Week Thirteen Journal Two

It had been quite some time since Dale had gone to the bar, and even longer since he had seen Bill Johnson, so meeting Bill in the bar was a little awkward of a feeling. Dale put his car in park and pulled the keys out, mentally preparing for the fifty foot walk to the door, treacherous in the dead of winter in the northern United States.

Pulling open the door, Dale felt a familiar aroma waft up his nasal passages; beer and cigarettes; although the county had outlawed smoking in public places, the Rusty Bronco had yet to conform. He walked along the bar, nodding to the bartender as though he knew him, and finally found Bill, at a table no more than five feet from the end of the bar.

“Grab a chair, old friend, I already got us a pitcher,” said Bill. What a greeting.

Dale turned around and grabbed a chair from an empty table behind him. “So what’s the occasion, man? We haven’t talked for quite awhile.”

“No occasion, I’ve just been getting kind of lonely and you’ve always been a good friend to me, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to reconnect, ya know?” responded Bill.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you.” Dale thought that Bill was only trying to get together because he needed something, which was usually what he did; now, Dale was feeling pretty stupid. Bill was always a good friend, he always had your back, but he was a bit of a mooch. He also hated awkwardly long pauses in conversation, which was a plus.

“So, you still driving those kids around?”

“Yeah, I still drive the school bus. It’s really not a bad gig,” Dale was mildly offended, it wasn’t like Bill ever had steady employment, “Where are you working these days?”

“Funny story actually, I don’t work.”

“Yeah, you were never really much of a worker.”

“Yeah, I know. That old gambling addiction of mine finally paid off though, so you can consider all those years of losing my work. I paid my dues.”

“Congratulations. Did you get one of those giant checks?”

“Naw, I didn’t win the actual lottery, not even a million dollars. I won on one of those scratch offs from a gas station. Two hundred fifty thousand, a little less after the man took his cut,” Bill seemed a little nervous saying this, which Dale felt was strange, but who wouldn’t have a little quiver in their voice after winning that much money.

“Man, I never play those scratch offs, but it sounds like maybe I should start. That’d be a nice chunk of change,” responded Dale, a little bit jealous that his friend had been a slacker his whole life and had it pay off.

“Yeah, would you want to win that?” asked Bill.

Dale was completely confused, “Yeah, of course, who wouldn’t?”

“That’s really why I had you meet me here. See, I have a guy who works for the state lottery. He takes some scratch offs from the headquarters, I’m talking like thousands at once, but makes sure that they still appear as though they were shipped to the proper location.”

“Bill, I never even said I wanted to do this,” Dale was mildly offended that Bill wanted him to do something highly illegal.

“You said you wanted money, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, whatever. Tell me this scam you got going and than I’ll let you know if I’m in. It’s got to be airtight for me to sign on.”

“Okay, so anyways no one even knows these tickets are missing. Than we come in, or rather you come in since I already did it, and redeem one of the winners, give him a cut and get a bunch of cash for doing nothing. Literally, nothing!”

“So, why don’t you and him just cash in the rest, so that I don’t have to get arrested?” Dale was skeptical, but still seriously considering taking the offer, it was good money regardless.

“Because we already did. The odds of winning once is damn near impossible, much less winning twice? Are you kidding me? That’s the only way we’d get busted for it, and we sure as shit aren’t going to tell on ourselves. That’s why he’s getting more people, trustworthy people, like yourself. It’s a one time thing, otherwise it gets way too risky. So are you in?”

Dale would really enjoy the cash; it could keep him out of work for awhile. He thought for a minute, throwing back his glass, he finished the last half of his beer. He decided it was risky, but not too risky to pass up. “Yeah, I’m in; but one condition...your buddy never knows my name, and I never know his, okay? That way if we do get caught, I know that there was only one possible person who could tell, you know who that is?”

Bill was always a little slow, so he asked “Who?” without even thinking into the question. If you threw too many words at Bill all at once, than it was like they jammed up his brain, he couldn’t process much information.

“You, ya idiot. You are the only person that could screw me on this. So don’t do it! Understand?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I understand.”

Week Thirteen Journal One

Here is the photo I used for this exercise: http://tomchambersphoto.com/galleries/02/06.php

The water was a mix of brown and red, like a poorly cleaned mall toilet. Of course, this water was this color because of the sand and rocks it lay on top of. We were slowly approaching the house, the only place to get moonshine in these parts anymore, since the state passed a law stating no alcohol content higher than fifty percent. It forced normal people like me into risky situations, but it was worth it, moonshine has been an integral part of life in this area for the past hundred or so years. Sparks, my black labrador jumped up from his slumber on the bottom of my rusty old fishing boat and started barking. He knew we had arrived before I even killed the motor.

