my first short story... My 74 Dodge Charger raced; literally I was going 117 miles an hour, windows down, southbound along highway 61. I set out from Duluth, Minnesota in search of a better life. My past is filled with crimes such as petty theft, public drunkenness, indecent exposure, and possession. How am I going to make my way in life with my scarred past? So southbound I go where I’ll end up, I do not know. The music blared; Johnny Cash was on the radio, the Folsom Prison Blues, to be exact, a fitting soundtrack to the start of my journey. In the distance I could see a hitchhiker, a vagabond, going where the wind blows. How could I be so cruel as to pass him by? I began my slow descent from 100+ mph and pulled over in front of him. I signaled with a peace sign and he climbed in. He inhaled the sweet fumes of cancer and I asked him for a cigarette myself. He replied with “Don’t you know cigarettes are all a hitchhiker has besides his memories?” I chuckled and said “What about whiskey?” This brought laughter from the both of us and he handed me one. I asked “So where do you come from?” “I know not, but I believe somewhere out west, Wyoming perhaps.” he said, and I inquired again “Where are you headed?” “I’m headed into the arms of freedom. I’ve lost an interest in the world of today. So to directly answer your question, I’m headed anywhere you want to take me.” “That’s good.” I replied. “I’m thinking about going down to San Anton to make a living working for whoever will accept me then taking my skimpy pay to Mexico to live like a king.” He replied with “You’re looking at it all wrong, Mr… what’s your name?” “Josh” I said. “Ok, Josh, you’re looking at it all wrong. Money shouldn’t be the biggest concern on your mind, enjoying the sunny days should be your goal.” “But how am I going to enjoy sunny days without having a house to live in, without food to eat, without girls to sleep with? By the way what is your name?” I said. “My name is Proudhon.” “Proudhon?” I asked. “Proudhon.” he returned. “What kind of a name is Proudhon?” I asked. What he then said I would remember for the rest of my life. “Josh are you happy? Of course you’re not. I don’t know your past but I’d assume you wouldn’t be racing down this long, long road to San Antonio if you weren’t running from someone or something. Happiness cannot be found in piles of money, in expensive possession, not even in between the legs of a woman who sets your passions aflame. All this will fade leaving you cold, bitter, and lonely. You see you must look at today with a smile. Helping your fellow man out, such as you giving me a lift, will get you the happiness you desire. Now to answer your question Proudhon is a name I most enjoy. It was the name of a French utopian socialist from the 19th century. It’s an unordinary name but who wants to be ordinary anyway? How many Joshs do you know or know of? How many Proudhons do you know or know of? 2 now right?” With that he concluded and drew his hat over his head for a nap. I finished my cigarette and cranked the tunes thinking of the wisdom this vagrant possesses. When we reached Waterloo, Iowa I ran into a gas station and bought a fifth of whiskey, a carton of smokes, and some gasoline. I had $120.00 left to live. I was feeling kind of tired so I pulled over to a rest area to take a nap. Proudhon said he was leaving while I slept, he didn’t know if he’d be back and he told me not to wait for him because he might find new adventure and intrigue. Lastly he asked for a cigarette and a shot of whiskey and he was gone. I sat there staring at the moon wondering if my mother was missing me. I hadn’t seen her in a little over 2 years. I last saw her on my 25th birthday and I hadn’t seen my father in god knows how long. My dad left the house when I was 16 returning only when he felt like it. As a result the family struggled. All my older brother Thomas ever has to say about the subject is “If I ever see that sack of shit again I’m going to punch his lights out.” Thomas left the house as soon as he turned 17. (I would’ve been 12 at the time.) He dropped out of high school and works for a tire company, changing tires for $9.00 an hour. Enjoying the rare occasion of thinking of my lost and broken family, I realized it was my little sister Jeannie’s 18th birthday today. I had better call at least, maybe even ask the address of the home to send her some money, if I can afford it. I walked to a pay phone and phoned my mother. She was ecstatic to hear from me. I asked where they were staying now and she said in a trailer park in Kalamazoo, MI. I asked to talk to Jeannie, but sadly she wasn’t home. Jeannie had gone out to celebrate her 18th birthday with her younger friends. Which meant she was going to buy cigarettes and lottery tickets. We both shared a laugh at this and said our goodbyes. Mother was glad to hear from me and I her. About this time I could hear an uproar down the street. I could see 3 figures struggling on the horizon line. I ran to get a closer look and saw that it was a black man who was being harassed by the boys in blue. It turns out he has a white girlfriend who is a niece to one of the cops. The cops had their clubs out were toying with the man, slapping him, calling him unworthy, beating on him physically and mentally. I was in an alley observing all this. Eventually shit hit the fan and he punched one in the face and kicked the other in the gut. I had a couple options here. Option A: Go help this man beat the hell out of two officers of the law, Option B: Call for help to get the publics attention or Option C: Run away and act like I never saw anything. Before I could decide I found myself taking a chug of whiskey, my hands reaching in my pocket to put my lighter in my palm, my feet coming out to greet the strangers and my fist striking a cop in an uppercut fashion. The cop I