Tag: novel

The Continuing Adventures Of JT Hilltop/Prison Of Love

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

prison

Breakfast with the beautiful southern belle police officer Josie “Sexy as Hell” Rae 930 at Waffle King. That didn’t leave me much time so as soon as I saw the lights turn on at Western Union I bolted inside. Amanda hooked me up with a hundred bucks which was like the third good thing to happen to me in the last 24 hours. Holy Jesus a trifecta, a good omen if ever there was three. Now I could afford a new shirt, sneakers, and still have enough left over for breakfast. Did I really offer dinner? What the Hell was I thinking? But that’s just it, I wasn’t thinking, this Josie Rae had me completely inside out. This is way more than just a little horny flirtation, although that wouldn’t be bad either. That said this feeling of cocoons opening up in my intestinal system was something I haven’t experienced in a long time. I haven’t felt like this since….Jesus shit man, …since Carrie! I’m not sure why I have this strange feeling but I did know one thing, I was gonna be at Waffle King by 930 come River Styx or high tide so I’d better get my ass moving.
I found a small clothing shop at the boardwalk which had mostly touristy shit but I was lucky enough to find a Jack Daniels Tee shirt to match my new Harley Davidson bandana. I ran up Ocean Blvd to a gas station and took a hobo shower in the bathroom actually using a bar of soap I bought at some weird store called Piggly Wiggly. I had also bought a tooth paste and shampoo and cleaned myself up as much as humanly possible inside a Shell gas station bathroom. I was feeling more than just positive, I was feeling damn near obsessed. I got directions to Waffle King and that’s exactly where I headed, this time leaving those annoying voices always putting me down at the gas station. Could this be love?
I got a nice table near the window, rearranged the waffle syrups four or six times and waited excitedly. When I spotted Josie Rae I was floored. Out of uniform she was even more stunning. Long curly blond hair that danced off her head, piercing green eyes and a small slightly upturned nose. Her smile re-opened the cocoons. She had on dark blue eye shadow and bright red lipstick. That look combined with the fact I knew she owned handcuffs tipped the scales of justice and I would confess to anything. A mysterious beauty. I couldn’t believe how smitten I had become. She looked at me with a very sexy leer and said, “Y’all have the right to remain silent. But if you do I’ll never shut up so y’all better be ready ta tell me things” She sat down and we began talking instantly as if we had known each other forever. We discussed cultural differences between north and south, compared similar experiences growing up, and every conversation came loose and easy. I had found a friend but was hoping for more. In an effort to feel her out I mentioned that I was only heading back to New York because I have nothing here. She smiled at me assuring me she could tell by the way I got ready for our date that I had nowhere to stay then she put it out there. “Well mister JT, if Y’all wanna come on home with me you can have yeself a nice hot shower and good nights sleep afore you go on yer way.” I tried to weigh the implication of intentions here but what did it matter. I win either way. If its just the plain offer it sounds like nothing lost and I leave fully refreshed, but if she’s hinting at something deeper, then I’ll go deep! “Josie Rae, I have to tell you I am whelmed. In fact I am overwhelmed. I was beginning to believe that the southern hospitality I’ve heard so much about was pure legend. I would appreciate that greatly.
As low as I was on funds I insisted on paying and as always left a nice tip. We left Waffle King and drove out of Myrtle beach towards Conway. She explained to me that Conway is much more real and much cheaper to live in than “The Beach”. We pulled into an apartment complex and her room was around back in what seemed like nowhere. The area’s around Myrtle Beach were remarkably poor, seriously impoverished area’s and this apartment which would have been basic back on Long Island was a luxury home by comparison. Once we got inside it was all I could do to stop myself from ruining everything by jumping on Josie. I maintained my composure as she went into her kitchen and pointed down the hall. “Woncha go on ahead an take a shower JT, I bet its been awhile since y’all felt a nice hot shower. I’ll git us some wine. Towels are under the sink.” She pushed me toward the bathroom and I worried maybe I was smelling ripe or something so I did as I was told and went right into the shower.
Its amazing how much we can take things for granted. The very second that hot water hit my hair and headed downward my attitude of gratitude returned. It was like the hot water was cascading onto my shoulders and chasing away all the negativity that had been clinging to me for so long then forcing it down the drain. As I peered down imagining all the bad shit running down the pipes a voice startled me. “Mind if I join ya?” I looked up and right in front of me was this beautiful angel with the sexiest southern drawl this side of Daisy Duke standing buck bone naked in front of me. Before either of us knew what was happening we were in a desperate lip lock with mouths open and tongues dancing. Embracing beneath a cascading stream of hot water I felt her body up against mine and within seconds she felt not only my body but my intentions. Rubbing our bodies together our tongues continued a desperate slippery tango and the most audible sound either of us could make were moans. I’ve heard people say they could hear fireworks going off from a kiss like this which is pretty damn accurate. My roman candle was reaching up anticipating an oncoming explosion that promised to find itself south of the border. We soaped and kissed, kissed and soaped and let me tell you if I died right then and there I’da died one happy man.
After a complete cleansing and drying we continued our assault of passion in Josies bedroom. Time ceased existing and we made love three times in a row while raising foreplay to an art form. We must have spent a few hours with very little talking, a whole lot of cuddling, and it was obvious to me we both benefited more than one orgasm. Now admittedly I hadn’t had sex in a few months so my libido was begging for release but it was far more than that. The tenderness, the closeness that had been absent from my life since Tina and I split. It was on a par with the love of my life Carrie. Not the third women to have sex with but perhaps the third woman to fall in love with. I was certain she was in love too and I was right, only it wasn’t with me. I had to remind myself to slow down because I had a reputation for falling in love with any female that shows me a modicum of attention.
