The Second Wind

By Bradley Mathis

Brad is an Arizona Native born in Phoenix. From a very young age, he has been an avid outdoorsman. His great loves are his hobbies, which include hunting, fishing, and riding his quad around different areas of the beautiful state that he calls home. Years of experienced scouting and embracing the great outdoors of his beloved state and these hobbies have provided the ideas that he makes come to life in his stories.
Working in the construction trades since high school, for Brad, writing stories has become a passion in recent years. He has found that with a vivid imagination and a sense of humor, which he draws on, and a few personal experiences, making people laugh is the most rewarding gift that can be given to anyone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493179886

Bradley Mathis

Brad is an Arizona Native born in Phoenix. From a very young age, he has been an avid outdoorsman. His great loves are his hobbies, which include hunting, fishing, and riding his quad around different areas of the beautiful state that he calls home. Years of experienced scouting and embracing the great outdoors of his beloved state and these hobbies have provided the ideas that he makes come to life in his stories. Working in the construction trades since high school, for Brad, writing stories has become a passion in recent years. He has found that with a vivid imagination and a sense of humor, which he draws on, and a few personal experiences, making people laugh is the most rewarding gift that can be given to anyone.

Book preview

What’s For Dinner, Auntie Charlene?

I t was a knockdown, drag-out dogfight that included biting, scratching, and hair pulling. The pictures almost fell from the walls of the hallway as the thundering sound of screaming pain blasted through the entire house. There was the pounding of running footsteps followed by the sound of tumbling, falling, and crashing to the floor. Then the cry of pain from being trampled over and step ped on.

"You’re not going to get away with that!" I yelled out as I picked myself up from the dusty vinyl, just in time to make a last-ditch effort and try a Hail Mary dive for the feet that were running at full pace now a couple yards in front of me. Landing only a few inches short of my target, I smacked the ground once again, then bounced across the floor, and suddenly crashed to a halt, landing upside down in the corner, with my legs against the wall and feet pointing toward the ceiling. The culprit dashed from the hallway into the kitchen and skidded to a stop directly behind my aunt Charlene, who was standing at the stove, stirring the gravy that was just coming to a boil.

Do you and Hope really need to fight like that every time I call you to dinner? my aunt asked as I rose to my feet and brushed off the front of my shirt.

"That dog thinks she’s human, and she’s not getting my chair at the table!" I complained in protest.

Did she scratch you up again when she tripped you in the hallway and ran you over?

Yes, I replied, but it’s not as bad as yesterday.

You know, Brad, she would probably stop biting you if you would quit grabbing her tail and trying to hold her back.

You might be right. It seems every time I do that, all I wind up with is another battle scar and a handful of her tail hair anyway.

Hope is my aunt’s Australian cattle dog. They’ve been living with me for over a year now. As it turned out, I moved into a house with a few extra bedrooms, so I invited my aunt Charlene to move into one of the spare rooms. Now one of the major benefits of having my aunt living with me, besides being housekeeper, maid, dishwasher, financial advisor, psychologist, and Dr. Ruth, is the fact that she can somehow make up a gourmet meal with as little as a slice of white bread and a half of a potato. When she actually has a good variety of stuff to work with… well, the aroma filling the air and traveling down the street is usually enough to somehow grab any unsuspecting neighbor by their nostrils and draw them right to the front door. This has occurred more times than I can count.

Hey, Brad, is your aunt cooking up that chicken cacciatore again? I was just up the street and caught a whiff… What the heck happened to your arm?

Dog bite. It’s nothing.

Yes, after several incidents just as this, I was actually forced to install a security door on the front of the house just to keep hungry neighbors from practically busting down the front door. In addition to that, I needed to put bars across all of the windows and hire a full-scale alarm company to monitor the entire property at dinnertime. As a matter of fact, Clyde Ingervald of Cyclop Security Systems in New River and I have gotten to know each other quite well. I usually receive several calls a week from Clyde. Of course most of them are just to inform me someone is on the property around dinnertime. The last time we talked was the night before last.

Is your aunt cooking again? Clyde asked. Because someone is walking up to your front door from the street.

Yes, she is. Tonight she’s making beef enchiladas with a green pepper sauce.

Wow, that sounds really good! he replied. By the way, did you know your account is past due? You currently have a balance of $137.12 that must be paid immediately.

Sorry, Clyde, it’s just that I’m a little short this week. Can’t you give me until next week?

No, no… Absolutely positively not! I have a business to run, and I have bills to pay. I need you to pay your bill and pay your bill now! No excuses and no exceptions!

Well, Clyde, how about if I have my aunt make up a second batch of those beef enchiladas just for you? There was a short pause before Clyde responded.

With the green pepper sauce? he eventually asked.

Yes, sir.

