Phat('s) Chance for Buddha in Houston: (Or How I Spent My Summer Vacation)

By Virginia Arthur

It's what you have been wondering for years--just how many Buddhist monks CAN you fit into a 1970 ruby-red Buick Electra 225 convertible?

Mid-life crisis meets puberty...It's 1990 and just another typical summer day in Mapletown, Indiana until Uncle Phat, The Reptile (or Uncle Mike, as he used to be called), who seems to have been in a mid-life crisis since he was born, wanders into the garage and gives his puberty-stricken 15 year old nephew, Galen Calcoun, only about an hour to pack. The four of them, a squinting Uncle Phat, his beloved Ruby--a 1970 ruby red white convertible topped Buick Electra 225, Galen, and "the three books about Buddhism" that take their place in the middle of the front seat, are headed to Houston, Texas to "look at an engine" for Ruby. They leave a note for the family and with ZZ Top blaring, take to the road.

Both are escaping not only the monotony of their town but also the tyranny of the "cousins" who by sheer numbers alone, wield chaos-based control over the entire clan, the brunt of which is borne by Uncle Phat though Galen is tiring of it too, even if he doesn't know it--yet. "Intellectuals in a sea of morons" is how Galen views it ten years later as narrator, recounting their trip that includes lessons in French history from Vincennes (Indiana) and Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Of course they have to make a stop at Mark Twain National Forest. After a foray in a casino bar on a boat in Shreveport, LA, they have a run-in with a bunch of gun-totin' nature lovers on ATV's.

Their "irresponsible behavior" is buffered by the people they meet along the way that despite their antics, see the better side, invite them in, befriend them. The point of the trip was what again? Oh yeah, getting to Houston to look at that engine for Ruby except...Starting with the first lie, the trip is predicated on more lies and when it ends, only one of them returns home to Indiana. Wow is now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781495153433

Book preview

Phat('s) Chance for Buddha in Houston

(or How I Spent My Summer Vacation)

A novel by Virginia Arthur, August 2015

E-book ISBN 978-1-4951-5343-3

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidence. This work of fiction is fully copyrighted and protected under the author and Ecological Outreach Services.

Contents

Pre-July 10, 1990

Tuesday, July 10, 1990

Wednesday, July 11

Thursday, July 12

Friday, July 13

Saturday, July 14

Sunday, July 15. Happy Birthday Me.

Monday, July 16

Tuesday, July 17

Wednesday, July 18

Thursday, July 19

Friday, July 20

Saturday, July 21

Sunday, July 22

For I was one of the unavoidable results of the crossing of the Rubicon.

The Turning Point of My Life, Mark Twain

The Old Man and the Young Man had been conversing.

What is Man? Mark Twain

Phat('s) Chance for Buddha in Houston

(or How I Spent My Summer Vacation)

A novel by Virginia Arthur

I was packing up, getting ready to leave College Station after finishing my Masters in Physics at Texas A&M, when I came across an essay I wrote for my freshman English Lit. class. I got an A+. Here is what the professor wrote on it:

Galen, it appears your essay reveals more about the psychologically stunted family and less about Uncle Phat. In some ways the story is more about this. This would make a great novel someday Galen. I really enjoyed it. Solid job.

Psychologically stunted family. Solid job.

The first sentence in the essay was this is a true story. Either she missed it per my paper being the 30th+ one she graded while drinking her beloved 'signature white', or she didn’t realize the true story was about my own family; or she put it in the third person to spare outright calling my family a bunch of wack-jobs. I don’t know…but I do know it was only after I wrote that essay I could put Uncle Phat’s disappearance into some kind of perspective.

This story is about my Uncle Phat, our (his) trip to Houston, Texas to look at an engine; or maybe it's about his incredible car. Maybe it is about my psychologically stunted family. Let's face it, it's about all of the above. I'm still figuring it out but no matter how vast my literary sweep, I know background is needed.

Pre-July 10, 1990

My name is Galen Calcoun (or cocoon as everyone calls us). I grew up in Mapletown, Indiana, nothing special rural suburbia. Uncle Phat, a.k.a. Mike was (is?) my dad’s younger brother by two years. My dad’s name is Mitch. Mike and Mitch were the only kids of Earl and Minnie, my favorite grandparents. (Grandpa Earl died just a couple years before our trip). There are only two sons in our family as well--me and my younger brother Nate. We are also separated by two years. Nate and I were (still are) your classic nerds; skinny, glasses. Junior and high school we were both in chess and math club. Nate played some basketball.

