Journal: Memorial
Day on the Boredman
I drifted in and out of consciousness unable to move
or speak. At one point I was on the ground and later in the tent. Orange and
yellow demon tongues flicked at the wall of the tent and me. Maybe it was only
firelight. Once, I saw a demon-man putting wood on the
campfire. I thought I’d wake up fully at that point. Its angry face turned and
looked at me. It was me.
“Wake up wheel boy, wake up. Wake up hon, wake up.”
The voices of two women spoke to me in unison. I
couldn’t seem to wake up so I slept while it haunted me. I dreamed of two
women, His Favorite Gal and my wife, one fully native the other not. They alternated
between loving and pestering me in word and deed. I was glad when they stopped
and stood quietly before me. Standing side by side, they leaned against each
other and melted into one person with half brown and half pale complexion.
I dreamed of Clay and I attending school again. We
were friends, happy, brothers, tight. Then, still as young boys, we went
fishing. We were heading home when an owl soared at us. It slammed into me,
ripped my chest with its talons, and took flight. Spiritual poison oozed
throughout my soul. Everything went dark and I slept free of dreams or visions.
Pow-Wow’s host drum pounded me awake, well, that’s
what my ears and head felt. I was in the tent, fully dressed, bug bitten, and
scratching. It was maybe 6 am judging by the sky’s hazy light.
Disoriented, I shoved confusion aside. I sensed
disaster nearby, no, it was death. Wearing moccasins, it crept around in
silence. Distracted by my brain, I remembered the visions and dreams but
struggled to recall where I was and how I got there. A voice outside the tent
guided me.
“Get your wrinkly old skin movin’ ya geezer. We’re
spose be goin’ fishing.”
It was Clay’s voice. My nose, wiggling like a happy
dog’s tail, got excited when it whiffed coffee brewing. Ah yes, camping,
Sheriff, and I felt there was more but no memory came up. Crawling from the
tent, I saw a small quiet fire making hot, passionate, love to the coffee pot
that percolated in response. I didn’t see Clay though.
My eyes, sticky from sleep and nightmares, begged to
be rubbed. I obliged just in time to see Clay step out from behind a big Oak.
Still shaking dew from his pet snake, he finished and caged it in his
underwear. I grimaced at the spectacle and the painful squeezing in my brain as
he zipped up.
“Yah, so ya heard me I guess,” said Clay full of
cheer. “Coffee should be done so let’s grab a few donuts and eat. There’s a big
brookie callin’ me out.”
Almost a migraine, the headache made me queasy but
the caffeine would help. I sat down while Clay filled our cups.
“Don’t get comfy Ain’t It. We’re only stayin’ for
one cup. Pitiful, you look pitiful by the way.”
“Clay, shut the hell up a minute and let me dose
this wicked pain in my melon. Yah, I feel as pitiful as I look.”
Clay sat down with a clear plastic crate of a dozen
assorted donuts. The crackling sound the container made as it was opened zapped
my brain like lightning strikes. I scowled and moaned.
“Migraine?” asked Clay.
Copyright ©
2015 Migizi M. New Song. All Rights Reserved.
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