bruised. Looking closer, I saw a pattern that resembled the hand print of a small child, but there were just three fingers and a thumb. I noticed the exact same bruise and pattern on my left forearm.
I sat on the stool and bent down to untie my tennis shoes. At first I couldn’t get them untied. They were tied in a strange and unfamiliar knot. I finally figured out how to get the knot undone and removed my shoes and socks.
I noticed that my left big toe was tender and bruised. I sure didn’t remember stubbing it. I reminded myself that I had just been in an accident, so I was bound to have a few bumps and bruises.
A few years later I developed a toenail fungus on that same toe. I would eventually discover that was where the abductors implanted the tracking device.
As I removed my undershirt and underpants, I noticed that the labels were on the outside. I had been wearing them inside out.
How had that happened?
I was too tired to ponder the questions, so I took my bath and went to bed.
The next morning my folks noticed that I wasn’t wearing my eyeglasses. I had had to wear them since the third grade. I thought I had them on, as I was seeing just fine. When I got them and put them on, my eyesight became blurred, as if I had them off. When I removed the glasses, it was if I had them on.
Whut the heck is going on here?
My parents thought I was joshing, but when I read the headlines in the newspaper from across the room, they were convinced. I was happy. It was a dream come true, cause I was no longer Tommy four eyes.
Also that morning, unbeknownst to me, the local radio station was reporting that several people had called and reported strange lights in the sky out by the city dump the night before.
Dad was as confused as I was about how a car could have almost the exact same type of damage on both sides and none in the front or back.
The next morning he drove out to examine the area where I told him I had had the accident. He was gone a long time. When he finally returned, all he said was, “Give me the car key. You’re grounded.”
I reckon he didn’t find any potholes.
The following morning, I awoke with blood in my underpants. Young boys my age were known to have wet dreams and I must have had a dilly. There was blood in my semen.
Mom discovered the blood while doing the laundry. I was taken to the doctor. He concluded that something must have been stuck up into my penis. My urethra seemed to be damaged. He said not to worry, as it would heal itself in a few days.
I had a hard time explaining to the folks that I had no idea what the doctor was talking about. Teenagers could do weird things, even in those days, but sticking something up my penis?
Come on, man.
I cringed just thinking about it.
A week later dad returned the car keys. He had fixed the car enough for it to be street legal to drive. Since I would be leaving for the navy in the spring, he couldn't see spending the money to fix the dents and scrapes. Betsy became known as the Bad Mobile, but as bad as that car looked, there was no way was I going back to pedaling the bike.
Dad never did tell me what he found when he went to check the accident area. He must have found something, because when I asked him about it years later, he got the strangest look on his face. He stared off into space, probing for an answer. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked me straight in the eye and asked, “How can I explain something that I don’t understand?” We never talked about the incident again.
Behold: The Comeback Kid’s legacy has begun.