struck surprised massaged his jaw and pulled his tazer out to give me a shock. The man had wrenched one of the billy clubs free and was beating one cop senseless. I had to dodge a couple blows from the cop while the black man put him in a sleeper hold and I kicked the shit out of him. There’s a couple of times in your life when time seems to stall and drag. I’d imagine losing your virginity would be one, this was another. After both cops were lying in the alley groaning, moaning, and phoning in for backup we booked it back up the street to where my car was parked. There Proudhon stood with a bewildered look on his face, not one you’ll see him give often by the way. I screamed for everyone to get in and we took off southbound. As I gunned it up to 120 weaving in and out of traffic passing everyone in sight I asked the black man his name. “Curtis Jones” he said “and I thank ya for yer help back there.” “Not a problem” I replied “Do you have any family or friends back in Waterloo? Because if so you probably won’t see them again for awhile.” He said “I got no family few friends and a girlfriend, a white girlfriend, I suppose she’ll figure what happened when her Uncle tells her I came out of nowhere and attacked him for no good reason.” And he continued “What’re you boys doin? Where you goin?” At this Proudhon chimed in “We are but two lonely travelers seeing the world and living the high life.” I corrected him “What he means is we aren’t doing anything and we aren’t going anywhere but going everywhere and doing everything at the same time.” Curtis nodded, satisfied. I said “I haven’t got much to live for so I took off down the road. Want something to drink?” Curtis asked “What have ya got?” I said “I’ve got half a 5th of whiskey.” At this his eyes lit up and I handed him the bottle. He took a mighty swig and said “I need somethin to dull the pain.” I looked at his bloody face, right eye already swelling. I had a couple bruises myself. “Do you have any money?” I asked. “Ya, I’ve got $25.00 you can have fifteen for your troubles.” he said. Proudhon examined my reaction and I replied “No that’s alright Curtis just do as I do to you and we will be straight.” Proudhon nodded. At this I lit up a cigarette, Curtis dozed off and Proudhon just stared out of the window. It was a long ride to Louisiana. It turns out Proudhon wanted to go see some old acquaintances in New Orleans and the two of us didn’t have a care in the world so we didn’t mind. Proudhon told me that he would repay me 25.00 for my troubles but I declined and at this he told me I could stay with him there for up to a year. I asked what I would do for money and he said “Who knows and Who cares?” I shook my head and drove on to New Orleans. The first thing I noticed when I entered the city is the smell. It reeks of damp swampy muck. Proudhon said to me "You have to come listen to these old boys pick the blues!" Curtis and I smiled widly, wildly accepting the notion. When we entered the small building on the bayou we were greeted with a dense forest of smoke, noise, and commotion. The band hadn’t begun to play but when they did everyone just seemed to yell louder. Curtis was over at the bar, Proudhon was nowhere in sight and I was sitting down with a couple of ole boys from the bayou their whole lives, drinking whiskey with beer chasers. “Jack’s the one guy that’s never done me wrong.” Riiight I thought in my head and replied “Jim’s not too bad either.” At this he slapped me on the back and erupted with tumult. The tumult never ceased. All night long and everyday these guys would come here after work to wash away the day’s worries. And the music was exceptional. Never before had I been so elated by the strums of an electric guitar. Soon I found Curtis and we decided to look for Proudhon. We finally found him; he was sitting, talking quietly in a small room with a few other men. It turns out one of them was his brother, Pierre. They were talking of their father who apparently was some revolutionary in Cuba who had been executed in Bolivia. “Father was thinking too big” Pierre said. “I have enough money aren’t you sick of all the running, aimless running, Aren’t you sick of depending on others to give you rides, shelter, food, clothes, and drugs?” Proudhon said “Yes, but for the greater part of my life I haven’t held a job yet I have still lived successfully. I am afraid of commitment brother, I’m afraid I may fail should you give me the chance.” He ended his sentence wistfully. They were not aware of our presence and it was perplexing to see Proudhon talking with what seems to be an equal or superior. I had never seen Proudhon struggling or indecisive. “So be it then, our dreams of a utopia together may never be realized if my little brother is afraid of what it takes.”, Pierre said. At this Proudhon accepted the offer and inquired where they would start the project. “Certainly not in the U.S.” he said “Do you have enough money to fly overseas and enough for the startup costs? Are we starting a collective farm and building from there. Are we staunch anti-capitalists that refuse to sell our goods and trade with others? Can we be self-sufficient?” Pierre started in “Patience my brother, patience, all in time. I’ve got it all written down. We’ll follow the plans for a greater society but as for now we need to recruit like minds and educate them.” “Right, I have a couple friends that brought me here who may be interested” Those damn Reds! I thought. To hell with this I ain’t no Communist. I broke in and exclaimed “I won’t have someone telling me what to do, where to live, what to eat, where to sleep, how to make my money,” Both of them interrupted “You won’t need money” I slowed my verbal assault, bewildered and asked “What do you mean?” Pierre replied with a question “What do you know or think you know of communism?” “I think that it’s