Into the Wilderness - A Tale of Redemption and The Pursuit of Freedom

By Scott Michael Shay

A happy go lucky surfer's life is turned upside down after he makes a bad decision. What follows is a decade long struggle to find redemption and freedom from the guilt he harbors. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Michael Shay
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223781295

Book preview

Chapter 1  

Summer 1969, Southern California

Johnny had been awake for some time as he watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon of the endless sea. A beautiful sight, though the slivers of light stung his bloodshot eyes. Nevertheless he scanned the sea with careful scrutiny as he brushed sand from his body. And he felt certain that the coming waves would be pristine just like they had been the day before. And this new day would be full of endless waves, and the night warm and intoxicating.

His girlfriend was still fast asleep beside him and to be honest, she wasn't into waking up at the crack of dawn to go surfing anyway. So he left her. The little driftwood shelter constructed the night before had worked pretty well for the few hours of sleep they had managed. The rest of the gang were scattered along the small spit of beach in makeshift shelters or just passed out leaning up against a log or flat out on the sand. Beer can in hand. A bit of smoldering embers still clung to life from the giant bonfire that had been the center of the party the night before. Along with a healthy scattering of beer cans and a few empty rum, tequila and vodka bottles.

Instinctively Johnny walked to the water's edge and scooped it up splashing his face. Knowing that cold fresh ocean water would instantly wash away any kind of hangover cobwebs he was suffering. How many beers he had consumed the night before was a guess at best and basically a complete blur. Probably in excess of eighteen. God knows how many shots of tequila too. What a life. And then there was the LSD they had all dropped not to mention the copious amounts of weed they'd smoked.

From the beach he hiked up the steep rocky bluff some couple of hundred feet or so like a mountain goat until he finally reached the shoulder of the road. Happy to see that his trusty old vw beetle was still there and hadn't been towed or stolen. After all this wasn't a state park, it was basically the outskirts of no man's land. At the time Ranchos Palos Verdes was a newer and somewhat underdeveloped chunk of ever expanding suburbia in Southern California that just happened to provide access to some pretty great waves. And any neighboring homes were far enough away that none were seemingly bothered by a group of wayward hippy surfers camping and surfing on the narrow spit of the beach barely visible below.

This little known location had been entrusted to Johnny by another surfer. Uncle Tim, who had long since hung up his board. A great little hamlet that nobody knew who owned and why there wasn't some sort of monster house perched on poles on it already was anyone's guess. But for a brief time in Johnny's life the empty lot hanging over the sea was a perfect place. A little known oasis. And life was perfect for a short while during that summer except that being a professional party goer slash surfer hippy wasn't easy business. Always there was the nagging of the real world from parents and authorities.

Being twenty years old and not having a job or any kind of direction in life was something that Johnny was forced to think about quite often because his parents lectured him ostensibly every time they saw him. But as usual, Johnny decided to push away any feelings of guilt on this gorgeous morning and embrace the semi-frigid waters of the mid pacific ocean with a zest that was real, and not fueled by some drug induced intoxication. The sometimes elusive connection between human and nature was something that surfing facilitated well; without any experience enhancing substances.

He grabbed his wet suit from the back seat and headed back down the steep path to the beach. After the five minute descent he'd finally traversed the trail back down to the sliver of paradise to find most of the motley gang now up and lamenting the hangover. No doubt accompanied by the discomfort generated by the already hot sun. A couple of them searched around for any beer that had been forgotten the night before because parched mouths were torture. And no one had brought any food or water to this party.

I'm starving dude. Tom stated as he finished off a stale half beer that he'd been clutching as he slept. It didn't help the gut rot much. And it was his gut that was in control now.

Johnny, let's get some grub from the truck stop down the road before we hit the waves. But then sobering reality interrupted. Aw shit he muttered considering his lament while searching his pockets for cash but coming up empty.

Johnny smiled sheepishly as he too turned the pockets inside out on his cut off jeans. Zero. Not a dime left. A completely negative thought simultaneously emerged in his mind. Hopefully they had enough gas in the tank to get home later.

I'm tapped too bro, spent everything I had last night on booze. he replied, shrugging his shoulders. Thus commenced everyone present to fervently search around the tiny slice of beach for a buck or a beer. Anything remotely resembling sustenance. But nothing was turning up except headaches and churning guts thanks largely in part to the acid and booze combination the night before.

I wanna hit a few sets before we get outta here. Look at the surf dudes! Pristine! Johnny replied, trying to pump up the troops.

With that he wedged himself into his O'Neill wetsuit. Come on you guys, it'll shake off the cobwebs. Then we can figure out what to do next.

