The Autograph Chapter 1

"It's four in the morning, rain is pouring
When you stumble in drunk again."

"Wicked Ways"
By Patty Loveless

1

I am unsure which was worse; the pounding that echoed in my head brought on by last nights over indulgence of the hooch, or the pounding on my door by two of the most annoying people in the world, my best friends Jackie and Caroline. What was saving their lives at the moment was the fact that they were my best friends, they were on the other side of the door, and it would have taken too much effort on my part this morning to rip their lungs out.

I crawled out of bed and staggered across the room, stopping at the dresser where my ever-loyal companion, Bob, a gray and white cat, was lying. Those who knew him thought he had a few psychological problems, but I believed them to be just strange cat behavior. Bob was one of those cats who was booted out of his home, unwanted by those whom he thought loved him. He started hanging out in front of my place, begging for handouts. One cold night, I took pity on him and brought him in to get warm. That was two years ago, and with the exception of the mandatory trips to the food bowl and litter box, he rarely leaves his perch on the dresser. I picked up the mirror from the dresser and put it under his nose checking for signs of life. A small patch of fog appeared on the mirror, an indication that he was, indeed, still among the living.

"Just checking, you lazy ass" I said, giving his fur a few quick strokes.

The pounding on the door picked up steam again as the two next probable victims of a homicide began yelling "Maggie! Maggie! Get your ass up!" Just as I reached the door to open it and latch onto their throats, it swung open smashing me flush on the nose. A searing pain spread over my nose, which quickly brought tears to my eyes. "Shit, shit, shit!" I muttered, as I tightly gripped my hands over my nose thinking this would, in some way, make the throbbing stop.

"Any blood?" asked Caroline, as she and Jackie made their way into my apartment.

"No!" I shot back, wiping the tears from my eyes. "It is just a matter of time though before my shattered nasal passages begin to hemorrhage."

"Well, then our work is done," Jackie chimed in.

"Shut up," I mumbled, closing the door behind them. "Why didn't you just use your key to begin with, instead of pounding my door off the hinges? Shit, you two are like a boil on my ass at times, you know that?"
"Yes we do, and that is why you love us," said Caroline, as she grabbed the bag of cat chow and made her way to Bob's food dish to fill it.

Jackie picked up the mirror and stuck it under Bob's nose once again, causing him to stir. "Just checking," she said, scratching him behind his ears.

"You know, I just figured out why this cat never moves," said Caroline, as she began navigating her way through the beer cans, old newspapers and magazines to get to the kitchen. "He has nowhere to walk. What a crap hole. You ever thought about the advantages of a trash can?"

"I did once," I replied, "but it got full, and I never made it to the store to buy another one."

"Shit, it feels like a family of squirrels pissed in my mouth last night," I moaned, as I frantically searched for my first cigarette of the morning. Giving up my exercise in futility for a fresh one, I reached for a half smoked butt from the ashtray. Inhaling deeply, a calm seemed to settle over my frayed nerves, brought on by this morning’s rude interruption. I felt a slight tingle finally descend upon my lethargic muscles, which had yet to fully awakened with the rest of me.

Still bleary-eyed, I spotted what I wanted next; sitting on the table was a chocolate covered raisin. Lately, those had become as much of an addiction as cigarettes, which I was trying to quit. I popped it into my mouth and chewed as if a rare delicacy.

"Speaking of shit," Caroline said from behind the couch, "was that a mouse turd you just ate?"

"Why, yes it was, I always eat mouse turds for breakfast. They are filled with the seven essential vitamins your body needs to function at its peak performance."

Digging through the coffee table rubbish, I finally found what I was searching for, my half eaten bag of chocolate covered raisins.

"Here, have a mouse turd," I said, passing the bag over my shoulder to Caroline.

"No thanks, I am trying to quit. But more to the point, how many of those things do you go through in a day?"

"Not that it is any of your business, but if it was I would say, a lot. Why are you so concerned, are you out saving the raisin tree this month?"

“For your information, raisins do not grow on trees, they are grapes which grow on vines."

