Wednesday morning I woke up from my first night sleeping in the camper, and I had that disjointed feeling that comes from unfamiliarity. I recognized the interior of the camper, so that was not what was triggering that closed in feeling that enveloped me, not claustrophobic really, it was more: comforting. It is hard to put into words that kind of feeling, but as I am supposed to be an aspiring writer ......It would seem to be my responsibility to do so,, or at least try.
So as I lay there cradling the warm afterglow of a satisfying night of slumber and with pleasant dreams of…I’m hungry ! I suddenly thought to myself. No! Actually I am starving, and just one look down at Stormy , lying on the floor and staring at me and it was more than obvious that he too was hungry..
“Okay, boy, I know. I hear you..”
“All we ate last night was those Fritos wasn’t it?”Stormy just stared at me with those big brown, expectant and hungry eyes..
“ Sorry boy ! I am new at this.” I said as I was just realizing that I was fully clothed, This fact reminded me that I had come into the camper cruiser nine hours earlier, intending to fix me some food, had seen the bed laid out , done while setting up camp hours earlier, so I decided to see how comfortable it could possibly be .
I remember laying down and saying to myself, “ this ain’t too bad.” Looking down at Stormy -closing my eyes- and well , here I am, nine hours later, starving and being stared at by Stormy .
. 6:30 AM Wednesday morning- and both of us starving . "Man! Talk about exhaustion.!" I said to the world at large .
“Just hang in there for a few minutes more and we will both have bacon and eggs today.... Okay?”
To which stormy happily wagged the whole rear half of himself in undying gratitude.
After breakfast I had a cup of coffee in my hands, and a buzz in my head as I sat down in the lawn lounge thingy ( It had even come with the camper) and watched the other people go about their morning..
Was this my story--the ever evolving story of… Come on dude! I chastised myself, this is not your mission, to write about camping spots, and the ever evolving state of one parking spot that they are occupying. . But as I was beginning to slowly realize ; my story , just might be more elusive than I had taken time to consider.
I glanced down at storm to see if he had any insight, an opinion of some great revelation for me, but he was in his own world; lying there beside me and watching with rapt interest the antics of a pair of foraging gray squirrels as they skipped and be bopped among the branches of a huge white oak; wherein Stormy, unlike myself, saw the big picture,, all the story he needed was playing out in the branches of that tree. This tree was his tree ……of life..!
“Crazy little buggers ain’t they boy?” I remarked to him as I rubbed his head and neck , taking away a few precious seconds of his squirrel watching while he looked around me before returning his gaze back to the acrobatics of the little be boppers of the tree.. I went back to watching my new neighbors, for in a sense-that is exactly what this is . Nt much different from the cul-de-sac. I grew up on. .. With one exception-vital as it is . I mean that I only have the imaginary view of these people , not the reality that I had with… But then, I reassess my thought,, reorganize my pattern as I remember that morning .
That crazy day with all the police and ambulances suddenly appearing in the street.. All the neighbors having been bunched up in curious knots to wonder what was happening at the Angleton’s.
Like wind swept fire to a field of tall grass, the rumors began spreading through the street.
“He killed her!” Someone remarked abstractly..
“Who?” They all asked in comatose reality.
“George Angleton” they said, “he killed his wife and then he killed himself--I think”
“Whyyyyy?” They bleated .
“Do not know-I heard they had financial problems, maybe that was it.” They quoted equivocally.
“There was always something funny about them.” The little man said fumbling the ball
“Who?” They all questioned again.
“Angleton’s… It was strange, I wouldn’t let my kids go up there on Halloween.. and that time he gave all comic books!” The little man said with an air of superiority.
“ Why is that?” They argued in question.
“You asked me he was trying to lure them kids in.” He blundered and fell
“You are nuts! He was a sweet old man… It had to be… financial” they persisted..
“Say what you want- but I know what I know-and he was weird.” The little man overstated.
“You did not even live around here. That year he gave out comic books-did you?” Somebody pointed out aggressively.
“Well.... no,,” the little man sputtered,, “bububut I heard about it..” The little man beleaguered now “So you never even met George!” Someone accused ..
“Not personally; but all the…” The little man started.
“Get the hell away from me little man.” the whole crowd expressed in screaming silent looks .
