We were working on houses for Ancil Mitchell, a preacher for
a church called, The Grand Valley Voice of the Pentecost. This man built simple
homes and duplexes for financially disadvantaged people who wanted to get out
of the city and away from the potential hazards that went along with life in
the inner city. Knowing Ancil would have been helpful after Mindy left. That’s
when I found out the house wasn’t mine at all, only to be thrown out by her
father when I could no longer pay him the rent, which was seven hundred and
fifty dollars per month. Him, along with Minderella’s sister, Amy, (so she
claims), packed up what was left after Minderella took everything of value
despite the judge’s fifty-fifty ruling. Trash bags suited this procedure
because that’s how they treated my belongings, like heirlooms for my children-
my great grandmother’s cookie jar.
Great Grandma Lindner was always known as the cookie
Grandma. After her death I was given the cookie jar. This particular jar was a
mother Pelican with a small baby Pelican on her bill, which happened to be the
lid- baby made the handle. Minderella had already smashed it once in the past
during one of her infamous tantrums of princess temper. I used my skills and
wounded sentimentality to glue it back together, filling in areas with plaster
to sculpt it back into wholeness while trying t hide the fact that it had been
smashed. I should have stripped the familial reigns from her hands that very
day. Why I didn’t divorce her for that alone probably had a lot to do with the
children and my love for them. The beloved cookie jar was an item synonymous
with our very dear Great Great Grandmother Lindner but was now marred with the
scars of a loveless marriage. The thought of it now, still aches my heart. When
Cody was born we were five generations living; then, a pretty serious thing for
our family history, we photographed the event.
Looking back, mistakes are a dreadful thing or is it
dreadful to see how the easy solutions were always overlooked, leading to the
most difficult situations and needless suffering? None of it had to be that way
but when you are alone in life with no one and nothing to count on, you are
forced to make all of the mistakes that you could have learned from others
having done them before you. But there is those who would rather you made them
instead, after all, it didn’t kill them. Oh well. I didn’t know Ancil but I did
know Charles, and when I was out on the street he tried to help by taking me to
the only place he knew of where I could find a room to stay- at Ronald
Jackson’s. This is the same place where I was going to take Selena that morning
we were attacked, and incidentally, was not the right place for me to go. The
drug issue was about to get worse because this guy was a daily user.
At one point while living at one of Ron’s apartments, I
managed to find the Independent Living Services in the phone book so, I called
them and spoke to a woman named Tina Tilney, who did come to speak with me. She
was clearly overwhelmed because she had never followed through with finding me
a home for “high functioning individuals”, as she called it. She also mentioned
various jobs I could get into and some therapies to learn how to deal with my
injuries. She took all of my files I showed her and I never saw her again until
I called her at a desperate point when I injured my hand on a table saw while
working at Bob’s again. My thumb got cut on the table saw while trying to rip a
board that I knew was too short to begin with when I was doing it. Tina came
and took me to the hospital to be treated. I had thought it was minor but
realized shortly after I was home, that it was a bit worse. This was while
living off of Alpine and Leonard with Ron Groenlier, which was right around the
corner from where I had lived with Ronald Jackson.
Ron Groenlier’s father lived upstairs but was too sick to
drive me, and Ron was always drunk. His father was dying of cancer and
alcoholism. Ron had just recently returned to Michigan from Texas, where he
spent time for a drunk driving charge, and leaving behind a woman and child
from a failed marriage. He had his own psych issues that were made worse by the
time spent locked up and would rarely go outside
Bob and I were trimming houses for Johnny Van Soest at the
time. One day Johnny called Bob to a private luncheon, leaving me at the
jobsite where I continued to work, eating my lunch as I went along in my
details. The thing about me, I am told, is that the work I do is exemplary,
setting the standards of those around me, and would be expected of a
well-trained Finish Carpenter. Bob, on the other hand, was an imposter. His
accumulated skills gave him the resemblance of a carpenter but he was not. It
was more accurate that he was a general laborer. Truth is, he had such an
attitude, (much like Stan), and was so snide that nobody could stand him long
enough to get any kind of work done at all. He was so insecure; anyone getting
the attention of the superiors other than him self, was targeted to be slowly
and subtly whittled away at with Bob’s tone. It was all fun and games on the
surface but it was malicious in it’s intent; cowardly passive aggressive attacks
veiled in humor. This is one of the purposes I had for my craftsmanship,
passing my work off as his own where ever and when ever he could get away with
it… until now.
Bob would soon come back from his little luncheon at First
Wok on Northland Drive to make light of what ended up being an out right
confrontation. John discovered that my work was what he had been promised in
affect but with Bob on the job, trying to maintain a dominate grasp on the
contract while fearing me taking over- the truth spilled out for the only one
who mattered in the scheme to see… the man who signs the check.