I pulled the boat close to the house and tied on. I had no idea how the house had even been built in the middle of lake, but my best guess was that it was built before the plain was flooded for the new dam. Johnboy, the main moonshiner was expecting my arrival, I had talked to him the previous day, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. They usually kept a lookout just incase the police finally bought a boat. I jumped off the boat, through one of the old front window frames on the front of the house, yelling for Johnboy. I noticed a couple cases of moonshine in the corner, so they obviously hadn’t been raided. Walking across the main room towards the stairs, I got an uneasy feeling. Johnboy’s crew usually ran a really tight operation, making sure no one came by who wasn’t supposed to, cops or otherwise.

“Johnny boy! Where are you at?” I shouted, praying for a response.

Nothing.

I moved up the stairs slowly, holding my hand on my gun, a small revolver, but definitely better than nothing in these types of situations. At the top of the stairs were a few smashed jars, smelling like moonshine. I pushed open the door to the main room, and saw Old Bill, one of Johnboy’s men, lying in a large pool of blood, already showing signs of rigor mortis. Whoever was here left some time ago, I thought to myself.

Than my thoughts were disrupted. Disrupted by a gun shot. I could hear the bullet whizzing towards my location. Sparks started barking. Shit! I completely forgot about Sparks. My hand still on the revolver, I jumped up and bolted down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Sparks was still barking, that was a good sign.

I reached the front window that I entered through and jumped directly into my boat, untying it at breakneck speed. I looked at Sparks, who was still barking. No blood, thank god. Starting the motor, I turned my head to what the dog was barking at, directly behind my boat. It was a man, sitting near the top of what you would call the shore, firing a rifle towards us. The red shirt and hat he was wearing was unmistakable, I would have recognized Johnboy from a mile away. He hadn’t been shooting at us to harm us; he was just trying to get our attention. It still didn’t drift my thoughts from the body upstairs, but I turned the boat towards him and hit the throttle. I just wanted some moonshine.

Week Twelve Journal Two

12:34 read the old analog clock in the superintendent’s office. Right in the middle of lunch, Dale could be eating a steaming hot whopper with cheese right now, or a plate of dorito’s with cheese on them. It annoyed Dale that whatever he did wrong, it had to be addressed during his lunch hour.

The big fake wooden door opened and superintendent Beesley walked in, carrying a full manila file under his arm. He had a very stern and serious look on his face, but when did he not? Beesley walked past Dale without saying a word, and plopped down at his desk, opposite Dale. It wasn’t until he adjusted in his seat and carefully pushed aside a stack of pink papers that he spoke.

“Mr. Kesler, do you have any idea why I called you in here today?”

Dale was pretty sure that it was because he bought some pot from that kid on his bus, as that was the only law he broke in the past seven years, much less the only school rule he had broken. Dale felt as though he was back in high school, in the principal’s office, getting interrogated for smoking pot in the bathroom.

“Uh, no I was surprised when I got the phone call. I’ve been really curious, but at least I can put that to rest now, huh?”

“That is our goal, Mr. Kesler. We have a few more questions for you.”

“What do you know about John Simpson?”

“Nothing. I mean, I think he rides on one of my routes, but I don’t know him, like, on a first name basis or anything.”

“Mmmk, mmmk,” mumbled Beesley as he filed through the manila folder of papers he had walked in with.

“Am I in trouble or something? What is with this interrogation?” inquired Dale, starting to sweat a little bit since he knew he was guilty of something. He gazed out the window directly behind Beesley, and saw the saw continuing to fall. He waited for what seemed like an eternity for an answer.

“No, you’re not in trouble…yet. That’s what I’m here to determine.”

“Well, unless you have something specific to talk to me about I’m going to kindly see myself to the door.” Dale started to get up from his seat.

“But we’re not done here.”

“Well, all you’re doing is asking me vague questions, and not even telling me why I am here. I’m just a bus driver, but I can tell you that you are not that adequate of a superintendent.” Dale moved towards the door, sliding his jacket on.

“You leave here and you’re fired!”

“Not exactly for you to decide, we’ll let the head of our district’s transportation decide that. Call me when, or if, you decide to talk straight and tell me what’s up. We’ll set something up on my schedule,” Dale chuckled. He knew now that his little outburst would cause some trouble, but ultimately he had the upper hand.

