Me 'n' Shorty

By Richard Guiney

Leave the present world behind as you step into an extraordinary tale of two seventeen year olds, in this sweeping novel set against a United States that had been plunged into despair by the Great Depression.
The year was 1936, young Will Shaine's world had revolved around his beloved parents and the magnificent thoroughbred horses that they'd raised and trained on the family's horse farm. But now the death of his parents had left him alone in the world. He sat in the now quiet solitude of his home; the mantel clock seemed to be ticking away the seconds of his life, when he came to a life changing decision. He would sell the family property and go west to California. Out of respect for the hard work his family had invested in their horse farm, Will was determined not to squander, what would be his only inheritance. He placed the money in a money belt and would take it west.
James Lotus Duke II, otherwise known as Shorty, left his family's farm in Tennessee after a final physical confrontation with his alcoholic abusive father. His father told him to get off the property and never come back. Shorty hit the road with seventeen years of emotional scars. Would his intelligence and wild sense of humor be enough to overcome his father's voice that haunts his mind and tells him he'll never be any good, and the ultimate dream-crushing echo, "I wish you were never born."
Timely, as if an unseen force recognizes their needs, Will and Shorty are joined together for their passage across the continent. As they walk, hitch rides and hop trains, reality dictates that they grow up fast. They had no idea of what awaited them on the road. They find themselves exposed to the extremes of enormous wealth and to hobo camps and Hoovervilles, where people are struggling to get enough to eat. They cross paths with many colorful character; some good, some bad, and some unhinged from reality. The worst of the worst lead them into dark life-threatening suspense, where seventeen year olds should not have to go.
As they work their way across America they are also exposed to honest people with dreams of prosperity and goodness.
It doesn't take long before Will and Shorty meet and fall in love with two American girls. Their relationship's are so intense that they believe they will last forever. But like so many in times past, they feel a responsibility to establish a secure situation for their loved ones. Soon they find themselves back on the road aching with sweet sorrow from being separated from their girls, but with a renewed sense of purpose.
The love of a distressed and troubled racehorse will lead them in a direction they do not expect, as pure adventure and life threatening situations continue to challenge them. Is young love strong enough to pull them through?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Guiney
• Release date: Nov 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311527752

Richard Guiney

About the authorRichard Guiney is a native Californian. His first job was walking racehorses at the age of 8 while his 18 year old brother was a jockey. At the age of 26 he became employed at the famous Hearst State Historical Monument where he was employed for over 32 years. Richard is married with 3 children and this is his first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

I remember the day I met Shorty. I was walkin’ down a dry dusty Tennessee road – I figured the dust on my boots would be one of the only things I’d be taking with me on my journey; dust and memories. And I …. I couldn’t stop thinking about it; that I just lost my mom; four weeks ago now. She was sick fer quite a spell. The doctors had given up on her, and I took care of her the best I could. I would have done anything to save her, but on a warm spring morning she just slipped away — not to be concerned with this world anymore.

I can see her face in my mind, she had been such a thoughtful, loving mother, and very brave through her illness. But then, she just wasn’t there. For the first time in my life my mom wasn’t there when I needed her. That was March 16th 1936.

Could I make it on my own at seventeen I wondered? Could I make it in this troubled world on my own?

Used to be I could bounce ideas off Mom all day long and get good information. She was as much a pillar of strength and knowledge as my father had been. She was wonderful; and she really is still with me, she just needed to cast off the old shell, to be free from earthly bonds.

She used to say to me: Will, you have a special closeness with our creator. Your insights into life’s situations are quite clear and beyond your age. She said it reminded her of the ‘old soul’ theory. I’ve held on to those words for dear life. Especially now, in times like this where I need extra strength, I’m always going to find comfort in those words. I remember both my parents laughing at the dinner table and saying, "you know Will, for a country boy you are quite the intellect.

I just know she and my Dad will always be there with me in spirit. The love and encouragement they gave me in my life will last a lifetime.

My dad’s been gone for a few years, but now, my mom. I sure loved her and I’m going to miss seeing her smiling face.

Our few relatives that used to be in these parts were all gone to other places.

I knew Mom wouldn’t want me to mope around with the blues; she always motivated me toward happiness. So, since there wasn’t anyone or anything in this dried up ole’ place to keep me here, I sold, and settled up the small debt on our little horse ranch. Luckily it still had some value due to a plentiful water source on the property and a couple of fine thoroughbred horses that we had raised and trained.

So anyway I set out on my own. I think Mom and Dad would have encouraged the adventure. Heck if I stick around here I’ll for sure turn into one of them mummies like they’ve been finding in Egypt; old, dusty and dirty, and for what? So I’m walkin’.

I was young, and I figured there was a bunch-a goodness out there and I was gonna get right smack in the middle of it. I guess that’d be a page directly out of my dad’s book of human nature. He was a real rainbow rider – naturally optimistic and much happier for it; I guess some of it rubbed off. I felt good about the future, why not? —- A question I don’t know if I want an answer to. After all it was 1936, hard times in the old U. S. of A.