The waves that early morning were righteous just as Johnny had anticipated them to be. Everyone agreed. All but the few without courage, desire. or a surfboard They were left on the beach like mutineers. Busy nursing their hangovers and preoccupying themselves with thoughts of gnawing thirst and hunger.

By noon the group had thinned and most others had left while Johnny, remaining persons and gear were finally all loaded onto and into the beetle. Or Bessie as she was called. And thus began the trek back towards the city and the dreaded feelings that would follow.

I hate leaving our little beach. And I mean the city, it's just so horrible. And my parents... Tammy said aloud and then drifted off gazing out at the vastness of the ocean.

Bessie pulled out heavily laden onto Palos Verdes Drive in the direction that led them back to suburbia which equaled nauseating traffic and gnashing moms and dads. The feeling of dread was mutual for all five crammed into the compact car that day.

Tammy turned up the AM radio and grooved out to the drone of the airwaves while Tom and Mary made out in the back seat right beside Davy much to his chagrin. The make out session wasn't really about grossing out Davy Boy. It was just a way to take their minds off the horrible hunger pains and hangover.

Johnny kept a vigilant eye on the gas gauge, and again worry crept up in him about whether they had enough gas to get back to suburbia and parent's wallets. More thoughts invaded his still somewhat hungover mind. Where had he gone wrong? Why was he so firmly attached to the teet of his doting but nagging parents? Why was he so inclined to the wayward side of life? Growing up in a lower middle class family had something to do with it. Having more than a poor joe but at the same time not enough to keep up with the Joneses. A culture of entitlement without the credentials or salary to back it up. Growing up in Long Beach didn't help either. Being so close to the coast and some great surfing. And the times were a changin too.

But he'd always call himself more of a surfer than a hippy. Even though he hadn't cut his hair for two years now which his parents despised. Life in the working class neighborhood of West Long Beach in the late 60's was pretty decent all things considered for young Johnny, except for Dad who was always touting working a soulless job for a living, loud and clear with a metaphorical megaphone. Grow up and work, son. The grades aren't that great, so get into the Port of Long Beach like me.

A place where Dad had been working for the past twenty-three years and still going strong. But Johnny had somehow missed the message of the constant preaching. All the hard work ethic conversations that went along with Dad's version of reality had apparently skipped Johnny's ears, and subsequent to that he was sent hurtling down a different spiral of life unaware of this subtraction or deletion of this probably useful strand of genetic material's ability to express itself. But truthfully Johnny dreaded the idea of a life wasted at the Port with a bunch of other dudes who hated being there.

Mom was a preacher too. And a bible thumper. Johnny was trapped between two trumpets and hated it. But how does a guy with no job and no place of his own survive? Put up with the harping at dinner and keep making promises to smarten up. Then politely ask mom for another piece of her awesome meatloaf that he couldn't live without. Of course mom and dad would eventually always bring up the subject of Brian.

His older brother and the first Gilley to ever attend university. Luckily Brian lived near Cal State Long Beach and wasn't home often by those days. Otherwise he'd have been way more blunt. Hey Deadbeat, get a life already you leach!

But Johnny wasn't the only post adolescent adult child still living at home to the complete disdain of his parents. Everyone sardine-packed into Bessie that day was a social outcast. A non conformist in their own right and loathed by their parents and pretty much society in general. Birds of a feather really do flock together.

And Johnny’s girlfriend Tammy, being only seventeen and a half, was perhaps the most lost of their gang. She hailed from much wealthier roots and should have been in high school in Beverly Hills on that particular day. Getting ready to graduate. But somehow she'd managed to shrug it off and get totally drunk and high instead. She blamed it all on Johnny of course, with his surfer charm and long blonde hair. He was just too cute. Maybe he didn't have the brains but he sure had the brawn. And they looked good together. Even though she still looked fourteen. Her age was already a hot topic at home as far as dating a twenty year old surf bum with no job went. The romantic union didn't bode well at the Gilley home either. Johnny's dad was especially incensed about his son dating a girl still in high school. And then it happened. Bessie sputtered and died.

Johnny pulled her lifeless corpse off to the side of the road while cars behind him honked and people fingered as they passed by. Tammy broke out of her daydream and looked a bit pathetic for a moment. Davy appeared stunned. Tom and Mary stopped groping. This really sucked. At least twenty miles from home with not a penny among them, not to mention no gas station in sight.

What ensued was a bitter sun baked push to the nearest gas station which took about three hours. Including a shit ton of bickering and infighting along the way. And no god damned water!