After the sexual smoke cleared away the talking returned. It wasn’t good news. Josie Rae is engaged to be married. Her fiancé is away for three weeks training at some place called Quantico, some FBI training school or some shit. That hurt but Josie convinced me we can enjoy this small bit of time together before I head back home. When I thought about it I knew she was right, I had nothing to do, nowhere to be, and life has really sucked for the last two years, I deserve some great sex and the company of a beautiful woman if only for a short time. We agreed I would stay with her for two weeks but leave before her fiancé returned. That gave me plenty of time to get her to change her mind. Besides, if I can’t change her mind I’ll want a head start if a well trained FBI dude learns I’ve been boning his bride to be.
So it was I became a kept man, at least for the next two weeks. Josie and I really connected. I wasn’t ready to give it up. I stayed at home while she worked and cooked us breakfast or dinner. On nights she had off we went out dancing, on nights she worked we sat in and had wine, sex, and talk into the afternoon. Towards the end of our time together the conversation of us as a couple kept sneaking in.
“You know JT, I really does like y’all but I caint git outta what Im into. Tell y’all the truth I aint even shore if I loves Randall. It’s juss the way things is here hon, when a feller asks you at marry an your fokes want you to marry him you jess do.” The cultural divide was clear and quite probably freedom of her culture is the one thing I may represent to her that will convince her to stay with me. “That may be how it is around here Josie babe, but not back where I’m from. A girl cn do what she wants and date who she wants. Nobody tells a New York girl how to live her life. Why don’t you come back to New York and try that for a while?” Back and forth for days, neither of us giving in on the future but both of us giving our all in the bedroom. I prayed for time to go as slow here as it had when I was in prison, but time sucks. Instead it flew by.
Unfortunately that inevitable moment arrived. We both knew it was coming. Time for JT to leave and move on to the next adventure. Only thing is this time I wasn’t really sure if I wanted a new adventure. More unsettling was I still wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about Jo. Could it be love? Maybe. Not the traditional type of love but a strange and alluring love that grabs hold while your not paying attention and digs its roots deep into your soul. Our love story was a short story with the end written before it even began. A love story who‘s destiny it was to fail. It started as a time bomb of sexual tensions that made good on its promise to fulfill both our intense needs and then it was supposed to fizzle out. That was all it was supposed to be, two lovers sharing the comfort of each other for just a short time. But the sexual volcano erupted and the lava it released was strong and unfamiliar. Is this an emotional attachment? Not good! Not good at all!
We agreed from the start that before her boyfriend Randall got back home I would leave willingly as we would go our separate ways. I was sort of okay with that. No attachments, no bullshit, not strings. At the time it seemed like a good idea but I never considered that my emotions would sprout into a giant beanstalk in two short weeks and stick my head up in the clouds. I mean sex without commitment should be a young mans dream. And the sex was good, god damn was it good. Reckless abandon? That was an understatement! We often put the music on real loud to drown out our very expressive sexually motivated squeals and promises. I can’t even remember half the shit I said but the half I do remember was pretty much the both of us pleading gods name over and over louder than I ever heard before. So often and so loud you would’ve thought we were staging a Oh God Yes born again revival.
The fact that no strings were attached made it intriguing even though I dug her so much from the start. I knew when the time came I could leave no problem. That is I thought I knew. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way but I was pretty sure I did love Jo. I reasoned I was just not in love with her. At least I didn’t think I was. She understood the dark side of me the way Tina had, she fulfilled me emotionally the way Carrie had, yet I knew from the start she was unattainable. Maybe that was it, maybe just wanting something I know I can’t have is what’s driving these feelings?! One thing I was certain of is Josie and I were really good together. Our feelings for each other went so deep. Our conversations went deep. And the sex, well….deep! But it was time to discard the emotions and say good by. Who knew it would be so difficult. We laid naked in bed in a satiated silence after what was presumably our final high energy fling. Anyway we went at it as if it were our last time either of us would ever make love again in our lives. So much determination and passion we were motionless for over an hour before she spoke.
“JT Sweetie, I sweer I ain’t never gonna firget you baby. But y’all known Randall is coming back inna few days and its bess fir us both if y’all be long gone fore then.” She placed her head on my chest using her soft curls as a pillow. She tenderly reached around my shoulder to lightly scratch the back of my neck. “Why does it have to end Jo? Why can’t you come up north with me?” She moved her hand to my lips, “Shush now Justin, y’all know that caint happen. Things is way differnt down here baby. Things is expected of a gurl down here. My Mama won’t never furgive me an my Papa, well Papa ain‘t one to anger up none.…Ya don’t wanna be puttin no bee in Papa’s bonnet Honey J. I juss caint do that, my future got be with Randall. It’s done been determined already. Thats the way its spose to go. I got to think about the future.” I placed my arms around her and planted her head firmly between my neck and chin to caress her with my cheek. “It doesn’t have to go like that. You in can be in charge of your future. You can make your own choices. There ain’t no reason you can’t leave here. Hell baby child even if its not with me why get married to someone you don’t love? Trust me, that shit don’t end well at all, I been there and it sucks.” I could feel a tear on her cheek. She sat up, “JT, that’s not how life is here in Conway South Carolina. I gotta answer to Jesus. I know y’all don unerstand that but it means a lot here Baby Boy. A girls folks expeck her to marry the man they wants fur her to marry, have chillen and raise them to fear the lord. Womens don’t get to do no choosin’ round here and that’s okay, way its always done been. A girls don’t wanna have no bad past cuz a past can foller her around an make her life horrible if she goes against thangs. My past is determining my future, and my past is with Randall so my future gone be with him too. Mommy an Daddy like him an he‘s gun be a good supporter. So now my future got to go that way, Sugarpie. Don’t matter none what I