an awful system that goes against a man’s very basic rights because you can’t command one man to do anything if he doesn’t want to. The Soviets are awful people who take what they want and kill unnecessarily.” Pierre said “Woah woah woah, one issue at a time. You say communism is a system that goes against a man’s very basic human rights. I say communism is a system, wait let me stop myself, I want to get away from the word “communism”. It has too many negative connotations. I’ll say communal living or collectivism. Anyway I say that communal living is a system that satisfies the deepest of human needs by getting away from the superficial ones created by capitalism and commercialism. Imagine taking all the wealth in the United States and redistributing it equally to all members of society. Everyone would be able to live comfortably.” “But what about the ruthless dictators like Stalin and Hitler?” I said. “Hitler was a ruthless dictator but he was a fascist not a communist. Fascism is at the far right, Communism at the far left. Stalin was just an evil man who wanted to further his own agenda. I’m not trying to implement a large scale Marxist form of government. That has been done over and over and proven unsuccessful. What I am doing is gathering a large number of like minded individuals who want to be free of the barriers of capitalism. Those who yearn for a simpler life. Should you choose to join us you should know that there will be hard, tough, and trying times ahead of us. But imagine the settlement of Jamestown in its infancy.” I agreed to stay in New Orleans for some time with Proudhon and his brother. Curtis was somewhat stranded. He didn’t want anything to do with Proudhon and Pierre so he left heading west with his thumb out. Months went by. I was working as a fisherman’s aide (and getting scammed on my pay but it was the only short term job available) and Proudhon was writing mostly spending his days and nights under the influence of various substances. Pierre wasn’t around much. He was out recruiting people to join this commune of theirs. I was still unsure. I began to miss my family and one day I decided to leave. I left a note saying goodbye and never showed up to work on Monday. I headed north once again, alone and lost in thought. In the distance I could see another wanderer. Perhaps some lost soul who had nowhere to turn anymore. Of course I pulled over and he hopped into my rusty old ride and said hello. My money was now dwindling and I wouldn't have enough gas to make it through Iowa. "I have a quick fix to that problem, if you are up to it" he confessed. I gave him a queer look and said "What are you getting at?" He pulled out a couple of black ski masks, two guns, and a bag and said "Don't worry I don't even have any ammunition but we won't need any." At least he's not out to harm anyone I thought and before I could think things through I was pulling into the next corner store and putting my mask on. We agreed to split the money fifty-fifty and we ran in, to raise hell on this humble store. "Pizza face, put all the money in the goddamn bag!" my partner was yelling and he gestured with his gun. The teenage cashier about shit bricks and gladly accepted the proposition and before I knew it I was running out of the store with a bag of money. We were pulling away when 3 cop cars came blazing at us from all directions. There was nowhere to go and we both knew it. You remember when I told you about time stalling. Well the time it took for the cop to walk up to my car and ask us both to get out of the car with our hands over our heads seemed like an eternity, an eon passed by in just a few seconds. My stomach dropped out and I felt sick. Proudhon would've been so disappointed had he known my fate. That night in jail I phoned my mother. She was upset but not surprised. This sent me into a deep depression that lasted until after my trial. I was sentenced to five years in Iowa State Penitentiary; five years. I'd be in my 30s before I would taste freedom again. My partner and I (I never did learn his name) were split up, he was whisked off to some other state. I think he had a warrant out for his arrest in some county unkown to me. I'll probably never see the snake that tempted me again. As for Proudhon I've no way of contacting him. It's been over a year now and he has probably moved on. Him and his brother are probably off in their classless stateless utopia slaving away on a collective farm to survive. Better than my fate anyway hah! I spend my days reading mostly and pumping iron, protecting myself. One day I thought I saw a face I knew in the showers. But I wasn't about to say something in the wash room that's just something you don't do. I did see him again the next day and when I did nostalgia hit like a whip. "Curtis!?!" I exclaimed. "hehe, Josh ole pal how'd you end up here? I figured you was off with dem commies." Curtis said. I scoffed and said "If only I was old friend. So how did you end up here? Whoop some cops asses with the help of some brash fool again?" "Sometin like dat" he said and I saw his eyes go misty. "ah, Waterloo" I said quietly and thoughtfully. I reached an arm out to him and we both got what we both needed most; an embrace from someone we know, trust, and love. "What'd they get you for? Assault?" Curtis asked. "Something like that." I replied and no more was ever spoken of our crimes. Some summer nights I can hear the crickets outside my barred window and it reminds me of the few free days on the road with Proudhon. And some few nights I can hear his words again in my mind. See his scraggly face articulating every statement and sentence. Just for flashes, instances, blurbs of wisdom that inspire me to persevere while doing my time. But most of the time all I can hear is the train rolling on and on and all I can do is hang my head and cry.