Once they finally got Bessie into the parking lot of a dusty old truck stop they then had to pan handle and beg for change. After everyone present had pleaded and panned their hearts out and begged until they couldn't stand it any more Johnny counted up the change. Apparently people at that truck stop didn't like surfer hippy bums. The total was dismal. Not enough to do anything except for each of them to use the pay phone to call for help. He gave a dime to everyone and wished them luck. One by one they began to call home using their best puppy dog voices.

Tom got no answer. And Mary struck out immediately. Davy boy was too nervous to talk to his mom because she already had a tough job as it was with a few kids at home and a dad nowhere to be found. She wasn't going to pack up the car and head out to rescue them that was for sure. So he sheepishly opted out. That left Johnny and Tammy. Getting help from her parents would be impossible. She'd be scooped up and they'd be left at the station. But she called anyway.

After a very brief discussion she hung up the receiver with a shrug of her shoulders. Her step dad was on his way and wasn't happy. He told her he'd come get her but Johnny and the rest of them were shit out of luck.

Guess I'll give it a shot. Johnny said as he next plunked his dime in. It rang a couple times. His mother finally picked up.

Hi Mom? He could tell she was mad right off the bat. Usually calls from him meant trouble. The silent treatment began. After a minute or two of Johnny lamenting about the situation came a scream over the phone receiver the rest of them could hear loud and clear. Even over the din of the constant drone of cars on the highway.

God damn you boy! It was his dad who'd taken the phone receiver from mom and was now tearing him a new one. I am just about to sit down to a wonderful meal that your mother has prepared and now my useless kid is calling and whining about running out of gas. The anger in his voice was relentless.

You know what son? he continued in a low angered growl, You're a big boy. Find your own way home! Then Johnny heard a click.

He was used to being called useless though. His dad had been fond of that expression over the years. Pretty much since grade school when Johnny displayed a knack early on for not paying attention as well as upsetting teachers and students with class clown antics. Then his first 'job' delivering newspapers ended badly when the supervisor had called his parents to report that Johnny was just dumping all the papers in a ditch and neighbors were very bereaved about the huge mess it had created. That deal sent his dad into orbit.

Then there was high school which was a total disaster. Johnny had been kicked out of every school in the county for constant skipping and general disruptive behavior. Consequently he dropped out for good half way through grade ten.

It was around this time that Johnny found an old surf board in his uncle's garage and things changed. Then Uncle Tim gave him the old 1957 Volkswagen beetle affectionately named Bessie. It had been sitting in his yard for a few years and the two of them brought it back to life. Tim was a lot easier to get along with than dad. He would have helped Johnny that day without a question but he'd moved to Washington State the year before.

Tammy's step dad pulled into the gas station in a stylish Porsche Targa at quarter past seven. He glared at Johnny but said nothing. Tammy kissed Johnny on the cheek. I'll probably be grounded or something so I might not see you for a few days. A little tear rolled down her cheek. I'll try to call you later...

The Porsche laid a black strip of rubber on the ground as they left. And then there were four. By now Mary had had enough and decided she'd take a bus home and tell the driver as she boarded she had no money. He'd let her on. She'd done it a thousand times before. Didn't work as well for dudes though.

See you tomorrow babe. She blew a kiss to Tom as the bus doors shut in front of them and pulled away. The bus driver had a wide smirk on his face. Fuck him, Johnny thought as the three of them walked back toward Bessie feeling defeated and hungry.

Tom couldn't take his gnawing stomach any more. I'll be right back. he said as he turned around and walked back toward the store. Soon Johnny and Davy got the picture and quickly followed behind. Luckily the clerk was fairly busy with a string of customers and so didn't notice the three shoplifters attempting to stuff as much as they could into their pockets and pants without being seen. After a few moments they were stuffed with goodies, and one by one, made their way out of the store and back to Bessie.

Davy was grinning ear to ear. Dudes, I scored a bunch of stuff. What did you get?

The trio pulled things out of every pocket including a sub sandwich that Johnny had stuffed down his crotch. They divided up the booty and scarfed it all down in minutes.

Now all we need is a case of beer and a few gallons of gas. Davy whimsically remarked as he licked his fingers clean of potato chip grease.

It was then that Johnny formulated a plan. It would be dark soon which meant that they could creep around a couple neighborhoods to find a gas can and a garden hose. Siphon some gas and problem solved. It was a simple but dangerous plan because people got shot for doing things like that especially in LA. Tom was a little apprehensive but Davy boy was into it. With some prodding and peer pressure Tom reluctantly agreed.

After the sun went down and darkness set in, the guys got to work setting the plan in action. First they walked for a good mile or two into a pocket of nicer looking homes and manicured lawns. Many with detached garages which was what they were looking for. In the garage they'd find a gas can and hose.

