Words Are Magic, They Have Power Pt 9

wordsThe bus pushed into the night. I was tired but I did not dare go to sleep. I did not have enough whiskey to ensure I passed out. I just had enough to keep my hands from shaking. To sleep, to close my eyes like everyone else, was out of the question. I tried it before, when I thought I could get by without the booze. It was horrible. I dreamt. In my dreams, I saw Renee’s eyes, I heard the men in the stocks scream as the rats nibbled their feet raw, and I was a small boy in a smaller closet. No. Dreams were for other people. I resolved to stay awake until we stopped and I could replenish the whiskey. We had stopped once before but all the gas station, truck stop type of place had was those little tiny bottles. Who the heck would buy those? It would take 15 just too even know you had a drink.
I feel asleep. In my dream, it was Renee in the stocks. Her feet so tiny they barely stuck out of the leg stocks, her hands not all. Blendy was letting her puppy bite Renee, just tiny bites enough to hurt but not enough to bleed, nips all around. She was screaming my name to save her. In a panic I tried to break the bamboo and not being successful I tried to get the men to help, to get up and pull the bars apart. It only had to be big enough to let me slip through. They would not or could not get up. So, with one last herculean try I pulled apart the bamboo and slipped through. I ran to Renee, tripping and half crawling the last couple of feet. I got there and instead of Renee in the stocks, Aunt Sally was there, laughing and eating a powdered donut. She was flat, like paper. I demanded to know where Renee was and she burst into flames. As I walked away, I heard Renee scream again and turned back. It was Renee. It was really my love in the flames and it was too late. I saw her burn.
I woke choking on the scream in my throat. It took a few minutes but I finally the dream faded and I was back in the bus. I reached down for the backpack and my bottle. It was not there. What? I needed a drink. Badly. The bottle was not in the backpack. I looked under the seat in front maybe it had rolled out. It was not there. I leaned out and looked down the aisle. Where was my bottle? I looked at the whore next to me. Cradled in her arms was my bottle. I grabbed it roughly and looked. There was nothing but maybe three swallows left. She had drunk my whiskey.
I drank down what was left, welcoming the warmth. I waited until my hands quit shaking and my head cleared a bit then I turned to the bitch next to me. I pushed her head into the window to wake her.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she demanding rubbing her head.
I shot lasers at her with my eyes. “You drank my whiskey whore! You bitch! You did not ask! You stole it!”
She looked at me and shrugged, “Geez freak out will ya. You shared with me before. Thought it was open game. You weren’t awake. What the hell you some kind of alcoholic are something?”
“No! I am not an alcoholic!” I shot back
“Gee, so defensive! Think you are. Shit, I buy you more at the next stop.” She laid her head back on the window and closed her eyes.
I wanted to smack her again, yell at her some more, but that would make me look like an Alky wouldn’t it? Was I one? A drunk? The question bothered me a bit because I was sure the answer was yes, but I decided not to go there. I would just not ask. I was not an Alky, a drunk. Those people lived in a park and were drunk 24/7. I had a reason anyway, I was a Vet, and I had a lot of bad things happen. I needed it just to take of the edge and to squelch the dreams. I was not a drunk. Was I?
Just as I was starting to shake again the bus stopped at another truck stop. The Driver admonished us to be back in 30 minutes, as he would not wait for us. Feeling a bit like a kid on a field trip, I disembarked into the cold of the night. This truck stop was one of those that carried everything a long distance trucker would want or need. Videos, coffee makers, clothes, video games, everything to stock the home away from home, you name it they had it. They also carried full size bottles of booze. Not my brand but they had whiskey. Two bottles and a package of Oreos left me with five buck to my name. I went into the bathroom and opened the first bottle. I hesitated before drinking. People who are not drunkards don’t drink in the bathroom. I looked at the bottle. Maybe I could I just wait a bit. The smell got to me though and after I drank a quarter of the liquid, I did start to feel normal again. The question of where drunkards drink gone from my mind.
Back on the bus, my traveling companion got chatty. She told me more about her life and some of the more famous clients of hers. Clients. That word made me laugh. She had clients. Like an insurance salesman or a hairdresser. I found it funny and when I laughed, she got offended. That was ok, at least she shut up for a while. After a couple of miles, though, I felt bad about laughing at her. I really am not a bad guy. Not really, so I apologized, she nodded an acceptance.
“What is your name anyway? Not your hooker name, your real name” I asked, hoping to restart the conversation.
“It don’t matter” she replied.