want.” I looked at her incredulously. “That’s not true Jo it matters very much what you want. Its your life pretty girl. Your past only determines who you were not who you are. Its what leads you to your present but it sure ain‘t who you are today. You can’t live in the past Babydoll that’s over. Your past is gone, you own your future and if you want your future to be with me all you need do is say so.” I gently kissed her on the temple. “Listen to your heart Jo, what’s your heart saying? The heart knows because the heart lives in the present and begs you for a future. A future that you want, not what god or Jesus or your mom and dad want, but what Josie Rae wants! You’re not defined by your past and you can rewrite your future Sweet Thing. Listen to your heart. I think I hear it whispering my name.” She smiled a half smile that told me a hundred sad stories. The story of the past two weeks being over, o a girl and a boy sharing the most perfect moment in time before time runs out. The story of a beautiful girl who is chained to a pre-determined destiny and is not willing to break free. It teased her with what could be while at the same time mercilessly reminded her of her fate. It told of deep stories of sadness and defeat, told by a lonely girl who believes she has no control over her own life so she‘s giving up. Stories of things gone by and things to come, but not the story of the now, the right here. No stories of a happy ever after with me or of endless possibilities. The smile was fighting a sadness underneath below a profound stare with eyes that confirmed her feeling of hopelessness. “Weeze all defined by our pasts JT, ain’t none of us can rewrite the future no matter how much we want to. The heart lives in the present but its afraid of breaking. Like mine is right this second. I dint never spect this to be so hard baby. I aint even sure how it happened, but we had us two weeks of bliss and I ain‘t sorry bout a second of it. But it got an endin sugar, I‘m sorry but as much as it hurts me this song is got to be over. Every song ends. I done wannit to stop neither but that’s my life honeypie. Things happen for a reason an we juss gotta figger out what the reason fur us was.”
We embraced deep in thought for a few minutes. This feeling was so foreign to me. Fuck man, am I starting to grow up? I’m not sure why but I still wasn’t ready to let this all just slip away, “Jo baby listen” I sat up and took her hands in mine. We stared into each others soul with piercing compassion. Our eyes embraced. “The past doesn’t matter Josie Rae. You done things in the past and I done things in the past but that’s history, not destiny. Maybe its our destiny to look beyond our pasts and think about a future. I never really thought that things happen for a reason, like fate or anything. I always believed everything was random and just happened. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe shits not just random. All the things that happened to me were so we could meet. That’s why I took a trip with people I knew I had no business being with. That’s why I got busted and stuck in jail. To meet you. I learned a lot about myself doing my time in prison. Maybe I was in prison to straighten my head and to get ready for you and me.” Now her smile was thoughtful, she was fully aware she was in complete control of everything. One of the things I love about her. (did I say love?) “Sweetie, you wasn’t in no prison. You was in jail Baby Boy. You spent time incarcerated in a southern jail, and maybe you sure enough did do some growin there, but it was just a jail, not a prison. People like you an me we own our prisons. We carry our prisons right here on our backs. It sure nuff don’t seem right but thets how it is fur us dreamers. We dream but we ain’t never in control of our dreams, not really. Way I figger it weeze born with these prisons on our backs, you an me. We live with them an they done remin us that no matter how hard we believe, we ain’t in control of nuthin. We likely carry’em tar graves. And we been out of our prisons for two glorious weeks, maybe the best two weeks of my life. Leastwise the happiest. That’s what I got from you hon, an that’s gun be my most precious memory. You freed me from my prison but it’s still here a waitin, right there on my back. An I got to carry it agin an agin, cuz its my prison. I sure hope it was like heaven fir you too JT. For the last two weeks Justin you let me out of prison and I will always be thankful for that. But I got to pick my prison back up tomorrow, and I recon you gonna fine yersff someone you can live with too, an you‘ll live with your prison still on yer back. Leastwise I recon you will. Lets juss firget all bout this now an just be happy with each other one last time. Lets make love once more afore you leave.”
I had no argument left, she was right. I wasn’t ready to become a good provider like Randall. I didn’t belong here and Josie doesn’t belong in New York. I do carry my prison on my back, I always had. Besides, over time she would get tired or bored of me, or worse, something bad would happen to her. No one stays with JT. Not for long anyway. That was my prison, a life that’s a plague of death or abandonment. Like I always seem to do I got hung up on someone that leaves my life. Then I push them away like I did with Carrie and Tina, or they just leave on their own like Joe, James, Ken, Bill, June, and even my mom. I put them aside and thought about the past two weeks and I gave her the most passionate kiss I was capable of. Then we made love. We made love for over an hour, not with reckless abandon this time, but with slow calculated lasting tenderness. When we finished we wrapped our arms around each other and fell asleep. We never spoke another word to each other.
When I woke up it was six o’clock so I quietly got out of bed and kissed Josie Rae Sessions on the cheek and whispered, “I don’t care what you say pretty girl, I’ll always love you.” I could swear she smiled but whether she did or not, the only fair thing for me to do for her was to exit quietly. At that moment I had truly matured. I knew I was growing up because I loved her and that’s why I had to let her go. That’s how deep my love went. I quietly let her go as I tip-toed away with my heart shattered in pieces. I would only prolong her pain and make it worse if I continued to be selfish. Sacrifice. Love comes with consequences. You gamble on some pain to enjoy the ultimate pleasure. But like everything else in my twisted world it ends. I learned a lot. How much love really can hurt, how my love for one woman could be so strong I would willingly break my own heart to allow her to follow hers. I also ;learned love never stays. Right or wrong it wasn’t for me to choose. I had my own life to focus on now. I washed up, got dressed and left. Maturity is soooo overrated. I walked out the door with exactly what I had arrived with two weeks ago, my wallet, my clothes, and the prison on my back.
TBC