"Well, if anyone should know, it would be you." I shot back. "You probably sat and studied them everyday as a kid."
The whistling teakettle in the kitchen told me that one of my life sustaining necessities was almost ready. Although my nose was still throbbing, I could smell the aroma as it drifted from the kitchen. Caroline brought out three steaming cups, and soon the three of us were spread around my small, sparsely furnished living room, quietly lost in our own private thoughts, taking small sips of her wonderful concoction.

We have known each other for so many years, that I think we have lost count. Our friendship was forged, and a bond cemented into place all those years ago at a little record shop in town named "For the Record." This is now our shop, left to us by the previous owner Freddy, who opened it back in the early 50's.

He had stocked the bins with Les Brown, Tommy Dorsey, Frank Sinatra, Rosemary Clooney and others, before some guy named Elvis came along and changed the music forever. Freddy was not a well-educated man, a 10th grade dropout, but he loved his music. He was a listener and he knew people. He joined up early to fight in WWII, for which he would tell you he served with great honor. He talked endlessly about this time, the friends who died and the music, which took him to a place far away from it all the death and destruction. One by one, Freddy brought people on board over the years to work in the shop, letting those go that did not fit into his perception of a music lover.

Freddy may have had little education, but he had more of a gift for running a business than others who were college educated. The biggest source of income for the record shop was the mail-order side he began once he was set up. Freddy would send out mailers every six months to different areas, and soon he was getting requests almost daily for those hard to find recordings, or the latest releases. The store was his life and because of that, he never married and had kids. The three of us became his family, and he took pride in what he considered his fatherly role. There are times I am saddened that he never had a real family, he would have made a great father.

Jackie is the oldest with three grown children, and at 18 she married her soul mate Tony, then lost him when she was 38. Dark and somewhat curly hair, she is of average height, and still carries some of the weight that comes with having three children. Jackie started at the store before Caroline or myself, and Freddy liked her right from the day she was. He saw that her heart could weep when plucked as gently as a guitar string. She guides her life with her heart, and does so assuredly, that it seldom leaves very little room, if any for compromise.

Caroline was next in line with a husband Jim, and two children, boy and a girl, ages 10 and 8. Long brown hair, she has a waif’s build, and a mother earth look. Freddy hired her not only for her love of a good lyric, but because she could balance his books in less than an hour, after he had screwed them up beyond anyone's comprehension. Caroline kept him organized beyond his wildest dreams and eventually she took over the bookkeeping chores, making sure that “For the Record” stayed open.

Why Freddy hired me was a subject of debate for many years. I was fired six times my first three years, due to what I considered minor insignificant infractions, such as showing up late, not showing up for several days, or sleeping in the store room. Freddy would fire me, but always took me back about a week later, after making me promise that I would change. Besides, the time I spent there as a kid, and his friendship with my mom, he really had no other choice.

Jackie and Caroline had bonded right from the start, but it took them a little over a little bit longer to warm up to me. I was dealing privately with my mom’s illness, which they were unaware of at the time. Also, I suppose it didn’t help that I thought Jackie was a blubbering fool, who cried for no good reason, and Caroline was way too anal for me. Jackie on the other hand thought of me as an emotionless turd, and Caroline believed me to be a drunken unorganized slob.

To this day we still think these things of each other, but now in an affectionate way.

I am the youngest of the three, a little on the tall and big boned side, and I am still unmarried, but there are two kids, a boy and a girl also 10 and 8. They live with their dad, Steve, just a few blocks from the record store, and they come for visits everyday, to see their mom. Through no great parenting skills of my own, they are great kids and in their own way, they understand that they are truly loved by me.

Freddy died about 7 years ago, and when his final requests were read to those closest to him, it was at last revealed why he kept me around. “Excluding your terrible traits of being an emotionless turd and a drunken unorganized slob,” he wrote, “it is your love of the music plus your mom’s muffins.” He had left the three of us equal shares of the record store, each of us doing the jobs we did when he was alive. Jackie, blubbering endlessly over a new record she wants to feature in the store, Caroline, keeping the books and doing her anal thing searching for those out of print recordings. For me the only difference is, now I have an office to sleep in, not the storeroom, and when a customer comes in, I play matchmaker with the music.

So, that is pretty much how the three of us came together. We have never wavered in our friendship, or the ties that have bonded us for all these years, regardless how much we piss each other off, at times.

