Afternoon At Sandra's CH 6 of Becoming Thuperman

In the absence of Dad, why was taking out the trash my job? Other than sometimes the trash can was heavy, it made no sense. Brenda and Linda were bigger and stronger than me, yet never once in all the times Dad was away on business had either of them done the job. They were using lame excuses. The menial task was far beneath them. Why, they complained about helping Mom clean the house.

It had nothing to do with being a girl, because Sandra took the trash out at her house. Once before when the subject came up I asked her why her brother, Spike, didn't do it? She revealed that he was conveniently never at home when it was time to do it, but she didn't mind doing it. The trash can was on wheels and she got an extra dollar a week in her allowance for doing it.

Maybe if I got extra allowance for doing what was usually Dad's job, I would feel different, but if my allowance was increased, I know I'd just spend it. Four more turns at a video game was all an extra dollar meant to me. It wasn't like I knew how to save money.

In the course of the present conversation about such things, Sandra revealed that she saved nearly all of her allowance, usually four dollars of the six she received weekly, anyway. Since last Christmas she'd squirreled away over two hundred dollars which she kept in a secret hiding place so Spike couldn't find it. It amazed me that she had that much money saved because, as I mentioned earlier, I usually spent all of my weekly five dollars between Friday evening and sunset on Sunday.

After I took out the trash, we hung around at my house for another half hour, then Sandra and I headed down to her place. The first thing we did there was empty all the trash cans in her house and wheel the can out to the curb, parking it in the usual place beside the mailbox. While there the letter carrier pulled up and, recognizing Sandra handed her the family mail.

When we returned inside we went directly to the kitchen, where Sandra delivered the mail to her Mom and made good on the promise of a cold soda in return for my helping her collect the trash. Her mom asked, "Did you two enjoy your trip to Chicago?"

"It was okay," Sandra said. "Something to do. We played games along the way. It's not like we stopped or went into the airport or anything."

"Are you hungry?" she asked as Sandra handed me a can of Coke.

"Maybe a little bit."

"You didn't stop anywhere to eat?"

"We had hotdogs on the way back," Sandra clarified. "They were really good, too." But as that was now a few hours ago, of course, we were both hungry.

"There's some Jell-o""

"I saw it." She was already fetching some bowls from the cupboard.

"I don't want you two eating too much. It'll spoil your appetite for dinner. Will can stay for dinner, of course. I need to return his mother's favor for taking care of you."

I shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time I'd eaten there and hopefully not the last.

"We're having spaghetti," Betty said more directly to me, knowing how much I enjoyed her pasta dishes - all the more reason to stay. One of my favorite things, so it worked out perfectly. Betty's sauce was always homemade and really good. I liked Mom's sauce, too - whenever she made spaghetti - but hers was store bought, so it always tasted the same. Betty's was an old family recipe, and as her mother was Italian, that made it extra special. She always seemed to know how to cook anything with noodles and sauces to perfection. In fact, she always seemed to be cooking something anytime I was there. Now that school was out for the summer, she had a lot more time at home during the day.

After enjoying the mid-afternoon snack, the next thing Sandra and I did was go into her father's study to make a copy of the map/maze Sandra made at my house. As we went upstairs to her bedroom she handed one copy. For the first time I took a good look at it.

Although it was going to be a challenge to memorize it because of the maze, I was ready to do it. What was involved with all the turns and twists seemed kind of crazy in a way. "So we have to go the wrong way down this street to go over to the next street and then take that to the end to turn left instead of right""

"That's the fun part. Nobody will be able to follow us and know where we are going."

"Was anybody doing that before - following us?"

"I don't know, but if they were, they'll be confused now."

"You know what you didn't put on here?"

"What?" she asked.

"The park. It would be around here, right?" I pointed.

"That's the dot right there," she said as she indicated. "I just didn't name it because I couldn't decide whether to call it the park, the baseball field, or the swimming pool. And it would have been messy having all those things scrunched together when it's really all the same place."

"True. But you should call it something. I mean, we have been there many times, and we both like it there. So, according it your rules, it should be named."

"Well, everybody else calls it the park."

"But we're not everybody else," I pointed out.

"That's kind of why I didn't want to call it that," Sandra said with a smile. "I'll call it Tree Land."

"There are some trees there, but I think it's mainly grass, so maybe we should call it Grass Land."

"Just because a place has a lot of something isn't why it's named what it is. Some things have nothing to do with what a place is like. If that was true, Greenland should be Snowland."

"Or Iceland - oh...that one's already taken, isn't it?"

"Yes, and that also proves my point. I've seen pictures of Iceland and it isn't all ice at all. Maybe in the winter it is, but it's mostly green in the summer."

"We'll call it Tree Land, then," I agreed. "At least until we think of something better to call it."

"So, speaking of Tree Land, when do you start little league practice?"

"I haven't decided to do that. I'd rather spend time playing, especially on weekends."

"Baseball is sort of like playing, isn't it."

"Well it is, but it's not as fun as I thought it would be when I decided to play last year. I guess going to practice every night was what I least liked about it."

"But you got to play and usually your team won."

"If you can call playing right field for two innings a game, playing. I could sit on the grass out there and watch the game without affecting its outcome. No one hits anything that way unless they're left handed - like me."

"You got a lot of hits when you were batting, though."

"I got hit with pitches and walked a lot, because the pitchers weren't used to a southpaw batter - which is what they called me."

"What's it southpaw?"

"I'm not sure. It's something funny to say. No one calls right-handed people 'northpaws', do they?"

"I've never heard it."

"I went to every game," Sandra reminded me. "You hit the ball many times."

"I grounded out to first base a couple of times. Once I got on first because the pitcher was really bad about covering first base when the first baseman had to field the ball. And a few times I hit balls out to right field which the opposing players dropped. So, whenever I got on base it was mostly because I was left-handed - which was scored as an error not a hit."

"The times balls were hit your way you always caught them."

"Yeah." It was true. "But the few times it happened, it was like the other players and the coach were surprised or acted like it a fluke or something."

"If you don't like playing--"

"But I do like playing, just I want to be a pitcher, not an outfielder."

"Then tell the coach to make you a pitcher."

"It doesn't work that way, Sandra. I wanted to pitch last year but Coach Everett wouldn't even let me try out. He just stuck me in right field, like he assumed I didn't know how to play."

"Now he knows you do, right?"

"I guess so."

"Then he'll let you play somewhere else."

"No, he won't. Bobby Shaw is the best pitcher in town. And Tony, his brother, is second best. Everybody knows that. So nobody else tried out. And when I asked if I could, everyone laughed like they thought I was joking."

"So you just didn't say anything else, did you?"

"Let's say I allowed a lot of assuming."

Sandra shook her head. "This year you're going to try out for pitcher," she decided.

"I haven't been planning on playing. So, I'm all rusty from not throwing the ball around. I'll never make it. Bobby and Tony play baseball all the time."

"We can go in the backyard play catch if you want." Sandra was actually a pretty good ball player, but she never tried out for the team. Betty said it wasn't lady-like for her to be playing with a bunch of boys. I wasn't sure how it was lady-like for her to hang out with me all the time, but I guess it was okay, somehow. As I didn't want to call attention to it and risk her telling me I couldn't play with Sandra anymore, I never pointed it out.

As Sandra didn't officially have a glove of her own she used Spike's. She used it more than her brother ever did, which was seldom ever and only when she and I played catch. "You want to do that?" she asked.

"I guess. But I have to run down to the house and get my glove and ball."

"You could pretend to be a little more enthusiastic," she coaxed.

"I'll be right back," I offered.

"That's better. I'll be in the backyard waiting for you to get back."

While I ran down to my house to get my things, I was thinking about whether I really wanted to try out for baseball again. It was like giving up a large chunk of the summer for the sake of belonging to a team of other guys who I didn't like all that much. Sandra would talk me into doing it whether I wanted to or not, though, so I might as well just do it and not argue about it. Arguing isn't something I like anyway, especially with Sandra. She usually makes some sense and so she wins the discussion. That was one of her superpowers, almost always being right enough to win arguments.

One of the funny things about how superhero powers work is that everyone has them but, like I said before, some people wait a long time about discovering them - many people never discover them at all. That was one of the sad parts about discovering the gifts I was born with - knowing other people had them too but never realized it. You see part of my special powers were that I was left-handed.

Since most people are right-handed and I didn't like being seen as weird, I also learned to do everything right-handed. Dad said that made me ambidextrous. But I learned later on that I was born that way. I preferred using my left hand but I could do everything with either hand. Actually, when I wrote with a pencil or pen, it was more legible if I used my right hand. And people didn't laughed at me curling my left hand around in the awkward way of making letters or how everything slanted backwards like it was going to fall over.