But anyway I was heading for Californ-I-A. I knew there’d be something there for me. Course, come to think of it, I guess there could be something for you anywhere if you looked. But I was set on going there. That’s where I’d start my future. I had the money from the sale of our ranch, and Mom had some saved. It totaled almost $5000, a lot for now days, so I figured I could make it for a while. And hopefully not let the money slip away like a bunch-a smoke. It wasn’t that much but it was my only inheritance. I would take it to California and make it grow. I carried it all with me in a money belt under my shirt.

I figured when I got to the Ocoee River Crossing I’d have a chance of hitchin’ some rides. I’d done it before, and I could do it again; just a little farther this time.

What a day! The air was a little cooler than scorching hot, it was just real hot, particularly up here on these ridge roads. It was unseasonably warm for early spring. But heck, being pressed to the ground by the heat of the day kind of makes you feel more connected to the Earth somehow, especially in the spring.

I was walkin’ through an area of Tennessee that was somewhat hilly, with Oak trees, Gum trees, and huge Tulip Poplars soaring a couple hundred feet into the clear blue sky. The Bluestars were plentiful beside the road and attracted a flurry of butterflies. Dry scrub leftover from last season dotted the hills. Every couple miles a farm house appeared.

I was getting the stares. The ‘ole feet keep-a-walkin’ but the mind is on a different path, paths that lead far ‘n’ away, with a whole lot of scenarios.

My dad use to say Aint the mind a fun thing? You can run, jump, travel anywhere you can think of, and still be sittin’ on yer butt. He’d look at you with those smiling blue Irish eyes and you’d know it was true.

He always looked everyone in the eyes when he talked to them. His eyes were the color of tropical waters I’d seen pictures of in magazines; of tropical places where the water just made you want to be there so bad, because you knew if you were, everything would be alright.

Thinking back about a hunting trip in Colorado with my dad… I think I was eight or nine years old. We were on some property owned by a friend of Dad’s, some land similar to where I was walkin’ now.

Blocked by high sagebrush, we had gone quite a ways down a hill to reach an area we hoped would be a way around, or through.

After some distance it appeared we’d have to go a lot farther to get around the brush. Since there was a narrowing at this point, Dad said let’s go through. So we started walking through. But the brush tore at our clothes. And me being shorter, I was getting a little scratched up. I looked down at my arm for a second and when I looked back Dad was gone…

Well, he’d gone down on all fours. So down I went, into a green world under the brush. My nostrils were filled with the pungent aroma of sage. The insects going about their daily business blended with the green color. They didn’t seem too interested in what we were doing so we ignored them and went about our way.

All the time we were crawling, my rifle was pointed in a safe direction. That was the first thing I was taught about guns. Yes, there was a time when gun safety was a thing that was just understood, and that was that.

After a ways Dad stopped and looked back. Again, those blue Irish eyes, with that undying penetration, that if you looked away, when you looked back they would still be waiting for you, with a smile to go with it.

I was thinking, this was good adventure; and I smiled and stared back. He took it all in. I could see he was proud of me. He was thinking he was proud of me because I could get along in a hard world at an early age. There was love, and I was swimming in the warm tropical waters once again.

It would be a few years later, I filled a Bull Durham bag with fresh sage and brought it to the hospital with me. I gave it to Dad, he took a big whiff of it and I could see his mind going back in time.

I swam in the tropical waters for the last time as a storm occurred and a tear fell onto the bed sheet – a deluge of memories in a single drop.

That was two years ago when he passed. A disease they called Cancer. Whatever it was, Dad stood firm. If it was going to take him so be it. But he wouldn’t go without some dignity. He looked death in the eye, but was not afraid. He was brave in his dying. Kinda seemed like he was looking forward to the next situation; just sure it would be good.

I asked him, I said Dad, if you leave this life will you try to contact me?

I will if I can he said.

Walkin’ walkin’ walkin’, my mind driftin’ driftin’. I was about six years old. Me and Mom sitting on the ground in the garden. She was planting some flowers. It was wonderful to just sit and talk with mom. She was so nice and always interesting, and we laughed a lot.

It was a hot summer day. It seemed like everything was in full bloom at once. The bees, heavy with pollen flew slowly and lazily from flower to flower. There was a sweet smell to the air, and the longer time passes the sweeter it becomes in my memory – fresh golden days they were.

She was telling me the story about Black Widows, and how they are like murderers in the insect world. I knew what they looked like, and as on queue, a big bulbous Black Widow spider came walkin’ out of the Ivy in broad daylight, right toward her hand. Look out Mom! I hollerd.

