I Thought I Was Normal

By R. B. Wright

At a very young age Bob was pulled into a series of events that introduced him to death, sex, lies, deception, and other activities that he simply was not emotionally or spiritually mature enough to deal with.

Unable to cope with these events when they occurred, he simply filed them deep into his heart and mind with the idea of dealing with them at a later date.

Years passed and the number of unresolved issues increased. Bob could not reconcile the traumas he had experienced and they became demons—demons that controlled his being, demons that robbed him of peace and joy.

Bob’s journey through life was complicated by his need and desire to manage the demons. He assumed that everybody had similar issues to deal with until he met Dr. Scott.

Perhaps Dr. Scott helped Bob come to terms with the demons and find a way to do what Miss Molly had told him to do years earlier, or perhaps the demons found a way to make Bob believe he was normal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 12, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682135082

Book preview

Introduction

For several years, the medication the good doctor had prescribed Bob was effective, and it allowed him to live, by most standards, a normal life. Occasionally, there would be a reminder, a spoken word, a picture or some minor event that would trigger the anxiety, anxiety that very quickly escalated to a point of hopelessness and helplessness; and Bob knew, if he did not take an extra pill, he would likely be visited by the demons. Bob adapted well to the need for the pills to keep him in control and always carried a small container with extra pills to be used if he needed them. Bob hated the pills, but he hated the power of the demons even more.

When he was a young boy, fiery dragons and other creatures of the night lived under his bed. As Bob grew older, he came to realize the fiery creatures that robbed him of peaceful rest only existed when he was asleep, but once he was awake, their power was gone. While this knowledge did not diminish the fear that overpowered him when his dreams included creatures of the night, it did give him confidence. The solution to make these creatures disappear was to wake up and turn on the light. He remembered waking in a cold sweat, oftentimes crying out for help while fumbling to find the light switch, knowing the light would force the demons to retreat.

Replaying these childhood memories, Bob is overwhelmed by the reality that the demons he is dealing with now do not hide under the bed or in the closet. They do not retreat when the light is turned on. Rather, they boldly run through his heart and mind; they push out thoughts of joy, hope, and peace. They make it very clear their purpose is to rule over him, and they use fear and intimidation as their means of gaining and maintaining control.

It has been years since Bob allowed his mind to go back in time and fully embrace the events that happened so many years ago, the series of events combined to make Bob the tormented man that he is today.

Reluctantly, Bob reaches into his soul and begins to speak about the things he sees, those things that torment his soul. Bob begins to speak with great fear, but he knows he must not stop. He must tell all that is in his heart and mind. Bob knows he is going to relive all of the hidden secrets of his life, but he also knows that this is necessary to remove the demons.

Johnson

The blaring horn of Mrs. Brown’s truck woke Bob from a deep sleep. It was 5:00 a.m., and he was supposed to be on the front steps, waiting for her to pick him up. Bob never came to terms with why it was necessary to start harvesting tobacco so early in the morning.

Mrs. Brown was a handsome woman with long black hair and skin that was darkly tanned and smooth. She looked so much younger than Bob thought a thirty-year-old woman should look. Bob climbed into the cab of the truck and immediately concluded that Mrs. Brown was the most beautiful woman in the world. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her long muscular legs as she worked the clutch, accelerator, and brake.

When they arrived at the farm and the truck door opened the fantasies of a lovesick eleven-year-old boy came to an abrupt halt. It was time to go to work.

Bob immediately went to the old Farmall Super C and checked the oil, poured in five gallons of gas, and started the engine. He hooked the tobacco sled to the tractor and drove over to where the tobacco croppers had gathered and waited as they found a place to stand or sit on the tobacco sled or tractor, and then they made their way to the tobacco field.

Johnson was the field boss and as always complained about Bob’s driving and reminded him that he was a white boy that knew nothing about anything. The coolness of the early morning soon gave way to the heat of a late June morning, and by lunch time, the croppers and Bob the white boy tractor driver were ready to head to the barn for a few minutes of rest and a bit of lunch.