Being ambidextrous was even more unusual than being left handed. So, of course, I didn't let on about it to anyone. It was bad enough that when I showed up for little league try outs a year before, I had a left handed baseball glove. I had to play baseball left handed because I was better at throwing a baseball that way. My left arm was a little stronger. But I had figured out how to swing a bat from either side and I was pretty good at hitting the ball either way.

The Publishing Adventure – Installment One:

When I received the final negotiated version of an eleven page contract, it arrived via email. It culminated a few days of questions and answers about exclusive rights and compensation for the development of an intellectual property, a book I wrote titled 'Fried Windows (In A Light White Sauce)'.

The process was straight forward - largely what I expected. This was the part where I was supposed to wake up and realize it'd been a dream, except I was awake. The important defining moment I'd waited for began ten days earlier with a congratulatory email. Not only had a publisher read the book I'd submitted only nine days before but also was interested in buying it. The world around me was finally changing for the better.

Having lost track of many times have I submitted stories and books for publication only to receive the usual, expected rejection notification a few weeks (sometimes months) later, I didn't know how to response. Naturally I read the email several times, checking to make certain it wasn't some cruel joke. It was real.

What was different was how quickly this response came. One acceptance compensates for a thousand or more rejections. Paraphrasing the late Jim Morrison, I've been down so long, it looked like up to me. Anything positive or encouraging would have been fine, though I'm not sure what my plans would be had this one been rejected, too.

The funny part about all this is the amount of desperation in my recent efforts and how serendipitous this seems, the answer to a lot of hard work and many prayers. After nearly a year and three months of walking on a tightrope above the shattered glass of broken dreams, something finally turned my way.

It took a leap of faith, quitting a dead-end job to pursue a dream, even though I couldn't afford it. Imposing on family to give me shelter, I became the burden to others I never wanted to be, unemployed, homeless and, worse, keyless. With fifty bucks and a handful of change to my name, my life became only about my writing and faith that if I stuck to it I would reach my goal, eventually.

Would I recommend others to do things this way? No, but everyone's journey is a little different. Some of the things that happened to me were necessary for my frame of mind and the proper perspective. There have been times when all I had to look forward to was writing – entering the fantasy world my mind creates for my characters to populate as they tell me their stories.

Foremost among the necessities was dealing with some health issues attending my over-consumption of alcohol. I don't drink anymore, which is a good thing. My writing has improved dramatically. Being rid of the baggage of the past, remnants of a failed marriage and the pressures of a thankless job, helped. Ties to others needed to addressed if not severed completely.

Determined to see this journey to the end, each day for the past year and several months, I've been getting up and writing from around five-thirty until ten. From ten to two I revise and edit things. These were the priorities. In April some of my writing was to the point of being ready to upload and offer for sale, mostly things I've submitted previously but received only multiple rejections from various publishers.

So, by the end of April, while in the daily routine, I decided to dress up a short story I posted on FanStory a year or so ago. Usually I deal with novels. It is my comfort medium. Although I write some poems and scripts, I don't do them often. Sometimes a great idea for a novel fizzles and produces a short story instead. That's where the majority of my shorter pieces come from.

Occasionally it happens the other way around, as was the case with 'Fried Windows (In A Light White Sauce)', a short story that bore a strange title, and got some decent reviews from fellow writers. This gave me hope and encouragement. Some suggested I write more of the story – which I did. But I submitted it almost immediately to a contest and later to a magazine. It didn’t win; the periodical's publisher rejected it. The fish weren't biting last summer, which has been the real underlying story of my recent life as a writer. I archived the story, figuring I'd look at it again in a few months, dress it up a bit and have a few more rounds with magazines. Yet there were always those other related short stories I posted after it, the same characters with a loosely connected story line.

As is sometimes necessary, mentally I disengaged from the story and went on to writing, editing and revising other projects. Stepping away from the story for a while is often the best thing a writer can do for improving it, because when you come back to it you see to with fresh eyes. Reading it give you new ideas. Eventually, I wrote other chapters and explored new scenes with the characters, giving the previous collection of short stories a theme and several threads of continuity. Gradually I built a plot, subplots and conflicts.  It all connected into several other stories I'd written with the same main character. So, in a way, the quirky story about a lady living in a house with no windows became an entry point into a broader world about a guy who straddles the divide between worlds of fantasy and fact.

Odds were stacked against me ever getting to this present point with my work of fiction, which makes the events of the past few days all the more remarkable and humbling. Feeling like I did nothing special other sticking with it, not giving up, I'm ecstatic to arrive at the threshold of the promised land of publishing a book. I wrote a strange story – though certainly not the strangest one I've created over the years. It bears an attention grabbing title and the story is engaging. It required the editing assistance of a friend to bring out some of the strengths of the writing. I've learned to always listen to criticism when it is offer constructively. In writing it must be about the art, not the ego. A writer who can't take criticism will never improve his or her craft.

Between shock and euphoria, I was still waiting for someone to tell me this is a belated April Fools Day prank, but I just read through an eleven page contract one last time before signing it in the three required places. Afterwards, it didn't evaporate or crumble to dust. It was real after all. Upon scanning it into a digital file to transmit via email back to the publisher, I waited for the confirming 'welcome aboard' email, just received. Now, I begin this novel adventure, one I hope to repeat multiple times – as many times as I have manuscripts. We'll see. For now, let's do one book at a time.

In the next installment I'll cover some statistics on the publishing business and some thoughts on how social media and modern technology has changed the industry.

Hotdogs and Homeward Bound - CH 5 of Being Thuperman

Leaving the airport, Mom headed back down Cicero Avenue. It was approaching noon so, she asked if we were hungry. Two eight year old kids are almost always going to be hungry. Why did she bother to ask? The only times I could recall ever being unable to eat anything more were the usual suspect holiday celebrations of gluttony, Thanksgiving and Christmas.

She suggested we stop for hotdogs, a place she'd taken me before. I wasn't sure Sandra knew the place, but I promised her the hotdogs were amazing. Mainly I think she wanted to stop somewhere to say she'd really been to Chicago, as in setting feet on the ground. In the days ahead I'd learn she didn't feel she'd been somewhere until that happened.

Upon stopping at the restaurant, the first thing all of us had to do was hit the restrooms. Even if we hadn't needed to go as badly as we did, Mom would have insisted, as she always did, that we wash our hands. When I emerged, I waited for Mom and Sandra to emerge from the ladies room. Again, I reminded myself to ask Sandra why it took girls a lot longer than boys to use the restroom? By the time the ladies came out, I'd forgotten all about asking, though. Already, I'd decided I wanted chilidogs.

Over the years I've heard people say some bad things about hotdogs, especially what ends up being put into them. But it's hard to mess up cooking one, unless you burn it on a grill or something. I'm not sure why but the dogs that day tasted better than any I had ever had up to that point in my life. Each of us ate two. Mom said I wolfed mine down which conjured an image that made me smile. I pictured a cartoon character – a wolf – licking his chops after consuming something tasty. I could imagine my tongue slapping my eyebrows.

"You happy now?" Mom asked.

As I finished chewing the last bite I nodded. Then, after swallowing, I confirmed, "That hit the spot!"

Sandra thanked Mom for lunch and agreed the hotdogs were good. Maybe it's just we were that hungry. When my belly button felt like it was stuck to my backbone, little else compared to something as quick and satisfying as a hotdog. Although she said nothing directly, I figured Sandra was in similar straights after driving for over two and a half hours. She never ate a big breakfast.

On the way home, Mom switched the radio to her kind of music, which, as I said before, didn’t interest Sandra or me. We played with our handheld games for a while, until once again I started getting a little car sick. Then, Sandra continued playing Punch-Buggy, extending her considerable lead in points. Although she didn't punch my arm all that hard, it was hurting from the multiple impacts of her fist. Not that it ended the game, I conceded she'd win.

While she continued to watch the oncoming traffic, I picked up her map which I'd left open on the seat between us. It seemed different to me, just a little. After what Sandra said about her rules and all, I had tried to commit it to memory. Some things seemed changed. The more I looked at it, the more I was certain of it. I started to point those out to her when she diverted my attention, pointing out particularly funny billboard graffiti regarding fast food with an arrow pointing to a sign next to it about weight loss. We both laughed. And so, for a while we continued playing Punch-Buggy while we also looked for funny signs.

After riding in the back seat all the way from the hotdog place to my house, I really needed to go to the bathroom again. Sandra called dibs on the downstairs washroom. I ran upstairs. Afterwards, Sandra came to my room and we continued talking about her map.