She looked down and with her gloved hand smacked the spider and squashed it right where it stood. Mom didn’t mess around with insects in the garden. As a matter of fact she made me the garden insect bounty hunter; a whole three cents for a red horned tomato caterpiller. I was amazed – she’s telling me about the Black Widow spider and here comes one walking out in broad daylight. I swear, Mom was magic. I know to this day, whenever she would say, Will, don’t do this or don’t do that, I just don’t have a good feeling about it. She had been right. I’d tested it out a few times in my life. Eventually I had no doubt.

The road had taken a downward angle, and as I walked, the sound of falling water became louder. It was the Ocoee River; not a huge river but when it got squeezed between rocks it built up some kinda power.

As I walked down toward the river things began to change. I went into the trees; I could feel coolness there. The effervescence was there. Like opening a bottle of ‘7Up’. Little water particles floating through the air, like a cool steam bath. It was so fresh and pleasant.

I was thinking I could use a bath and after crossing the bridge I took an immediate right and followed the river downstream a spell. Sure enough, I found a quiet hidden place where the river took a little break in its plunge downland. There were huge granite boulders here and they formed a beautiful pool off to the side of the main river course. The hillside went up and away at a fairly steep angle. Large Sycamore and Oak trees had defiantly stood their ground through years of high water, clutching the earth with their knarled roots. Ferns and other lush green plants filled the air with rich sweet oxygen.

I stripped off my clothes and went in. Whoa, the water was cold but so refreshing. I went under. The sound was quiet, yet loud. One of the many sounds of silence we experience in our lives I guess. My energy was being restored and I was thinking life is good. I came up and took another deep breath and went under again. There were salamanders there. Strange, they would look right at you, as if to say, We are here and you are here, so now what? I swam up to one. It stayed put – it didn’t look afraid.

It just stared at me with bulging eyes. I wondered why it showed no fear and my mind drifted back in time again.

There were days and evenings when Dad would give me fighting lessons. Years ago Dad had made friends with a Chinaman who had been working on the railroad nearby. Dad was friendly with him and had him over for supper many times. Most people in our parts didn’t associate with people of other races. But Dad always said ‘a man’s a man no matter what color his skin is or where he’s from. If he is searching for goodness in his life and will use goodness to find it, then he is a man.

I don’t remember much about the Chinese gentleman myself, I was fairly young. But he and Dad got along pretty good, even though there were language problems. They would go out to the barn, I would go whenever I could, and the Chinaman, his name was Ling or Loueng, would teach my dad a way of fighting that was different from the way most people around here did it. So later Dad taught me this way of defending yourself; I picked it up quickly and practiced a lot.

One very important element of the instruction was to work with your mind. Fear had no place in this teaching. It was to be performed with total confidence, knowing you would prevail. Of course with my dad’s positive state of mind that fit right in. I worked on the moves all the time, month after month year after year. I’d sneak up on Dad and try to catch him off guard, but he would instantly be in a position where he could take control. Eventually I got where I could do the same.

Dad called this fighting self-defense but if it came down to it, many of the moves could hurt or even kill someone; although he always said, the first move is to get away from trouble. Only use these methods if you can’t get away he would say. So I’d never used them except in training as of yet. And I hope to never have to. When I think about it, I’ve never seen any other person using these techniques; yet Ling told my dad that it was common in many Asian countries.

I swam away from the salamander, went up and took another breath. I was in a different part of the pool now, swimming under water and here he comes again, the same little salamander. He swims right up to me. He just stared at me and he seemed to be saying I was not afraid and now we can be friends. I think I was gettin’ a little round the bend. I hadn’t eaten in a while and all that walkin’ in the hot sun. Hmm, I touched the little creature and thought to him – love to ya little guy.

Chapter 2

So now the thought of food was workin’ me over. I decided this was as good a place as any to have supper and spend the night.

I layed in the last rays of the filtered sunlight as they warmed and dried my body. The sun that was earlier trying to cook my brain, was now comforting me.

I was getting dressed when I became aware that something wasn’t right. It was only a feeling but I felt as though I was being watched. I looked around slowly and carefully. I didn’t see anyone. I figured I must be imagining things. Just for the heck of it I thought I’d check my money belt – make sure things were where they was supposed to be. My money belt had three pockets on the inside of it. One larger one in the back and two smaller ones on each side. Each pocket had a flap over it with a leather tie. I untied the one where most of my money was and opened the flap. Sure enough everything was in its place. You can’t be too careful when you know it may be the one and only stake you get in yer life.

These were tough times in America. The 30’s had been unkind to us – probably most people in the country were having hard times, scary times. There were people scrounging to feed their families. People begging, and there were those who would steal.

Well, I finished getting dressed and found an open sandy place to set my cooking fire. I was collecting wood to get me through the night when from behind a huge sycamore tree to my right, this big guy steps out. He was over six feet tall, large, and powerfully built. He had a head full of that orange hair that people call red and I figured he must be in his twenties. He was wearing a red and black plaid shirt. The first thing I thought was that he looked like some kinda lumber jack.