We were nearly halfway through our coffee, when I finally broke the silence and asked, "Now then, what was so important that you had to wake me up at such an unholy hour?"

"Well, today is inventory," announced Caroline, using that perky cheerleader voice, which always makes me want to slap her silly.

Whenever she talks like that, which usually comes at inventory time, I expect the pom-poms to come flying out. Gimme an I, gimme an N, gimme a V and so on. I have come to the realization that the anal-retentive side of her lives for this stuff. Even her home life is way too organized. Her life is a schedule and you dare not mess with it. Jackie and I secretly believe that she heads a secret society of June Cleavers.

Inventory time is something Jackie also lives for. It gives her another chance to fawn over the records and give endless soliloquies about them. After about an hour we end up just nodding and saying yeah, that is if our eyes have not yet glazed over yet. When asked, Jackie can tell you on which album a song is on and what year the album came out, and other trivial information about the song. But, she cannot remember the most simple, mundane tasks in her life, so, making her only half anal, I suppose.

I, on the other hand, HATE inventory time, however, according to them, no excuse I can come up with is ever good enough to weasel my way out, with the exception of my death, of course. For which I would need to present my death certificate, 2 weeks in advance, and in triplicate. Their motto it seems is the mailman's creed. Neither rain, sleet, snow, nor time of the month, none of which could ever keep them from their beloved inventory.

"Shouldn't you be with the kids, doing your mommy thang," I asked Caroline, praying for a reprieve. "Why don't we make it Saturday or better yet Sunday?"

"Today is Saturday, and the kids are playing outside, then lunch, and then a friend will come over for some playtime, and then, of course, a few chores afterwards. We all have things to do," she said, in that annoying, cheery voice.

"Have you scheduled a time for them to take a crap," I asked, as I finished my last bit of coffee.

"Oh shut up," she barked, "they do not have a scheduled crap time. It is only by chance that nature takes its course between 6:00 and 6:30 every day for them."

"Is that before or after they read your calendar?" asked Jackie, snickering.

"Fine, the both of you can go screw yourself." Caroline replied, "If not for my attention to detail and organizational skills, Lord only knows where we would be if things were left to the both of you."

"Yes, yes, yes, we know, we would be in hell or a smoking crater if not for you. So, thank you for delivering us from evil," said Jackie, still laughing.

With our coffee finished, Caroline took the cups into the kitchen and began washing them. "Just leave them be, I will get them later. If you feel the need to clean, clean up out here." I said.

Caroline, giving a loud snort said, "I don't think I could get the backhoe up here to do that."

"Speaking of ho's, did you hear that Lilly has her claws out for that pud Eddie? Seems like daddy is turning the hardware store over to him. Guess she thinks there is gold in them thar balls," said Jackie, giggling again.

"He needs a set first." I quipped, "I believe mamma castrated the both of them in a two for one deal at the vet's."

As we were getting ready to head out the door, Bob suddenly jumped up, humped his back in a big stretch and yawned, showing his panther-like teeth. He hopped off the dresser and headed for the litter box for his daily constitutional. We stood, looking at him in amazement as he did his thing, while he in turn, gave us the evil skunk eye for watching him.

"My God, that cat does move," cracked Jackie.

Soon Bob was furiously digging with evil intent, flinging the litter in and out of his litter box. With their stares now fixed on me, I said, "I don't know why you are so surprised, just like we humans, Bob has his issues with his litter box. We have crap in our own litter box like him, and we fling it all over to cover up the stink, and sometimes quite angrily."

"That has to me the most moronic statement you have ever made," quipped Jackie, shaking her head in disbelief. "Your cat is whacked in the head, just like you. Both of you need therapy."

"Do you think we can fit it into Caroline's schedule?" I asked, as we headed out the door.

Stepping out into the sunshine brought a welcome relief of warmth to my aching bones. I was suffering from a small case of withdrawals, too. You know, those shivers and shakes you get after getting hammered the night before. Unfortunately, the sunshine did not relieve them, they would just have to seep their way out of my system some other way.

We live in a small town in Wisconsin, called Harbinger, which is located next to Lake Michigan. A Swede named John Harbinger way back in 1827 founded the town, and the true story of how he founded this town is somewhat laughable. What we do know is that he was a real boob and someone, who through dumb luck, stumbled into history, and despite this, every year on Founders Day, we pay homage to him.