"I was thinking," she started. "A map can be sort of like a maze, right?"

"I suppose so."

"What if I make the map into a maze and only you and I are the ones who can figure out."

"That would be really cool," I said. "But I think other people will still figure it out."

"Yeah, but it will be hard for them, unless they're as good with mazes as we are."

"Or know the trick you showed me. That's the only reason I'm good, now."

"It's a perfect way to make a treasure map," she said.

"Do you have treasure you need to bury somewhere?"

"Not yet. Do you?"

"I have fourteen cents." I admitted with a smile. "I'm keeping the four cents I found hoping to find another penny so I can trade that for a nickel - cause pennies are useless otherwise."

"Yeah, they are. I have six dollars and fifty-six cents. If you give me your pennies I'll give you my nickel."

"I'll own you a penny, then."

"We'll find one eventually, you can give me the next one you find, unless it's laying heads-up, of course."

In case no one ever told you about lucky pennies, here it is. If a penny is head's up when you find it, you keep it for the good luck. Head's down, you give away immediately, like to the next person you see because the luck will only work for them.

Anyway, it was a deal, so afterwards, I had fifteen cents and she had six dollars and fifty-five cents.

Mom called upstairs to ask if I could give her my dirty laundry. Of course, I had to scramble to pick up the things that needed to be washed. As she sat at my desk, Sandra laughed at the sight o me running around, getting down on all fours to look under my bed and opening my closet.

"You could help," I suggested.

"I don't want to touch your smelly socks and dirty underwear!"

"They aren't that bad."

"Maybe not to you."

"Don't ever ask me to help you then."

"When have you ever been in my room and it wasn't clean?"

I shrugged.

"'Never' is the word you're looking for."

"You clean your room everyday. I clean mine once in a while – mostly whenever Mom reminds me."

"She shouldn't have to. It's easier if you clean it as you go."

"Well, I'm lazy, I guess."

"I've noticed. You're a lot like Spike," referring to her teenage brother.

"I'm nothing like him."

"You are as far as being lazy."

Having stuffed everything into the laundry that hung by its string from the bed post at the footboard, I snatched it up and ran it out into the hallway and dropped it down to Mom's awaiting arms. "Did you make your bed?" she asked.

"I'll do it."

"How can you invite Sandra into your room when it's all messy?"

"She's sort of used to it by now, Mom."

When I returned to my room, Sandra was laughing.

"I feel like I'm trapped between you and my mom telling me how bad I am. It's just I have other priorities."

"I know," Sandra said as she was drawing a new map.

"That's a new one?"

"I'm making it into a maze, like we talked about," she explained. I didn't dare look over her shoulder while she worked. She hated that. So, I went ahead and made my bed and put my toys in the toy box because I figured Mom would come upstairs to inspect in a few minutes – as soon as she put the dirty clothes into wash.

Anytime Sandra was in my room, Mom came upstairs to check on us. Sandra said it was to make sure the door was open, like her mom did whenever we were there and especially when Spike had a girlfriend over. Both of our moms made it seem like she was checking on something else, but really she was making sure we were playing normal stuff, not doctor. I had no interest in becoming a doctor and Sandra didn't want to pretend she was sick.

Sandra finished the new map and held it up for me to look. It looked really complicated until she showed me the trick of solving it. Then, it was pretty easy to figure out. So, already I knew how to find my way through it.

"Wouldn't it be cool if we could build a maze exactly like this?" I asked.

"You mean a world where the lines on the map are walls?"

"Yeah."

"This is a map for a world, remember?"

"Yeah? What's the world called?"

"Sandra and Will's world. I get top billing because I drew it."

"It was kind of my idea, though."

"You can all it Will and Sandra's world when you talk about it, then."

"What will other people call it?"

"Whatever they want to call it. I don’t care. I'll call it what I want to call it," she said defiantly. "Anyway, only people I know and like are going to know about it, so they'll probably call it what I call it, right?"

"A map of the new world that's also a maze," I said, then suggested calling it 'Amazing World'.

"That's a pun."

"Is it?" I asked.

"Spike doesn't allow me to use puns. He says they’re the lowest form of humor."

"So, is Spike going to be in on this world?"

"Not necessarily," she said. "So far, only you and I know about it. We could keep it that way, I suppose. So, we can call it Amazing World for a while, at least."

"Maybe we don't have to tell anybody about the world forever." For a long time, that's how it worked out.

The map started at the middle. As was the case with the other map, that was the faerie castle in her bedroom at her house. My room was also on the map, of course. Then, as the maze progressed further from the center, there were the arcade and the convenience store on the way to our school – which thankfully was out of session for the summer. Past the school building there were the other kids hangouts in the neighborhood, like the Patrick's Pizza Parlor – I'm not sure what prompted an Irish guy named Patrick Duffy to start a pizza place but it was a pretty good place to eat - and Jerry's Big Burger which was directly across the street.

Further out on the map was downtown Normal where Bud's Hardware was. Sandra and I went there sometimes. We'd park our bikes in the rack out front and lock them together so no one would steal them. Once inside, sometimes we'd do chores, like sweeping the floors and taking out the trash. Sandra's dad would pay us because we were helping him out doing things he hated doing.

Toward the edge of the paper on which the map/maze was drawn was the edge of town. Pointing out the maze exit was exactly where one of the roads led away from the city toward my grandparent's farm, I said, "We really have to make it over on bigger paper, and maybe make the lines on the maze smaller."

"Not really. It will move along with you."

"How's it supposed to do that?"

"That's the magic part. Once I make a copy of this with dad's copier, it will be transformed like the other one was."

"That's how it works?"

"Yeah," she confirmed with a smile. "You see, the faeries have to be able to use it, too. So, when I shrink down to their size, it has to come along with me, right?"

"I guess."

"It has to be magic, then. Otherwise, that wouldn't work at all."

"What about the other map? What are we going to do with that?"

"This is the same as the other map, just I put a maze around everything."

"We have to find different places as we solve the maze, then?"

"Exactly."

"I like this." I patted her on the back. "This will be fun."

As if on cue, Mom arrived at my door, checked my bed and ensured I hadn't hidden any piles of dirty clothes in the closet or under the bed. Fortunately, I hadn't. Since the last time I got caught and was grounded, I hadn't done anything like that. "You need to take out your trash." She observed.

"It’s not full yet."

"It doesn't have to be full to empty it."

"I'll bring it down later."

"What are you two up to?"

"Sandra's making a map/maze."

"A what?"

"I'm making a map of the world and drawing a maze over it." She handed the map to Mom.

"This is really creative, Sandra."

"It was kind of Will's idea, too."

"So you can pretend you're in the maze when you're going places around town."

"Sort of," I confirmed.

"I kind of got the idea from some of the video games I play," Sandra explained.

"Okay." Mom returned the map to Sandra. "You have quite an imagination - both of you."

"Can I go down to Sandra's house?" I asked. Not that Sandra was in any way ready to go, but I was getting ready for later on.

"You need to be back before dinner."

"Mom will want Will to stay for dinner since you fed me for lunch."

"Can I, Mom?"

"It's may I."

"May I?"

"You need to be home before dark, then. Before eight o'clock so you can take a bath and be ready for bed. And make sure you take the trash out first. Tomorrow is collection day. So, since Dad's away, you need to take it out to the curb."

"Yes, Mom."

For My Friend - A Poem

When nothing was done,
Who was there left to do it?
T'was you and me, my friend.
But now, you struggle,
In pain, recovering.

As best they could,
They repaired you,
But you're not the same.
I've been there, too,
My friend.

It's hard and harsh
the frigid frustration felt,
You may never return
But know you are loved,
admired and respected.

I believe you will make it,
I have faith; you're stubborn.
You're a lot like me, my friend.
Everyone asks will you make it?
What kind of question is that?

I don't know the answer.
Neither do you.
So, I say all I can,
It is contained in hope,
And answer to our prayers.
How better can anyone respond?

Skyrocket To Obscurity - Composing A Rock Opera

The anticipated private rebellion came on schedule. It was borne of the not-so-strange but uniquely teen combination of a near mature body, almost mature mind, wide mood swings and erratic hormone levels. I don't think my dad and mom understood me. I know that it is the mantra of all teen angst, but my parents REALLY did not understand me.

I saved some money from my allowance and from helping my dad on the farm. I borrowed some from my sister and a few bucks from Mom. There was a bass guitar and amplifier offered for sale in the want ads of the Springfield Sun. Mom drove me there.

