Straight to Hell, Boy

Chapter 3

Summer is waning in the New Mexico north. Yes, it is still hot in the afternoons, but the mornings have a football-air tinge to them.

When I was in school, I was always excited about the new year because I saw it as an opportunity, another year of challenge and change. Ridiculously, I would hope to hear “Hello, It’s Me” on the radio (music was mostly happenstance in the 1970s, a type of magic streaming has killed unfortunately) because I took at as a sign I would have a new crush soon.

I believe it actually worked a couple of times.

This week, I am giving you Chapter Three of Journey, American. Journey sees a chance and takes it. He finds out success can be failure and failure can be success.

Straight to Hell, Boy

Much has changed. I know this - the rules seemed easier to understand - if you were a man. A good man. You had to be a good man to believe in the rules. I have known plenty of bad men who did not give a shit about rules when it came to love or money.

I have never been a rule follower, and that’s not what I mean. There are just certain ways a man should live, certain ways he should conduct himself in the situations he finds himself in.

Yes, yes, women, too. I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s hard for us old men to bend with the wind the way we used to.

Being a man was, at least for me, a life milestone. You know, your first stiff drink. Your first kiss. The first time you truly laid down with a woman and got up a different man.

Killing is killing, though. It doesn’t matter when you do it, how many others are doing it, or who you are doing it to. Killing is plain killing.

But remembering that first time always makes you savor everything after.

I’m here now and probably shouldn’t be. Maybe I’m just here to tell my story so you don’t make the same mistakes.

That first time at Beverly Hills was something I will never forget. I’m gonna tell you about things that you are not going to believe, but the heart-swallowing fear of that Excelsior fully sparked and wide open, just drifting up the corners and diving back down, fucking higher and higher in the widening gyre.

Sorry, there I go again.

Has anybody got a few bucks for another round? You do? That’s mighty kind of you. Telling stories makes you thirsty. They do me anyway.

Oh man, that’s good. Thanks for that.

Where was I?

Oh, ha, fuck, how could I forget?

Freddie had that bike singing. Did I tell you those damn things didn’t have any brakes? None. You advanced and retarded the spark and hoped for the fucking best.

Trailing Benedeadly and a couple of Indians in that first race at Beverly Hills, I learned real fast that wide open was the only way to go. The ones that tried to finesse their way through things ended up in the hospital. Or dead.

I was too fucking scared to go down so staying up meant staying fast, and by God, I went so fast that it was just Benedeadly and me on his ass in the final laps of the second heat.

I spent the first heat learning. But the second heat was a game-changer.

What was that? Was I scared?

Fuck yeah, I was scared, but it was the good kind of scared that makes you fearless.

I could deliver telegrams all my life or I could win races or die trying. I chose the latter.

When fear is your only enemy, it is amazing what you can accomplish.

I trailed Benedeadly like a hound dog on a hunt. I would see him look back at me, making sure I was following the rule. His rule.

I floated in his wake, letting myself wander out of it enough to not drag him. I let him lead like he wanted.

On the last lap, his bike was pulling me. I was right on his ass and my bike seemed to pick up speed and the air was almost silent and everything slowed down and I veered just a little inside and popped out.

I passed him.

And I won.

I found out quickly that winners might get paid, but they can lose more.

Benedeadly found me straight after, leaping off his bike and giving Freddie barely enough time to grab it and keep it from falling over.

He stuck his finger in my face and wagged it: “The rules were clear, Journey. I lead. You follow. You cannot beat me.”

“But I did,” I said, quickly realizing I should have held my tongue.

That took him aback. He shuddered a little, mostly from rage, “Johnny Benedeadly does not lose especially in front of Miss Brooks. You have unleashed something you will never live down. You will never race for Excelsior again, and not with another team if I can help it.”

Just then, the race marshall came up. Not only was he holding my money, but he had brought Charlie Chaplin with him.

I was not sure it was him, though. He looked nothing like he did on the big screen. He was actually a dapper Frenchman. Pretty handsome, too. His accent gave him away.

“Congratulations,” Chaplin said as he pumped my hand. “That was a fine victory for a rookie. You’ve got a future in this if you live long enough.”

He winked after he said that, but I knew he meant it.

Then he clapped me on the back.

A small crowd had gathered around us. Benedeadly, still mad as a hornet was a little deflated. Louise stepped toward me with a smile lit up like the moon and the stars on the best summer night you can imagine.

“I’ll say this, boy, you have either got the guts of a hero or a fool,” she said. “I cannot determine which, but I would love to find out. What is your name.”

Louise had a bit of a New York accent, which surprised me for some reason. I had no idea what an actress was supposed to sound like when she talked. Maybe they were all from New York.

She batted her Hollywood eyes, and I knew my future was set. I was determined to have a bike and Louise Brooks beneath me.

Benedeadly strutted in and grabbed Louise’s arm. That was a mistake. She yanked it back and said he wasn’t to touch her again unless she asked him to.

He dropped his hand and got in front of me, this time without the finger.

“If you get a ride,” he said, “and that’s a big if, we will see what happens on the track next time. I have a long memory, Seeger.”

Louise and that hundred bucks had me feeling brave. Hell, I had even been congratulated by the fabulous Chaplin.

“If you catch me, Benedeadly, you can kill me.”

Benedeadly smiled in a way I hoped I would never see again.

“I can make it look like it was your destiny all along,” he said.

Freddie fired me right after that. I knew he had no choice and he said he was sorry but he had to do it.

A man has to eat. I had a hundred bucks, but after that….

Comments are always welcome. Journey, American is here so we can discuss its evolution together.