The Continuing Adventures Of JT Hilltop, JT Hits The Beach

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

beach

Even with my new bucket of hope and a full stomach Myrtle Beach fared no better. It seemed like everyone is looking to make a buck and few willing to part with them. I did however finally get a piece of advice that was worth listening to. I was directed toward the boardwalk and told to make sure I stopped into the Gay Dolphin to do some shopping. I admit having reservations about the shopping at first, I mean what the hell kind of store calls itself a gay porpoise. Not to mention I wasn’t rolling in money but the boardwalk did sound like my kind of place. We had some fantastic boardwalks on Long Island, Robert Moses and Jones Beach come to mind plus I had been to the grand daddy of boardwalks in Atlantic City New Jersey. Honestly though I gotta tell ya the Myrtle Beach boardwalk was pretty spectacular. Maybe it was just being at a beach again, maybe it was just being somewhere different, but whatever it was the fucking boardwalk was amazing. Full of happy people, hot looking young ladies and studly young men, old and young all decked in the latest in beachwear fashion. To my ocular enjoyment many of the ladies were clad in really tight bathing suits and after spending a month in a testosterone overloaded penal community even the ladies that may have been better off not having chosen such a snug fit looked great. As for the dudes they were all mostly tanned and toned and I suppose the ladies eyeballs enjoyed that. Although a few of the dudes did reveal far too much packaging for my eyes. Not everyone was decked out in the latest in appropriate beachwear fashion there were some definite fashion don’ts, women who were in need of more covering and men who should have considered showing less body hair and more body clothing.
The Gay Dolphin was a four or five story impressive looking glass shop but it was clearly a tourist stop filled with touristy crap. Walking on the boardwalk I found some other s shops that were great, all kinds of food and touristy clothing one shop in particular caught my eye. A Harley Davidson accessory store right there on the boardwalk. It was like a Beverly Hillbilly epiphany when it called my name, “JT, come on in, take yer shoes off an stay awhile!”
With only my emergency four dollars in my wallet I found what would one day become a family heirloom. An orange Harley bandana with a black stitching of a bike chain and the HD logo. For three seventy five it was a steal, which also crossed my mind but the last thing I needed was a shop-lifting beef on top of what I just went through. Despite being hungry and wanting a beer I blew my emergency money on a fashion statement.
I spent the day at the beach my head proudly protected by my new bandana and was living the dream in South Carolina. I was feeling great and free, so happy that nothing could rain on my parade. Well except for rain that is. A storm blew in off the ocean causing a massive chaotic rush off the beach. Like Mary’s lost lamb I followed the crowd without a clue where we were all going. With in the realm of three minutes or so it had gone from a warm sunny day, to a dark dampish day, to a rainfall, then ultimately to a downpour of rain that put on an incredible light show and thunderous stereo speaker worthy explosions. My brand new bandana was soaked in seconds. The rain came down cold drenching me and causing me to see if steam was coming of my previously sun-warmed body. People were scampering all over the place in what seemed to be chaotic. I ran under the boardwalk to seek shelter from the storm because it was a hard, hard rain gonna fall. The beach had pretty much cleared out and I sat with a few hundred ex-beachcombers waiting for the sun wondering who‘ll stop the rain. Despite all the rock and roll references I whispered to no one in particular, “fuck me”
The storm was mercifully quick but it’s effect was staggering. In it’s short half hour existence at Myrtle Beach it had created an entire new environment. The waves were choppy, the sand was dark gray and the texture of moist grainy mud. It smelled of wet sage and waffles. The boardwalk was in the process of becoming deserted as most of the people headed out to their hotels or homes or wherever. All that remained were a few hardcore surfers, hardcore beachcombers, and one lonely hardcore Long Islander who was starving once again as I had been unsuccessful at finding my old friend or making any new ones. Alone, re-depressed, and soaked to the bone I pointed myself towards the town, hung my head and meandered down the next path of my unscripted journey.
I couldn’t go back to KFC despite my hunger and it being as tempting as it was to scrounge another bucket of hope. Karma dictates storing the memory and being grateful not greedy. Time to move on and find the next experience. After tossing the idea around my head for a few hours I finally decided I needed to call my sister Amanda and plead with her to send me a little money so I can eat and begin hitchhiking back to Centerlawn. It was getting late and after following directions from a local man I found the local Western Union building. I found a pay phone down the block, called Amanda collect, and she promised to send me one hundred dollars under the one condition that I visit her before going back to Long Island. Under the circumstances it was impossible not to promise anything. All in all things were looking up. Over the next fifteen minutes I convinced myself this was the start of a phenomenal turn around and I would soon be back on track with my life. Brimming with both bravado and confidence I walked up to the doors of Western Union to pick up the money Amanda sent me. I took a deep breath preparing for my big turnaround and grabbed the handle of the door. Even with my newfound strength the door wouldn’t open. No need for a telegram to get the message. The door was locked, the building closed.
“What?! Six o’clock! Who closes at six o’clock?” Yes that’s right, the Western Union in Myrtle Beach South Carolina closes at six o’clock and it was now ten minutes past six. Disillusioned but not ready to give up I altered my strategy. Western Union opens at eight in the morning and I’ll be the first in line when it does. Just as if I was camping out in line for Grateful dead tickets I sat myself with all my meager belongings next to the door and would just sit right here until it opens in the AM. I was a tad exhausted so I closed my eyes and before I realized it I fell asleep. I woke up completely unaware of what time it may be and probably a bit confused of where I was at first.
Time passes remarkably slow when your on a cement slab listening to all the night insects and animals around. The alligators and frogs kept running around in my imagination and it wasn’t long before they were joined by rats, wolves, vultures, and maniac serial killers. Lions, and tigers and bears oh my. A sudden beam of light scared everything away. The beam was headed my way bouncing around the ground near my feet. I could tell it was coming from a flashlight. I rubbed my eyes and all I could see in the darkness was a figure in uniform. The way things have been going it had to be a cop shining the flashlight at my crumpled up self. Just fucking great I thought, the poe leece!
To my complete shock it was a sweet southern female voice that traveled into my auditory canal. “Are you allright there sir?” She called me sir which was a good sign. I hoped I remembered how to be charming, “Oh yes maam, yes I’m all right. I have an early morning meeting with a moneygram here at Western Union and I wanted to be sure I didn‘t miss it. You know, just in case I find a nice South Carolina Southern Belle to take to dinner tonight.” Truth told I have no clue what came over me. I can only assume I was either over horny or over compensating because a female cop both frightened and enticed me at the same time. “Hmmm, a nice southern belle huh? Y’all ain’t from round here, I kin tell that, whar y’all hail from?” Moment of truth. Say New York and its either real good or real bad. I got a quick look at her through the moonlight while also slightly challenged by her flashlight beam. Hard to judge her body all bulked up with cop stuff but there was what appeared to be bundled up curls of blond hair sticking from under her cap. I swore to myself she was beautiful. But again, my view was somewhat challenged and looks meant shit right now. Charm was what I needed to keep me out of trouble. There was a slightly playful tone to her beautiful southern drawl so I went with my northern charm instinct. “New York born and bred maam.” She gave me a smile that near melted my heart, “New York huh? What brings you round here at our beach? You know we gots the moes beautiful beach inna country.” I was enjoying this, I haven’t had contact with anyone outside of prison in over a month, “Well it sure is a pretty beach and I must admit your city is full of pretty women.” A quick flirt glance, “I’m an out of work chef looking for a job.” What in the hell possessed me to do or say that? “Well we could sure use us some good chefs here in Myrtle Beach. Wyoncha consider stayin round here awhile?” I was unsure what was happening to me but I was no longer in control of my vocal chords, “You know I might just do that. My name is Justin, er, JT actually, and the truth is I was left stranded here in South Carolina. I don’t know anyone here but I’m looking for a friend.” Time to place the flirt-inator in her direction. “Well Hon I’d shur like tah be ya first friend here, my name’s Josie Rae.” She stuck out her hand to shake so I got a closer look at her. Sure enough long blond hair tucked up into a police cap, and like I said a uniform that hides curves but man was she pretty. I held her hand a bit too long, “Are ya scared of me?” Like an idiot I kept our hands moving up and down in some sort of hand trance, “No maam, I’m not miss Josie Rae.” She smiled, “Then why you still shakin’ Hon?” That did it! I was hooked. Pretty, funny, sarcastic, what else could I possibly hope for? I let go of her hand, “Oh I’m sorry, I’m just not used to such a gorgeous police officer interrogating me. Perhaps you would like to interrogate me over dinner?” Those damn vocal chords are out of control. She took out a small pad and began writing, “I’m not sure about dinner Hon but I tell ya what. My shift ends at nine and I might be tempted into some breakfast at the Waffle King up the road on 17 roundabout 930. Here’s my number. If I don’t see y’all there y’all best be on yer way back to New York cause I’m likely to come hunt ya down an run y’all out of town mahseff.” She tossed me an impish smile, “Now y’all keep yerseff outta trouble there Mr. JT, don’t wanna hafta come back an lock you up. Lest wise not in jail.” She walked away. I was so excited I couldn‘t think straight .
TBC

Whats A Nice Guy Like You Doing In A Jail Like This? pt1

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rewrite

Welcome to South Carolina, take your handcuffs off and stay awhile, hear?

