Becoming Brown

By Neil Baker

Brown has become tramatized by the random violence of the city and the intense alienation of human existence. In an effort to escape, he disappears into the rural landscape of America, where he encounters an eccentric family and much more than he had ever bargained for.
Becoming Brown is an existential examination of the American Psyche, as the novel explores both mans indifference to himself, as well as his fellowman. It is only when Browns environment changes and brutality takes on an immediate cause, that he comes to realize the essence of being a human being in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781456753900

Neil Baker

Neil Baker is a novelist, short story writer, poet, artist, and world-renowned psychic. Neil holds a degree in Psychology and has been a psycho-dramatist for a private psychiatric hospital. He has also managed a theater, a candy store, a bookstore, a golf course, an all-night Seven-Eleven, and a motel. He has been a library page, a children's activities director, a senior citizens' activities director, an actor, a gravedigger, a Big Foot tracker, and a professional psychic and medium. Neil is also the co-host of a podcast, "The Neil and Kristin Baker Psychic Hour," and is currently in the process of writing his first non-fiction book with his wife, Kristin Baker. Neil has conducted over 100,000 personal readings and has accomplished this variety of roles while maintaining a somewhat questionable existence within the severe physical contours of the earth.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I told the mechanic I wasn’t gay.

He wouldn’t believe me.

He was working on my car. Servicing it, changing the oil, giving it a lube job. It was late at night and we were alone.

He worked slowly.

No! I reiterated. I am not gay.

The mechanic grinned, leaned back as soon as he released the bolt. Oil gushed out like blood from a bullet hole in the temple.

Can’t fool me, he said, wiping his fingers on a slimy rag. I know a gay when I sees one.

I turned around and faced a rack of spare tires hanging against the wall. BIG SALE.

Yeah, he went on. I meets up with all kinds of people during the day … and the night as well, and I can tell you one thing right now. I know a gay when I sees one.

He pulled a lever and at the sound of compressed air, my car gently floated to the ground.

He opened the hood and proceeded to feed it a can of fresh new oil. Yeah, you can bet I know ‘em all. Perverts, gays, straights, masochists, sadists, voyeurs, transvestites, you name it. I can spot anyone of ‘em. Trained eye. That’s what it takes, you know. He stood upright and pointed an oil dripped finger to his face. Just two good trained eyes. That’s why I know you’re gay. No, can’t fool me. Not me. Uhm-uhm. No way.

He tossed the rag on a table filled with assorted odds and ends: screws, bolts, old batteries, dead regulators, dusty headlights, hammers, pliers, screwdrivers, a crinkled package of cigarettes, two mangled beer cans, phone numbers, coffee stains, coffee mugs, a mound of dirty rags looking like a model of the Matterhorn. Naw, he sighed, disappearing under the hood of my car, banging his screwdriver against its metal parts. Can’t fool me. Noooooway.

I wondered if the hood might fall on his head and stop his endless monologue.

When he reappeared, the white, bright lights in the ceiling shined on his hairless head. Yeah, he said, with pride and a smile. I know ‘em all.

CHAPTER 2

I was at a party. The hostess, an acquaintance of mine, was a rich, single woman in her middle thirties. She was extremely tall and slender with little pointed breasts and huge spotless teeth that upstaged the rest of her face. She was towering over two adoring young men in the corner of the room. Someone had once said that she desired to eat her men alive.

I had been confronted by a gentleman who was a stranger to me. He was talking in my ear with a martini in his right hand.

I wasn’t listening.

I was watching a tan, curvy woman in a tight black gown softly swaying to light violins coming out of the wall.

She had long blond hair and enormous blue eyes.

The gentleman talking to me tapped my shoulder. He wanted some kind of response. I nodded affirmatively and smiled. He seemed pleased with my reaction and went on talking. I went back to looking at the girl.

She was extremely beautiful and I responded to the sight of her lean, swaying body.

As the music continued to sail out of the wall, the woman loosened up and began to unzip the back of her gown.

Some young couples gathered around her.

The hostess flashed her teeth at her two young admirers and the three of them disappeared through a darkened doorway.

The gentleman talking to me tapped my shoulder again.

He wanted some kind of response.

Once again, I nodded affirmatively and smiled.

He seemed especially pleased with my reaction and went on talking.

Meanwhile, the woman had peeled down the top of her gown and was standing braless before her cheering onlookers.

I wanted a closer look but the gentleman talking to me had me cornered and would not allow me to get by.

He was a very huge man.

The violins surrendered to a disco beat and the woman proceeded to peel her gown down to the floor. She danced to the music in her pink panties. I watched her over the gentleman’s shoulder.

Each time he tapped me I nodded affirmatively.