The guy who was selling the equipment lived a few blocks from a Baptist church my family used to attend. We learned from talking to the man that the Fender Precision Bass guitar and Univox amplifier and speaker cabinets were only a few months old. He'd been the bassist for a Gospel band that played at the church we used to attend but the band broke up and he could no longer afford to make the payments ont he equipment. So he was selling them for what he still owed. It was perfect.

First, I learned whatever I could from musicians, kids I knew who played in the high school orchestra. Mike, a friend I made the first day I transferred to the high school, played bass in the school's string ensemble. He also knew piano and a couple of other instruments. I had some experience playing alto saxophone when I was in junior high. I already knew the principal difference of a bass guitar was that it had frets on the neck, which would make it easier to make notes.

As a member of my school's a'capella choir, I was accustomed to reading sheel music. During one of my study hall periods, my instructor, Miss Grimes was teaching me how to compose music,  something I really wanted to do. In addition to this sort of instant immersion method of learning music, I suffered through several bass guitar lessons in a music store at the Upper Valley Mall in Springfield.

In time, word got out that I was a bass guitarist. A small garage band that two brothers formed asked me if I would audition for them. Borrowing my dad's pick-up, I loaded my equipment and went over to their house. Along with Chris, the band's rhythm guitarist and personal friend of both brothers, we jammed as a quartet. We played some songs that each of us knew. In the course of the audition, they learned that not only could I play bass well enough to be in the band, but also I could sing while playing. When you are playing from the bass clef, singing lead vocals from the treble clef is a bit of a challenge.

Afterwards, every weekend we would practiced, whether it was at Dave and Rick's house, Chris' garage or the vacant house that we were restoring on my dad's farm. As I was the only one in the bad with a driver's licence and a car, I was often the transportation between houses. Whenever the guys came over to my place, I had to borrow my dad's pick-up to haul all of our equipment. The guys brought changes and clothes and sleeping bags and spent the weekend. If we weren't rehearsing, we did a lot of things farm kids do that boys from the suburbs know little or nothing about, like skinny-dipping in a deep pool of the creek that ran through my dad's farm. Sometimes we'd climb up into the haymow and use a rope to swing down from stacks of hay, pretending to be Tarzan. Other times, we took turns riding my horse. When the need arose, we peed on trees and bushes. Over the course of a Spring and Summer, we bonded as a band and as friends.  

Anytime we practicing at Chris' place, it was a drag. After a while, the neighbors would complain and we would have to move all of our equipment down to the basement. What was nice about play in the garage was all the neighborhood's girls that were our ages or a little younger were dancing in the driveway as we attempted to play some of their favorite songs.

Mainly, we practiced at Dave and Rick's house. It was where Rick had his drum kit set up nearly all the time. Rick hated tearing the kit down just to take it somewhere to practice for an afternoon, but it couldn't always be avoided. Dave and Rick's mom didn't mind if we practiced at the house as long as she wasn't home. Chris' mom was even less tolerant. That was one of the reasons we used the vacant house on my dad's farm.

Dave and Rick shared that room with all the amplifiers and the drums. After the first time auditioning there, I never again hauled my bass amplifier and cabinet to Dave and Rick's for a practice. There was no room. I plugged my bass into Dave's amp. Even though it was less than ideal, it worked well enough for practice. The only time we ever played with my amp was in the house on my dad's farm, or on the rare occasion that we performed some live venue.

Early in the fall of my junior year, my sister, who was the president of her sorority, hired us to play for a party. We got paid, which technically made us professional musicians. We set up outside in a garage next to the chapter house. With garage door open wide, played for about three hours. We played everything we knew, even some things I had written but we had never really practiced all that much. We played several requested songs, most of them numbers The Beatles or the Rolling Stones recorded. We continued practicing and performing whenever we could arrange for a gig. All the while we were not only improving as individual musicians, but also in tightness of our synchroniation. Sometimes we would pool our resources and purchase something to improve the band's public address system. Other times we'd upgrade out ownindividual equipment.  

Our performance schedule schedule the summer before my senior year was busy. My sister got us into an arts festival at Wittenberg University, where she attended college. We performed two songs, our best, before an audience of perhaps a hundred, no one out ages. They didn't seem to be there to hear our musical 'combo' - as they called us.

Later we performed at the Clark County Fair. It was free, outdoor concert. Still, it gave us a lot of necessary exposure. It was also the very first time I wore a white satin suit my mother had made for me. My parents, friends, one of my sisters and my nephew were there to witness the performance. I personally felt that we sucked horribly, but everyone in the audience was polite. We couldn't have been that bad. A few people asked for our contact numbers and we got a few gigs playing at parties.

There is a monumental difference for a live band performing outdoors as opposed to performing indoors. If you think about it, the acoustics are completely different. The ambiance is strange. Even though we were technically outside whenever we were performing in a garage, the building behind us lent some support to the sound. Any musician who has ever performed outdoors can tell you it just sounds weird. The feedback of the echoes is missing. Everything about the music feels flat and dead.

During my senior year, Chris' mother got us a gig at the Clark County Children's Home. I considered my sister paying us for the gig at her sorority as charity, the Children's Home was really our first paying gig. It was a very big deal for the band.

We played two hours and every one of us performed a solo piece. Mine was a bluesy riff I was working on for a rock opera called One Thane. I was composing it for my Senior English class. Why Senior English? The composition was based on the epic poem, Beowulf. A portion of the finished rock opera was to be sung in the original Old English, as I had set the lyric to music.

When we played out our scheduled time and exhausted most of the songs we knew, the children cheered for us to return to play something else. We gave them two more songs. Then the home's administrators took charge. It was getting late and, anyway, we needed to be on our way.

It was a strange evening for us as a band, in a good sort of way. We really clicked, perhaps for the first time. We sounded damned good. It was almost as if we awakened in a future time when we were seasoned veterans of the road.

The children were incredibly appreciative of our music. They were dancing, singing along, cheering - some of them were even hovering close to the stage watching our every move, as if we were stars. I have to admit, at first that felt creepy, but when I realized the kids were into us, it felt great. That sensation could become addicting enough for someone to leave home, friends and family for months at a time to continue feeding the need. Before that concert, I didn't understand the motivation of stars to perform live.

For the first time ever, some of the audience asked us for autographs! We signed a couple dozen. Maybe they were just an overly appreciative audience. Regardless, it was a night of many firsts for the band.

From that point on, I believed we were destined for greatness. We began rehearsing the songs I had written for One Thane. It was hard at first. The arrangements were strange for Dave and Rick. The beat was clearly not typical of Rock and Roll. It was more like Jazz with a smattering of Blues.

I was doing the project with my friend, Brice. He wrote the percussion portions of the pieces. I did the lyrics, the bass lines and the lead guitar. The rhythm guitar played off the lead lines for the most part, with some room for the rythm to become a counter to the lead guitar work at times. There was a place that could have used keyboards, but we didn't have a piano though we probably could have persuaded a friend to play the piano pieces separately and overdubbed it later.

Throughout the winter, the rehearsals continued, every Saturday afternoon and sometimes Sunday as well. A few times we huddled in a room in a very large and nearly restored farmhouse on my dad's property to play it with every instrument cranked up to be louder than everything else. The resulting cacophony was nearly ear splitting. But it was fun to see how loud we could be with every potentiometer on our amplifiers and public address turned to 'ten''

Then, in the last throes of winter, on the second weekend of March, we holed-up in the house where we had often practiced. The purpose was to record at least a portion of One Thane.

From a few friends and some fellow musicians I met over the previous couple of years, I borrowed some state of the art equipment. We had a mixer board and a four- channel, multi-sync reel to reel that was capable of recording overdubs, effectively making it like a sixteen-track recorder. We already owned some very sensitive microphones, most of them picked up in a cardioid pattern. We borrowed one with a very narrow directional pattern and two others that were were bi-directional. We experimented with the use and placement of the microphones in recording different takes of the songs.

Brice was supposed to perform a couple of the songs on Rick's drum kit. One of the lessons I learned in producing One Thane was it not wise to ask a drummer to let another drummer play his kit. Rick was not happy with the arrangement. We discussed it in private for several minutes. Despite his personal feelings, it was a senior English project and Brice needed to be a part of it. After some initial sniping at one another, Rick and Brice actually started working together and eventually became friends out of some level of mutual respect. Rick was more seasoned at playing in a band and maintaining the beat while interspersing rolls and such. Brice seemed to best Rick at counter rhythm. What Brice could do drew immediate attention to the percussive element in the music.

After a good deal of discussion, Brice and I agreed that he should bring his drum kit from home to the house and we record his parts that way. What resulted were really two drummers trying to one up one another at times. It was interesting, perhaps, but much of it was eventually removed in edits to the master recording.