A rewrite to JT Hilltops great American novel “Zen and The Art of Culinary Maintenance”

Here I was on the first day as I moved into my new digs, a guest suite in the local detention center of Aiken County South Carolina. I remembered having detention in high school. Often! It’s a form of scholastic punishment for any of a variety of mischievous and normally mundane infractions. Detention in my high school was even nicknamed “Brig” to accentuate the feeling of being locked away. This however, was quite a different form of detention. Instead of sitting in a room with the other shenanigan producing student inmates forced to pretend we were working on homework after school I was given my very own guest suite. It wasn’t an especially large room in fact I’ve seen studio apartments ten time the size and this particular living arrangement came fully furnished yet totally unadorned. I suppose you could say it was decorated in minimalist style, complete with four bare walls, a stainless steel toilet and sink, a pamphlet thin mattress on a wooden platform with a polyester sheet and Government issue wool blanket, and…..well actually, that was it. That was the extent of the furnishings, all the comforts of home for a down and out hermit. Whatever the case it was to be my new living arrangements for the next thirty days. So here I am, this young suave New Yorker, locked up somewhere in the deep south where I feared I may never be heard from again. The pace in this city, I think I heard it called Grandmaville, or Grannyville or some shit was anything but urgent. Great, I thought to myself, here I am in Petticoat fucking Junction. There’s Uncle Joe he’s a movin’ kinda slow!” Somewhere between Mayberry and Hootersville. “Jesus shit,” I thought, “Not a familiar face anywhere and not a single person left to turn to.” Thirty days in this hell hole with no beer, no weed, not even a fucking TV to help pass the time. Just me, myself and….and a band of hillbilly cops. Actually, I wasn’t completely alone, it was kind of a low life criminal condo.
Along with yours truly, and against their wills as well, were five “block” mates each with their very own sardine can housing unit and each sizing up this long haired city boy. I could tell they were wondering what skyscraper it was that I crawled out from under. I was relatively certain I detected a mix of urban admiration and good ole boy Yankee hatred, but I may have been setting their intelligence bar higher than I should have. Having been in the wrong bar at the wrong time on occasion I instinctively I understood the importance of establishing the “upper hand”. I had heard some of the other detainees, let’s call them “Inn” mates, refer to the guards as“turn-key”. So it was time to establish my dominance with my jailors while developing my “street credentials” with my new roomies. I determined that a perfect place to start was right this very moment by showing these local yokel criminals how we do it up north in the big city. So in my toughest NYC voice I let out an authoritative directive. “Ay Oh, Turn-key. Yea you in the uniform over thar, I need to make my phone call.” I had attempted to inject just the perfect modicum of disdain and rebellion as was necessary to achieve my goal of upmanship. An awkward silence befell the cellblock and I‘m not 100% sure but I believe I felt a slight wind from the eyes of my roomies opening wide in astonished disbelief. I was half expecting Barney Fife to come take me to a phone but instead a burly mean looking police officer began to stare at me with such a deadpan sarcastic glare I almost felt jealous. I’m from New York, where sarcasm is taught in kindergarten and is a second language. This dude had such killer swagger in his walk he read me a cynical short story without even uttering a single word. I began to wonder if I was taking the proper approach or if I should rethink my technique. It was then that this komodo dragon in uniform began to saunter quickly in my direction with a slow and deliberate pace that screamed “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” The oily haired officer got his face as close to mine as humanly possible and just stared at me a moment. I could feel his smoky foul breath dancing across my cheeks and I felt the lashes of his eyes as they blinked. Little hard eye hairs that could successfully cleaned under his fingernails if he had the gumption to appear clean. I had a sudden and humbling movie memory penetrate my tough NYC exterior and turn me into shimmering mass of spineless amoeba. “Suey, let me hear you scream suey!” Before my ‘Deliverance’ became a reality I attempted to coax myself back from my baseless paranoia and re-establish control. Oh Hell, stop thinking like that and get your shit together tough guy. You faced bigger opponents in Spanish Harlem just three days ago. You’ve spent countless hours in a Pagan Motorcycles Club bar. You have faced off with New York City detectives. Not very successful with the detectives, but stood up none the less. Well maybe stood up was not the right term, more like whimpered through a face full of mace as I dropped to my knee’s, but I did get a kiss my ass pig in which my friends found impressive a few days later from the safety of our hometown bar. I gave my head a hair clearing shake, swallowed hard and began to feel like I was back in charge again. Apparently, none of this impressed Sergeant Komodo Dragon. He began to speak, and I swore the voice was the same voice I recalled from that scene in Deliverance. “Say what boy?…. Did I hear you say turn-key you long haired New Yoke piece o’ shit? Are y‘all gonna tell me y‘all came alla way from da big apple jess at git an ass kicking here in Aikon County?” I couldn’t help but detect a certain note of arrogance and alarming disdain in his voice. But alas it was too late the drama had begun. I sensed that any second now the proverbial pig shit was headed directly in the vortex of the rotary oscillator. And the fan was humming a darkly ominous Dixie tune! The two of us stared each other down for a minute and the silence raised to a tense ear shattering level that damn near burnt my ears. Then as if right on cue a big shit eating “who the fuck does you think your dealing with” sardonic grin broke out on his upper lip, quickly spread across his jaw until cynicism took over his entire face. He gave my solar plexus a formal introduction to his police baton with a shit kicker smile of an exclamation point. Now I am staring directly into this shit eating evil Cheshire Cat’s angry eyes and what’s most obvious is that it’s giving off some very serious vibe implications. I had to think quick to get out of this predicament, to ease the tensions and repair the relationship with my captor while not losing face with my new room mates. Something big and potentially life altering was about to go down. But let me back up a bit and explain how I even came to be here in the first place.

