Chapter12: Pleasure Propels; Purpose Unknown

Background

Charlie McRoy, almost 14, has aged tremendously in the last 24 hours. No knowing which way is up! Thrust in a world of hidden repressed desire, his mind has either snapped or he's broken through a veil of unimaginable terror layered deceit.

Charlie dashed out of the house without trying to say good-bye, even if he had been able to.

"Forget it, I'll figure it out later."

He leaped from the four porch steps, continuing to run, until he arrived at the old wooden garage door. Not much effort involved in pushing the door open, revealing unfamiliar jet black, ionized chrome, strangely designed but perfectly alluring English Racer. The odd formed handles caught his attention immediately.

"This is no ordinary bike." Charlie fascinated examined the bike carefully.

"Boy, where did this smooth baby come from? Daddy must have bought it as a surprise for me." He straddled the sleek machine with dancer grace and athletic style.

"She's a real beauty. Bet she rides smooth as silk." With a certain unaccustomed pleasurable sensation attached to his flair, he gradually peddled the new out and onto the road.

"What a daredevil's dream! I bet this baby will fly." Charlie rotated his legs in fast, quick circular motion in order to rev up the spokes.

"Wow, I just can't believe it. I ain't never rode a bike like this. Yeah, I'm the shit. You know it!" Charlie Braxton McRoy could hardly contain himself; once again he spewed desire.

The weirdly constructed handle bars required unimaginable balance to manipulate the two wheeled machine. But, the unexpected thrill of the enormous speed, coupled with the air-lifted freedom associated, more than compensated the effort.

"You talking about stroking! Get out of here; just look at the kid." So hyped up, others would have easily misinterpreted him as high on drugs.

"I'll blow every kid in school away on this Mac daddy." Conjuring hi-powered ultimate championship, with all the accolades and praise attached, he imagined blasting others off of the race courses in national biking tournaments.

"Hell, why not go for world championships, instead? I don't need to limit myself."

At the precise moment he uttered the words of prophecy, imagination no longer working, but, instead the reality of his being pursued by hundreds of professional bikers, had slipped in. Each one fashionably outfitted in neon-lighted spandex racing gear. Charlie could tell right off their sole intent to defeat Charlie.

"Ain't gonna happen captain." He laid low his head; turned up his leg's gyrator gear.

Luscious dotted verdant mountainsides, noisy riveted flowing aqua streams, wrapped the grave rocky winding roads provided unexpected racetrack for the racers. Even though Charlie could not recognize, identify, or relate the immediate surroundings to anything he had ever grown up into or around, he had no choice but to continue in the concurrent race he had somehow been thrust into.

"Who cares why or how I got here? No different from what's been going down for the last 24 hours. I have learned one thing, so far, since I'm here, I'm going give it all I got. It's not only stupid to fight it but pointless?" Charlie bore down on the muscles in his thighs and calves. He tightened the grip on the dual straight handle bars, lowering his eagle head in a professional racing fashion.

"Let's go get'em boys. What an exhilarating feeling!" He raced steadily, determinedly, competitively while brisk wind jabbed his young face.

"Who knows where I'll be next?" He chuckled.

"Right now, I don't give a damn. I'm having far too good of a time to worry about what 'might' be." Charlie McRoy raced with all of his might, determined to win.

"WOW!" What a feeling of soaring through the clouds. He remembered having a dream similar when he was about seven years old. Traveling, more or less on its own volition, fleeting effortlessly around the corners, into the curves, and out of the ravines, on the steep mountainside, the vehicle Charlie thought he was maneuvering had somehow eliminated every other driver in the race. Puff! As quickly as they were beside him, they vanished.

"Those rookies ate my dust." he squealed.

"Those suckers didn't know who they were dealing with," Charlie diced infectious laughter uncontrollably. Faster and faster he dove into the chilling wind. It suddenly dawned on Charlie,

"Hey, what a minute. Am I really driving this machine or is it driving me?" Promptly, he tried to apply brakes but the bike never slowed.