John traveled with a wagon train of about 75 men, women and children who cleared an area to live. They were constantly harassed by small bands of local Indians who raided their camp from time to time.

Harbinger was the most unsuccessful fur trapper known to mankind. He couldn’t set a trap if his life depended on it, which it did. Discouraged by his inability to catch even one of those furry woodland creatures, and out of necessity one winter, he shrewdly, but unskillfully, concocted a recipe for firewater which traded for pelts with the local tribesmen. Then, he would take the pelts to Chicago to sell for food and supplies; thus providing for the settlement. His stumble into history came one sunny spring day when his putrid concoction wiped out the entire tribe. He had gone to their camp to trade more firewater for pelts and found everybody dead. So, being the shrewd businessman that he was, he filled his wagon with their pelts and anything else he could take, then to cover up his accidental genocide, he spun a yarn to the settlers making them believe that he had made a killing with his latest batch of firewater. The forever-grateful settlers, completely unaware hat he was speaking in a literal sense, named the town after him, since he was now after all, the richest. Today our town is built around a statue of John Harbinger, which shows a tall and powerful man with a large bundle of pelts slung on one shoulder and a rifle in his hand.

Over the last 170 years or so, our population has grown from it’s original 75 to about 3,500, today. The town preserves it's old buildings with great pride and the people are friendly. Our town resembles a Norman Rockwell painting and if you were an outsider, you would believe us to be a fictional town.

After much protesting on my part, we ended up walking to the record shop, which was only three blocks away, instead of driving in the comfort of my Mustang Cobra. Granted, it was a beautiful summer day, but I was still feeling the effects of the night before. In my quest to cut back on smoking, I had developed a craving for those chocolate covered raisins to the point that I began to buy them in large quantities, from Mrs. Potts General Store, which she gladly set the 10 LB box aside for me.

Mrs. Potts was in her early to mid sixties, but there were barely any lines on her face to give away her age. What was the tip off was the blue hair that old ladies seem to acquire when they reach that milestone. The reason I call it milestone, is because I can recall no one in my family reaching that age. Her hair is swept up in a bun with what looks like knitting needles, she wears a cameo on the collar of her dress, which are almost ankle length and almost always long sleeve. She is prim and proper and attends church twice a week, and is always on the cheery side of life, never a bad word about anyone or anything.

I zipped cross the street and making a beeline for the General Store, while Jackie and Caroline dashed after me, thinking I was ducking out of doing the inventory. Mrs. Potts, seeing the mad dash, had the bag of goodies waiting on the counter, as I swung the door open and rushed inside.

"Good morning, ladies." said the always cheery, Mrs. Potts, "Such a beautiful day to be outdoors, enjoying the sunshine, isn't it?"

"It is also a good day to sleep until sometime in the afternoon, but someone has decided this is a good day for inventory," I said.

Cackling, Mrs. Potts gave her words of wisdom for the day. "Spending time with your friends, doing what you love, is a rare gift, indeed. You should treasure every moment, for those moments can disappear in the blink of an eye."

Leaving the store I muttered, to no one in particular, as to how the sweet Mrs. Potts was always giving me her years of wisdom.

"The gift of wisdom," Caroline began, "is a..."

"If you finish that, I will take your calendar and calculator and burn them right here in the middle of the street," I said, tossing into my mouth, my first of many handfuls of chocolate covered raisins.

"Oh you are soooo bitchy when you are hung over," said Jackie.

"Yes, and you are a pain in the ass, so what is your point!" I replied.

“Well that is the most direct route to your brain.” Laughed Caroline.

As we made our way down the street, Lilly stepped out to the beauty shop that was located next door to our place. I try not to be judgmental, but some people remove all doubt about who and what they are. From the time Lilly rode her broom into town, she has set her claws into almost every man with money, married or not.

The three of us stood waiting for her to move her fat ass out to the way, but she was intent on talking to us, so she just stood there.

“Oh good morning,” Lilly said, in her phony aristocratic tone, pretending surprise in running into us.

“Well, it was,” I replied, mocking her.

Rolling her eyes, she looked at Caroline and Jackie, and began waving her left hand under their noses.