Take The Long Road Home (by J.T. Hilltop) pt1

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hitch

I haven’t written any excerpts from JT’s great American novel about growing up in the 60’s in a little town of Centerlawn in awhile so the journey continues as he gets out of jail in the deep south.

Long And Winding

Thirty three days in jail may not seem like much but it certainly frees up your time to reflect on a good many things. What I had to reflect on in my final day at The Aikon County South Carolina Correctional Facility was the fact that Max and his junkie girlfriend left me down and out in bum fuck South Carolina with nothing but the clothes on my back and…..well tactually that’s all I had. I was busted, disguted, and couldn’t be trusted. No money, no extra clothes, food, not even any cigarettes as I left the half pack for my cell mates to fight over. I was dejected and alone, nowhere near home, and it seemed like I had not a friend in the world. But then a thought hit me, “JT my boy, what about Rhonda? Yea, that’s what I need, ‘You gotta Help me Rhonda, help help me Rhonda.’ Rhonda Harris. Rhonda was a friend from high school whose family moved to Myrtle Beach at the end of the eleventh grade. We weren’t what you would call close friends but close enough that she’ll remember me and right now I needed somebody, anybody to talk to. I mean we talked a few times probably even flirted some but the plain cold truth is other than Rhonda Harris the closest friend I could think of was some six or seven hundred miles away back on Long Island. Forget family, no one I could or would talk to about my failure here. besides Myrtle Beach was a mere one hundred and fifty miles from this boondock town of, of wherever the Hell I am. After a quick calculation and a group meeting it was decided that me and the new voices in my deranged head that had adopted me during the correction phase of my stay would hitchhike to Myrtle Beach and look Rhonda up in the phone book.
So we pointed ourselves in the direction of Myrtle Beach, stretched out the faithful old hitchhiking thumb for some digital exercise, and began walking down the highway feeling happy, free, and positive that a car would come along any second. Well maybe any minute. Any hour? In fact it was almost two hours before even one car came by going my way and it zoomed past like I wasn’t even there. I checked my thumb to make sure that it was still working properly and satisfied my hitchhiking digit was in order my thumb, the voices, and I plodded forward. Four cars, one bus, and a dump truck later my first potential ride pulled over. A nice pearl white Chevy pick up had stopped and the driver rolled down his window. “Where y’all headed man?” Comforting. The front cab was full with four hippie looking young southern dudes. He motioned towards the back as I called out, “looking for Myrtle Beach man, thanks for the lift. How far am I from the beach anyway?” Driver dude smiled, “We’re heading up to Raleigh but we can get you about halfway up to Camden man. Then Y’all only have roundabout another fifty miles east. Ain’t no more room up here Bro, jump in the back. We’ll let ya know when we get there, maybe an hour or so.” Feeling grateful and happy to have a place to sit awhile I jumped in the back with a big ass smile on my face. The voices were happy too.
After the third or fourth huge bump my huge ass smile fell out of the back of the truck and I wondered if I would ever see it again. My new metal palace was in constant motion as if I were a crash test dummy taking the shock absorbers out for stress diagnosis. I bounced up and down, rolled left and right, and every so often the side of my new surroundings gave me a body check into the wheel well. But fuck it man, I was free, I was on my way to finding a long lost friend, and I was grateful. Hungry as all hell, but grateful to be getting as far away from Aikon County South Carolina as possible. When my savior in the pearl white Chevy pulled over at a gas station an hour later to refuel he came up to me. “here ya go man, this here’s Camden.” I was almost disappointed. He continued, “If’n y’all take 22 East ya run straight on inta Myrtle Beach. Ain’t no more’n hour an a half away. We be headin’ on up north here. Good luck.” I thanked him profusely as I took stock of the many new bruises I had acquired during the ride. Ith a hint of sadness and some serious hunger pangs I watched them take off. Now if only I could find something to eat. I had come to a sort of small bridge, both literal and metaphoric. I equated it to Dorothy stepping out of the black and white house into a world of wonder and colors. Yea, the way I figured it I was heading to Munchkin land, Utopia or Eden, but halfway across I looked into the slow moving rivulet and a stinging wake up call shook my very foundation, and when I answered it said, “No yellow brick roads here in River Styx, just a crickfull of danger. ” Sloshing around in the water beneath the bridge was a congregation of razor toothed alligators. Apparently congregation is what you call a group of alligators and this congregation was holding high mass, or maybe even celebrating baptisms. I was impressed with the smoothness grace and speed with which these parishioners swam and regardless of the fact that I was up here and they were down below a wave of paranoia swept over me. I ran across the metaphoric bridge as if they were chasing me to the other side. I made it over without incident but slightly disillusioned. Nothing changed, but at least there were no wicked witches or alligators with ticking clocks in their bellies. The other side of the bridge was nothing more than the other side of a bridge. To make things even worse, the running only made me more hungry.