Bob’s insecurity constantly rewarded me with information. If
it hadn’t been for his uneasiness and guilt emanating in the disability of not
being able to handle silence, he may never have told me what was said at the
luncheon. Instead of a discussion about the next house or a price negotiation,
Johnny flatly stated, “I don’t think you taker pride in your work.” I was a bit
shocked that Bob shared that with me but maybe he needed me to help him make
light of it so he wouldn’t feel the psychological sting, and threat. Bob and I
both knew who’s work they all hired him for, and as they would learn that it
was mine, he would paint out a gruesome picture of me- making himself look like
a star for dealing with me. As long as he controlled me he could benefit from
my work and keep me on the weak end of the payscale to insure I was starved to
keep performing. Constantly beating me down in my mind, extinguishing the
flames of desire that burned in my heart giving me spirit; he would toy with my
life as if I were a lab rat or a fly, only to torture me and keep my wings from
being able to lift me back up to who I was.
His mouth would leak things it never should have, he was his
own worst enemy in that way. He’s one of the first people you’d shoot, if he
was in your crime family because he would run his mouth off causing your
inevitable ruin. He was an employee at a dowel company in Marne for a while but
quit when they scolded him for performing excessively in his position, denying
him a raise- rejection issues. Before he left, being a deviant and a
psychiatrists dream, he altered all of the company’s production jigs which
caused a huge problem and the blow to the business that would rob it’s employees
of their security by going out of business because of it. This was a problem in
the area because there were few jobs around that contributed to the local
economy. This would be bragged
about every once in a while, just for the sake of inflating his own ego and
subtly letting me know that he owned me. Occasionally he would remark to me
that I, “just don’t know how to suck up right.” This implied that maybe I
should be sucking his dick. Later, he would reveal a problem at home involving
the computer and the discovery of gay porn being viewed, passing it off on the
part of the younger of his two nephews that were being cared for in his home-
his brother Joe’s kids. The boy was around thirteen at the time, and very meek,
more than likely fearful of Bob. How convenient it was to use this poor boy for
a scapegoat. Cheryl would now giggle a bit over the discovery, and continue to
monitor the traffic on her internet service.
At one point, while staying at ny mother’s house, a guy
convinced me into meeting him to go out. He picked me up and then doubled back
to his apartment, the same building the Selena and Diamond lived in. When we
got there, I realized I had made a mistake. Apparently this guy owed money for
dope and had just taken me hostage so I would give them money in order to be
allowed to leave. I spent ten hours trying to figure a way out of this
situation without giving them what they wanted but ended up calling Bob to come
and get me using some of the money he owed me to fund these pieces of shit
their precious crack. Just knowing they’re their own hell is satisfaction
enough.
Yeah, it was another convenient situation to use to his
advantage. Not too long after this is when I lived by the creek, saved Laura
and Matt from losing their kids, and then got a job working for the carnival,
which is a very interesting story, especially since it took about a year or
less from the time Mindy left until I left with them on my suicide run.
I had just left eighty-four Lumber, trying to get my job
smoothed over. I think I was fired that day because as a Sawyer, I cut the
parts for the trusses we manufactured. Almost all of my cuts were wrong. With my
brain injury dominating the situation, everything was all mixed up. As I
crossed the highway overpass, going towards town, a guy driving a king cab
pickup truck stopped and asked me if I needed a ride. People don’t just stop
and ask you if you need a ride anymore, and I should have been weary,
especially since I was already in town. I got in, of course, only to find
myself on my way to the carnival with a man who had to run for potatoes to use
in his food wagon that he operated there. He asked me if I needed a job since
they always need schleps, and me- I nominated myself. What a typical Pisces.
It was the first day of the carnival, which was still in
set-up mode. The show was being provided by Jerry’s Concessions. The work I was
assigned to was running a ride called, The Force Ten. This ride was the feature
on this med-way, going in circle fashion, lifting high and tilting, spinning at
a speed that generated a G-force in excess of three G’s- all while several
pre-amps, and over two dozen speakers blared music I felt was appropriate for
the rhythm and rush. Metallica happened to be the best to choose from,
selecting Battery as the main track I used. The intro is long, so I played it
while loading the buckets on the ride. I would load a couple buckets and then
jog the machine. Then I’d load a couple more, jogging tit around some more
while burning through the introduction. When it got time to go, I would hit the
run button choreographing the music and ride for the intensity and thrill-
compounding the effect. What a Blast! People couldn’t get enough of it, the
ride drawing crowds of one hundred people or more to watch. My costume helped a
bit also, having long crazy hair, two-tone, from a dye-job I let some women
talk me into.