They gathered in different places around the barn and nearby trees that promised some shade and relief from the sun as they ate their lunch. After eating a sandwich and crackers, Bob decided to walk toward an old barn no longer in use. As he approached the barn, he heard a woman crying, or at least he thought it was a woman crying. Reluctantly, he decided to further investigate, and as he pushed open the old barn door, he saw Johnson pushing Mildred against the wall. The zipper on the side of Mildred’s pants was down and one of Johnson’s hands was in her pants and the other was under her partially unbuttoned shirt. Mildred was crying, and Bob sensed that she was trying to get away from Johnson.

Mildred was a young black girl that was pretty and smart and very kind. All of the tobacco croppers talked about her in the tobacco field, and more often than not, the conversation centers on what they would like to do to her. Always, the conversations either directly say or imply that Mildred is not going to allow them to have their way with her. Mildred was much too smart to fall for empty words and promises. Mildred had a dream and a plan she was going to become a school teacher and help other young black people find their way in life.

Bob’s eyes were focused on Mildred, and he knew Johnson was doing things that Mildred did not want him to do. Bob’s heart and mind quickly filled with fear but he knew Mildred needed help, and so he moved closer and said to Johnson, Take your hands off Mildred. Johnson looked at Bob with great anger and hate in his eyes, and he said, Get the hell out of here. And if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you.

Bob wanted to leave. He had never felt such fear, but he knew Mildred was in serious trouble, and so Bob stepped closer and said, Mr. Johnson, please let Mildred go.

Johnson slapped Bob, not a full slap but enough to knock him down and give Bob some idea of the power in Johnson’s huge right hand. As Bob lay there on the barn floor, Johnson let Mildred go and walked over, grabbed him by the neck, lifted him to the ground, and pushed him against the wall of the barn. He then said, If you ever tell anyone about this, I will kill you.

Bob was afraid of Johnson, and Johnson knew it. And always when they were not in the presence of the farm owner or other responsible adult, Johnson would remind Bob that he was watching him, and if he stepped out of line, he would kill him. Bob believed Johnson and knew he was in great danger.

A few weeks passed without another physical incident, and Bob began to feel less threatened by Johnson. It was a Wednesday morning. It had rained much of the night before, and a light drizzle continued to fall. The tobacco was wet, and the clothes of the croppers were saturated with tobacco gum and rainwater. Johnson came to the tobacco sled and dropped in an armload of wet tobacco. He then walked to the front of the tractor, and standing there, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic container full of dry cigarettes. Johnson’s matches were too wet to light, so he walked to the left side of the tractor, and standing between the front and back wheels, he put the cigarette in his mouth and touched the cigarette against the Super C’s exhaust pipe that extended about two feet above the hood of the tractor. Johnson puffed and puffed, and after a couple of minutes, a bit of soft smoke curled from the lit cigarette.

It was time to pull the sled up, and as Johnson moved away from the exhaust pipe, Bob put the tractor in first gear. Unexpectedly, Johnson turned back toward Bob rather than continuing moving away from the tractor; Bob kept the clutch pushed in. It seemed as though the clutch had been engaged for a very long time because Bob’s leg began to tremble from the force required to keep the clutch pushed in. Bob grabbed the steering wheel with both hands in an effort to get enough leverage to keep the clutch engaged.

Johnson took a long drag from his cigarette and then slowly blew the smoke toward Bob’s face. Johnson started to move out of the path of the tractor and then quickly turned back and moved his hand toward Bob’s face. As Bob jumped back, he released the clutch.

Bob saw the fear in Johnson’s eyes as the tractor jumped forward. As the wheel rotated, it pushed Johnson backward, and he fell on the soft, wet dirt, but the tractor did not stop. It ran up Johnson’s legs, over his crotch, his stomach, and then across the right side of his face. The last controlled movement Johnson made was to turn his head to the left to get a better look at Bob as the tractor rolled over him. When Bob got the tractor to stop, the back wheel was a few inches past Johnson’s head. Johnson’s body was crushed. With his face clawed by the farm tractor’s tire, there was little doubt in Bob’s mind that Johnson was dead.

Johnson was dead, and Bob was not sure about what had just happened. The other croppers heard his screams and quickly left the rows they were cropping to see what the screaming meant. The three croppers stepped within a few feet of Johnson’s body that was now mostly under the tobacco sled. They did not touch him, and their expression told Bob they knew that Johnson was dead.