My mom's name is Georgia. Her maiden name is Parker. I am part of a large family but it’s all on my mom’s side. She has four brothers and three sisters. I have a ridiculous number of cousins. Growing up with a ridiculous number of cousins meant endless chaos (still does): Frisbee's landing in bowls of cake batter, broken windows, broken teeth and glasses, cracked skulls, dog shit on the carpet, candles melted on to books, blood stains on good shirts, grass stains on good pants, broken lamps, ruined pots and pans, lost flashlights, hats, jackets, towels, bathing suits…We pretty much had it all, and it was pretty much all on my mom’s side.

Dad, Nate, and I were (are) pretty mellow in polar contrast to my mom. Growing up, Mom would make-up stuff to bitch about. Dad would roll his eyes when she’d go off about the big catastrophe of money going through the laundry, or the earth-shattering implications of lids not going back on tops of peanut butter jars, milk left out on the counter. Stuff like this--really small stuff. She could never find much to latch on to then Uncle Phat came along to save her but I'm jumping ahead. Dad told us he had no idea why Mom stomped around complaining about how crazy our family was except maybe since she was used to constant chaos and melodrama growing up, she had to create some in our family to feel at home.

Then and now my dad worked as a copier repairman. He started out with a big company, then started his own business. He got so busy, he had to hire a few people. He never brought up Nate and I taking over his copier repair business because we were always going off to college. (If anyone would take it over, it would be my cousin Dirk). We knew Dad didn't want us to turn out like our cousins. Lately, my dad's been talking about selling out and retiring, plus the technology is changing. A copy machine no longer does just one thing. He figures it's time. My mom's retired. She worked as a nurse for 20 years so of course, smoked. She's been quitting since I was born and still is.

So while my dad was a successful small business man, his brother, Mike, Uncle Phat, was, well…My dad tried to hire him and while he probably would have made a great copier repair guy, Uncle Phat liked to talk but not just any talk, literary talk as my mom put it, intellectual stuff, philosophy, politics. Every time Dad sent him on a job, instead of fixing the copier, somehow he'd always find someone to get literary with meaning he would end up spending most of the time in some kind of discussion. Inevitably, Dad would get a call from the client the next day not to send the same repair guy.

Uncle Phat talked about important stuff we should probably all be talking about but no one does so no one can understand someone who is intellectual outside of what my dad called the proper context. Dad said maybe Uncle Phat belonged in a different setting, say academia or working for a school of some kind. Dad said Uncle Phat had always been like that and he couldn’t help it. This is just how he was. The only two people that understood him were my dad and me. When I think about it, it’s no wonder Uncle Phat didn’t leave earlier.

Uncle Phat gave it lots of shots. Here are the different jobs he attempted: copier repair man for my dad (my dad had to fire his own little brother), waiter, car parts courier, pizza delivery guy (of course), flag man for road construction, bartender, medical assistant, manager for a car parts store, manager for a shoe store…I'm sure I'm leaving some out. It got to the point where no one asked him where he was working because by the time he explained himself, he was nearly out the door anyway. He went to the local community college for a few semesters; took biology, history, and philosophy. He joined a basketball team. (God he was terrible; he said he quit but I know they kicked him off). I guess he even tried to have a girlfriend for awhile but none of his relationships ever worked out. The girls were probably bored.

Maybe some people are just born losers or born unlucky or have low metabolisms…and well, yea, he was fat, but he was the kind of fat like he couldn’t help it. My mom said he had the physique of a gourd or an eggplant and even if he lost 50 pounds, he would still be round.

He did seem to fail at nearly everything he tried to do outside of being literary--he was always reading a book, carrying a book (then there was the 'library' in his car but more on this later). I know now this was his downfall with my mom’s side of the family=basically a bunch of dumb rednecks.

He did like to take walks and fish. He liked to take long drives to places with views. So did I. We did these things together--and we talked. I didn't like talking about stupid stuff all the time either and this is all the cousins did. My mother loved gardening. We always had fresh vegetables every summer but being a nurse and busy, one way Nate and I earned our allowance was