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Story of my Looziana life
2005-02-21 - 12:51 a.m. I first moved to Looziana in the summer of 1982 when I was 18. It was supposed to be just for the summer, and now I'm 41. But anyway, my mom had moved down the July before, two months after I graduated from high school and a month before I started college. When college let out the following May, I headed south. I knew nobody in the entire state except for my mom and her new husband. I'd invited my college roommate to come with me for moral support, and just to get the hell away from the married man who was tying her emotions in knots. We tried to get summer jobs. Nobody seemed interested in a couple of kids from some hick college in WV. The town of Nutria is very much a "not what you know but who you know" kind of place. And we didn't know a fuckin' soul. Eventually, we started hanging out around the pool in the apt. complex. We got some killer tans that summer! Eventually, my roommate headed back up north, but by that time, I'd met the swimming pool crowd. There was H0sie, who looked remarkably like M@gnum, P.I. and lived right by the pool, and his 2 brothers. They took us out waterskiing down the river a few times. They were fun. And B0. He was a skinny little Viet N@m vet with a bunch of guns who liked to get crazy on c0ke and go shoot his guns. In spite of all that, I liked him, too. And then there were Jack and West, who shared an apt. Jack was mid-50s, nearly toothless, made sausage for a living, he said. West was probably early 30s, said he worked offshore but he'd gotten hurt and was drawing workman's comp. They were my very first weed hook-ups in this state, and I sure appreciated it! West at a later date turned me onto coke now and then also. He also sympathized with my being out of work and told me he thought he could find me a job if I didn't mind bartending. I'd never bartended before, but thought it seemed easy enough. So he took me up to this local bar and asked the mgr if they needed any help. He took one look at my titties, saw $$, and hired me on the spot. I baked him and Jack the Sausage Man a homemade peach pie for helping me find work. It was a cool little bar, as bars go. Not a dive, kinda on the country side, but not completely. The owner's son ran the bar (along with the guy who hired me), and it was just a small little lounge in a (mostly) small southern town. The clientele ranged from blue collar guys after work, to older couples, to young people about my age at the time. Pretty eclectic, but it worked. West made periodic stops at the bar to "check and see if I was doing ok and they were treating me right." I had no complaints, had met some friends and moved out of my mom's house and into an apt with a roommate. From my perspective at the time, things were going well. I met the Indian about the second month on the job, right before they murdered his mama by setting her house on fire. We didn't date or fool around at all at that time, although I knew that he was coming in to see me at the bar. I could tell he was attracted to me, but he never made a move. I didn't know at the time that he was living with a woman who had just had his son. The night they killed his mama was Friday, August 13. People at another bar just around the corner from her house called our bar to tell the boss's son what happened. He was enraged, closed our bar and we all went to the other bar across town to get shitfaced. The Indian wasn't there at that point. I didn't see him for weeks, and when I did, he was always so loaded. He didn't really flirt with me or anybody else anymore. Just ordered beer after beer and shot after shot until he would pass out. We got together 6 months later in the chill of winter, but that's another story. Meanwhile, they had a big bust out at the airport, confiscating a planeload of pot and arresting H0sie and B0 and several other people they had either introduced me to or whom I met at the bar. In other words, my friends, the only people I knew in the whole freaking state. The bust was led by DEA agents Jack and West, who, incidentally, weren't really named Jack and West after all. Hahaha! Gotcha! I think about it all now and the irony of it still blows me away. Who would have figured the first people I'd meet in this state would be DEA agents and the ppl they're trying to bust for dope? Who gave me dope and got me a job so they'd have a legit cover for spending time in the bar snooping around? Which brought me into contact with the person who would take me to the depths of depravity and the heights of passion? Who gave me the disease that will kill me? If it were a book, I would say "Naw, that's too implausible," but it's my life so I guess all I can do is run with it. �
still here - 2009-12-18
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