Week Twelve Journal One

The mall was always strangely comforting to Dale. When his only friend, John Abraam, was busy, Dale would get high by himself and drive up to the mall. Some people preferred alcohol, but that just never did it for Dale, it drove him into a deep depression, although it was always gone by the time he sobered up; pot just gave him a false sense of optimism about the future, but at least he was happy.

Dale walked through the automatic doors, dragging a little bit of mud in with him, and hooked a hard left towards the food court, his usual first stop. He walked up to The Pizza Palace, the only pizza place in the mall, and got in the back of the line. He stared at the menu, even though he always ordered the same thing, until he was standing in front of the cashier.

“Dale, fancy seeing you here at this hour,” said the Clerk, Steve; he always acted like he really wanted to be Dale’s friend, and he was nice, but Dale often mistook one’s friendliness for intrusiveness.

“Yeah, can I get some breadsticks, a coke, and a slice of...”

Steve cut him off mid sentence, “Canadian bacon and pineapple? I know you too well.”

“Yeah, good job, only three months of taking my order and you memorized it,” said Dale, laying the sarcasm on thick. He handed his debit card over before giving Steve a chance to give him the price, he really didn’t care, he just wanted to get away from the bundle of awkwardness that was Steve.

Dale slid down to the far end of the counter. His meal, if you can call it that, arrived quickly and he grabbed the tray and found a seat. There were never many people in the mall when Dale went, usually just elderly couples but occasionally a younger couple; the younger couples were always, Dale assumed, independently wealthy, which is why they were at the mall in the early afternoon. Seeing all these couples often depressed Dale. He caught himself wondering why the hell he came to mall so often, when it only left him longing for someone to share it with.

Finishing his meal, Dale dumped his red plastic tray of garbage into the trashcan. He walked down the dull colored tile towards the movie theater, it always helped to live in a different reality for a couple hours. Plus, the girl that worked there was good looking, although Dale was always too afraid to ask her out; it felt rude since he only saw her when she was working.

Arriving at the theater, he saw the girl, Ronnie, working at the ticket counter. He walked up without giving any thought as to what movie he would see.

“What movie?” asked Ronnie.

Shit, Dale thought. He hadn’t really paid attention to what movies were coming out.

“What’s good?” replied Dale. He thought to himself, that came out completely wrong, it sounded like I’m trying to hit on her. His palms began sweating, and his knees started to weaken.

“Ha, just working, what’s your name again?”

“Dale.” Miraculously, he started to feel a little more comfortable talking to her. Once he broke the ice, it was really easy to talk to her.

“That’s right, you come in here a lot, huh?”

“Yeah, I have a lot of time, and usually nothing to do with it.”

“Well, how about seeing a movie like always. I mean you came up here to see a movie right?”

“Yeah, I have no idea what’s good though.”

“Dark Star’s good, I saw it with my boyfriend when it came out. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely not a chick flick though, he made me see it…and pay for it…and drive. Good riddance.”

“Yeah, I’ll see that. Sorry about your boyfriend, sounds like he was a real class act.”

Ronnie grabbed Dale’s card, which had been on the marble counter since he first walked up. She handed him back the ticket and his card.

“Enjoy the show. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, take it easy.”

Dale was excited, even impressed by himself. He had had a few serious girlfriends in his life, but was never really comfortable about talking to girls like that, and besides, she seemed interested in him. He walked to his theater, and sat down. He knew he should have grabbed some popcorn or something, but felt good that he wasn’t going to succumb to his marijuana induced hunger. The previews started to roll, and he felt as though he may have finally got what his life was missing these past couple years, but caught himself before letting his thoughts get carried away.

Week Eleven Journal Two

In Dale Kesler’s pockets you can find…

• First and foremost lint, for some reason he always has about half a handfuls worth in every pair of jeans.

• Keys to his car, his apartment, and his bus (he actually isn’t supposed to take the keys home, so he secretly made a copy one day).