Hey boy, how ya doin’? He asked.

I’m doin’ fine thanks, how ‘bout yerself ?

Well, he says, I’m hungry, and I’m not too happy ‘bout the way this ole world’s a treatin’ me.

Yeah, these are tough times for everybody. I said. But I can maybe help you out with the hungry part. I’ve got a little food here; might help some.

Ya know, he says. I bet ya can help me out. What ya got in that thar belt? I saw ya open some kind a pocket in there, lemmie see it boy.

Immediately I looked around. With the sense of danger came instinct and planning. He was up hill from me and I figured a big guy like him would have to keep on going downhill. There were a lot of rocks down there and it would not be a happy landing for anyone falling on them.

My personal property is none of your concern I said. Now I offered ya somethin’ to eat, do ya want it or not? I’ll give you some food to take with you, and you can jist be on yer way.

Yeah, we want it A voice calls out from my left. And out of the brush comes another guy. Don’t we Butch?

You betcha says a third man as he comes out from behind a tree about forty feet up the hill in front of me. Butch comes swaggering down the hill towards me.

What do you think Red? says Butch this guy wants us to dine with him.

Red takes a couple steps toward me Why, I think that sounds delightful. A smile crosses his face but the eyes are looking deadly serious and I sense danger is imminent.

Red says to the guy on my left, Hey Deak, the kid here wants to feed us supper and I just betcha’ he’ll pay us fer eatin’ it too.

I look the other two guys over. Butch coming directly down the hill toward me is tall and thin, a long neck with a big Adam’s apple. I’m thinking, target the throat. Deak on my left is a shorter stocky man. He could be the most dangerous of them all. He had short cropped hair with gouges out of it - not yer barber cut . He wore a dirty undershirt, black hair curling out around the chest and powerful shoulders. His arms were short but muscular.

I didn’t have time for many plans, for the tall thin guy, Butch, was now real close.

I heard Dad’s words in my mind, Remember if you can’t get away, and someone enters your space with bad intentions you must react. The level of the punishment you dole out should not exceed by too much, the level of the threat. Because there are ways to kill and it’s not something to be taken lightly - ever.

So far I hadn’t seen any weapons and I was thinking, these are just some good ole boys that have gone bad. They’re desperate, and they’ve lost their sense of right and wrong, but I’m not about to let them steal my future.

Butch being tall and uphill will make it a little harder to achieve my strike to the target area I have in mind. But it is still possible. I am five foot nine 165 or so pounds, but speed and quickness run in the family.

The throat was one of the kill areas but if you do it with the right amount of thrust it could be just a stopping blow. It could completely change a person’s intentions. One minute they are focused on an evil deed and the next minute they’re only concerned with their own breathing functions. At least that’s what I was told – my dad’s exact words.

So I go down into a half crouching position. Butch, coming down the hill with a leering smile on his face is not stopping. He reaches out for me with both hands. I make my own right hand into what Ling called a knife hand. The fingers and all the muscles of the hand are taught and it becomes a weapon on the end of your arm. It is positioned next to my right hip, palm up, just darn ready to pronate upward with speed and power. I spring up, through the legs and into the knife hand with a loud yell. My eyes are riveted on the large Adam’s apple. Of course it would be easier to throw my full body force into the strike and crush his windpipe. But my folks always wanted me to be a kind person and I felt bad for what I was about to do already. So instead of the full power, I coiled and sprung, finding a stopping point with the blow; still, a telling blow. Now Butch aint part of the conflict no more; at least for a while.

Here’s Red. He comes within range, a huge fist draws back to throw a mighty blow. With a punch that big it’s given me an almost unfair advantage – time, time to react in an effective way. Within a split second I get inside the punch. I throw myself right against his chest, his hot stinkin’ breath in my face. He still has a devilish grin on his face, and within an instant I am falling backward. I have his shirt collars in both hands and I put all my weight into the fall backward down the hill. His grin disappears and he can’t avoid the momentum and over he goes. My back hits the ground as I am pulling my feet into a position where I can gather them up and under his falling torso. Legs can be some kinda’ powerful when you add a little motion and momentum to ‘em. The plaid shirt is airborne. He’ll make heavy contact with the rocks below. That’s two down. I take one more roll and find my feet quickly; they are set in the balanced position. Deak’s line of attack has actually put him about level with me on the hill and to my left. I don’t have a lot of time now. My right hand is just above my right hip again and has clenched into a striking fist. I thrust out with a loud yell, the fist pronating so that the timing and power will be at the right place at the right time. The target is the middle of Deak’s face. Now is when the inner power is gathered and focused and an explosive blow takes place. The index and middle knuckles contact Deak’s nose. Blood bursts from his nose, I think I broke it. I don’t know if he’ll come back from that.