Okay, tell ya what I’ll do. You have your aunt make up an extra batch, have them ready in an hour, and we’ll call it even. I’ll send one of my trucks over there to pick them up.

Great. They’ll be ready for you then. What truck are you sending over, Clyde, the minivan or the pickup?

Neither, he replied. I’m sending armored transport.

Another great thing about Aunt Charlene’s dinner cooking is the leftovers usually go into my lunch box the next day. A short while back, I was sitting there at my desk when the boss (otherwise known as Big Kenny) popped his head in the door.

Hey, Tim and I are going up to the Full Belly Delly for lunch. Wanna go? They have their foot-long salami on rye on sale this week. It comes with a bag of chips and a Coke.

Naw. Thanks, but I brought lunch from home again, I said, sounding like a nerdy office worker.

Oh, so what did you bring for lunch anyway? he asked out of curiosity.

Just some steamed halibut with a vermouth sauce. A twice-baked potato and a garden salad with some of Aunt Charlene’s homemade dressing. Had it for dinner last night, and there was a little leftover, so Charlene put it in my lunch today. I sure am glad we have that minikitchen in the back, I told Ken. I always set my lunch box on the counter back there, then whenever I get hungry, I just heat it up and take my lunch break.

You just leave your lunch box on that counter, huh? Ken asked, looking suddenly as if he was deep in thought about something.

Oh ya. Almost every day, I replied. Without saying another word, he disappeared. It was about forty minutes later when I stopped and took my break for lunch. Funny thing is when I opened up my lunch box, besides a folded-up napkin and a fork, my lunch box was completely empty.

"Dang! I said to myself in surprise. I sure thought she put that stuff in my lunch box this morning. Guess I was wrong."

What’s really funny is when I got home later that day and asked my aunt about it, she told me she did put that halibut in my lunch box. Still don’t know what happened to it. It’s just weird.

Of course, one of the very best things about Aunt Charlene’s dinners is when several people come over for special occasions, such as Christmas or Thanksgiving. There’s always lots of great food, and it’s always a wonderful time. The only real problem we have with this is deciding who gets what for the leftovers.

There was one time a few years back when my uncle Jim and his wife, Launa, and their daughter, Jammie, along with my cousin Stephanie, her husband, Craig, and their son Hunter, my mom and her friend Dennis, and myself all got invited to a Christmas dinner at Aunt Charlene’s place. At this time, she lived in Wickenburg.

As usual, Charlene put together a wonderful dinner of prime rib roast with all the fixings: mashed potatoes with gravy, fresh string beans, homemade cranberry sauce, and, of course, the before-dinner salad with her own special dressing. As it turned out later that evening, when everyone started to leave, there was still a good amount of food left on the kitchen counter. My mom and Dennis were the first to leave, and after keeping a close eye on them, I noticed they didn’t bother to take any leftovers home with them.

Okay, this is good, I quietly said to myself.

Then about twenty minutes later, Stephanie, Craig, and Hunter decided to hit the road. Now Charlene did pack up a few things for them to take home, which was cause for concern, but sending them off with a few slices of that prime rib and some of the potatoes still left a large amount of food sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Okay, this is looking really good now."

Well, Brad, slice yourself off some of that prime rib to take home. And take some potatoes and some of that cranberry sauce too, my aunt said as she walked from the kitchen to the living room to visit with Launa and Jammie, who were now sitting in front of the TV set watching a movie.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" I replied, jumping three feet into the air and doing two summersaults then grabbing the carving knife. I started whistling a tune and happily cutting away. Life was good. I figured I was going to have enough leftover food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for at least the next three weeks! I even sliced a few small pieces off and ate them as I continued to cut bigger pieces away and stuff them into the extra-large ziplock plastic bag.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall slender figure wearing a black cowboy hat standing in the shadow of the doorway that led to the laundry room. It was my uncle Jim. His arms were folded, the hat brim was barely above his eyebrows, and the expression on his face was enough to make you think he’d just been robbed or something. Then I noticed he was glaring right at me.

Oh… hi, Jim. I didn’t know you were standing over there.

Taking some leftovers, are ya, Brad? he said with slow deep voice.

Ugh… well… Charlene said to take some, ugh… leftover food home. S-s-so I was just packing up a little bit . . .

"A little bit? Jim said while tipping his head slightly. Looks to me like you’ve packed up enough stuff there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next three weeks!"

"Uhmm… well, I would have never thought it was that much," I responded innocently.

Then from the other side of the kitchen came another sound. It was a low-pitched growl. I quickly turned to find Hope standing at full attention and showing off every single tooth in her mouth. The expression on her face was just about the same as my uncle Jim’s.