Fear gripped his spine. He knew the incontestable feeling of being hurled into another time, place, and scene of which he could not control. No longer were the wheels of motion enjoyed but rather dreaded for uncertain destination. Unquestionable knowledge usurped his fragile mind; he realized, beyond a shadow of a doubt, another castle-like harrowing episode stared him in the face.

Charlie tried one more time to brake, twist the handle bars, drag his feet, kick, scream but it plain didn't work. Nothing he did deterred his fateful course. Wherever he was headed did not fall under his personal discretion or validated conscious consent. So, he relented, settling into the ride with jagged anxious anticipation.

"I survived yesterday's ordeal," panting heavily, "Surely I can withstand whatever I'm up against today."

SLAP! DAB! SCREECH! Smack into the pot holed small embankment Charlie landed.

"Hey, wait a minute you guys; you ain't gotta be so rough on me. Can't you give a fella a little warning before you stop?" Charlie had grown so accustomed to talking aloud to himself, it almost seemed normal.

"Maybe I'm really talking to some invisible force that never leaves my side."

Charlie couldn't determine if it was him thinking those thoughts or the 28 year man he had assumed the identity of. After dropping Charlie, the jet black and silver chromed bicycle continued gliding through the air like a boomerang.

He ducked as it started to descend. To his baffling astonishment, it landed perfectly right side up on the other side of the road.

"So am I suppose to mount you again, or what? Charlie questioned the mass of steel. Not knowing whether the bike would respond or not, Charlie simply stayed planted awhile longer.

"Ain't a bit of harm resting here for a spell." Where did that kind of talk come from? Sounded sort of like the phrasing of Charlie's fake father.

"Who cares?" Charlie executed with force.

"I'm really just about tired of this whole ordeal. Most especially, trying to figure it out, answers to questions, I shouldn't have to be asking. I thought after I put the BRACELET back, or rather when the BRACELET was placed back on the sidewalk for me, my journeying days were over. So what's the deal?

"Am I still in the castle and never really came out? Or am I asleep and dreaming this ridiculous story? Or am I so institutionalized verifiability insane, I never had made it out of the last box I was so cramped up in? Did I die? I want some answers!! Do you hear me? I refuse to go along with this game any longer." Charlie gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and threw up defiant arms in protest.

"And, any way since we're on the subject of weirdness, what about all the creepy stuff that happened at my house last night: or yesterday, tomorrow, or today or whenever. Just what about it? Who was that man who looked like my father? And Prissy, why did she turn into glass and why in the hell were my sisters the size of matchsticks sitting on the telephone buzzing uncontrollably?"

Who in the world did Charlie think he was talking to? Who did he think was going to give him the answers he so deliberately craved? Nobody! That's who. Not one single solitary soul was there to hear and answer him. And,

anyway, who did he think he was to defy the unknown?

"PSSST. HEY, YOU GOTTA CIGARETTE?"

"Who said that?" Charlie raised his eyebrows looking over his dirt covered shoulder.

"HEY, YOU THERE, I SAID HAVE YOU GOTTA CIGARETTE?"

Charlie still not able to focus his wandering blue eyes on anything or anybody visible.

"HEY, MAN, I JUST WANT ONE LITTLE CIGARETTE. TOO MUCH TO ASK?"

The voice spoke in fragmented syllables, as if he was having a hard time speaking English. But, the voice was so loud and boisterous, it frightened Charlie.

"First of all, I'm not giving you anything until I can see who you are, second of all I don't smoke. And, you shouldn't, either." Charlie surprised he had answered in such a demeaning fashion.

"AIN'T NONE YOUR BUSINESS WHAT I DO, BOY. I JUST WANT A CIGARETTE AND YOU THE FIRST PERSON I'VE SEEN THAT CAN GIVE ME ONE."

Still Charlie could not know what or to whom he was speaking.

"Will you please be so kind as to show me your face? At least, so I can put your big voice to it?"

"WHAT YOU NEED A FACE FOR? DO YOU USUALLY GET WHAT YOU ASK FOR, KID?"

Charlie was a little irritated by this time. Even if the guy was some ten foot monster, he'd feel much better talking to any form instead of thin air.