When we had finished the recording most of the raw material for the project, we all listened to the tracks. Each one of us thought we could do better. After some rest, we decided to play the entire work through live from start to finish. What emerged was a reference track that Brice's friend, also named Rick but we all called him Flea Head, would use to make the best possible recording of each song, then record the final mix to a cassette tape.

In early April, the culmination of hours of practice and work was ready to be presented to my senior English class. Brice and I set up the tape deck, speakers and amplifier for the performance. We used a little ZZ Top track at the intro to get the sound balance right for everything. Then the rock opera began.

It was an amateur production from the outset, but we had used some pretty good equipment to capture the recording. In the process of post-production, Flea Head mastered a fine sample of what we intended to do. It was far from perfect. Perhaps if we were working with people more professional than us, more experienced than high school students, we could have pulled that miracle off as well. Still, everyone was impressed. It wasn't that Brice and I had created a rock opera. We performed it and it was actually something that you could listen to and find things in it that you liked.

Does that tape still exist? My mother had a copy of it somewhere in her things. If it still exists, it was so long ago that I doubt it is even playable. Flea Head kept the master, and Mrs. Hiles, my Senior English teacher received a copy of the tape as well. So who knows?

As hard as Brice and I worked on that project, I'd like to think that there is still some evidence.

Caverns on Pravda

The Caverns on Pravda

Tiny silicon beads swirled in the wind. Friction tore away the heat shielding that covered the hover pod's hull. Ave waited hoping that there would be a lull in the wind, but he knew it was unlikely. Already the present storm was more than three and a half local months old.

"Ready to go?" Chess asked and then looked to the others, receiving nods before he deployed the Puma. Once the deployment light illuminated he pointed to the door. "Okay, you know the drill."

"Ready, Chief," Ave said.

"We will have a minute to egress. Once we're outside even less time to board the Puma. We're in the suits all the time."

"Understood," Ave responded.

"Apparently this mission is critical."

"Apparently," Chess agreed.

"These suits aren't made to stand up to this kind of abuse," Timmel attempted to say but receiving no immediate feedback, he looked to Ave, pointing to the side of his helmet that was directly over his right ear.

"Can you hear me?" Ave asked.

Timmel shrugged.

Ave reached over and flicked back the reset switch cover on Timmel's pressure suit and pressed the button. "Can you hear me, now?"

"Loud and clear," Timmel responded.

"Damned Enviro's," Ave muttered.

"Hey," Timmel complained. "So, I suck at electronics."

"Cut it," Chess ordered. He forced the hatch release down and armed it. "Ave and I have done the drill a hundred times. Just follow our lead."

"Understood," Timmel said as both he and Ave gripped the wall handles.

"Give me a countdown."

"On the mark: ready and that's five, four, three, two, one."

"Blow!" Chess shouted. Once the hatch had opened both he and Ave threw their shoulders into it to keep it open as Timmel stepped through.

Outside there was only the violence of the storm. He struggled to even attach his safety tether to the outer hull of the pod. He was forced back a few steps as he attached another tether to the hatch door and the hull of the pod, effectively forcing it to stay open so that the others could egress. Then turning he aimed a high-pressure discharge gun in the direction of the Puma, shooting another tether with a magnetic latch on its end.

"Okay, Chess. We have a temp line."

Chess remotely commanded the Puma to acquire and secure the tether while Timmel assisted Ave in keeping the door open while Chess was the last to make it out.

 "Okay!" Timmel said as he cut the taut tether that was more than ready to break under the stress that the hydraulic hatch was applying. "Go, go, go!"

As Chess and Ave scrambled past the hatch, each of them grasped the line that Timmel had deployed from the hover pod's anchor point to the Puma.

"Good job, Timmel," Chess said as he helped the Chief up into the cabin of the Puma.

"Not bad for an Eviro engineer," Timmel directed to Ave as he extended his hand.

"I guess I deserved that," Ave said.

"Apology accepted."

"Button this bitch up and purge all the silicon," Chess directed to Timmel.

"Already on it, Chief."

"Stiff breeze today," Ave said.

Chess chuckled, "Well from my morning briefing this is one of the calmer days they've observed in the past month. They believe the initial seeding of the upper atmosphere has begun to calm the winds."

"Couldn't prove it by me," Timmel said. "That was the strongest wind I have ever felt on 1G planet."

"217 knots sustained," Chess read from the Puma's indicators, "Gusts to 325... excuse me 340. It's getting worse again!"

"We have to find cover for the Puma, rock outcroppings or a cave that is out of the wind," Timmel said.

 "Understood," Chess said as the Puma released the tether. "The real question is whether there will be a hover pod to return to."

Ave growled in the background, "Don't you get it? It's a suicide mission."

"They need to know whether the caverns that the droids discovered can be made into temporary shelters for colonists," Chess said.

"So they can start charging for the tickets to come here."

"The first colonists are already on their way," Timmel revealed.

"What?" Ave protested. "Are they nuts?"

"Do they have a choice?" Chess asked. "Finding another Earth has proved practically impossible. Terraforming a world like Pravda is the only hope."

"Even that is problematic," Timmel said. "We can do this, though. Despite today's weather this environment is a workable puzzle."

"On Earth storms didn't linger for months or have this kind of punch."

"Earth's mature. This planet is about two and a half billion years younger."

"So it's a kid throwing an extended tantrum," Ave said.

"Not a bad analogy. Pravda needs some maturing. There's volcanic activity that releases poisonous gasses into the atmosphere, primarily dihydrogen sulfide. And that is the worst one. The combination of the other toxins would kill us over time. The initial colonists will have to live in caverns," Timmel said indicating a direction that seemed the same light brown as every other direction. "There, we are fixed on the last coordinates of the droids."

"So this is paradise?" Ave searched the horizon for any indication of daylight.

"It will be someday," Timmel chuckled.

"Well someone exaggerated in the travel brochure," Ave complained.

"When the terraforming is completed Pravda will resemble the more arid regions of Earth. Longer-range we plan to irrigate from aquifers and introduce vegetation that has worked on other colonial worlds. We're here to determine whether there is ample subsurface water. We assume that there is because there are oceans but we need confirmation of an ample source of fresh water."

"How in the hell are we supposed to work in this soup?"

"If we were outside I couldn't even see you," Timmel said.

"My point exactly. And we're here to conduct a survey?"

"Break, 7 Xray Bravo 1, 7 Xray Bravo 2 team leader here."

"Roger 2, team one, on ground and moving. How ya doin' Lyle?"

"Where are you, Chess?"

"The positioning satellite tells me I'm a klick to your east."

"Okay. Where'd you say my east was again?"

"There are locally strong magnetic fields down here. You need to recalibrate your handhelds. Then lock in on our beacon."

"Okay, there you are. Uh, Chess how are we supposed accomplish anything? This is pretty damned bad."

"We establish shelter and a camp and wait for instructions."

"And hope this is as bad as it gets."

"It's worse when there are rain clouds that mingle with the sandstorms. It's like being pelted with wet concrete at a couple of hundred knots," Jove, the team two enviro said.

"Exactly," Chess confirmed.

"Well I feel all better now," Ave said.

"Lose the sarcasm," Chess warned. "This is what we do."

"Mars was a pussy planet compared to this!" Lyle said. "Shit! I just lost a thruster."

"Cycle power and purge it," Chess suggested.

"Hey, hey. It worked. Back online. Nice trick."

"Been down here in it a few times."

"Well I served my penance on Titan. You want to know anything at all about surviving in cold, talk to me."

"Sorry I conjured up any of those memories," Chess said.

"I've never thawed out since."

"There are mountains three klicks to the east of me. You're closer, Lyle."

"Got 'em on the range finder."

"Droids found the caverns. We fabricate an airlock and we're golden."

"Whatever you say, Chess."

"Turn East North East."

"Gladly."

"Without the Puma your suit would last about twenty minutes," Timmel said.

"So don't leave the Puma. Good safety tip," Ave groused.

"Even if the local atmosphere is about 10 percent oxygen the cocktail of poisons would kill you in much less time," Jove added.

"Timmel told us," Ave said.

Chess used the Puma's filtered Doppler radar to isolate the effect of the fast moving sand from the stationary formations of the mountains ahead. "Okay, there's the alcove, kind of narrow but I think the Puma will make it in."

"There's good news," Lyle said.

"We're there," Chess said. "Where are you, Lyle. You dawdling, Lyle?"

"I'm blind in one eye and can't see out of the other."

"Detected caverns just ahead," Timmel said.

"Tracking, show me the way," Jove responded.

