Couch Surfing [edited-rockford]

After winning the enforcement order, the kids and I celebrated with a big home-cooked meal complete with a toast, to our new independence. 
It was the last time I would see the kids despite the efforts to coordinate having them again. Mindy began to schedule so many things in their days that they were too occupied to think about having time with their dad. Yet, one day, she had the time to take my call, only to prey upon my love again.

Mindy wanted me to acknowledge that the kids were now old enough to find time to see me on their own terms, asking me not to call because it was pressuring them. I didn’t think that would be a problem but the truth was that she had been pressuring them on her end. Only God knows what she said, did, or implied. And only time would tell what damages the kids have sustained at her subjection.  

As for Julie, she continued to complain of back pain. Rather than live accordingly, she opted for the breast reduction plan- the easiest way out, which came with Vicodin. This was the main reason why she had taken the job with, Hunt Construction.

Of course, she did so little, that I am shocked she was never fired. “Double-clicking the mouse”, and smoking pot between web-surfing sessions, seemed to be all she ever did. She smoked so much pot, and masturbated so much, that her fingers were pickled, and her body odor smelled like Marijuana resin. You could actually smell the Chlorophyll coming out of her armpits.

Anyways, Julie finally got her breast reduction, and another bottle of painkillers. Bruce called me, to come and help with getting a roll of carpet, using my truck, which involved an afternoon of drinking that led into an evening of drinking.

Danimal and the guys were all hanging out on the river too. The guys all wanted to hear us perform, so Danimal and I started belting out some of our pieces. It was all part of the routine, and we loved sharing. Some were drumming along on the various drums that were always around, as the sun stole it’s light from us completely.

It was around nine p.m. when Julie called, asking me to come home to help her bathe. The bags that were hanging from her, draining the blood and fluids, along with an obstinate daughter, made it impossible for her to do by herself.

Jean was also in need of attention throughout the day, and with me not being there to perform the duties, it made her realize my importance once more.

Bruce had offered to get me a ride home but I refused, thinking I could get three miles to the house okay. 

When I got in my truck, the radio wasn’t working because a fuse had blown. 
My big idea was to pull a fuse from somewhere else. The courtesy lights seemed like a good option, and I was tickled with myself to be so smart.

Everything was fine... until I turned off of Northland Drive. The lights went up behind me. I kept driving, thinking that it wasn’t possible for them to want to pull ME over- I was good. Yeah, I was excellent, up until I realized that they Did want to pull me over.

My house was so close I wanted to just keep driving and stop to chat there. The house was only another mile away, as Radar Love, played on the radio. 

After a short distance, I realized I was bordering on a fleeing charge. I just didn’t want to have the truck towed, knowing I was going to go to jail for driving under the influence.

The officer came to the window to go through the routine. Eventually I was placed in the car with my hands cuffed behind me. Somehow I managed to get my cell phone from my pocket, calling Julie in hopes that she could come up and get my truck. The officer called for backup, and when he arrived, he went up the road to get her. The truck ended up home without the added expense of being impounded. For that, I was thankful.

When I went to court on Monday, Judge Servass gave me a suspended sentence. It was a comical dialogue between us, since my answer to why my blood alcohol level was a .024, yet, remained to have command of my faculties, showing little sign of intoxication, was that I was German, and Irish- having a natural inclination to hold my liquor. He chuckled at that.     

Several months later someone decided to take Jean’s 2004 Saturn Ion up to the Circle K convenience store for another jumbo but it was raining, which caused for some slick roads if you were in too big of a hurry to get to the store before it closed, and back before anyone knew you had left. If it hadn’t been for the front wheel drive, they would have never been able to get the car off of West River Drive after careening into a Fire Hydrant (a detail revealed by studying the scene).
 The trunk was half caved in, and the driver’s side rear tire was completely folded up underneath. Nobody would have a clear idea of the damage until the next day.

A ride was called for them get out of the area before any cops showed up, especially since this person didn’t have a license. It’s the only way the auto insurance would have paid for the damage. The next day an officer came by the house to see why there was a disabled vehicle sitting on the road, and to write a report because it was clear that there was an accident.

Mostly, what made it clear was that there was a broken hydrant, and that the township wanted to know why they needed a crew at two in the morning to cap the water flow. And since there was a car sitting across the road with a massive wound, it was only natural for them to begin by tracing the ownership of that vehicle, which belonged to an elderly woman with a bad state of Alzheimer’s. For some reason the bill for the hydrant repair was sent to me.
It was this situation that caused for the decision to be made, that no one was allowed to crash at our house anymore. My friends were saddened, mostly due to the fact that they were homeless, and needed the daily chores in their lives to remain off of the streets where danger lurked everywhere. And it was convenient for me, mostly due to the fact that I needed bodies to perform labors that my doctors did not permit me to do. And a meal and a place to crash once in a while wasn't much to ask for. Then again, not helping yourself to things that aren't yours isn't something that should have to be written in black and white. Some things are already written upon your Heart and Soul...provided you can Read.

The next day, Bruce showed up to go look at the situation, with a cocktail in his hand but he found that a cop was there, to do an accident report. Deciding not to stop, he went up two more houses, to a garage sale, where he milled about until the officer left. After seeing the mess that had been made of the vehicle, we quickly realized that it was going to need to go to a body shop, and that it needed to be hauled away with a flatbed truck. Comstock Body shop got to deal with the task, sending a flatbed to pick it up.

Julie was not excited about what had become of the brand new car. She wasn’t excited about having to claim responsibility for it either but it was the only way it was going to be repaired because no one owned up to it, and even if they had, I'm certain that this person had no way to remedy the problem. With the possibility of becoming the center of attention regarding her affairs, that she’d rather not have questioned, she had no choice. The only thing I could do to help was to not criticize any part of it and resolve not to let anyone else use the car... she left the keys in it, not me. The next day I had to tell everyone to get out. That was hard.

Strangely enough, offering envelopes were showing up more frequently from, the local Catholic Church, that Jean belonged to. Since I retrieved the mail, they found the trash very quickly. Surely they were aware of Jeans memory issues, taking full advantage of it.

Often she would say, “I could eat something”, even though she had just eaten. Once, a pile of Pistachio shells were in front of her, and Pistachios were still in her teeth- she had eaten a whole bowl of them. When I told her she had eaten them she scoffed with, “I beg your pardon”. It always made me chuckle.

Jean had a piano, that she would play once in a while but whenever she went past it, she would ask, 
“Who’s Piano is this?” 

I would tell her that it was hers but she would deny ever knowing how to play. The piano would make a noise as if a key was struck, her dead husband communicating from the spirit world. It had to be because we had it looked at, thinking it was a mouse. No mice or sign of a mouse was found.

zachery s. polk