Twenty-Four Stories

Twenty-four stories are light and playful one moment and poignantly touching the next. This compilation documents a lifetime, touching everything from dysfunctional family dynamics and childhood antics to watching a parent age. The stories are riddled with embellished fiction and sometimes nostalgic. Regardless of the category, the reader will be drawn into this fun, inspirational and elaborate escape to everyday life. This compilation of poetic literary prose reads like a seasoned life travelers journal. It is a journey of one human being’s struggle to find purpose and meaning in the world and move from one unforgettable phase of life to the next, one poignant story at a time. Reads may find themselves hiding in the shadows and pages of this hilarious yet touching compendium of memorable moments.

Chapter 1

Key West Impressions

Intriguing day. I headed to Key West for a three-night stay. I did not know what to expect. My imagined notion was a small quite and sleepy settlement at the most southern point of the continental United States. It’s where Hemingway lived for eight years and wrote some of his most well received stories. I will visit his house and polydactyl cats and perhaps get inspired to write more. I started to watch the sunset this evening. It was not as spectacular as I thought it would be. It was excruciatingly disappointing and every spot I chose was obstructed in some way with objects or crowds of people.

The clouds were a homogeneous sullen gray. It looked like winter in Oregon but warm. I needed to find a better location. The main drag in Key West is Duval Street. For all intents and purposes, it’s a drunken street crawl. Too many bars with wanna be guitar players banging out indecipherable songs over raunchy and abused Peavy concert speakers. Each bar competing with the bar next door for the international crowed of revelers. Each reveler with an iPhone in one hand, and a rum Mojito concoction in the other. Cigar smoke wafts out of the crowded restaurants with overpriced scallops basted in fake butter. Obesity is prevalent in both men and women, young and old. I wonder about the entertainment value of this place. It seems if one is not drinking, smoking cigars, or eating, one is out of place. Men in flip flops, Tony Bahama tropical shirts made in Vietnam, and cargo shorts from Walmart troll the streets in a horny tango seeking the elusive one-night stand. Women, of all ages, dress to attract whatever they can, flirt and flitter about in lose fitting garb that beckons to any partner willing to engage in the sexual dance. Is it love or just a fling they seek? It’s a sultry routine for this place. Some bars, it seems, are open around the clock willing to sell their alcoholic elixirs and potions to remove inhibitions and better judgement of crowds willing to pay for the hangover and shame the next day. And the criminals lurk, watching for the one who is stumbling, alone and unfortunately blinded by the salty air of adventure and blue waters of lust and chance of love and too much alcohol. The pickpockets pinch the wallets, and pry open the purses of those who are beyond their limits or perhaps to naïve to believe they too can be a victim.

As the evenings turn into dark star filled nights, the parties get louder and the drunk get drunker. The aroma of vomit on sidewalks blend with cigar smoke, and the local bartenders shake their heads saying yes and blend another cheap tequila margarita claiming it’s the best in the Keys. With a heaven Cuban accent, they tell the tourists “It the blend legendary Jimmy Buffet would drink.” Claiming it’s the mix that led to the song “Margaritaville”. This is the blunt ball-peen hammer of island escapism. Escaping from what I wonder?

The older folks I see are probably my age. I am guessing they are at least in their sixties and probably older. We are the boomers. I wonder if I am really that old. We don’t necessarily out number the younger crowd. But we are well represented with tanned skin, aching bones, and better judgement, I hope. We are the generation that has amassed the most wealth in the history of civilization. Of course, that statement can be debated as to what wealth truly is. Right now, good health is true wealth. What I see in places like Key West is a masquerade, an exorbitant display of consumerism that cries out a shallow howl of happiness. The problem I have is that I seem to endorse the folly. I do this subconsciously, unknowingly most of the time. Do I make the illusion come true because I have perhaps come to believe it? I find myself wondering if it’s a catch-twenty-two. I look for the party and find it’s one I don’t really want to attend. But it’s the only party I have an open invitation to. I reluctantly walk down the street looking for sane people, then realizing we are all crazy and filled with notion that this is real fun. It’s interesting how our views change as we get older.

Some of the folks are wearing clothing they should perhaps reconsider. The neon orange spandex tube dress on a large, (cough) large, framed women, can be an unsettling site. Albeit beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. But older potbellied men in micro speedo’s always make me wince and wonder “What are they thinking?”. At one point in time, I am sure my romantic notion of Key West existed. I think the draw of Hemingway in 1930’s and his fishing triumphs, and the lure of the polydactyl cats, and simpler times intrigued me. One of the stories of the Hemingway House I recall was the addition of the pool to the property. It was the first pool in Key West and extravagantly expensive at the time. His wife Pauline built it. Hemingway was furious about it. But over time he grew to love it and built a six-foot brick wall around the entire perimeter house so he could swim in the nude.

The U.S. Coast Guard and U.S. Navy have been present since the early 1800’s. The Coast Guard patrols the waters between the Florida Keys and Cuba. They keep a busy schedule with a constant influx of desperate people looking for a better way of life. It seems the immigrants are also looking for the illusion of wealth. They must have a strong burning desire to risk everything, including their lives to chase the dream. They come on boats bound together by hope and sail to far shores with the aid of empty fifty-five-gallon drums lashed together in makeshift boats. Over the years, thousands have paid thousands of dollars for a death at sea.

At 7:03pm I found a peaceful setting at The Fort Zachary State Park. It’s open dawn to dust. I read a small tag on Google that said it’s a place locals go. The sunset was a bit more willing to reveal its muted colors. The distant clouds were starting to grow and glow. Shades of red, purple, gray, pink, blue and yellow slowly emerged. Whispers of high clouds look like lose down, plucked from a great white goose. I only had a few minutes to capture pictures because the park police wanted visitors to leave by sundown. He went on to explain the Navy used the beach for night training. They drop Navy Seals about two miles offshore and the game is to get to the beach undetected and overtake the squad guarding the shores. Once nightfalls the game is on, and visitors are asked to exit quickly. The gates would be locked, and I may become a casualty if I am caught, so I was told. It sounded like fun to me. The guard did not think it was amusing. This area is unspoiled by the tourist frenzy several streets behind me. I hate being chased off by guards. I could have stayed on the beach for a long while. Progress as it is, can be a real pain in the ass.