The woman was very sexy and my smile stretched to the ends of my face.

Once again, the gentleman tapped me.

Once again, I nodded.

Someone lifted the woman up on a table where she continued to dance. Her huge breasts trembled with each movement. Others began to dance around her. A fat little woman threw a red scarf up in the air. I watched it gently float down to the bobbing heads and get trampled underfoot. There was much hooting and laughter. The music grew very loud. I finally caught a glimpse of the woman—this time without her panties on. My smile split apart in awe.

Again, the gentleman tapped me.

I nodded absently.

But this time he was not satisfied. He tapped me rather hard on my chest.

What is it? I yelled over the music, staring into the gentleman’s face.

He spoke in my ear. I said, which motel do you prefer we go to. I find that Robin’s Love Place has the best arrangement of mirrors. What do you think?

All my senses froze. I immediately left the party, alone.

CHAPTER 3

I was traveling in my car on a paved back road in eastern California. It was the peak of summer. The air was hot and dry. I was looking for a place to rest. I had taken a wrong turn and had made the mistake of traveling too far. I was lost in a landscape of dust and rippling heat. There was a monotonous crackling on the radio, no matter where I turned the dial.

Never once did another vehicle pass me, nor appear in my rearview mirror.

Sweat glued my back and legs to the seat. The heat took away my desire to breathe. A strange structure suddenly appeared on the road far ahead of me. As I drew nearer I could make out people and a truck. I stopped alongside the road and approached the people on foot. They were circled around something in the middle of the road. I heard a sharp, piercing scream. My voice sounded naturally cautious.

Hello. What seems to be the problem here?

A man with his hands in his pockets turned around. He just stared at me.

Between his parted legs I saw what they all were staring at. A golden Labrador was lying on his side on the hot paved road. One back leg was twisted over his head. White intestines hung out his bloody rear end.

It’s a goddamn shame, the man said. Do you have a gun?

The animal shrieked under the burning sun. A drop of sweat fell into my eye.

No, I said. I don’t have a gun.

I slowly approached the circle. Just what happened here?

Goddamn hit-and-run is what it is. We’s four drove up and found ‘im in the road.

I gave each of the other three men a fleeting glance. I jumped when the animal convulsed for air. His white tongue hung out of his mouth like the underbelly of a dead fish.

He’s a goner, another man said.

Yup, the third man scratched his shoulder. His face was squinched up with imagined pain. Just wish we had a goddamn gun, make it easier for him.

You could always bash his head in with a rock, the fourth man tried to soften the impact of his comment with a weak smile.

Did you see who hit him? I asked.

No. Didn’t see no one, the first man said. More ‘n likely he’s just some goddamn poor abandoned dog.

The dog howled and made an effort to lift its head. Blood trickled out of its nose.

Well, damn! the man said, still scratching the same spot on his shoulder. We just can’t leave the thing here ta die. Why don’t we throw him in the back of the truck?

Hell, ya can’t move him, Frank. Look it. He’s all broken up.

I say we just take a rock to his head. It’s be fast if nuthin’ else.

Is there a vet nearby? I asked.

Hell, no, the first man said. Not fer a hundred miles.

The dog tried to get up. No one made an effort to help him.

Goddamn, he’s got blood comin’ out ‘is ass.

We all watched as the dog lay his head back down on the hot asphalt. His panting became slow and steady.

Lookie there. No tags or collar on him neither. The poor bastard.

The heat burned through my thin cotton shirt. I wished the dog would die and I could jump into a cold shower. I could hear time ticking on my watch. All around us the desert stretched, sandy and barren. Nothing moved save a rippling, teasing mirage one hundred miles away.

The dog finally stopped panting. His eyes looked forever at the vast flat wasteland.

We each grabbed a limb and carried him off the road, and feebly covered him up with hot sand and dust. Then we parted without saying a word.

I drove until sunset.

CHAPTER 4

An acquaintance of mine tipped me off about a good place to get laid in the city. He suggested that I take along at least two hundred dollars. The standard rate was one hundred, but this particular establishment expected its customers to tip generously.

Friday afternoon I took a long hot bath, and afterward I splashed on an expensive cologne. I had not been close to a woman in over a month. I left my apartment when the stars came out and drove quietly through a jungle of dancing neon signs. My friend had drawn up a map showing precisely how to reach my destination. My eyes followed his wiggly pencil lines.

It’s a little hard to find, he had said. And it’s not what you would expect it to be.

My destination was a box with a number scratched under it:

1234 Mark St.

Under that was written a name:

Scribe

The map took me down several streets I had no previous awareness of. On one poorly lit avenue I nearly hit two cats vigorously humping in the center of the road.