"Ave and Dar can set up lighting for our camp, while Jove and I explore the caverns," Timmel said.

"Who died and made you boss?" Ave asked.

"Once we stop, Timmel's in charge. All orders come from him or up top."

"Great," Ave muttered.

"If there is any wind sheer near those mountains it may be swirling and worse than what we are experiencing out here in the open."

"Now you tell me," Ave commented.

"Hey, it's worth a shot," Lyle said.

"I think so," Chess agreed.

The alcove proved a relatively calmer haven. The greatly diminished winds were very welcome. Chess parked the Puma as close to the entrance of the caverns as possible.

"Do we wait for Lyle and the others?" Timmel asked.

"Right behind you," Lyle said over the radio as his Puma loped into the alcove and parked beside Chess. "Had to stop to recycle power to that thruster again."

"Maybe we should have a look at it," Ave offered.

"It works okay after a reset but just for a while."

"Probably a bad relay," Dar said.

"That's what I'm thinkin'," Ave agreed.

"There a spare in the emergency repair kit," Chess said.

"We'll fix it as soon as we get everything unpacked and deployed," Timmel said.

Jointly they both teams offload the sealed cases containing sensors and other delicate instruments as well as the airlock kit that would be necessary for them to accomplish their mission.

Ave and Dar established artificial lighting in the threshold of the cavern and then began assembly of the airlock. Chess and Lyle began assembling an air purification system.
Timmel and Jove took a portable sampler, a data recorder and flashlights as they descended into the network of caverns, immediately confirming previous reports from the droids that lower into the caverns the air quality improved.

When everything had been unpacked Chess and Lyle deployed a communication mast, anchoring it to the rocks outside the cavern. Lyle searched for a satellite link to relay a particle beam signal up to the orbital research platform.

"There you are," Chess said as Timmel and Jove reappeared from the lower chambers of the cavern. "How's the air?"

"Better, not breathable yet but it is much better the lower you go into the caverns."

"Is that normal?"

"It's unusual," Timmel said. "But it confirms the telemetry the droids relayed."

"How far have you explored?"

"400 meters. It's odd. The caverns seem very dry and not all that cold," Jove responded.

"A dry heat source," Chess suggested.

"No water, yet," Timmel said.

"Any indication of life?"

"None at all," Timmel said. "At a similar point in Earth's development the same would be true."

"Earth has more water," Ave suggested as he joined the others.

"Yes," Timmel concurred. "Pravda has some water locked up in polar ice caps and there are certain other small bodies of surface fresh water here and there. There are significant cloud formations close to the equator and two deep oceans. The tidal effects of the two moons help create weather patterns like what we've experienced. But we are all still learning at this point."

"I doubt we'll ever figure it out," Ave said.

"Well, we must," Timmel responded.

"What?" Ave asked in response to Chess' silent, visual chastisement.

"We've also discovered peroxide," Jove said.

"Where would that come from?" Chess asked.

"We don't know yet. But it could explain why there is more oxygen in the air as you descend into the caverns," Jove said.

"It's a significant discovery, then?" Dar asked.

"Our assumptions about this planet have been in error," Jove said.

"Data transfer complete," Timmel said.

"Mine too," Jove added.

"Time to seal and pressurize," Chess said.

"I'll break open the mess packs," Ave said.

"Dar, you unpack the sleepers."

"I'm so tired that it could be continued on the next two men."

"Getting this suit off is my priority," Ave responded.

After eating a very brief meal, Timmel and Jove descended into the caverns again deeper than before. Chess continued to uplink the remote telemetry real time as the two Enviro's continued into the caverns. Lyle sat back in a butterfly sling chair. "Hell of a life we got, hey?"

"Better than being just another number in the other colonies."

"Good point," Lyle chuckled. "This is the frontier."

"We're just the drivers the enviro's need to take them to the rocks."

"They have some grand plans for this one," Chess said.

"And we'll be here to see it."

"Not me. I'm going back home. A research group needs a pilot."

"For what planet?"

"Earth."

"No kiddin'!"

"Apparently some crazy bastard with lots of wealth has a crazy idea about terraforming Earth to fix all the environmental issues that caused us to leave it in the first place."

"How ironic is that?"

"Well the pay's better. Besides I haven't been to Earth since I was a little kid. Before the travel embargos my dad took me on one of that natural wonders packaged tours. Places so beautiful they hurt my eyes."

"Jove was telling me when we were up top that they expect to begin construction of domed cities here within a decade."

"You're kidding me," Chess said.

"Now he even thinks the discovery of a natural source of oxygen is very promising so that the atmosphere may be breathable much sooner than expected."

"I hope they know what they are doing," Chess said.

"Hold that thought," Lyle said as he responded to a signal from the platform. "Lyle here."

"Lyle, are you with Chess?"

"He's sitting right here with me monitoring the data stream."

"Is anyone else there?"

"Dar and Ave are down in the caverns fixing something Lyle and I allegedly screwed up on the water purifier," Chess said. "There's out of earshot. What's up?"

"The storm is getting worse and its headed your way."

"Do we need to scrub the mission?"

"If you try staying much longer you'll be stranded until we can send a rescue team. But it will be a while."

"What's a long while?" Lyle asked.

"This storm is already into its fourth month. So how the hell would I know?"

Chess looked at Lyle, receiving a shrug. "Okay then, we button this up and go back home."

"It's a shame. We are getting some really good data."

"Look, I just carry the explorers to and from the rock," Chess said. "And when someone tells me to bug out, I listen."

"We're signaling Timmel and Jove," Lyle said.
"The remote telemetry relays were working so well. You did a nice job setting things up. We're even receiving pictures, stills but quite detailed."

"We aim to please," Lyle said.

"The wind is getting worse by the second."

"Looks like its beers in the bar tonight," Chess said.

"I needed one after the ride down. I swear if I wasn't the best pilot in the service, we'd have bought it."

"Hey, I made it here before you," Chess countered.

"Well I'll allow that you're the second best pilot in the service but the storm got worse by the time I was coming through."

"I see how it is," Chess said and then laughed. "Going up through this isn't going to be any better."

"I hear that," Lyle agreed.

Timmel and Jove had just reached a vast chamber and detected not only the sounds of water but also the evidence of escalating humidity. They had just set up their instruments to detect a winder range of possible organic compounds when they received the mission abort signal. They signaled their individual acknowledgements of the recall order, quickly left their deployed sensors and then began the ascent.

"We found water," Timmel called up the telemetry pipeline, knowing the voice over data would be received at the command center on the platform."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Heard the echoes of dripping and sensors confirmed."

"Okay, yes we see that. Very good Timmel and Jove. At least the mission wasn't a complete failure. Sensors are showing a substantial amount of subsurface water, actually a lot of water, maybe a lake. Establishing temporary colonies in the caverns may be a viable option after all."

Timmel smiled as he and Jove exchanged a gloved handshake.

"Wait!" Jove said as he consulted his right cuff that contained fifteen different sensors.

"What?"

"An echo, maybe. A sensor indicated movement."

"I got that a couple of times, too."

"It's probably nothing," Jove decided. "Do you see the oxygen levels?"

"Yeah," Timmel said. "Nearly breathable if it weren't for the presence of lethal amounts of dihydrogen sulfide."

"Store the data and let's get to the surface."

"Yeah, why let the remote observers get all the credit."

"Exactly."

"We're the ones who came down and went out into it," Timmel said.

They ascended while Chess, Lyle, Ave and Dar were finishing making everything as stable and self-functioning as possible for any future research missions to the caverns.

"We found water and elevated levels of oxygen," Jove told Chess and Lyle as he arrived.

"Weren't you lookin' for that?" Chess asked in response.

Lyle forced the issue nudging Jove off to the side. Chess took Timmel by his gloved hand, "I don't think you understand the urgency."

"The storm must have intensified and it's coming this way."

"Okay, maybe you do understand," Chess said. "We're bugging out!"

"I'm ready."

"We suit up and go!" Chess commanded.

"Understood. You're in charge again."

When everyone was ready, Chess and Lyle remotely commanded each Puma's hatch to open and then sealed back immediately once everyone was safely inside their respective vehicles and strapped in.

"Purge!" both Chess and Lyle said simultaneously over the intercom.

"It's urgent then," Ave said while watched as the interior air was blown out of the vehicle and suddenly replaced with fresh air from reserve tanks.

"The storm has grown. At its center it's 500 knots gusting to 600."

"The pod can't handle that," Ave said.

"It was all I could do to land it in 250 knot winds."

"So we're screwed," Ave said.