I stood slightly paralyzed for a moment, contemplating lobbing the plastic bag over my shoulders like a bank robber, bounding over the counter, and crashing through the front window for my escape. After concluding this was probably not the best option, I slowly reached into the plastic bag, removing about a third of what was in it, and placed it back on the prime rib platter. Jim gave a slight nod of approval and lowered his shotgun. Then I reached in the bag once again, removing a large rib bone that had a fare amount of meat still clinging to it. As I sat it back on the platter, the growling from Hope stopped, and she even started wagging her tail.

It was right about then when Aunt Charlene walked back into the kitchen. Seeing me standing there with what was still a good-size bag of leftovers, Jim at the doorway with a smile on his face, and Hope wagging her tail, she assumed all was well.

My, there’s still a lot of prime rib left on that platter. Jim, you be sure and take the rest of that home with you now since Brad’s already got his, my aunt said as she pointed to my leftover bag.

Oh, I will. Thanks, sis. Then Jim gave Charlene a big hug.

Those leftovers I took home from that Christmas dinner lasted for about a week and a half. Of course now for the holiday dinners, my aunt Charlene usually cooks up everything right there in my kitchen. So not only do I get a good portion of the leftovers, but I also get to sample many of the dishes she makes before they are even served. Yes, there are truly advantages to living with a gourmet cook.

The only thing I can’t figure out is why my memory is going bad. It seems that half the time when I could swear I filled up my lunch box in the morning with another one of those great leftover dinners, I’ll find my lunch box empty when I take my break.

It’s happened so many times now, I have seriously considered therapy for this. Big Kenny has even offered to help out in any way he can. Matter of fact, now he even lets me keep my lunch box in his office just to make sure that nobody messes with it. Another funny thing is Ken hasn’t been to the Full Belly Delly in over two weeks now. Don’t know why that is.

The Pink Shirt

A good bit of time has passed since the last bad experience with alcoholic beverages. To my best recollection, it was one week ago, Tuesday. Actually, what caused the entire problem happened about three weeks prior.

It had been a long hard day at work, and Thursday was close enough to the weekend to step out for a night on the town. After a quick shower, a shave, and a little dab of cologne, I grabbed a shirt from the closet, wiped the dust off my boots, and headed out to the Road Runner Saloon in New River. It was karaoke night, and there was a decent-size crowd of about twenty people hanging out on the back patio. After ordering a cold Bud Light from Kelly, the bartender, I sat back and listened to Eddie Moose Glifford, a dump truck and earthmover operator for the town of New River, sing his rendition of Ghost Riders in the Sky.

Shortly after Eddie finished his song, I noticed a growling sensation coming from my stomach and realized I had not even stopped for lunch that day. So I ordered up a cheeseburger and a side of curly fries along with the second beer. A few more people ambled in as the microphone was passed from Stevo, the tall, lanky tractor mechanic who was in charge of the karaoke, to a young girl by the name of Ginger, who started singing Stand By Your Man.

I finished my curly fries and was about halfway through my cheeseburger when I noticed two smartly dressed women standing along the railing leading to the steps that led down to the dance floor. The first young lady was wearing a green blouse with puffy sleeves, a snug-fitting, Western-style white leather vest with jeans and semi high-heel, round-toed shoes. The second lady was wearing a short-cut lavender dress, a wide belt, and dancing boots. I guess it was around the eighth time they caught me looking over at them that they finally called Clayton over. Clayton is the six-foot-nine-inch-tall bartender/bouncer who weighs approximately 300 pounds employed by the Road Runner.

The good thing is in the short amount of time I have lived up in New River, I have gotten to know Clayton and the rest of the staff up at the Road Runner fairly well.

Hey, Brad, what’s the deal? Those ladies over there say you’ve been annoying them all night. Am I gonna have to toss you outta here again?

Uumm… Naa, Clayton, I replied. I was just admiring how nicely dressed I thought they were. Sorry, guess I didn’t realize I was staring.

Oh, he replied with an almost disappointing look on his face. Sometimes I get the impression that Clayton almost likes to throw me out of that place. Anyway, Clayton turned away and walked back over to the ladies. After a brief conversation, the both of them actually smiled and waved at me. Next thing I knew, those two ladies were walking in my direction, and before I had a chance to run for cover, they had me cornered, looking me right square in the eyes.

My name is Ilene, and this is my friend Crystal, the one in the green blouse and white vest said as she crossed her arms. Then Crystal, the other one, flipped her hair over her shoulder and took about a half a step back.

Clayton said you were saying stuff about us. Well, just like a wolverine ready to pounce on a garter snake, I thought they were ready to tear me to pieces. So I sat up tall in my seat, took a deep breath, and said, Ya… my name’s Brad, and I just couldn’t help staring when I saw how stunning the both of you look tonight. Then I halfway closed my eyes waiting for them to laugh or toss their drinks in my direction. Funny thing is when I opened my eyes