They crept up and down streets trying to find the perfect target, killing a few hours of time until most goodly people were in bed fast asleep. And after an unknown number of blocks sneaking around, they finally found it. And to a gang of amateur thieves it looked like the perfect target. A house with a few cars in the driveway and the detached garage with its door wide open. They carefully scoped out the street and all was quiet. There were lights on in the house but they were faint and most likely coming from the back half or even the backyard. Johnny approached first and was sure he could hear the low din of music coming from the back so he crept up very quietly to peek over a gate that separated front from back yards. From this vantage point he could see a middle aged guy with a big gut passed out in a reclining lawn chair. A beer can clutched in his hand.

It looked like there had been a small gathering there that night. But the party was clearly now over and the cars in the driveway were probably guests that had left them for the night. Or maybe belonged to people such as the passed out guy in the backyard. This was good, Johnny thought to himself. Stone cold drunk and not going to wake up for nothing. He headed for the garage while Tom and Davy searched the cars parked in the driveway for loose change. Much to Johnny's delight there was a big old fridge in the corner and he couldn't help himself but have a look inside. He swung the door open gently and found what he had hoped for. A flat of beer, bottles of wine and leftovers from the barbeque. The chicken was still warm! He looked around and found a tennis bag and emptied it of rackets and tennis balls. Then he stuffed it with as much beer and food as the thing would carry and set it aside.

Next he searched the garage for a gas can. Bingo, right in the other corner beside the lawnmower. It even had about a gallon in it. A garden hose was hanging above the lawnmower, he grabbed that too. He quickly found a utility knife on the workbench below and cut a few feet off. He grabbed the gas can and length of hose, then put the tennis bag strap over his shoulder and quietly walked out.

As he walked down the driveway past the first car he could see Davy rummaging through it. He poked his head in and whispered, Come let's get out of here. I've got what we need. We'll find a car down the street to siphon.

Davy boy's head was buried low as he rifled under the seat of the Camaro. Suddenly he was all smiles as he felt something interesting and pulled out a black metal box with a little handle and a latch. He opened it and found a .45 caliber handgun with extra clips. He quickly shut the case and latched it. He then reached over and opened the glove box and right in plain sight was a thick black wallet. He quickly unfolded it and found some crisp new twenty dollar bills, and a stack of credit cards. He shoved it in his pocket and grabbed the black box.

Davy then clambered out of the car backwards but as he did, his arm hit the horn and a loud honk broke the silence of the neighborhood. An instant later, both he and Johnny were sprinting hard trying to get out of there. Johnny had dropped the gas can and hose in the excitement but was still clutching the tennis bag for all he was worth. They ran at least a block and didn't look back.

Then came a man's scream from behind. It was clearly directed at them, "Hey you motherfuckers, I'll kill you!"

Johnny's heart jumped into his throat. His legs were getting tired. His thighs were burning. Suddenly Tom bolted left into a side alley that was especially dark. Johnny and Davy followed. Moments later they heard the racing of an engine and a car approaching. The same Camaro Davy had been pilfering from now charged past them down the street. Then the sound of brakes slamming on, and the car coming back up the street roaring in reverse.

A dog started barking uncontrollably on the other side of the fence they were hiding up against. The Camaro backed up and stopped for a moment before it came careening into the alley. Suddenly its headlights illuminated them. The three panicked and ran for their lives with the car and its psycho occupants just feet behind them.

Johnny felt the bumper brush his leg. He abruptly switched direction and ran the other way back out of the alley. The two others saw him and did the same. The Camaro again slammed on the brakes as the driver threw it in reverse.

This time his driving skills weren't so hot and he swerved back and forth wildly in the narrow alley, taking out a bunch of garbage cans that got wedged under the car and into the front fender wells, making it impossible for the driver to steer.

Fuck! he screamed as he and his buddy jumped out. The passenger tried to give chase on foot but quickly tired. The driver wrestled furiously with the garbage, screaming and cursing. Lights were coming on in houses. Sirens could be heard in the distance. The trio ran like they never had before. From the psycho Camaro guy and from the approaching cops. After twenty minutes of running they were finally getting close to the gas station. They had made sure to zig zag on the way back and had scarcely said a word to each other. Johnny quickly threw the tennis bag in the back seat of Bessie and climbed in beside it. He really needed to sit down. Tom and Davy both jumped in slamming the doors and locking them for good measure. Sweat pouring profusely.

After a few minutes Davy pulled the wallet out of his pocket and began looking through it. Then he gave it to Tom as he counted the money. Next he put the small black box on his lap and looked around briefly. When he opened it Tom and Johnny saw the US Military issue 45. Holy Shit! they both