“Have you heard the wonderful news? Eddie proposed!” she squealed, in another phony tone.

“Yeah, we heard you got him liquored up enough that he did,” I said.

Glaring at me, she spun around and headed down the street calling me a bitch. Both Caroline and Jackie turned and looked at me, shaking their head when Jackie said, “must you torment her every time you see her?”
“Yes I must, besides she started it.”

“Her making a move on Tony was five years ago, I think it is time you let it go,” replied Caroline, as she unlocked the door.

“Besides, Tony was my husband, and I have long since forgotten it,” added Jackie.

“True, but she must be made to pay for the transgression she inflicted upon my friend, I feel it is my obligation.”

As we entered the dimly lit record shop, we were hit with the familiar smell of the old vinyl records and their covers. You can still smell the acidic fragrance emitting from the covers of long ago, and the fragrance of a time gone by. Those days you hear the old folks talk about, in their fading years, those days that they wish were still here. The new records are now called CD's, and they are supposed to last a lifetime, but somehow I don't think our memories will be quite as telling as those old records were, for them.

Caroline turned on the lights and the store illuminated, what was for the three of us, a magical quality. This was our sanctuary, our place to escape, to laugh, cry and to just be.

Although we are in the age where computers do the work, we still did it the old fashioned way, by hand with pencil and paper, all written down in books for each category of music. I guess we all felt that we would have disappointed Freddy, if we went the way of modern technology. Besides, we would miss the opportunity to handle each album, and rediscover the treasures inside. The only leap we made into the 20th century, was at Caroline's insistence, and that was putting the store and the mail-order side on the Internet. Jackie and I were hesitant at first, but our business has tripled over the last two years, due to Caroline’s pestering.

The bickering began as it usually did at inventory time, as to whom would do the country section and as usual, the dispute was settled with the compromise that we would do that one together. So, I took the jazz, Jackie was in classical, and Caroline headed off to the rock section, and we worked in our own silent little world for almost two hours. Sitting there with my raisins, I counted the Miles Davis, Thelonius Monks, Etta James and The Yellow Jackets and others, while I munched away.

As I sat and counted, that sharp stabbing pain once again struck me in my stomach.

Doubling over and wincing in pain, I began that familiar labor pant, since it felt like labor, hoping that this would ease the pain. After a few seconds, the pain ebbed as quickly as it came on. Knowing that this was not going to be the last attack, I dropped what I was doing and headed off to the bathroom.

"Oh Lord, does that hurt," I said, splashing cold water on my face afterwards, trying to get rid of the cold clammy sweat I had broken into. For nearly a month since these attacks began, I have lost at least 7 pounds. I have either discovered the most painful diet known to man, or something was wrong. As much as I wanted to believe the first excuse, in the back of my mind was that gnawing feeling of impending doom.
Jackie and Caroline have always taken great delight to point out my pessimistic side when it rears its ugly head. When the opposing forces of things going right, and things going into the crapper collide, I will always choose the latter. That way, I will never be disappointed if it does go wrong. On the other hand, if all goes right, I'll be just happy, happy, happy. Right now, as I looked into the crapper and flushed, I could feel myself going down with it. As I watched the swirling inside the bowl, a sharp knock on the door brought me out of my trance.

"You all right?" inquired Caroline, who sounded truly concerned.

"Did you decide to dive in and flush yourself to escape inventory?" asked Jackie, "If so, forget it, there is no place you can hide!"

I could hear their muffled voices, and bits of conversation. "There is something wrong, so be quiet!" scolded Caroline. She knocked again until I finally answered.

"I'm fine, I'll be out in a moment.” I checked in the mirror once more, looking for any signs of that cold clammy sweat, and made sure I could walk without my legs going out from under me, then I headed for the door.

On the other side of the door they stood, both staring at me as if I were some mutant bug they had just discovered.

"This has been going on for too long," said Jackie, "Caroline and I have gone past worry, and straight into overly concerned."

"Jackie is right." agreed Caroline, "First thing Monday you call Doc Howard and get whatever this is checked out."

"I am fine, just the morning after beer runs," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Then back off the beer," they replied in unison, showing that freakish connection we all shared at one time or another.