"Not if we can get out ahead of the major part of the storm," Timmel said. "The Hover Pod is designed to compensate for drift and external forces. But, with all due respect for your piloting abilities, Chess, no one can control a Hover Pod in winds in excess of 350 knots."

"Well let's hope I don't have to be the first to disprove your theory," Chess said.

"Talk to me," Lyle said.

"Chess here."

"This shit's real bad."

"I see it."

"Are they nuts?"

"Weren't you just telling me what a great pilot you are?"

"I'm the real deal but I'm not crazy. I mean center of this storm hasn't even arrived yet and my Puma is already walking sideways."

"So, we don't have a lot of time. Tell me something both of us don't already know."

"Why are we doing this again?"

"'Cause no one else can," Chess said.

"More like no one else will."

"We signed on to do this."

"Yeah.  Maybe I was still drunk at the time."

"I feel a oversize load coming for tonight."

"Brews for two on you if you lose."

"Loser buys the night," Chess challenged.

"I'll take that action," Lyle responded. "See you up top, my friend. This is where we leave you."

"I'll be there waiting for you up."

"I can't find them anymore," Ave looked up from the screen.

"Lyle will make it, he always does."

"What about us?" Ave asked.

"I'm the best."

"Machismo aside, we are going to make it off this sandblasted rock, right?" Ave asked.

"Yeah, no problem. Just a bit of a storm we got to punch through."

The Puma creaked and moaned, "At least the pod is still there and chirping. The way home is just ahead."

"The storm front is damned close." Ave said.

"Yeah, no time for the usual safety protocols, guys. This will be the Chess modification for when shit happens. We leave the Puma behind. So, I leave it runnin'. I'll remotely direct it away from our blast zone so there are no unexpected explosions during our ascent."

"Sounds good to me," Ave said.

"We all exit through one hatch tethered together. We blow the pod's outer hatch. We'll have twenty seconds. There are no second chances."

"Has this ever been tried?" Timmel asked.

"Well if it ever has anyone who has failed obviously didn't have a chance for debriefing."

"How do you know it will work?"

"Well, let's see, mostly because it has to," Chess said.

"Okay, I got ya. We have to make sure it works," Ave said.

"It's a good plan," Chess said, as they pulled in close to the Pod. "Hook up."

"Yeppers, it's pucker time," Ave said.

"Watch the blow out from the hatch, approach from the side. On three, out my hatch."
"One, two, three!" each of them in turn exited from the Puma through the pilot's hatch. Chess led them toward the pod's hatch stepping back at the precise moment that he had commanded it to blow outward. Caught by its hydraulics it slowly started its twenty-second closing cycle.

"Get in!" Chess commanded. First Ave then Timmel scrambled through the hatch awaiting Chess' dive through the ever-narrowing opening to join them. The hatch sealed behind him.

"Grab hold of something and hold-on for the purge!"

Each of them reached for anything that they could cling to until the purge ceased. When the pressure equalized, Chess was first to detach the tether that had connected him to the others. He ascended the ladder and upon reaching the flight controls he slid into his seat and strapped in. He knew this would be an extreme ride.

 "Get in your seats and strap in. No countdown," Chess said as he remotely directly the Puma away. "If you two want to live, just do what I say."

"You got it Chess," Ave said.

"We're in your hands." Timmel added.

"Don't remind me! Just shut up and enjoy the ride."

All thrusters fully charged and the reactor online; Chess executed launch. The small pod shuttered as the g-forces combined with the turbulence of the wind tried to divert it from the plotted trajectory. Chess compensated, glancing at radar and the anemometer. "Wow," he said.

Ave looked at the reading, then quickly looked away.

"I hope Lyle's in a better situation."

"What does that mean?" Timmel asked.

"I thought I asked you to be quiet."

"Well, Ave said, 'Wow'."

"Huge difference," Chess said.

"Hull integrity 47.5%," the onboard alarm warned.
"Can you kill that for me, Ave?"

"Sure boss."

"Hull integrity 39..."

"Sorry," Ave apologized.

"We're almost through it," Chess said, checking the coordinates against positioning.

"Damn I'm good. We're only 34 klicks down range. Ceiling in five, four, three, two and break," the pod erupted from the clouds and emerged into the stratosphere of Pravda.

"Chess, integrity is 22%," Ave announced.

"25% is bare minimum for space," Timmel said.

"Seal integrities?"

"Forward and aft at 37 % and 35% respectively. Starboard and port at..." Ave paused. "Chess, this is pushing it."

"What are the readings?"

"25% and 24% respectively."

"Borderline."

"The hull is below minimum," Timmel complained.

"So, what are you suggesting, Timmel? You want to go back down into that soup? We'd not survive the night with this hull integrity. Even if I could pull a miracle rabbit out of my ass and land this bitch in 500 knot winds."

"I say we go for it," Ave said.

"Chess, Lyle here. I see you on the scope."

"We made it, Lyle."

"Well, we did too but we're beat up really bad."

"Hull integrity is 22% here."

"19.5% here."

"Wow," Ave said.

"We're reinforcing the weak spots but all we have is duct tape and some titanium rods to prop against the walls."

"I hear you," Chess said. "Doing looking at the same things here."

"Well we took a vote to go for it. Not like there's another option."

"Good luck, my friend."

"If we don't make it..."

"I'll be back before you. So don't tell me you're reneging on a bet."

"There are always margins of error, right?"

"Yeah, Lyle, you'll be fine."

"We're old school! We never fly by the book, right?"

"I never even bothered to read the book," Chess said.

"Same here, buddy."

Chess watched on the scope as his friend climbed out of the atmosphere, hoping for the best.

"They can't make it," Timmel said. "Their hull is way too thin now. We'll not make it either."

"Then we all die together," Ave said.

"How about the seals?"

"In tact and holding, no further deterioration."

Suddenly there was a bright flash off to the right, the signature of fusion reactor rupture and implosion.

Chess sat back. "Lyle!" he called but he really did not expect a response.

"They're gone," Ave confirmed with radar.

"Raise the interior pressure. I read something about that artificially making the hull stronger."

"I though you just said you never read the book," Timmel challenged.

"I read it sometimes when I need to bored enough to sleep."

"Well, yes, the hull can be reinforced with internal pressure but only in a very narrow range of values," Timmel said. "If it's too high it will blow out."

"What do you suggest?"

"No more than five or ten percent."

"Platform is in range," Ave said. "We're coming up from under them."

"Hull integrity?"

"Holding at 22%. Interior pressure now at 108%?"

"Raise and hold it a 110%. Today we defy all odds," Chess said.

"We're out of the atmosphere," Ave said.
"Come on, baby. Just this one more time; hold together for me..." Chess muttered. "Just a little farther. Just a few more minutes."

"Platform has a lock on us," Ave said.

"Control, 7 Xray Bravo 1 on own power. Hull weak. Request no tractor."

"Roger, 7 Xray Bravo 1. Tractor off; you call the ball."

"Coming in hot, full power. Seal the airlock behind us."

"Roger, understood. Fire crews alerted."

"Get in the tub," Chess said to the others.

"This is very risky," Timmel said.

"Do you want to fly this bitch?"

"No sir."

"Then get in the tub and shut up!"

"Lights acquired. Platform just ahead."

"Control, this is 7 Xray Bravo 1, I have the ball."

"Roger, 7 Xray Bravo 1, you are clear. All yours."

"Tail hook down!"

"Roger, Emergency Cables locked. Welcome home, Chess."

The pod passed the receiving bay doors; immediately they cycled to close. The tail hook snagged one of four possible cables to slow and halt momentum. The pod 'd integrity maintained.

Fortunately the emergency escape tub was not released. The hull never beached.

"Bay pressure at 65%," Ave said as he returned to his post.

"Chess, I'm really sorry for that back there," Timmel said.

"Forget it," Chess said. "My nerves were frayed. I figure yours were as well."

"Thanks Chess. You got us home."

"To and from the rock. It's what I do."

"Making paradise out of chaos is what I do," Timmel said with a smile.

"Good luck with that. The rock down there is going to be a monumental challenge."

I Love That Job, Not - A Poem

My first boss at work
Was a total jerk.
Daily worried I'd be fired
Until the horse's ass retired

When the next boss came
It was more of the same
Late hours, never satisfied
Every night felt I died

Then, worse than before
New one wants even more
There's no way to satisfy
So no longer want to try

Then day off protested
My presence requested
Was not dressed right
Left without a fight

Not that he gave a shit
When I told him I quit
Had others he could screw
To replace me took two

Dreams And Destinations - CH 4 of Becoming Thuperman

Not answering Sandra's question directly didn't surprise her at all. After playing together for about as long as I could remember, she was as used to me as I was her. So, when I threw her question back at her - where do you want to go? - she smiled because I was inviting her to talk. It was what she wanted to do anyway, just she was being polite enough to invite me to go first, but since I yielded, she too the cue.