• Matchbook, used, and rendered useless by the sweat that is always soaking through his pants

• Bits of loose tobacco

• His wallet, though it only contains his driver’s license, his debit card, a half punched frequent buyer card from dairy queen, and on any given day no more than thirty two American dollars cash

• Two paperclips (more or less), for cleaning out his pipes, Dale being too cheap and lazy to get a new one, and too deep to stop smoking altogether

Week 11 Journal 1

Name: Dale Kesler

Nickname: none...yet Handwriting:sloppy

Sex: Male Astrological sign: scorpio

Age: 25 Talents: 90 second bong hits

Looks: Husky, unshaven Friends: Not many

Education: College dropout Relatives: Mostly dead

Vocation: High school bus driver

Enemies: His boss, the head of school transportation

Status/money: Fairly poor As seen by others:

relationship: Had a girlfriend of three years, dumped him when he refused to return to college

As seen by self: Loser, but has accepted his role in society

family/ethnicity: Family all lives in different state

Scars: None

Places: Tattoos, piercings:

Possessions: Most prized possessions-his 3 foot bong, his DVD collection

Salary: Around $35k/year

Recreation/hobbies: Smoking pot, watching movies, self loathing secretly

Correspondence:

Obsessions: Marijuana

Beliefs: No belief in God

Politics: Democrat when he remembers to vote

Sexual history: Not much, 3 girls total

Ambitions: Wants to write, produce, or direct movies

Religion: None, was raised in a catholic family

Superstitions:

Fears: Dying alone

Attitudes: Stand offish, avoids confrontation

Character flaws: Uncurable pothead

Character strengths: Nice to others, if he truly cares about someone he’ll do anything for them

Pets: Turtle, his only friend

Taste in books/music: Generally likes classic comedies and dramas (1940s to 1990); reads modern classic books (Hemingway, Kerouac, etc.)

Journal entries:

The bus slowly pulled into the roundabout in front of the high school, stopping just long enough to let the students off, mostly underclassmen,. Dale knew that the bad kids always sat towards the back off the bus, so he waited until all the other students were gone.

“Stop right there, man.”

“What’d we do? We didn’t do anything.”

“No, dont worry, you’re not in trouble...yet,” replied Dale, “I know you kids have some pot..”

He was cut off mid sentence by the student, “I swear to god we don’t.”

“Man, chill out, your not in trouble. Plus, I can smell the stuff on you, smells real good.”

“So if we aren’t in trouble why are we still on this bus?” asked the kid.

“I just want a little sack, man, just because I’m a bus driver doesn’t mean I don’t like to get high every once in awhile. Plus, everyone I know only sells that poopy brown stuff, I know that high school kids always have the most solid stuff. My name’s Dale by the way.”

“I’m John, and how much you want?”

“Just like a twenty, that’s all I got right now.”

“Alright, fine.”

John reached in his pocket, producing a bag. It appeared as though the kid just walked around with a bunch of premeasured baggies. They made the exchange quickly, both of them understanding the consequences if they got caught. There was an instant mutual trust between the two, since it wouldn’t be hard to tell the principal on one another. They could both be destroyed with just one sentence.

“Thanks, man. Don’t be a stranger. Now get to class, ya bum!” yelled Dale, chuckling, but clearly a little serious.

John and his small group of pothead buddies exited the big yellow bus, taking their baggie pants and tie dyed shirts with them. “Shit,” Dale thought to himself, “I can’t believe the weed these kids are getting today. Can’t wait to try it.” The high school started the latest, and Dale never worked afternoons, except on occasion when there was a field trip and he wanted a little extra dough.

Dale slowly pulled the old yellow bus into a parking with a few other buses, it was slowly starting to fill up with all the other drivers getting off of their shifts.

Dale parked in his bus’ assigned spot, A 22, and got out. He slowly moved over to the main garage, which contained the time punch that clocked him in and out every single weekday. He avoided everyone he saw, since they would smell the pot on him, and either tell on him or assume they were invited to the party.

Dale got in his car, a beat up Chevy Celebrity, only held together by the rust that was slowly taking over the car. He tried to start it, but, as usual, it took more than a few turns of the key for it to turn over and sputter that familiar smell of pollution. Dale drove towards his home.

Week Ten Journal Two

Exercise 2 on Page 389

I knew my wife would be worried about my absence, and I had no intention of putting her through such an ordeal. I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and decided to write her a quick letter to explain my absence and assure her that I was safe and doing fine. As much as I despised my ex-wife, I desperately hoped to see her again, so I had to lie a little bit.

I started writing.

Barbara,

By the time you read this:

I will be gone, I can’t explain this to you, for your own safety, but don’t worry because I will be back soon.

The hole in the wall will still be there. I’m sorry, but you know I will fix it.

The police may be talking to you. Don’t listen to them, trust only me, it is the only way we can get through this.

My electricity will be shut off, I couldn’t afford to pay the bill. Hope you enjoy the alimony.

The fruits on my counter will be brown and squishy. Eat them if you are hungry.

My alimony check will have bounced. I still don’t understand why I pay you when you are making more money than me.

Anyways, have fun being the soul sucking creature that you are.

Your first husband.