Not wanting to carry this conversation on any further, for if I told them everything, they would have me strapped on a gurney, in minutes. I began praying for that proverbial saved by the bell interruption, and it arrived, not a moment too soon.

The squeal of my little monkey’s filled the store as they bounded through the door, and their endless supply of energy, brought an end to the discussion quickly. The three of us went right into our routine, me, pretending in my whiney, disappointing voice that they had found me, and them not believing it for one moment, giving me that Oh Mom!! You are so full of crap, look. I suppose my long hugs, and tickles were always the give away for them and the smiles that came along with it, as I held the two best gifts one could ask for in life.

Their dad, Steve, came up behind them, greeting Jackie and Caroline, and I stood up and gave him a quick kiss hello. The kids began chattering in unison about what was happening in their lives. Although I had seen them only yesterday afternoon, they acted as if it had been months, and I felt a pang of guilt shoot through me. So, to relieve the guilt, I grabbed them both in a headlock and dragged them to the jazz section to help with the count, and to just spend time with them, alone.

Their dad went about measuring for the loft we wanted to put in the store, and discussed design ideas with Jackie and Caroline as to what we wanted. He was a successful contractor, who mostly remodeled houses and buildings here in town, and built houses in the larger, surrounding communities. He was a good dad, a good person, and he never complained about the living arrangements; he just waited patiently for me to come around to his way of thinking. We have keys to each other’s place, coming and going as we please, and no desire for anyone else in our lives. So, with this unspoken commitment, we had that understanding that married folks have, but under separate roofs.

We all worked on our own projects for the rest of the afternoon, talking back and forth with one another, joking with each other...shutting out the world outside, and making our own in the store, for the day. As much as I piss and moan about inventory, this is truly some of the best days I have spent with those I love around me. The only ones missing at the moment was Caroline's husband and kids. They were normally here on these days, but today Caroline's schedule, that she lives by, dictated that they be elsewhere.

We are each other’s extended family, and in those bad days after Jackie's husband Tony, suddenly died of a heart attack, we were more than that. Those dark days that followed her, the ones of deep sorrow and grief, seemed never ending and we understood. For Caroline and I felt a tremendous sense of loss, also. Not the way Jackie did, but we grieved for her and we grieved for her husband. We held on to her tightly, so as not to let her slip away, never letting go, for letting go, we would lose part of ourselves. Finally, one day it seemed as though we gathered up our tears and put them away, and we went on. Jackie's heart will always weep for what she once had and lost, but she has found away to brush those tears away that fill her heart, at times, and she has found a way to go on.

By late afternoon we all agreed to meet at Caroline's this time, for the cookout that always follows our day of inventory. All our kids playing and laughing with sheer delight at whatever fun they have made up, and the adults were, as usual, solving the problems that plagued the world.
Caroline ran the barbecue with her usual efficiency, everything cooking at the predetermined time and finishing all together. This kind of efficiency scared the shit out of Jackie and me, but then again, we depended on that, daily.

We all set down for a meal of burgers, sweet corn, baked beans and chips, with the chips, being Jackie's contribution, since she cannot cook. That is one thing we never fail to remind her of when she volunteers, once in a blue moon, to whip up a meal. We bring up the great spaghetti debacle in which she burned the sauce, and in a moment of truly great inspiration, added the sauce from a can of baked beans, with a few of the beans still in the sauce. Needless to say, no one lets her cook, and her late husband, out of necessity, became quite a good one.

With the meal finished, and the mess cleaned up, we sat around talking about inconsequential things, our way of winding down the day, before we all took our leave. I was in the biggest hurry, for most of the evening I was silently fighting those stomach pains, again. Feeling flushed once again, I hugged the kids and made my escape. Driving home, I began to wonder if I was going to make it in time, the spasms below were growing more intense, and it was getting harder to hold back the impending explosion.

I parked the car and ran as fast as I was able into my apartment, stumbling thru the mess, and into the bathroom. Massive relief came upon me, as a good dose of the flamers hit, once more. Holding on for dear life, so as not to be launched thru the roof, it finally ended once again, as quickly as it started. Standing in front of the mirror, splashing my face with water once again, I glanced over to the toilet and my stomach sank. Within the carnage left behind, were traces of blood.