As I was about to reposition myself to be uphill from them and maybe run away, I am grabbed from behind. By God it’s the big guy, Red. Not seriously hurt, he had scrambled back up the hill. He gets his huge arms around me. He has encompassed my arms within his grasp, in a bear hug.

I’ll crush you. he hisses in my ear.

Start crushin’ then you fool I say. He doesn’t see my right hip swiveling to the left leaving room for a clean shot at his groin. With the right hand in the knife form I strike as quick as a rattler, and with power. It was a blow that meant business and he crumpled to the ground in the fetal position.

Suddenly there was the sound of air rushing by my ear and a split second later I saw wood chips flying and there were bright sparks flying. Strange I thought, as I realized the wood chips were real but the sparks were inside my head. Darkness was closing in on me, the light was becoming smaller. Just when the light was a pin hole in the middle of the darkness I fought to bring it back. It began to open again, but then, I was so sleepy, and I was drifting off into a floating darkness, I just had to take a little snooze. It felt comfortable and natural to sleep now…

When I opened my eyes there was a terrible pain in my head, like my brain was too big for my skull. The sun was about to go down and I smelt food cooking. I laid there in the dirt trying to make some sense of it. The pieces didn’t fit together right. I didn’t move. I had to figure out what was going on before I played my hand. I tried to look up the hill without moving too much. I thought, Ok, there were them three guys. Somehow they managed to put my lights out. That could be them up there. I need to sneak a look, I slowly moved my head.

Thought you’d never come out of it, a voice says. Be just my luck too. Somebody find me here eating dinner and you laying there dead. Boom, prison time, oh well, what the hell, it’s just the usual dark cloud that follows me around. Can you get up? I’ve got a nice plump rabbit here and it’s just about done.

I’m still not getting it. And I think - did I lose my memory? It was like a movie I saw, (I’ve only seen two) where they would switch scenes from one place to another and from one set of people to another. I guess if I could accept that, I can accept this. So I say, Yeah of course I can get up. Are you saying yer gunna share that nice plump rabbit with me?

I’m feeling hungry. I start to get up. Oh shoot, I groan. My head is aching and my ears are ringing. Ok so it did happen. I had blood on my right ear; it’s my blood. I manage to get up. I look up to see this guy sitting there roasting a rabbit on a stick, just kinda’ sittin’ there staring at the fire like a million men have done long before, throughout time.

I walk up toward the guy. He’s not one of the men I fought with. He looks to be around my age, dark hair medium build, maybe five seven or eight, he’s got a frown on his face that spoke of great sadness.

Did you see three guys that were here? I asked. Some real nogooders.

Yep

Well, where are they? They probly stole my money. I began checking’ my belt, and the money was still there.

Nope, I don’t think so He says. At least they never took any of the stuff that was here.

I looked around; I was still in an agitated state. Those guys are dangerous, where are they? I studied the surrounding area looking for movement.

They’re gone, he said. Looks like you are the dangerous one to me. I got here about the time you turned the one guy into a huge pile of plaid shirt and another guy down by the river holding his throat coughing all over the place, and the one ole’ boy that was shaped like a square had his nose bloodied and flattened all over his face. But unfortunately I couldn’t stop him from hitting you in the side of the head with a piece of a log. You’re lucky it was about half rotten. Well that’s when I picked up a two inch thick solid branch and came running down the hill at the guy. I swung hard, got him good, right on top of the shoulder, just missed his head. So with the damage you inflicted and my one blow, he and his comrades decided to call it a day. They kept going too. I followed them for a while to make sure.

Chapter 3

W ol thanks buddy, I owe ya one fer that. There’s no tellin’ what they’d of done if you would’na come along. My name’s Will, Will Shaine I stretched out my hand to shake.

James Lotus Duke the Second but most people call me Shorty.

Well Shorty, why did you help me? I asked, me bein’ a total stranger and all.

You looked like you were the underdog. And by God I know all about being the underdog. But three mean looking mongrels against one kid. I could tell it wasn’t right. But I’ve got to say, I’ve never seen anyone handle themselves like you did. What the heck was that? The way you were standing, and the way you put those guys out of business so fast. Well almost out of business.

It’s a means of self-defense taught to me by my father – taught to him by an Asian man named Ling. What do you mean, you know all about being the underdog?

My life has been a pile of dog turds stacked carefully on top of one another from the time I was a child. Maybe a couple of cow pies on top for good measure. Then he laughed. But it was no ordinary laugh; it was a screaming laugh; loud, and hilarious to hear. Then he got quiet and stared down into the fire and I could see him re-living some painful times in his mind. His cheek twitched a couple of times and he started shaking his head.

That doesn’t sound too good. I say. "It can’t be all that bad can it?