When they asked Bob what happened, he can only answer I do not know. Several minutes passed, and Bob kept thinking, This cannot be happening. Why did I kill Johnson?

At some point, realizing that Johnson needed to be moved, the three croppers lifted his crushed body onto the tobacco sled, and two of the croppers and Bob sat next to Johnson on the tobacco sled while the third cropper drove the tractor to the barn.

In the middle of the morning, the field tractor with all the croppers and a half full sled of tobacco approached the barn. Mr. Brown, the farm owner, recognized something was wrong and walked out to meet the tractor. Before anyone could speak, Mr. Brown saw Johnson’s body and said, nothing; however, his eyes searched the eyes of Bob and the three croppers. Mr. Brown eyes sent out a message that he was expecting an explanation, and he wanted it quickly.

One of the three croppers was a fellow the croppers called Pembroke. Pembroke is a Lumbee Indian from Pembroke, North Carolina. Pembroke was the first cropper to appear when the tractor ran over Johnson. It happened very quickly, but Bob seemed to recall after the tractor rolled over Johnson, he had looked back and he saw Pembroke before he saw Johnson’s crumpled body. Pembroke quickly became the spokesman and began to tell Mr. Brown, the farm owner, what happened.

Bob listened intently as Pembroke explained that Johnson had lit his cigarette on the Super C exhaust pipe, and it looked as though he was walking away from the tractor, but he apparently stumbled into the path of the tractor as it moved forward. Pembroke repeated that it was a horrible accident, and there was nothing Bob, the young tractor driver, or anyone else could have done.

The farm owner occasionally looked at Bob, and maybe because he could see the fear in his eyes or perhaps it was the tears rolling down his cheeks, in any event, he did not ask Bob to confirm Pembroke’s story. Mr. Brown, the farm owner, walked to his truck and retrieved a tobacco sheet and covered Johnson’s body. He then drove to a country store located about five miles from the tobacco barn that had a phone and called the county sheriff.

A deputy arrived approximately ninety minutes later, and the farm owner, the other croppers, and Bob listened intently as Pembroke repeated over and over the way the accident happened. As Bob listened to Pembroke go through the details of what happened, he realized Pembroke was not sharing the details quite the way he remembers. Pembroke did not mention that Johnson startled Bob when he reached for his face with his huge hand.

Rather Pembroke suggested to the deputy the young tractor driver tried to stop the tractor as Johnson stumbled into the path of the tire. Despite the conflict in his mind about how Pembroke was describing what happened, Bob soon concluded that Pembroke saw the accident and his version was likely to be more accurate than what he recalled.

All of the tobacco harvest crew gathered around the tobacco sled where Johnson’s body had been placed. The deputy rearranged the tobacco sheet over Johnson’s body to cover an exposed arm and a pool of blood that has collected near Johnson’s head.

The barn ladies, those that tie the tobacco and those that hand bundles of tobacco to the tiers, as well as the three remaining croppers gathered around Bob, trying to calm and reassure him that it was an accident, and he did all he could to keep it from happening. Mildred and Pembroke, standing on either side of Bob, placed their arms around him. Mildred’s left hand rested on his chest. Bob’s eyes focused on Pembroke as his huge right hand gently lifted Mildred’s hand from his chest, and as Pembroke wrapped his fingers around Mildred’s hand and placed both of their hands back on Bob’s chest, Pembroke’s fingers rested where Mildred’s soft hand had been. For a brief moment, the sparkle in the eyes of Mildred and Pembroke as they look at each other replaced Bob’s fears and the picture of Johnson’s crumpled body that lingered in his mind.

A few hours later, the county sent an ambulance out to collect Johnson’s body. Mr. Brown, the farm owner, decided it was too late in the day to resume work, and the tobacco harvest crew went home early.

The next day, Mrs. Brown picked Bob up at 5:00 a.m., and as they drove to the farm, neither of them mentioned Johnson. However, when they arrived at the farm and got out of the truck, Mrs. Brown walked around to Bob’s side of the truck, and without speaking, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on his forehead. She continued to hold Bob for a few minutes, and he was aware that she was crying because her tears were falling on his cheeks.

