Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

49 - BACK IN BAKERSFIELD

One of the advantages of living in Bakersfield is the train does in fact stop there when it ain’t brutally derailing people’s dreams by running off its tracks.  Plus, a body can disembark without the survival skills required to jump off and follow up with a death-defying tuck & roll.

I was so excited to be getting back to Bakersfield I sprung for a taxi ride.  And being a man of newfound means I did something I’d never done before, I tipped the driver.  The cabbie dropped me off near Owen Purty’s camper, so I thought I’d just knock on the canvas flap and see if my neighbor was in.

“Hold your horses,” I heard Owen shout before pullin’ back his door.  “Shit,” he squinted at me for a second or two, “is that really you?”

“It better be if it ain’t,” I punched his shoulder.  “‘Course it’s me.  Who else you expecting at your front door if it ain’t me or the law?”

Owen looked me up and down in near disbelief, “Where’d you disappear to?”

“You know how a worldly man like myself needs to get around, see some sights, travel to far-off locales.”

“You was on a for-real vacation?”

“Something like that.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Ulele.”

“Ulele?”

“Yeah, Ulele.”

“Ulele’s a shithole.”

“Yeah, well, there’s worse.”  (I didn’t want to start things off with a fight.)  “I went to see my Great-Granny.  She was ailing something fierce.”

“That don’t sound like no exotic vacation to me.”

He was pressing his luck, but again, I ignored his superior attitude.

“I had to tend to some personal family matters,” I added sharply.  “Not like it’s any of your business.”

“Okay, okay, no offense.”  Owen backed off.

“Anyway, now I’m back home where I belong, and,” I double-checked my pocket to make sure my monetary reserves was still with me, “I’m carrying cash.”  I took no small satisfaction in seeing the envious look pass over Owen.

“Best of all,” I could barely contain my joy.  “I got me this,” I reached deep down into my sock and fished out that little folded piece of colored paper that contained my birthright.  “My Great-Granny passed on while I was in Ulele, and she left me this here certificate which I reckon is worth a shitload.”

“Hold on there,” Owen snatched the certificate outta my fist.  “Step into my lab and let me have a look at this thing.”  He proceeded to carefully unfold the paper for closer inspection, and then he examined the document under the bare lightbulb suspended from his camper’s ceiling.

“Partner, I may not be certified, but my diagnosis is what we got here is a 100% legitimate stock certificate.”

Remembering how Owen had horned his way in on the hemp trade I protested right away.  “Since when was we partners?”

He pretended not to hear my question.  “Hey, who’s this Baby Harmonica mentioned next to your name?”

“Oh yeah, while I was away I found out I’m blood-related to some half-sister.  But she’s lost.”

Owen smiled back at me and slapped my shoulder.  “I got an idea.”  He sounded like he was hatching another one of his cockeyed schemes.  “It ain’t every day you get a rich relative to die and leave you a fortune.  What do you say we head on out to The Stardust and celebrate your good luck?”

When you find yourself agreeing with crazy people, it’s time to step back and reassess the situation.  “I guess I been clean and sober long enough,” I reasoned.