I sighed, women never forgive nothing. “Aw come on, my name is Richard. Tell me yours.”
She shook her head, “I don’t want to, you will make fun of me.”
“How will I make fun of you? What could funny about a name? Unless you have like a hooker name that is your real name. That would be funny, ironic.”
“Exactly” she said.
“Really come on you are kidding me what is your name Candy? Bambi?”
“Bambi” she sad and turned her head away to look out the window.
I started to laugh. I tried not to but couldn’t help myself. The more I thought of it the funnier it was. In between the laughs, I asked, “So what is your HOOKER name? Beatrice?”
I thought it was hilarious, she didn’t. Bambi whipped her head back to me and growled, “My mom liked Disney movies, she almost named me Thumper”
That sent me into more laughs, Thumper the Hooker, that was priceless. I tried to get Bambi to see the humor but she wouldn’t. She flipped me off, which also sent me into laugh. Stupid hooker had no sense of humor. I grabbed my bottle and tipped it. As I was drinking, Bambi grabbed the bottle from me. She shot me a look and took a drink.
“Hey bitch”, I grabbed my bottle back. “Quit drinking my whiskey Get your own. You were supposed to buy me some anyway.”
“Oh gee I forgot Mr. Drunk. What you want me to do?” She grabbed for my battle again, this time I blocked her.
I thought of the five bucks in my pocket and thought,  “Well here was a way to maybe make a few bucks.”
“You have to pay me for each drink,” I said smugly. “A dollar a drink. You have drank at least 20 bucks worth last night and right now. Pay up Bambi.”
“20 dollars HA HA. I didn’t drink 20 dollars worth of 10 dollar whiskey. I don’t even got twenty bucks. I know I give you a blow job for it you old drunk”
For some reason she pissed me off again. The smirk on her face, her calling me a drunk, or the offer of oral sex, I was not sure which it was but it pissed me off. She grabbed for my crotch and my bottle at the same time
“The rest of this bottle is worth a blow job” she declared and started to drink.
I grabbed her hand off my crotch and squeezing hard I hissed “Give me my bottle now!” squeezing harder with each word.
She gasped and gave me bottle. I let go off her hand and she grabbed it back. Rubbing it with her other hand, she informed that I hurt her. I couldn’t care less.
I took a big mouthful of whiskey and then put my bottle away. I had had enough. I grabbed my backpack and made my way up to the driver.
“Let me out” I demanding.
The bus driver looked at me like I was nuts and informed me that the next scheduled stop was not for another hour.
“Stop the damn bus and let me out” I shouted.
The bus driver told me to sit down or he would have dispatch have officers waiting for us. Again, I loudly demanded to be let out. This time, Bambi stood up from where we had sat, about halfway down the aisle. She laughed loudly and yelled, “Sit down you drunk! You retard! HA HA HA”
“. You better be careful you bitch, you whore.” I shouted back “I am going to get off this bus now. You better watch out I told you about the words, the power the magic. Piss me off once more. And I will write a sentence and you will be eat those words”
“Magic HA! You are a crazy, retard drunk, gay too, don’t even want a blowjob! Magic! Bus driver you better call the cops he is a lunatic!”
The bus driver sighed and muttered something about drunks under his breath. He grabbed his radio. As he did, I noticed that he had a clipboard with papers on it and a pen attached with a chain. I will show her. I WILL get off this bus. I grabbed the clipboard. The driver was talking on his radio saw me do so and reached for the clipboard. I danced out of the way and taking the pen, I wrote across his papers
“I wish I was off the bus now that it would stop NOW and I could get off and never see Bambi again!!!”
That will teach her the magic I thought. The bus driver dropped his radio handset and saying something in Spanish (I think he called me an asshole) reached for his clipboard again. This time I gave it to him. I was done with it. I sat down on the empty handicap seat there; prepared to wait, I was sure the bus would indeed stop any minute. I was positive the magic would work.
The bus driver let loose a sting of profanities in both English and Spanish as he saw what I wrote. I think he was mad that I wrote on his papers. He did say something about having to rewrite his schedule report. He put the clipboard back and was grabbing for the handset that was swinging back and forth when he ran into the semi truck in front of us. We hit it going full speed. It seemed like slow motion as I was thrown out the window that had popped open; I flew through the air, landing on my ass. I was facing the bus and I watched as it burst into flames. I looked but could not see Bambi. I wanted to see her as she realized what had happened. I fell onto my back and, staring at the stars. my last thought as I passed out was,
“I told you Bambi, words have power they are magic.”

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5 thoughts on “Words Are Magic, They Have Power Pt 9”

  1. Pingback: Words Have Power, They Are Magic Pt 8 | The Blog of Teresa

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