"Well, I'd like to go to California," Sandra said. "From what Uncle Ray says about it, it's nice there. I mean, I see it on TV and it looks nice, but that's not like actually being there."

"I suppose not."

"I want to see the ocean more than anything else. That would be the first thing I'd like to go see."

"Does he live near the ocean?"

"Not right on the ocean, cause only rich people can afford that, but it's close enough and a whole lot closer than here, of course. Dad said it would take three of four days if not more to drive there from here. He talks about taking a vacation and going there, but we never have, because he'd have to find somebody to run the hardware store for him while he's away."

"He has people working for him."

"I know but he says it's not the same as him being there. Mom says he'll never take a vacation. So, if I'm going to see California, I guess I'll just have to go by myself."

"Well, if the only reason you're going is to see the ocean, there is one a lot closer. I mean all the way to California is pretty far just to see an ocean."

"I know that, silly," she punched my arm, not hard but playfully. "But even that one would take a couple of days. So I figure I may as well take a couple of more days and go to California to see my first ocean. That way I can start off seeing the biggest one in the world."

"I guess that makes some sense."

"I think it makes perfect sense. Anyway, I want to see something a lot bigger than Lake Michigan. It seems so big every time I've been there. I can't see across it but I know there is another side and it's only a lake, you know? I can't imagine an ocean, especially one as huge as the Pacific."

"But there's another side to the ocean too."

"Yeah, but it all the way on the other side of the world. And on the other side everything is different. The people look and dress in strange ways. When the speak it is with another language. Their houses and what they eat – everything about their lives is unusual."

"It isn't unusual to them."

"Because it’s them. We're unusual to them."

"I kind of think there is more about people that the same than what's different."

Sandra stared at me for a few moments.

"I'm just saying. It's probably just things you can't help but noticing that makes us different. But once you get past all of that, they're people too."

She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then hastily she glanced to make sure my Mom and Dad didn’t see her doing that.

It wasn't the first time she'd kissed me like that. It wouldn't be the last. Just I never seemed to know when it was coming or what I did to deserve it. Still it was nice when it happened.

"So, how close does Uncle Ray live tot eh ocean?"

"A few miles. Encino is really in Los Angeles. It's kind of like Normal is right next to Bloomington."

"I see."

"If I was to go there, I could stay with him. His house is big enough. He has an extra room."

"You parents are going to let you go there?"

"I don't know. I'd have to ask them first."

"So this is still more like a dream than anything else."

She nodded. "The only one I told about it before you was Aunt Flo. I was asking her because she use to live there."

"So she told you hoe to get there?"

"No, not really. The only thing she said was that if I go there to make sure I pack a gas mask." She laughed. I did too as I understood she was referring to her Uncle Ray's reputation for passing gas.

"Okay, so it's your turn to tell me. Where would you like to go?"

"I'd like to see California, too," I said. "Maybe go to Disneyland, you know? It’s out there somewhere. Really, I'd like to travel just to see everything between here and there. So I'd like to go nowhere in particular but everywhere in general."

"There's a lot of everywhere to see between here and there."

I smiled.

"There are mountains, for one thing - big mountains. It’s not flat like it is here."

"You want to see it because it's like changing the whole world around you."

"Exactly." She settled back in the seat, nodding her head. "Yeah, that's why I want to go places, to see things I haven't seen before. I want to put a lot of dots on the map and fill in the names for the places, too – the ones I like, anyway."

"You're going to need a bigger map, I think."

"That one will do fine for a while, though. It's just a start. My world is still pretty small right now."

Our conversation lulled, not that it was anything unusual. What was different about this time, Sandra opened the book of mazes she brought along and used the time to teach me how to solve mazes. Never had I imagined there was a method to it! She said she figured it out one day after working on a few in a row. To her it was like playing tic-tac-toe once you get to the point that you always end up in a draw. Always she solved the maze quickly usually within a few seconds it seemed. The larger ones took her a minute at the most.

After using her method to solve a couple of the rather imposing labyrinths from the book, she pronounced me fully enlightened. Her actual words were, "I think you got it, now."

"So, why did you buy a whole book of mazes if you know how to solve everything in it within a few seconds?"

"Well, it takes longer than a few seconds. It takes longer than that to draw the path  through it, you know? Usually, I use a pen when I'm solving them at home."

"Wow!" Her confidence impressed me. "What if you make a mistake?"

"I don't make mistakes, not with puzzles, anyway. When I bought that book, though, I wanted to see if anyone came up with anything different. So far, none of the ones I've done are different. So, I decided I'd teach you. Now, you're as good at it as I am – or close to it anyway."

"Why don't you make your own, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how they are made so make one that would be a challenge for you to solve."

"But I'd know how it's done," she countered. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Make one that I can't solve. Since I know the trick you showed me it would be almost like you were solving it, right?"

"I guess it would."

"Sure, you can make a really hard one and see how long it takes me to solve it."

She laughed. "I'll learn how to make a maze no one can solve, then."

"That would be impossible, I think."

"Maybe not. It would be a challenge, though."

"I'll bet other people who are like you would enjoy it."

She grinned. "Maybe I'll do that. Make a whole book of them and sell them! I'll save all the money so I can get a bus ticket to California."

"You really want to go there, don’t you."

"I told you I did."

"Maybe I'll go with you."

"That would be cool. We could play games on the way. Dad says it’s really boring until you get to Colorado. It looks like it does around here but more so."

Having a dozen solved mazes under my belt, I was confident I could solve everything in the book if I took the time to do it. But I didn't want to do all of them because, then, Sandra would have to go buy another book. So I left the rest for her to do whenever she was bored enough to go back to them.

"Don't you don't want to solve any more?" she asked as she accepted the book.

"I'll wait for one of your puzzles. That will be a challenge."

"Yeah, I'll have to make that one as soon as we get home."

"Don't make it too hard, though. I'm not as expert as you are."

She chuckled. "Dad says an expert is someone who knows all the answers but doesn't understand all the questions." Bud said things like that all the time, which made it fun to talk to him. I don't think he came up with all those saying on his own, though. But he remembered anything funny anyone said to him. Also, in the hardware store he had signs with funny things like that written on them. People bought them to take home and put up on their walls. My dad had a couple of them.

One time when Sandra and I were in the store we went through all the signs and read the sayings. Some were pretty funny, which was the entire point. People enjoy laughing and prefer it to almost anything else. It's certainly better than crying.

"You did good, though. You learned fast," She patted me on the back. It was quite a sense of accomplishment for a guy who sometimes gets lost going to the bathroom in the dark at night – which is why there are nightlights in the house to show me the way.

By then, we had reached the point where Mom exited the Interstate. It was well to the south of the airport. At the time day – which was after rush hour – the traffic on Cicero wasn't bad and, according to her, that was the best way to get in and out of Midway on the south side.

It was still a ways to the airport, but at least we had something to look at along the way. We were entering the south end of the city. Sandra suggested we play Punch-Buggy which was a game that involves spotting any Volkswagen car, but especially Beetles - regardless of model year, and being the first to call out the color before punching your opponent in the arm. As you might imagine, Sandra was very good at the game, as she was everything we played. Still, it was fun.

With Sandra punch-buggy – once started – tends to be ongoing for at least the remainder of the trip. No matter what else distracted attention, it played on in the background. It gave us something to do when we weren't doing anything else – not even talking.

Several minutes and many traffic lights later, with the airport in sight, Dad started gathering up his belongings in anticipation of being dropped off. There was a suitcase in the trunk, but otherwise he had a briefcase and a backpack up front with him. He was going to be gone for four days, which meant a return road trip on Monday to pick him up. Already, I invited Sandra to come along, and she promised we would bring along plenty of things to do on the way.

Mom pulled up to departures. Sandra and I observed the rushing rat race around us, into which Mom was immediately immersed. She popped the trunk, while Dad got out and staged his things on the curb before meeting her at the back where he fetched his suitcase. Of course the trunk lid blocked our view, but we could tell Mom and Dad hugged and kissed. A couple of other cars honked – as if what they were doing was wrong or against the rules. Anyway, it hurried them along.

We all waved to Dad and Mom slipped in behind the wheel. Hastily she pulled away, merging into traffic, the focus of the whole trip seemed over. It happened so quickly. Like many things awaited in anticipation, arriving seemed a disappointment. Still, it occupied a good chunk of the morning.