Well my mother and father were drunks and the old man never let a day go by that he didn’t tell me I was no good, and I would never be worth the salt in his sweat. He’s been beating me up regularly since I was old enough to remember. Day before yesterday he tried it once too often. I couldn’t take it anymore. I beat the livin’ hell out of him for a change. I just keep seeing his face all bloody and him yelling at me through torn lips, to get off his property and never come back, and that he was sorry I was ever born. My mom, crying and staggering up to the old man telling him ‘don’t do this Sam, for God’s sake, don’t do it.’ He slam basted her one too, and she sank back into a corner of the kitchen. So much for family, that was it. There were no goodbyes. So I’m on my own and I don’t have a damn thing but a bed roll, fourteen cents and a jack knife

You sure there’s no chance to talk things over, make things right? I asked.

Absolutely not. It’s like they say in Italy – ciao, buona fortuna. If I never see him again it will be too soon.

Im sorry to hear that. How old are you Shorty?

Almost eighteen.

Oh yeah, me too, seventeen and some. But I’ve pretty much finished school, and I’ve had a dose or two of life, some of it sugar and some salt.

I’ll tell you Will, he said. I sure could have used a little more sugar in my life. Like I said it’s been a ride down the River Dung, - down poop road where the turd trees grow. He lets out another exuberant and infectious laugh, like some kinda’ Cajun yodeler or somethin’. He seemed so damn happy right after talking about all that sad stuff, I was thinkin’, maybe he’s crazy. But his laughter made me start chucklin’. Next thing I know we’re both laughing full throttle.

I think I was so relieved that I had survived an attempted robbery and beating and God knows what else, that I was now lettin’ it out. And as for him I wasn’t quite sure. He was Mr. Dark Side, Mr. Light Side. I would find out later he had a depressed blue side and a wild and creative sense of humor. Just what a guy needs when he is on the River Dung. So I say to him.

That the way you learn to laugh when yer floatin’ down the River Dung? Oh, oh, now he really gets going. I start laughing again too.

There’s my mom’s face, I see it in my mind – another childhood memory. She’s saying Will, you can be so funny. I want to write down all the funny things you say.

I remember a warm happy feeling making Mom laugh. It was always the best way to stimulate my own sense of humor, and one funny thought would lead to another. I don’t know if anything is more pleasing than makin’ yer mom have a good laugh, especially when her life is filled with so much toil. You feel like Mr. Sunshine. So I think, or rather I feel like I’m getting a little sunshiny and I look at him real seriously and say, don’t ever tip the boat over when yer floatin’ down the River Dung. Another hilarious outburst as he manages to get some words out through his laughter,

Oh, I’ve tipped over lots of times. See these brown eyes. More peals of laughter. I look, and his eyes are actually blue. He laughs at me looking at his eyes.

Our laughter finally winds down until we are both staring at the fire.

Hey, I picked a couple apples back on the road, bet they’d go good with that rabbit

Get em out here, he says, this thing is done, let’s eat.

The rabbit was a little dry but in this situation it tasted delicious.

So Shorty, what are ya gunna do now? Where ya gunna go?

Shoot, I don’t know. Damn I wish I did. The only plan I have at the moment is to catch another rabbit. But that’s a start isn’t it?

Yeah but you got to think a little further into the future. What you gunna do, where you gunna go? You know, life goes on. We got to make our way. There’s nobody out there to catch us if we fall, at least not me. How about you? You got anybody that’ll give you a leg up?

Nope, I don’t, he says. My Uncle Bill was probably the one that thought the most of me, but he has a life of his own and can’t be bothered too much.

Well, ok, So what are ya gunna do?

"I don’t know, I think I’ll go out west and be an accountant for a movie star, or, maybe a ranch hand. I’ve had some experience, — I did the work my dad didn’t want to do on the ranch. That included some buying and selling and keeping the books. Numbers just kind of fit together for me.

The old man was a machinist by trade, and had a shop in town. He didn’t have much time or inclination to do much on the ranch. That was one of the differences we had. You’d think he would have been grateful for the things I was getting done. But no, it was as though he thought the work he was doing was so much more important, and what I was doing was back on a primitive scale. A nice way to have a father son relationship, don’t you think?"

Uh huh. I guess you’ve been through school and all that stuff right? I like those forty dollar words you been usin’.

Yes, well I finished our school. It was just our small local school. But Mr. O’Toole, the head instructor, was very educated, and he always had extra material for me to study. I’ve always enjoyed learning, how about you?

Definitely, maybe one of the most important things in life, - is to learn.

And what do you want to learn.? He asked.

I want to be able to learn from what I have learned.

He thought about that for a moment and started in with one of those, wild and hearty laughs again. I can’t help but laugh a little too.

I say, I figure we’ve got a lot to learn, and I think it has a lot to do with what happens in the end.

What do you mean in the end?

You know, when we check out.