I had often heard the phrase “There’s no such thing as a free lunch”, but to tell you the truth when you have dirty clothes, long stringy wind whipped hair, and a Yankee accent down south there isn’t a free anything except for advice! Most of the advice consist of things like Y’all should jess git yer Yankee ass back to new yawlk, woncha git that thar girly hair cut like a man, or take a bath hippie, y’all stink like a got damn angry polecat in heat. I was definitely not feeling the love of that southern hospitality I heard so much about, and frankly I would have preferred a bottle of Southern Comfort right about then. I was walking down highway 22 when I spotted an oasis in this backwoods hell, a small Salvation Army building. I walked inside and poured my heart out relaying my story of misuse, abuse bad luck, abandonment, incarceration, dehydration, damnation, degradation and to top it off getting scoffed at asking for a morsel of nourishment. The young man, Jonas, listened intently, offered me some apple juice and a peanut butter sandwich, told me I could take a shower and then we could talk some more. I accepted happily and even though I put a clean body back into those dirty rags I felt like a new man. Feeling fully refreshed and ready to talk more about my trials and tribulations I joined the young man in a sort of guest room.
The talk he referred to was not about me but about a much higher power, the lord. I was the beneficiary of a two hour lecture on God, Jesus, sins, repentance, and scriptures. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open but I remained grateful and awake. At least I wasn’t in jail anymore! When Jonas, finished his sermon he asked me why I was going to Myrtle Beach. Not wanting to get involved in anymore lectures I opted to explain how I had heard so much about what a wonderful city it was and wanted to experience it. Apparently Myrtle Beach was either the Sodom or Gomorrah of the south because I earned myself another thirty minutes of lecture which ended in advice to cut my hair and go back to New York because Myrtle Beach is about nothing but money and sin. I refrained from saying “My kind of town” and instead thanked him and meandered back out onto highway 22.
When I was a kid I loved playing neighborhood games, especially tag. Hitchhiker tag however isn’t quite as much fun and a lot more one sided. With the sun going down and dusk setting in another pick up truck pulled over, but this one was an old beat up rusted out model with three boys in the cab. Being a fast learner I ran up and started to climb in the back but instead of asking me where I was going the dude rolled down his window and snarled, “What the Hell you think you doin’ boy?” He then proceeded to pull the truck up about ten feet as I fell to the ground. I stood up noticing the rifle rack in the back of the cab and the Deliverance image made a brief reappearance inside my head. The loud guffaws of condescending laughter riled me a bit. After a second time the voices said to me, “ Fuck them, lets kick their asses, we can take them” Fortunately I paid the voices no heed this time as the funny truck driving asshole yelled back at me, “Hawhawhaw, I’m sorry man, we was jess kiddin’, c’mon git on in the truck.” I weighed my options, didn’t want to piss them off and certainly didn’t wanted want to get fooled again so I moved forward with some trepidation. Slowly I moved towards the truck and that’s when the game of tag ensued. After four more antagonizing times I just said “Nevermind man, I don’t need no fucking ride.” He slammed on the brakes and both doors swung open. I gulped and thought, “Fuck me! No wait, I don’t mean like literally I meant please don’t fuck me, please!!” The three amigos walked towards me and I felt like this was gonna be even worse than the beatings I got from my favorite jailhouse guards, Billy Boy and Jimbo.
“Whatchoo mean Y’all done want no ride, we aint good enough foe yo dirty stinkin hippie shit ass? Maybe you needs to learn a little manners ya pig fucking longhair.” I tensed up to brace myself for another order of southern fried ass kicking when an authoritative voice broke through, “Now come on boys, Y’all know better’n at stomp this young lad fer no reason.” I opened my eyes and walking behind my three wannabe ninja’s was a huge figure of a man with an impressive trooper looking hat. The boys looked disappointed as they had been forced to reseal their cans of whip ass. Having feared the cops for most of my immature adult life I wasn’t sure if I was being saved or enslaved. I had visions of being taken to the basement of a police station naked and hogtied with a red ball strapped inside my mouth while some huge half witted yokel prepared to jam his self amused hard on up my digestive aperture……. Sorry, I’ll give you a sec to get the image out of your mind.
After a few minutes of the boys apologizing to the sheriff and swearing they “Was jess gonna have them a little fun, wasn’t akchully gonna hurt im” the would be assassins got back in the truck and the sheriff came over to get a closer look at me. I braced again, this time for handcuffing or Billy club enlightenment but the sheriff must have been a follower of Jonas from the Salvation Army because he spoke with the same God preaching condescending tone. “Praise the Lord I got here in time here boy. Now son y’all really need to watch out for yourself in these parts, where you from?” I took to telling him most of my story, leaving out the jail part but telling him I was abandoned in the night by my one time friends and was just trying to get back home to NY. He listened politely and then began practicing empathetic lecturing on me and leveled some tried and true southern advice on me, to cut my hair, take a bath, and go back home. He offered to take me to the town limits on 22 where he was sure I would get a ride. I told him I was much obliged and I actually praised the lord out loud for his coming around when he did. Like I said, I’m a fast learner.
TBC

