Chapter 17, Blog 3
By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang
The morning workouts gave me a vital high I clung to like a crack addict. I needed it. It was tough at night when I sat alone in a dark, quiet house. I had taken my family for granted, and I was being punished for it. Was this Olympic insanity worth the price? No, but what could I do? No one would talk to me. I reflected on it nightly into June.
It wasn’t the first time someone had left me.
“Charlie! Come here! Charlie!” My mother shouted. That tone meant business. Even as a third-grader, I could tell. I ran into the kitchen.
“Charlie, Mrs. Erny says you were acting out in class again today. Didn’t we have a little talk about that just last week?”
“Yes, Mom, but … ”
“Look here, honey, I know you miss your father. We’ve been through this a thousand times. God wanted him and called him home. If he were here now, he would be very displeased with you.”
“But, Mom … ”
“Listen, little man, you need to straighten up. I know you’re just acting out because you need some more attention. I’ll try to do a better job, OK?”
“OK.”
“All right now, any questions?”
“What should I do the next time Freddie says you’re a bitch?”
“WHAT? Freddy? That little shit! Punch him in the nose!”
A sharp rap at the front door interrupted my flashback. I thought it had to be a court employee with a subpoena. Everyone else was avoiding me.
… don’t even think about answering that …
A second round of knocking ensued, harder, more determined.
I sat frozen in my Lay Z Boy.
Silence.
A moment later, I could hear a key jiggling in the lock.
… these people stop at nothing …
The doorknob creaked, and a shadowy figure crept in.
I gasped.
“Ralphie!”
“Ya big Ass-wipe. Why didn’t ya let me in?”
“Where’d you get that key?”
“From the usual place in your garage, Moron.”
Reveling in sublime misery, I didn’t care to talk to anyone, not even my former – yes, former – best friend.
“Git outta here,” I groused.
Ralphie ignored me. He shuffled over to the TV, turned it on and plopped in a DVD.
“Jist give me a minute.”
“Ralphie, I don’t care to watch any movies.”
“Jist shuddup.”
He fumbled with the remote control.
“C’mon, tell me how ta start this stupid thing.”
“Go home.”
“Shuddup, I mean it. Or I’ll sit on your head and fart until you die. It’s your call.”
“Hit play.”
“Thank ya.”
“What the hell is it?” I asked.
“It’s a move, Dumb Ass.”
“I know it’s a movie. What is it?”
“It’s called ‘Invincible.’”
Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang
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