You mean kick the -

"Yep well, that’s what I was taught. To aim for the brighter side of the morning; that that’s the road ya wanna be on. And ya know, the other side is darkness and gloom and not even somethin’ to consider. Not that I’ve always done the right thing, ‘cause I haven’t; it’s jist life is a bumpy road, and it has its ups and downs but it’s the ups that make life worth livin’, and the downs usually have a lesson.

He bursts out with the laugh again, Yes, here you are, he says, your clothes are all torn from a fight, you have blood and dirt all over your face and you are telling me about life, the big laugh again.

I pictured myself and it did seem pretty damn funny. Yep, I guess I’ll jist have ta present myself a little shinier the next time I’m talkin’ about life. And we both start laughin’.

Shorty asks, How much schooling have you had?

I graduated from our school in Spencer. They said it was tenth grade. And I like to read a lot. My folks always had books and we’d get magazines sometimes. So I’m a readin’ fool, I read everything I can get my hands on. But ya know I haven’t concentrated on my proper English much. I might have to pay more attention to that in the future.

Excellent says Shorty.

Hey, so why are you called Shorty? You don’t look all that short to me.

It’s just everyone else in my family was taller than I was. All my cousins, even the girls.

I see. So I asked Shorty. What was it like for you to hit a man with a stick like you did a while ago?

He tells me it was as if something took over his body, or maybe it was fear and excitement. But he felt like his feet knew exactly how many steps to take to get the maximum force, and it felt good to win, because he hadn’t won before.

No kiddin’. You know what? Knowing how many steps to take is similar to the way of fighting I’ve been taught. When your mind and body knows what it has to do to get the job done. And you jist let it happen. But I think it’s good to have some training so you can master the tools you have. You know what could have happened if you would have landed that blow to his head?

I was thinking about that he said. His head would have – you know – he makes a motion like a round thing splitting in half. It could have been real bad. I’m so glad I missed his head. I was trying for it too

Yeah, that coulda changed yer whole life. A few seconds where you make a wrong decision. That’s why you have-ta know how much to react to a situation. I tell ya, someone was looking after you today – and me too.

Well, I thought he was trying to kill you.

Yeah, well this is all new to me, I said But I can see how you wouldn’t want to make a mistake that was fatal to someone unless they were tryin to give you the big sleep, and it was the only way out. There’s something sad about the whole thing, I continued. I was thinkin’ that after all these years and with all the history that humans have had to learn from, that they still have to defend themselves from time to time. Wouldn’t you think we could get above that?

Shorty blares out another huge laugh. You’re quite the country intellectual aren’t you? I’m sure we’d all like the answer to that idyllic nonsense; how old did you say you were? Another laugh. This is life my good fellow he says. People hurt you if they feel like it. That’s just the way it is.

Funny you should say that, about being an intellectual; my parents said the same thing to me. But I tell ya Shorty, if we don’t learn from history, it’s a darn shame.

I see that look in his eyes again, as he retreats into silence, like a lot of painful memories.

We go on through a good part of the night talkin’ about our lives, different things that have happened. I come to the conclusion; I guess it was more of a feeling, that Shorty is a damaged person. He looks at things in a negative light most of the time. I can’t help thinking, Thank God for his sense of humor.

I keep wrestling with an idea. It’s whether to ask Shorty if he wants to join me on the journey to California. It’s a big decision. He doesn’t have any money, he’s a depressed pessimist and I don’t know if it would work out. But I also felt like he was a young guy hanging from the brink of something, and he needed a hand up. It’s not my job I thought. I decided to sleep on it. We hit the sack.

Morning comes before I’m ready. The little flies are already tryin’ to get a good close look at ya. They want to go in yer ears and walk around. The skeeters were pretty busy last night too. Oh, my head is still hurtin’.

The sun’s only been up for about thirty minutes but you can tell its gunna be a hot one. I poke and stoke the fire a little and coax some flame up. I’ve got some oats I’ll cook up for breakfast.

Shorty wakes up sniffin’. A hungry look on his face. And I think – this might be the first of many meals I supply for this guy if he joins me. Then again maybe he doesn’t want to travel with someone else.

Chapter 4

M ornin’ Shorty.

Good morning Will.

He starts rollin’ out of his bed roll and I say, Sure wish we had some coffee. You like coffee Shorty?

He gets a faraway look in his eyes, do I like coffee he says, and starts telling me how he could sit for hours and drink coffee; that his Old Man had a bunch’a coffee from South America that was very good. So I asked where he got it.

A cargo ship captain came into the machine shop wanting a custom part made for his ships’ engine. So the Old Man made it for him. A couple of months later the captain, Mathieson was his name, comes into the shop with a big bag of coffee beans from Costa Rica and tells him thanks again and here’s a little something. About six months later he brings another bag of coffee, this time from Columbia. So we had plenty of good coffee. My mom and I experimented with roasting times and different grinds and bean mixtures. We made some mighty fine coffee. The Old Man tried to hoard it a little but he was gone most of the day. That’s what I want, someone to pay me to drink coffee all day.