"Look, whoever you are, I don't like the game of hide and seek. Never did. In fact, I like it less now than I ever did. I'm in no mood for silly games. If you expect any co-operation or conversation from me you are going to have to show your face, got it? Charlie crouched a wee bit as he uttered the daring words.

"YOU REAL TOUGH, AIN'T YA BOY?" a three foot spur-booted cowboy slid from behind the embankment.

Charlie's eyes widened while he watched the little guy hop onto a small rock that lay turned bottom side upwards on the moist red ground.

"SO WHAT YA DOING SNOOPING ROUND THESE PARTS?"

"I ain't snooping nowhere."

"OH, YOU AIN'T, HUH? WELL, WHAT ARE YOU DOING PROBING IN MY BUSINESS, THEN?"

"Well, I don't really know."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN; YOU DON'T REALLY KNOW. OF COURSE, YOU KNOW, WHO ELSE KNOWS, IF YOU DON'T?"

"What I mean is that I don't know where I am exactly, much less how I got here."

"THAT DON'T MAKE NO SENSE, BOY! EVERYBODY KNOWS WHERE THEY'RE AT, WHERE THEY ARE GOING AND WHY THEY ARE GOING THERE."

"But, I didn't mean to come here." Charlie felt stupid the more he tried to explain his awkward predicament.

"ALRIGHT THEN, LET'S SAY YOU DON'T KNOW HOW YOU GOT HERE OR WHY, BUT WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WHILE YOU ARE HERE? GOT ANY PLANS?"

Charlie hadn't really thought about any type of plans, since it was not his conscious intent to end up in this place to start with. And, since he had no further permanent intention of staying here, he had no solid plans for his visit.

"Well, I really don't know that, either." Charlie bashfully replied.

"ARE YOU SURE YOU DON'T SMOKE?"

"No, I don't smoke. Why do you smoke?"

"'CAUSE I LIKE TO SMOKE. NO, THE TRUTH IS I LOVE TO SMOKE BETTER THAN MOST PEOPLE LOVE TO EAT. IT'S MY PLEASURE TO SMOKE. I CAN'T GO EVEN ONE MINUTE WITHOUT A CIGARETTE." The little cowpoke was downright funny as he sputtered, spitting his crusty words.

Charlie surmised rather easily what the midget cowboy had just said was untrue, because they had been talking for at least ten minutes without the little cowboy inhaling a cigarette. Charlie brought this point to the short guy's attention.

"I'd have to disagree with you mister, 'cause we've been talking for more than one minute; you haven't smoked not even one cigarette."

"BUT, I WOULD, IF I COULD, BOY. THAT'S THE POINT. I WOULD IF I COULD. I JUST DON'T HAPPEN TO HAVE ANY CIGARETTES ON ME." He whipped out emphatically.

"So, tell me sir, how long has it been since you last smoked a cigarette?"

Charlie really wanted to know since the man insisted that he couldn't live without a cigarette stuck in his mouth for even one minute.

"WELL, I DON'T EXACTLY REMEMBER, IT'S BEEN A WHILE THOUGH. PROBABLY, THREE YEARS OR MORE."

"What," Charlie laughed in response, "Three years? You haven't smoked a cigarette in three years. You said you can't live without one? That's crazy."

"IT AIN'T NO SUCH THING! I CAN'T LIVE MY LIFE WITHOUT A CIGARETTE. THAT'S THE FACTS. THERE IS NOT ONE SINGLE MINUTE THAT PASSES BY THAT I'M NOT THINKING AND LONGING FOR THE DELICIOUS TASTE OF A CIGARETTE IN MY MOUTH. WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THAT? DON'T HAVE ANOTHER THOUGHT IN MY HEAD BUT HOW SOON I'M GOING TO GET ANOTHER CIGARETTE."

Charlie thought his explanation was ridiculous.

"Mister, listen to what you just said. You haven't smoked a cigarette in more than three years but you spend every minute wanting one. Either you smoke or you don't, but don't go around telling yourself you want something which in actuality, you don't. The point is: if you really enjoyed smoking, you'd be smoking. Not just talking about it. You are either a smoker or non-smoker who tries to convince himself that he wants to smoke. Ridiculous; plain ridiculous. Why keep on telling yourself something long after the action has left you?" Charlie sounded a wee bit too wise for his own liking.

