Flying Bugs

 

by SirWilho

 

“Tara dumped me,” I say to brother Bishop.  “She dumped you???,” replied Bishop, “yep,” says me.  “Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” Bishop taunts.

I believe it was the summer of 1982 when this all came about, 30 years ago and it’s still burned in my brain.  Woe was me to endure the pain, humiliation and disgrace of being tossed aside like a banana peel.

Tara was actually brother Bishop’s girlfriend, but he dumped her in exchange for someone new.  All the girls loved Bishops feathered hair, quirky smile and quick wit.  The chest hair showing from a shirt unbuttoned down to his navel really had them all twitterpated so they flocked to him like a seagull to McDonalds.

The reality of my demise with Tara was that she exploited me by trying to make Bishop jealous and ‘going out’ with his brother.  Her plan didn’t work so she dropped me like a hot rock.  The only one that got screwed in this whole interaction was me, and so began the first callous on my virgin heart.

This wasn’t the first time Bishop’s antics caused me grief.  The previous winter a new girl moved to the lake. Rosie was her name, and she was intriguing.  My mom called her Pineapple because Rosie claimed to be Polish and Hawaiian.  We thought it fascinating to be around a girl whose heritage was Hawaiian since we had never heard of such a thing. Her hair was black as coal and afflicted with Menkes Syndrome, which means it was very kinky.  She had big pouty lips and a complexion very similar to that of an African American, her voice was soothing as she spoke in perfect Ebonic style.  We had never seen a Polish Hawaiian American before so she received a lot of attention from us boys.  Bishop’s curiosity was piqued by her and it wasn’t long before they could be seen walking hand in hand along the lake.

I have mentioned before that Bishop loved to work on cars or trucks and this hobby always gave him greasy, dirty hands.  One day, neighbor Stevie and I were spying on them and we were sure they looked to be in the throes of a deep make out session.  We ran up to them hollering, “Kotcha!!!” and “Busted!!!” Bishop nonchalantly says that they weren’t doing ‘nuttin’, and to shut up or he would pound us, so we closed our yaps.

Bishop was still in denial over his involvement with Pineapple so she started to walk away.  The girl looked good that day, her hair all kinky and bushy, the pouty lips, and was wearing a cool pair of snow white pants that accentuated a robust gluteus maximus.  We, of course, were checking her out as she turned to walk home and then Stevie and I started laughing.  Those white pants told no lies and perfectly placed across one butt cheek was the mark of a greasy handprint.  Bishop was busted.

This was a long story just to tell you that Bishop dumped her too and she also tried to make him jealous with me.  It didn’t work for her either but I wasn’t hurt when we ‘broke up’ since my involvement with her was strictly for the purpose of getting my hand print on the other cheek where Bishop laid claim.  Little FYI for ya… no, it never happened.

I had to digress for a moment with the Pineapple girl story but now will revert back to the heart breaking Tara experience.

I’m dumped and sad, Bishop is upbeat and happy, brother Gump is looking for something to do and neighbor Richie has the ride.

A plan is hatched and went something like this; We all pile into Richie’s VW Bug and explore uncharted roads through the deep woods of Wisconsin.  It was a simple plan since the Wisconsin border was only 3 miles away and our destination was Sach’s bar, a mere 7 miles beyond that.  Now, 10 miles isn’t far on a highway, but our route used side roads, snowmobile trails and maybe even a couple deer trails.

For the record, I wasn’t really into the adventure due to my morose mood but the thought of a Whiskey Seven sure seemed to liven my spirits.

We cruised down the dirt roads with reckless abandon. Aldo Nova, Scorpions and AC/DC pounded out of our downed windows as we sang “I’ve got Big Balls, You’ve Got Big Balls, We’ve Got The Biggest Balls Of Them All”.

Tires chattered as we rounded corners laced with washboard gravel and big plumes of dust rolled behind us in our quest for drink.  The ride took about an hour, in daylight, and we congratulated ourselves on good navigation and driving skills.

Brother Gump was 18 so he gave me his old license that had the corner clipped off and said I should be, ‘good to go’.  Bishop unbuttoned his shirt some more so he was fine and Richie would have to sneak a drink or two.

We walked in like we owned the place and then huddled in the corner.  All eyes seemed to follow me since I looked so young and my baby face wasn’t even afflicted with the tell-tale signs of puberty.

Our group pounded about 3 drinks each and soon ran out of money.  The adventure was deemed a success so we went about our way back home.

I am much older now but ponder about why we didn’t just take the main road home instead of our adventure trail. It seemed like a no-brainer at the time and off we zoomed in Richies Bug.

Pretty much the same story as we drove back, music blaring, chattering tires, singing, etc.  The only thing different was the darkness, real dark, dark like Rosie’s hair dark.

Zoom, zoom, zoom all over the trails we went, so much so in fact, I was sure we passed the same sign three times.  The fourth time we approached the sign I called it…. “We’re lost.”  “Hmmmm,” we all sighed in unison.