Good luck on that one, I say. Tell ya one thing, yer gunna have to find a way to pay for this coffee you wanna drink every day. Can’t expect me to always spring for it ya know. Whoops, the cat came out of the bag. So I say to him. Yeah, uh - Shorty, I was thinkin’ that maybe if you want to, we could sorta team up for a while. What do ya think?

That’s kind of you, but remember, I’m broke.

I know, I said, in a way I am too. The money I have from my family is meant for a purpose. It’s most likely the only stake I’ll ever get in this life. So it’s to use when I get to California to do something. What that something is, I don’t know yet. But I know if I just piss it away, I’ll be just another broke refugee comin’ to California to try’n make it. So I was planning on workin’ my way there and hitchin’ rides and maybe jump on a few trains, although I’ve never done that before. Now, I figure, you’re gunna have to do the same thing, whether you’re with me or not. But yer welcome to join me if ya want.

You know, I’ll probably just slow you down and be a lot of trouble. But ok, I’ll do it, He says. And you can trust me. I won’t steal your money. And I’ll teach you some better English on the way. Do you think you could just dip a little out to buy some coffee? And I’ll pay you back as soon as I make some cash.

We’ll see about that. I’d rather just pretend I don’t have it at all, like it doesn’t exist.

Oh boy, he hits me up for a loan already. I’m thinkin’ this might not work out. When he says,

That’s ok, forget the coffee. We’ll wait until we earn the money. Your cash doesn’t exist. Now we’re just two more poor guys on the road. Hey, I’ve got fourteen cents. If I can double it we might be able to buy a pound of coffee, but anyway my fourteen cents is your fourteen cents.

So off we go down the road, me and Shorty.

Chapter 5

We walked down a dirt road for the better part of the first day before we saw a car, and when it went by us, at high speed, we could see it was all eyeballs and elbows - jamb packed full of people, and a dog. Needless to say, they didn’t stop. They left a cloud of dust that lingered for a long time; a reminder of the ride we wished we could have had. We were tired.

We finally stopped in the late afternoon by a nice little creek. We followed it a ways away from the road, where it opened up to a series of small ponds. The ponds were thick with cattails and a flock of red winged black birds flew up in formation as we approached. They made several passes, flying as one, flashing their red feathers all at the same time. They were putting on a great show. When I raised one finger in the air, to be quiet a minute, Shorty and I both heard the same thing at the same time. Frogs, they sounded like some big ole’ bulls too. I looked at him and he looked at me, we smiled at knowing we had the same thought; couple hours later it was frog legs for supper.

The next morning we were walking again, I couldn’t help but consider how beautiful this country was. The colors of the wild flowers, the different kinds of trees, the smells, the big puffy white clouds that seem to rise up and say, ‘Once upon a time in a far off kingdom’. It was all so beautiful. I felt a sense of new beginning and freedom that I’d never felt before. But I could tell it was going to be another hot one. I said to Shorty. Look at those clouds Shorty. Do you see a medieval castle over there?

By golly it does look like a castle. And look over there, a horse and rider.

Yeah, no kiddin’ I say. Ya jist never know what God will paint on this canvas each day. But one thing’s fer sure, It will be an original every time.

I was thinkin’, that when the natural things that surround us all the time, become a big deal and a treat, then all the rest that life has to offer is icing on the cake. Because you always have that comfort, it’s always there. Nature is a good friend. It’s like looking forward to a sunset, when you see the clouds forming up to put on a show, you know it will be a good one and you enjoy it as long as it lasts.

It was about mid-morning when I looked back down the dirt road we’d been on.

Look Shorty, dust cloud coming

Yeah, a car for sure.

Ok, I say, let’s try hard to get this one to stop. Stare into the driver’s eyes as hard as you can and think, ‘stop the car, stop the car’, see if that works.

He chuckled and agreed.

It was raising one heck of a dust trail. Looked like it was travelin’ at a good clip.

As it approached Shorty got down on one knee and I was looking over his right shoulder. Both our thumbs went out as we stared hard, hoping to make eye contact. The big ole’ car went right on by.

I said, Did you see who was drivin’ that car?

He said, Not exactly, it was a very short person, maybe a kid.

Then the driver jammed on the brakes and came to a sliding fish tailing stop about 50 yards beyond us.

Jeeze Shorty, it stopped. Run for it before they change their mind.

As we approached I could see that it was a brand new 1936 Packard 120 Touring Sedan, a fine car. Still we couldn’t see the driver. When we got to the passenger side window I looked in to see a little old lady. I don’t know how she could see over the top of the enormous steering wheel.

I opened the door and said, thanks for stoppin’ ma’am, we’re goin’ west or southwest for as far as you can take us, all the way to California. She raised a tiny wrinkled thumb and motions toward the back seat. I closed the front passenger door and Shorty opens the back door and we climb into the spacious confines of a