Charlie

I made a decision when I first started this blog, that I would refrain from writing about actual crimes I was a party to. This decision wasn't based on fear of being charged, that part of my past is far behind me, hanging out with the Statute of Limitations. I've read a couple of blogs by guys who talk about the dirt they did. It comes off sounding like bragging. It also comes out sounding contrived, if not complete bullshit. So I wanted to avoid making myself look like a bigger waste of space than I already seem to be. Makes sense, no? So it is with that thought in mind, that I go against that original decision, and delve in to a page from my seedy past, not to glorify or make light of, but some stories just have to be told. I'll just warn you in advance that this wont be like a regular blog post. This one will be in several parts. It may get a little long winded, and it may be a complete bust. Just consider it a short story or a mini novella, whatever gets you through the day. And kids, please don't try this shit at home.

CHARLIE
part 1
We all have at least one friend who is a perpetual fuck up. You know the type, they are always breaking shit, the list including but not limited to their own bones, other peoples stuff, random shit in stores. Give them a brand new car and it will have 6 dents in it within the first week. Walking accidents and a solid argument for legal abortion, everything they touch, no matter how well intentioned, turns to shit. Charlie was that friend in my life. Charlie and I went back to the second grade, he was that kid who always smelled like pee, he was a walking target for schoolyard bullies looking for an easy mark.


I was an oddball in my own right. Born in Kansas City, transplanted to Oklahoma for those formative years when one learns to speak, then returned to the bosom of Kansas City, just in time to start first grade, with a full on Okie accent and sounding as country as a chicken coop. While I did not smell like pee, or break an inordinate amount of shit, my twangy accent made me stick out. Charlie and I were friends by proxy. I never outran my Okie accent, some days it's more pronounced than others, but it has stuck. Charlie managed to stop smelling like piss, but he never escaped being the walking accident he was, and probably is to this day.


Charlie was the first in my circle of friends to go to prison. He made the full tour of boys homes around the same time I did. I got out, had brief periods of productivity, managed to stay out of jail for the most part, for a very long time. Charlie on the other hand, was 6 months out of Booneville and got busted stripping a stolen car in his mothers driveway. The reason he got caught is a good example of Charlies thinking process. The first thing he stripped off of the car and sold, were the wheels. The car sat on cinder blocks for two weeks in his moms driveway, no way to move it, before the cops pinched him. Charlie wasn't a bright guy.


Jump to 1990-ish. Charlie and I had kept limited contact over the years. Said contact mostly limited to Charlies uncanny ability to track me down and borrow money. Charlie developed a pretty nasty drug habit sometime in the early 80's. While I grew up in the late 70's, and did my share and yours, of experimentation, it wasn't a full on occupation for me. I dabbled, as did a lot of other people back then. Charlie didn't dabble, Charlie wallowed in it. So it was no big surprise when Charlie came to me one day asking for help.

Charlie, like all dope fiends, decided at some point, he was going to sell drugs. Drug dealers are by and large scumbags. The bigger the scumbag, the better drug dealer they make. Charlie was stupid and had more issues than TV Guide, but he wasn't on the same level of scummage as most dope dealers. Charlie had periodic moments when he was a good guy, as fucked up as a soup sandwich, but hard to dislike. So when he told me that he was in to someone for a lot of money, I couldn't say no to the likable Charlie.


Off and on for about 8 or 10 years I made periodic trips to California. I would stop in two places, Bakersfield, which always seemed like a small Oklahoma city, shitty, dusty and depressing, and Los Angeles. I loved L A, as much as I hated Bakersfield. I'm sure you are wondering what I was doing, and I'm not going to tell you. I will say it had nothing to do with drugs, I had no business doing it, and it could have been construed as illegal, mostly because it was. Besides, this story isn't about me anyway, it's about Charlie. So stop being so nosey. Not for nothing, but Charlies people lived in an even shittier area, next door to Bakersfield, Oildale California. And that small factlet is why this story is possible.


When Charlie showed up at my door he looked like 10 pounds of shit stuffed in a 5 pound bag. He had that big black eyed stare that comes with a 3 or 4 day coke binge. Coke fiends always reminded me of rabbits, tweaked out Precious Moments figurines, or surprised babies. You know that wide eyed look babies get when they hear an unexpected loud noise. Like they touched something hot. That's the way Charlie looked. He needed a ride to Oildale, I should have said no, but I didn't........................
To be continued......