Gump really doesn’t have a care in the world over this problem and starts chanting on the top of his lungs for the trees to hear, “Wedafugowwee, Wedafugowwe, Wedafugoweee,” then laughs and says we are a new tribe of Indians.  Yeah…. hilarious.

Bishop takes the navigational lead and is giving Richie step by step Mapquest instructions.  “Right here, left there, straight on this one…Whoaaa on this corner,” until he is positive that we are on the right road.  He instructs Richie to ‘give er’ so Richie puts it to the boards.

All I heard was, “Yep, this is the road for sure,” then, “GHAAA, WHOAAA,” from Bishop.  I instantly popped up to see what they were seeing.  Grass.  Yes, grass.  Richie nails the brakes but they are ineffective due to the dew.  “CRASH MODE,” Gump hollers.

Bishop was right, we were on the right road, but 25 years late since the county took out bridge since then.  With no bridge, we sailed about 20′ out and over 10′ down into the swift waters of the Brule River.

The down stream door had to used as our escape route since the raging waters kept Richie from opening the driver side.  Trepidation is a good word to describe the fear we had as we crossed the river hand in hand, like a band of brothers.

Safely on the other side we took a five and went into a deep moment to philosophize our state of being.  The divine hand of God reached out to us that night was our conclusion.  Our group must be special, Ghandi-like perhaps and were all destined for Greatness.  Hmmmm… I now say to myself.

This story should be over now.. right???  I mean, there is romance, dejection, drama, excitement and resolve.. dun… end of story… nope..

We didn’t know where we were so we walked in wet shoes until a darkened landmark was seen.  “Billy Neslo lives about a mile away,” I say.  “He will surely give us a ride home.”

Billy Neslo once wrapped a chain around his neighbors neck for chasing their family dog.  “Yeah, he’s a good guy,” I say.

Pound, Pound, Pound on his door and the dog comes a runnin’.  “For the love of God don’t chase it,” I say.

Billy comes to the door all sleepy and wondering what the commotion is about.  He let us in and we rehashed the story.  Don’t you think he should be have looked at us like we possess Divine powers?  After all, we sailed into the Brule River with nary a scratch.  Instead, he slowly spreads butter and then peanut butter on Saltine crackers and quietly eats them, yawning as he munches.

Billy then drove us home in his old Chevy truck,  5 of us crammed into the front seat as we rode in silence.

Pappy wakes up from his slumber to see us try to slink in and we kinda tell him the story.  The story with him went something like this:  Richie conned us into taking a ride with him. We somehow ended up in Wisconsin. We stopped to discuss the star formations of Orion and the Big Dipper when dumb Richie didn’t engage the parking brake on his car and it rolled into the Brule River. “He coulda killed us,” we chant but we got lucky.  My dad didn’t need to hear about the Divine Powers we proclaimed to have because he wouldn’t have understood.  Poor Richie was thrown way under the bus to save our skin and Pappy goes back to bed with nary an upturn in heartbeat or blood pressure.  Phew, lucky again, we did possess Divine Powers.

It’s the next morning and we are up early.  Pappy clearly forgot our story but my Mom is grilling us when uncle Broom pulls into the driveway for a visit.  My brothers and I are now very happy with his distraction.

Uncle Broom is a great character, he looks like Kenny Rogers, and once, while in the process of a divorce, I heard him sing ‘Ya picked a fine time to leave me Lucille,’  over and over at the Shamrock Bar.

Uncle Broom starts telling us this crazy story about what he saw that morning.  He was making the rounds of visiting and stopped on the bridge over the Brule River.
(4 miles downstream from where we flew in)  “I’ll be damned,” he said, “Never seen anything like it.”  “What? What?” we asked.  “I’m standing on the bridge and coming from the bend in the river I see a yellow Volkswagen Bug just bumping with the current, heading for Florence, Wisconsin.”

My brothers and I freak out (secretly) and plan how we will intercept the bug.  About the time we were ready to leave Uncle Broom tells us he was just joking and that he talked with Billy Neslo before coming to our house.

He leaks the real story to my parents and we were in trouble… again.

Since the Bug is still in the river, Brother Gump goes with Richie and the tow truck driver to lift it out.  Gump is a great ‘lil’ helper and as he was helping the tow truck guy winch the car up, he lost his grip of the handle on the winch.  The handle came spinning back at him where it caught him square on the jaw requiring six stitches.  Evidently Divine Powers were only given to Bishop and I.

Richie finally gets his VW Bug to his house and starts looking it over.  I watched as he opened the passenger door to let the water out.  A little fishing bobber flowed with that water to the ground and I asked Richie if I could have it.  He seemed crabby at my request so I let it go.  No… I didn’t make this part up…. Close to six quarts of water/oil came from the engine but Richie did get it running again and used that car for several more years.

On this note I will end my story of romance, dejection, drama, excitement and resolve.  And Tara?  I haven’t a clue, and I bet she would never think she would be the stimulus of a story…