I drove for almost an hour. Along the designated route, the traffic was heavy. Pretty little girls in flashy hot pants begged for lifts on random corners. Shadowy drivers opened their car windows and waved them in. I passed them by.

Mark St. was a quiet side street on the east side of the city. My destination was a long building at the end of a lane of sleeping houses.

1234 Mark St.

On the glass door was painted a name

EVERGREEN REST HOME

A skinny man in a tangerine outfit stood up behind the entrance desk.

Is this 1234 Mark St.? I asked.

Yes, he answered.

Is this a rest home?

Yes, was his answer again.

I’m sorry. I must have the wrong place.

The skinny man stepped in front of his desk. Who were you looking for?

Scribe, I said. Do you know a Scribe around here?

Yes. I am Scribe. I assume you’ve come on business.

Well, actually I’m not really sure.

You want a lady tonight?

Yes, I said, rather surprised.

Then, please, sit down.

You have ladies here … in the rest home? I asked.

Naturally. The skinny man brought out a bill of sale from his desk drawer. The fee is one hundred dollars. Of course, you’re expected to leave a hundred dollar tip.

I see, I said, scratching my chin. What a perfect front. Who would have ever suspected a rest home?

We operate strictly on cash.

I handed the skinny man a hundred dollar bill.

Now, he said, calmly folding his long, clean hands on the desk, who do you prefer? Anyone in particular?

I looked at the skinny man’s face. It was shaped like a cucumber. I smiled. I like blonds with blue eyes.

Fine. Go to room 1438. Down this hall and then to your left. Room 1438. Her name is Ephphatha.

Do I have a time limit? I asked.

An hour, he said softly.

There was no one in the hallway. The walls were painted a sunny yellow. The scent of old urine stung my senses. I took the opportunity to peek into an opened door. Room 166. The bed was empty. At the end of the hallway I turned left. As I passed the closed door to room 716, I heard a pleasant moaning. Someone was certainly enjoying their evening. Again, I thought, what a perfect front.

The door to room 1438 was closed. I stood in the barren hallway under the bright, white lights, afraid to knock. Somewhere in the building a toilet flushed. I gently rapped my knuckles against the door.

Ephphatha, I called.

Yes. Do come in.

Her voice was faint and soft. I opened the door. The room was dark. I could just make out a silhouette lying in the bed.

Please. Come in. And do close the door behind you.

I can’t see a thing, I said, feeling my way through the blackness. I bumped into the bed.

Shh! the voice whispered. Here, give me your hand.

Ephphatha found my hand and placed it upon her breast. There. There now, she said.

I quickly undressed and lay down in the bed beside her.

May I turn a light on? I asked. I would like to see you, Ephphatha.

Of course. There’s a switch behind you on the wall.

I flicked the light. The woman lying beside me was very old.

God! I gasped.

I turned the light off.

What is it? Ephphatha asked.

You’re … you’re … an old woman.

Of course I am, she laughed.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and brought me down on top of her. Talitha-cumi, she said, with just the slightest suggestion of an allusion in her voice.

Through the wall I could hear laughter and bedsprings squeaking like playful mice.

Ephphatha bit my ear.

CHAPTER 5

I was enjoying a hamburger and cola at a local coffee shop. It was the peak of summer and it was very hot outside. I had a table by the window all to myself, and I watched people passing by in their light summer clothing.

There was a middle-aged man with a goatee sitting across from me at another table. He, too, was alone, smoking a cigarette, and dropping his ashes in an empty drinking glass. Although he was wearing sunglasses, I had the oddest feeling that he was staring at me, observing my every move.

I rapidly consumed my burger, left a two dollar tip, and paid the pretty little hostess at the counter. I joked with her, and while she was laughing and counting my change, I glanced over at the man who I felt sure was watching me throughout the course of my meal. He was thrusting his arm into a lemon-colored sports jacket, getting ready to leave. I suggested to the hostess that she have a nice day and departed from the coffee shop without further delay.

Instead of going directly to my car, I decided to stroll over to some nearby shops and browse around, in the hope of finding a good bargain on a short-sleeve cotton shirt. As I was crossing the street, I had the odd feeling that I was being stared at. I turned around. The man from the coffee shop was following me, though he was carefully keeping his distance.

I ducked into a hardware store and proceeded to the back of the premises. Hidden amidst a display of tile flooring, I watched the front door for any sign of my pursuer.

He entered, his eyes lost behind the black shades of his glasses. I knelt down, acting interested in a vomit-brown tile, while the man scanned the store.

He started to walk in my direction, but then abruptly changed his course and slipped out the front door. A salesperson stuck his pimply face in front of mine and asked if I needed some assistance. I glanced at him and left without saying a word.

Outside, there was no sign of the man. The afternoon glared down upon the sidewalk, as