"Oh shit!!" I muttered, shaking my head, and taking my anger out on the handle of the toilet, as I pushed down hard.

Slightly weakened by this last bout, I made my way into the kitchen and popped open a beer, taking several long swallows hoping to calm my rattled nerves. I looked up at Bob, who was looking back at me with quite a puzzled expression. I plopped down on the couch, and Bob began washing his face with his paw, still watching me between swipes.

I needed to find out what was wrong, that was for sure. Although I had a good idea, it was time for me to confirm it. Popping a handful of raisins into my mouth, and washing it down with another swallow of beer, I pulled out the book.

The book was one of those Time Life books that gave you the symptoms and the cure for whatever was ailing you. Granted, I did kind of misdiagnosis myself, once. My brain tumor turned out to be a horrible sinus infection, but this book was a source of very informative information for any borderline doopey-chondriac.

I began tracking down the disease, which listed all of my symptoms, abdominal pains, diarrhea, weight loss, and my favorite, rectal bleeding. Flipping from page to page I came upon what I was looking for, the one that sent chills down my spine.

"SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" I yelled, flinging myself around on the couch. "SON OF A BITCH!"

Doc Howard had wanted me to have the old butt scope for years, due to my strong family history, and I have evaded that nasty little test, quite successfully. Now, it is too late. I have what my mother and grandmother died from, and there is nothing I can do to change what lies ahead.
With my hands over my face, and my head lying back on the couch, I was startled, by the sudden landing of Bob onto my lap. I removed my hands from my face and watched him watching me, once again, with an intense curiosity. Reaching out, I scratched him behind the ears and he began purring and rubbing his head on my chest, giving me his cure for what was ailing me.

"Ya want a beer there, bud?" I asked as I gathered him up in my arms and headed for the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, I reached for a beer, but instead, closed the door and opened the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"What the hell, maybe I can drink enough of this and burn the cancer out, which of course, would be the wonder cure of the century. We would make tons of money, and you could have diamond studded collars, and gold plated mouse toys," I said to Bob, as I poured my first of many shots.

Sitting on the couch, scratching Bob's favorite place, behind his pointy ears, I reached to pour my fifth shot. I began to develop a buzz. So, I snuggled back into the couch with my glass and bottle, and watched in fascination as Bob washed his face and ears, again. He had a slow, methodical way of cleaning, by licking his paw a few times, and then taking two swipes, which began behind his ear and went down to his nose. As he sat there enjoying himself, I also noticed his big beer gut that seemed to ooze out from side to side. I reached over and gave that fat belly a few quick scratches, which in turn, elicited a look that said, I will kick your ass lady, if you ever do that again!

Pouring another shot, I realized I was thinking of anything and everything that would distract me from what was pressing it's way into my thoughts. I was too young to remember my grandmother, but through pictures in the family album, I saw the deterioration over time, of a once vibrant woman. My mom, whom I watched deteriorate before my eyes, and never complaining about the hand dealt her in the end, just how thankful she was for the good life she had. In the end, she did not recognize me most times during that final week; the pain medication took care of that. I said the things I needed to say, but whether she could comprehend them, I can only hope. I told her how much I loved her and that she was a good mom, considering whom she had to deal with. Finally, I told her to go; that she need not worry about me anymore I would be ok.

That night, while I was sleeping in the chair next to her bed, holding her frail hand, the nurse gently woke me and told me it was over. Mom, who looked so peaceful with a slight smile tracing her lips, was gone. I remember thinking that heaven must have been good enough for her, after all. I gently kissed her on the cheek, turned and walked out of the room and out to my car, where I sat and sobbed for over an hour. I then drove, shaking, planning for her final journey home.

Downing several more shots in quick order, the tears began streaming down my face, as I silently wept in anger about the things I would miss. My little monkey's growing up, their first date, their first kiss, that first time they fell in love, and the first person their father and I would have to kill, for breaking their hearts. I wept for my own stupidity, my stupidity for not taking that damned test, and catching this God-awful thing in time. I would love to have a few more years with Jackie and Caroline, pissing each other off. As I downed more shots, I finally laid my head back, closed my eyes and passed out. Mission accomplished, I would think another time, but tonight I just wanted to get drunk, feel sorry for myself and pass out.