As Bob approached the Super C tractor and tobacco sleds, he noticed Mr. Brown was washing Johnson’s blood from the sled that had been used to bring Johnson in from the field. Mr. Brown placed the bloody tobacco leaves on a sheet and placed it back on the sled and told Bob to take those leaves to the trash dump located behind the barns.

Later in the day, Mr. Brown told the harvest crew that Johnson would be buried the following Sunday. None of the tobacco crew attended the funeral, and Bob never heard Johnson’s name mentioned again on the farm.

Bob was sure he had killed Johnson; however, he was not sure if it was on purpose or if it was an accident. In any event, he decided to push the thought of Johnson’s death out of his mind until there was a more appropriate time to deal with it.

The Red Truck

Bob started working on the Brown farm during the summer he turned nine. Farmwork gave him an opportunity to earn money for school clothes and a little spending money and for the most part Bob found farmwork to be fun and a great way for a boy to spend summer days.

Another added benefit was hard work proved to be a very effective way to develop muscles, and by the summer of his thirteenth birthday, Bob’s height and bulk allowed him to participate in new activities that offered great appeal to a young man living in a large military community. New activities required more money and working on a farm only provided an income during the summer months, and so Bob decided to look for a job that would allow him to work full time during the summer and part-time during the school year.

The main thoroughfare in Bob’s town was lined with gas stations, and he went to the American station that was owned by a man from Germany. After a short discussion, Mr. K, as Bob called him, because he could not properly pronounce his full name gave him a job. Bob worked twelve-hour days, nine in the morning until nine at night that first summer. When school started again, he got off the bus in front of the station and worked until nine each night and twelve hours on Saturday.

Bob did not enjoy working for Mr. K, primarily because he found pumping gas and checking oil to be very boring, and the lack of strenuous physical activity was causing his muscles to weaken.

In December, Mr. K’s brother-in-law bought an independent station about three hundred feet from Mr. K’s American station and asked Bob if he wanted to go to work with him. Bob immediately said yes because he believed working with Marty would be much more exciting than working with Mr. K. Bob decided that he would make other arrangements to keep his muscles toned.

Almost immediately, things proved to be more interesting working for Marty. Marty decided to give a two-cent discount per gallon of gas to all military customers, and this gave a pricing advantage over Mr. K and other competing stations. It was exciting to explore ways of communicating the price discounts to customers, and as Marty’s started to take business from the other stations, it was an ongoing challenge to find other creative ways to get more of the military men and their families to buy their gas and have their cars serviced at Marty’s. Bob enjoyed taking a creative approach to get the message out, and the competition between stations proved to be exciting and fun for Bob.

Bob was not sure if it was because Marty was lazy or simply had other things to do with his time, but Marty soon allowed Bob to do the oil changes and minor mechanical repairs. By the time the summer of his fourteenth birthday rolled around, Bob was pretty knowledgeable of the business and felt pretty good about spending his summer working twelve hours a day, six days a week.

Marty had a lot of friends from the army base, and often times, Bob would hear Marty and his soldier friends laughing and telling stories in the back room of the gas station. Bob knew the soldiers made arrangements for Marty to have fun and participate in activities with them; however, the conversation normally went quite when he was close by, and he did not know the specifics of their fun. He had an idea as to what was taking place though.

Bob’s birthday was coming up on June 23, and for several days prior to the twenty-third, Marty and some of his friends indicated to Bob they were planning a birthday surprise unlike any surprise he had ever had.

Despite the talk about a birthday surprise, June 23, 1963, was a Sunday, and Bob was not really expecting anything related to his birthday to happen on Saturday, June 22. However, about nine thirty Saturday morning, one of Marty’s buddies showed up, driving his Studebaker Lark, the one that had a front plate that read This may not be the Mayflower but my gal came across in it.

In the car with LD was a woman that Bob did not recall having seen before. LD walked into the station, and the woman followed a few steps behind him. The woman had red hair and freckles, and despite the fact that she looked tired and sleepy, she was pretty, pretty enough that Bob caught himself looking again as she followed LD into the back room to see Marty.

A few minutes later, Marty called Bob’s name, and Bob went to the doorway. Marty tossed Bob the keys to his red truck and told Bob to pull it into the service bay and prepare the lift to raise the truck to be