The short cowboy with the over-sized blue feathered banded hat didn't seem to be impressed with Charlie's words.

"LOOK, BOY YOU DON'T HAVE AN INKLING OF AN IDEA ABOUT WHAT I WANT OR DON'T WANT, DO OR DON'T DO. HOW CAN YOU BE SITTING THERE ALL HIGH AND MIGHTY SPURTING OFF WISE WORDS TO ME WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING OUT HERE IN THESE HILLS OR WHY?"

Of course, the tiny man did have a very logical point. Charlie couldn't argue. But, the fact that Charlie didn't know what he was doing, where he was at, or where he was going had nothing to do with the obvious erroneous thinking pattern of the other guy. It was plain stupid for someone to keep saying that he wanted something in his life when apparently he did not. Or else he wouldn't have been without it for three years. It didn't take brain research to figure that one out.

"I don't have to know what I'm doing in order to help you, mister. All I'm saying is that you need to get real. Look at the facts: you haven't smoked a cigarette in three years. You are not a smoking man. A man who smokes or who needs a cigarette, smokes. But, you don't and haven't for three years. Got it? Quit telling yourself you want something or NEED something that obviously is not a vital part of your life. In other words, stop filling your head with lies."

"I STILL DON'T GIVE MUCH CREDENCE TO WHAT YOU'RE SAYING 'CAUSE YOU AIN'T LIVING INSIDE THIS HERE OLE BODY OF MINE. I KNOW HOW I FEEL; YOU DON'T."

"I don't have to know how you feel. All I have to do is listen to your own words. They tell the whole story. You say you haven't smoked in three years. Okay, and then you also say you can't go even one minute without a cigarette. But to my calculation," Charlie stops talking momentarily to scribble some figures in the sand with a knotty stick he picked up, "sixty minutes in an hour times 24 hours is 1,440 minutes times 365 day is 525,600 minutes in a year time 3 years is 1,576,800 minutes that you have lived without a cigarette."

"WELL, I'LL BE A RAW-HIDED MONKEY, BOY! THAT'S REALLY SOMETHING! WITH THAT KIND OF FIGURING MAKES A MAN STOP AND THINK, DON'T IT? ONE MILLION FIVE HUNDRED SEVENTY SIX THOUSAND EIGHT HUNDRED MINUTES THAT I HAVE BEEN WITHOUT A CIGARETTE. IN FACT, IT'S REALLY MORE THAN THAT CAUSE I'M SURE IT'S BEEN MORE THAN THREE YEARS SINCE I LAST SMOKED A CIGARETTE. TO TELL YOU THE TRUTH, BOY I LOST COUNT AFTER THREE YEARS."

How absurd, Charlie thought. A man walking around thinking he needed to smoke and hasn't smoked in well over three years. "So, now will you agree with me that you can and do live in this world without a cigarette? The facts are: you really don't smoke anymore."

"YOU, KNOW BOY, WHEN YOU PUT IT LIKE THAT, I GUESS I'LL HAVE TO. WITH THE PLAIN TRUTH STARING ME IN THE FACE, WHAT ELSE CAN I DO? I'LL JUST HAVE TO CHANGE MY WAY OF THINKING. I DON'T NEED A CIGARETTE. CAN YOU IMAGINE THAT? I DON'T WANT A CIGARETTE. I'M LIVING MY LIFE WITHOUT ANY CIGARETTES. SURE BE A NEW THING FOR ME TO KNOW THAT. THANK YOU KINDLY, SIR. I WON'T EVER BE ABLE TO REPAY YOU FOR MAKING ME SEE THE LIGHT. AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I'M NOT A SMOKER. YOU JUST DON'T KNOW HOW WONDERFUL IT FEELS TO GET THAT BLOOD SUCKING MONKEY OFF MY BACK. IS THERE ANYTHING I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP YOU WITH?"

Author's Notes:  Thank you, thank you, thank you, Kim8956 for the wonderful photograph you captured. It's perfect for chapter 12 of The Subject of Desire.