Her name was Barb and she took me off the streets in New Orleans and I spent a very interesting twelve-fifteen hours with her before she dropped me back where she found me with sixty bucks. I was to find out what "being on the streets" really meat. Up until this point in my life I had not had this experience. I would have it many more times before I was finished trying to destroy myself. Old Barb also gave me two phone numbers, friends of hers she said, older women who would "Take care of me." She lied. I tramped the streets and the bars of New Orleans for a week, getting dirtier and scroungier by the day. Finally, I used my old ace-in-the-hole when things got tough . . . I left it behind me and found myself on the highway, thumb out, headed west.
The week on the street was beginning to settle some unknown, until then, problems. That I had violated parole was a given, but until about the seventh day trying to hook up with some woman to get me out of the mess I was in, I hadn't understood that I was, once more, a wanted man. This time there would be no doubt that when they caught me where I was going, back to the joint. In the back of my mind I almost welcomed it. I used to wonder why men kept coming back time and time again, but I was beginning to see one reason why.
Security. Flat out security. Inside you are given a bed, such as it is, shelter and feel, such as it is. The only thing you have to do is try to stay out of trouble and not get yourself hurt, or killed. Some, I was beginning to see, were willing to take that chance for the security, because life on the outside can be mean and troublesome.
As I thumbed out of New Orleans I thought of Marionette and my daughter. I wondered a lot about them, and finally made up my mind that she had been right back in Memphis to not venture back in my arms. I had nothing to offer her and my child. It looked to me like I was well on my way to become an out-and-out bum. This was nothing like I dreamed of when I left the little town of Taylor, Arkansas and joined the Air Force.
Tomorrow . . . Midland, Texas and California . . . Keeping on chooglin' . . .
My Novels:
Write To Murder . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/956621
Margaret and David: A Love Story . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/1072842
My Mother's Revenge . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/1132742
The week on the street was beginning to settle some unknown, until then, problems. That I had violated parole was a given, but until about the seventh day trying to hook up with some woman to get me out of the mess I was in, I hadn't understood that I was, once more, a wanted man. This time there would be no doubt that when they caught me where I was going, back to the joint. In the back of my mind I almost welcomed it. I used to wonder why men kept coming back time and time again, but I was beginning to see one reason why.
Security. Flat out security. Inside you are given a bed, such as it is, shelter and feel, such as it is. The only thing you have to do is try to stay out of trouble and not get yourself hurt, or killed. Some, I was beginning to see, were willing to take that chance for the security, because life on the outside can be mean and troublesome.
As I thumbed out of New Orleans I thought of Marionette and my daughter. I wondered a lot about them, and finally made up my mind that she had been right back in Memphis to not venture back in my arms. I had nothing to offer her and my child. It looked to me like I was well on my way to become an out-and-out bum. This was nothing like I dreamed of when I left the little town of Taylor, Arkansas and joined the Air Force.
Tomorrow . . . Midland, Texas and California . . . Keeping on chooglin' . . .
My Novels:
Write To Murder . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/956621
Margaret and David: A Love Story . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/1072842
My Mother's Revenge . . . http://www.lulu.com/content/1132742
1 comment:
I'm so excited! More of your stuff to read!
Hey, Jerry, I'm jumping ahead, but when did you finally settle down? How old were you?
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