Two Teachers, From Sir With Love

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How did I end up here? So many years spend meandering through paths ,so many detours, and now I sit with a handful of accomplishments that have long ago worn out there welcome and a plethora of stories to tell. Not much else. True every once in a while I get another flicker of brilliance, a new recipe here, a great idea for a short story there, but overall nothing lasting. Now instead of looking to see what’s up ahead in the path I find myself peeking backward noting where I may have chosen a path better to have avoided, or another better to have taken. That’s the lament of aging, reflecting on where we’ve been and where we may have gone, and how we ended up where we are now.
The times I do look in my rearview mirror the most inspiring image I see is two teachers who attempted to direct me along a path they believed not only was I suited for, but a path that was suited for me. During my hours of reflections of my life I often pause and take some time to consider these two women, two adults during my formative years, that were perhaps the only ones who truly believed in me back then. I don’t dwell on what may have been but I do often regret I hadn’t given them as much consideration as they gave me. I can’t go back, no redo, but what I can do is seize the opportunity to give props to two extraordinary teachers. Mrs. Kirshenbaum, and Ms. Kitty Lindsey, though I never showed it you were both a major inspiration to me. This then is for you, with much love from me.
While in the sixth grade my teacher, Mrs. K., told me I had a creative ability and I should consider pursuing a career in writing. But it was sixth grade, I had recently discovered that not only do girls not have cooties, but kissing them was pretty awesome. I had my first steady girlfriend and career was the farthest thing from my mind. Not to be stifled Mrs. K published an essay I wrote in the school paper, The School Bell. The Bell was a four to six sheet newspaper that went to every household. Mrs K. asked the class to write an essay on what we expect of the move from elementary school to junior high school. I titled my essay “Great Expectations”. I hadn’t read the book but saw it in the library and I dug the title. Although filled with misspellings and grammatical miscues it was an intense view of what I expected when we left the confines of elementary school and braved the new world of junior high (middle school to you younger readers) Nothing about Mrs. Habersham, no Pip, that would become required reading much later, but in my Great Expectations I explored the benefits and dangers of going from the comfort of a single classroom to the unknown experiences of numerous teachers in numerous rooms, in a huge school with way too many dark nooks and cranny’s. Not to mention big kids! Mrs. K was blown away, the principal agreed, even Mom liked it, but no one other than Mrs. K mentioned anything about a future associated with writing.
When seventh grade came it was even more of a challenge than I expected and I learned even more about girls which became an obsessive distraction. My writing career was quickly forgotten and remembering locker combinations and girls names became far more important. Halfway into the year I was introduced to another distraction, marijuana. I had been drinking the occasional beer, hanging outside a store until someone of age could be finagled into buying some for beer or Ripple wine for us, but weed opened up a whole new culture. New skills had to be acquired, cleaning the pot, rolling it into joints, getting the red out of our eyes, self control when something seemed so funny I wanted to burst, and maintaining in class. That meant putting my best face forward to look as straight as possible so nary a soul could tell I had smoked weed. Now I had two major forces in my life, girls and weed. Not to brag but I was getting pretty good at both. The school itself performed its expected task, to prepare me for the world I would be thrown into after school is over. They hired guidance counselors to talk to us in 9th grade that would help take our recently shaped minds and steer them towards the area that we were best suited for in “real life”. Good theory, but in practice they met with our parents to discuss where they wanted our fertile minds steered. “He seems to be pretty good in math, maybe a career in the stock market” “Maybe he should take business math, lots of work for accountants.” After tossing around a few ideas they finally asked me what I wanted. By this point I had been smoking weed and was no longer a virgin. I was obsessed with rock and roll, as well as its subculture of Hippiedom. At first I mistakenly believed my parents cared about what I wanted, “Well…..I think joining the Peace Corps would be cool”. The counselor stared blankly, Dad glared angrily, but dear ole Mom was in denial, “Oh he’s just kidding, aren’t you honey? Tell us which of the careers we chose you like the most.” The time had come, “What I want is to choose my own path, not have you guys tell me which way to go. I want to help people, I like being with people and the Peace Corps does great things and helps lots and lots of people. That’s what I want to do. I’ll keep a diary of my travels and maybe someday write a book about it.”
This was the first of a long string of awkward silences I would share with my parents. Finally my Mom laughed, “Oh JT, stop now! That’s not what you really want.” Dad weighed in quickly, “Don’t be a fool JT, there’s no money in the peace corps, just a bunch of dirty hippies, Mr. Gunther has given you some great ideas of what you can do and you’re going to listen to him and decide which one you want!” It was clear I wasn’t needed in the conversation anymore so I just sat there and listened. They proceeded to shape my life for me as I daydreamed, wishing I had a joint in my pocket. When the meeting was over they were all feeling very positive of my future and I had been instructed to read the stock market pages of the newspaper each day. I went back to class discouraged.
For me Senior High started in tenth grade. After three years of building schoolyard creds and being king shits, we were thrown back at the bottom to be tortured and humiliated by the juniors and seniors. Even the janitors picked on us. I learned quickly that my skill of acquiring weed was a fantastic equalizer, and within a month I was accepted into the fold of the older kids who bought weed from me. Also in tenth grade I met the one teacher who, had I allowed her, would have hand led me down a path of writing. In her English class she had us write a short story without boundaries, whatever turned us on. I had two idea’s I wanted to do so I handed both stories to her. The first was a kind of science fantasy, in which the biggest traffic jam in history caused a dome of carbon monoxide killing near everyone. A post apocalyptic before I had a clue what that meant. The second was a tragic love story, kind of my hip version of Bonnie and Clyde that starts out with a young couple in love waking up after a night of heavy LSD tripping outside a stolen cop car. They wake up confused and still stoned at a reservoir that supplies the town below with water and planned a scheme to fill it with liquid LSD. I then went into a few households and described the effects of tripping It was crudely written with not much finesse but jam packed full of twisted imagination. I had drawn on my recent experiments with LSD which at that time had amounted to a half dozen trips. I wrote it in a somewhat rebellious attitude. Mrs. Lindsey, or “Kitty” as she had her students call her asked me to stay behind after reading it.
My original fear was she would chastise me or turn me in for writing about drugs, but to my pleasant surprise she praised the concept and creative spirit and implored me to sign up for her creative writing course. The second influential person in my life assured me I had a talent. I was pretty blown away, I have a warped imagination, but that’s not a talent, that’s a personality trait. Regardless, Kitty felt if I was given instruction I could write, all I needed was to learn sentence structure and grammar, and for someone to unleash my creativity. I thought it was worth a shot so I promised to sign up. Writing was the one thing I had always enjoyed. I had a spiral notebook of poems, observations, and story concepts I titled “Ramblings.” I never let anyone read the notebook because I had the self esteem of an earthworm. Still, I couldn’t wait to get home and give Mom and Dad the good news.
One persons good news is another’s persons complete waste of time. “What the Hell do you mean become a writer? Writing isn’t a real job, you want a real job.” “Dad, you have no idea what I want because you never listen to me. I hate the godamn stock market, I hate business, and I am never going to be an accountant, that’s not what I want.” Mom just cried but Dad wasn’t finished, “I know exactly what you want JT, you want to sit around on your lazy ass all day and watch TV. You think anyone will pay you to do that? No! I’m telling you what you’re gonna be and you will listen young man. You WILL read the stock market everyday, and you Will take business math. I don’t care what this teacher of yours says you do not have any talent and even if you did you’ll never make a living from it. You can tell this Mrs. Lindsey of yours you won’t be in creative writing you’ll be in business math. Kitty! What the hell is this teacher doing having her student call her by a nickname anyway, what the hell are we paying taxes for, for your teacher to be your friend? You will take business math and get this writing crap out of your head now!” That discussion would define my relationship with my father for the next 30 years. After that day I didn’t miss any opportunity to piss him off. I grew my hair, I wore an American flag bandana, I bought red whit and blue sneakers, I spoke of protests and rallies, signed petitions, attended sit ins, and let him know where I was during those anti American moments. I read very profound books, Aldous Huxley, Herman Hesse, Ayn Raynd, Kurt Vonnegut. I read political and hip books by Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin, Jack Kerouk, Tom Robbins. I defiantly took creative writing and went to class high.
A little too high, with an imagination that did not connect with any of my classmates. I was too “out there” for them, they wanted to be serious writers, Steinbecks or Dickens, and resented me an everything I stood for. I was in a class loaded with hitters, or straits, kids who followed every rule, seldom took a chance, and only saw the principals office on official business, never for disciplinary action which was what I went there for on a weekly basis. I was alienated and withdrawn in class, then started cutting. First a day here or there, then a few in a row, until I stopped attending altogether.
From there I took a myriad of path turns, none of which involved writing. I went from pot sink suds buster extraordinaire at a local restaurant, to line cook at Windows On The World, worked my way up to a B level chef in NYC, then ultimately a chef/owner. I left my dreams of writing packed away in an obscure box gathering dust in the attics of my youth. Until now! I have literally turned a page and gone head first into writing, a blog here, a published story there, an hopefully before my flame of creative energy gets to too dim will have a collection of short stories or perhaps that great American novel that has been hiding out for so long. Never give up on a dream, don’t let other people define your limits. Your imagination never rests and loves exercise, so exercise it daily. No matter what you enjoy pursue it before it passes by you. I work every day now on writing something, an I truly believe I have at least one good novel in me to finish. If I do, I know exactly who will be in the dedication, my two teachers.