A Stamp to mail my mind away “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back when it happens.” Chapter 4 (c) 2022

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                                     “Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back when it happens.”

That was the line that was supposed to convince his father to give him money. Of course, he thought not to ask him for the whole thousand dollars. He was also taking note of those who didn’t help him ‘before it happened.’ Yea he wouldn’t show them any love ‘when it happened.’

 

“You still looking for a job?” His father asked. The father already knew the answer. He had spoken with his boy’s mother, aka his third divorce.

 

“Oh yea, I have been looking everywhere. Had an interview at The Anderson Law Firm. The father listened to more and more of his lies. The son did feel guilty for telling him lies. Some of that guilt went away after he told himself, “I’ll pay him back even more when it happens.”

 

“I’m going to need some nice clothes.” Thus ended the three-minute conversation

 

“Is that what you meant by the ‘When it happens?’”

 

“Of course.”

“Well how much do you need?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“I’ll give you fifty.” Then his father dug into his pockets.

“Well, damn. Where is it?” His father played just to see what sort of response his son would make. He could tell the boy was getting anxious.

 

“Ah, here it is,” his father said a few awkwardly long seconds later. The father had a money clip filled with twenty and fifty-dollar bills. The father then pushed the paperwork over on his desk so he could set the bills down. He once again, scrutinized his son’s response. The son didn’t even bother to keep his intentions hidden by the expression on his face. The father had five fifty dollar bills on his desk.

 

“Here you go son,” the father said as he handed the boy a fifty-dollar bill.

“Thanks dad,” the son replied not hiding his tone of disappointment and anger. His son stepped out of the office and walked passed the secretary and a client, “And there he goes.”

“Is that really his son?” The boy heard them say. The son was sure to remember every word as he read the sign outside the office, “Financial consultants, I’ll show them all when it happens. Then I’ll have more money than all of them. I’ll throw fifties at them!” He said it loud as though the tone in his words would make that come true, more quickly.

 

The son then got into his dented-up Pontiac Firebird. When his father got him the car six months ago, it looked brand new with its shiny red paint. He turned the ignition and sped away. Making sure to turn his cassette player on full blast so his father and anyone else on the block could hear N.W.A. , “It’s plain to see you can’t change me cuzz Imma be a nigga’ for life.” “It’s not how it used to be before the divorce. My ‘Rich White Father’ can’t keep me down anymore,” he was quick to say. He thought it impressed his peers, or anyone that would listen. The son opened up his fifth of the six beers that he bought earlier. Being drunk and high would help him believe that soon he would be richer and more important than all those people who put him down.

 

Before going to his friend’s house, he would go by the thrift store to buy a suit and tie. That way he excused himself for the lie that he told his father. His buzzed logic had him get a dated black suit that was two sizes too big. To go with the suit, he bought a black tie. In his car, he changed out of his two days dirty clothes into the suit. “Damn it.” He only had two beers and one cigarette left. So he went by the liquor store and bought the cheapest bottle of vodka he could find, Neutral Spirits Vodka and a pack of Marlboro Red. “Damn it.” He looked at the crumpled ten and five dollar bill that he took out of his pocket. “It’ll be okay when it happens,” he said out loud. Then poured some of the vodka into his half empty beer bottle.

 

Few minutes later, he pulled into Luxury Cars parking lot. It was only ten minutes till it closed.

 

“It’s him again,” one of the salesmen said to his co-worker.

“We could just ignore him.”

“No. He might damage something.”

“Well, we could call the police.”

“Naw, I got a better idea.”

“Oh yea?”

“Hey Felix.”

 

Five minutes later, Felix, the ambitious twenty-two years old car salesman, hired yesterday, bolted from the glass doors of the dealership. He walked so enthused until he saw the son in his baggy outdated suit wearing, with his face against the window of the black sporty looking Mercedes Benz.

 

“May I help you, sir?” Felix asked.

“Yes,” he replied. Then he thought for a couple seconds about what he thought important people would say when they buy a car.

“How many miles does this car have?” I have one of these back at my house. Letting my wife use it. Meanwhile I have to use the Pontiac. The Pontiac’s my uh uh…” In that lost thought Felix smelled the pungent stench. It was alcohol combined with cigarette smoke and body odor. Felix's eager smile changed into a bitter disdain.
"Okay, what's your name?"
He thought for a couple seconds about what he thought an affluent man's name would be.
"My name is Sam Walton," then he reached out his hand. It was the grossest handshake, wet and sticky.
"Okay. Mister Walton, we'll need proof of employment. This beauty, as you say, costs a minimum of seven hundred and fifty a month," Felix stated firmly.
He thought angrily, "How dare they treat me like a nobody. When it comes, I'll buy this dealership and fire this guy."
"I'm sure you understand. We'll need that paperwork, Mr. Walton."
"Of course I do. I'll have my accountant type something up."
"Well, we're about to close." Then Felix quickly walked away.

 

“I really need a joint now,” he thought to himself as he turned the key in the ignition.
"All these people gonna know who I am!" He screamed. Then he turned the volume up on his cassette player. He had been listening to the same songs over and over again for a few years now.

 

Hopefully soon, before it is too late, he will realize that he needed to stay drunk and high to believe, “I’ll be rich, when it happens.”

 

Lil D’s parents didn’t take notice of most of the shady things, and shady people that came and went upstairs. But they did notice every time he came. Blaring his songs, on his car stereo. He was an amusing prolonging joke. “There he is again.” “Wonder what scheme he’s got going on now.” “Do you think he’ll ever escape the nineteen nineties?” It was a relief for them to know that their son would never be like him.

 

He lit his cigarette, stumbled, barely making it to D’s door. Good thing that the door was open because he would have definitely hit it and fallen off of the stairs.

 

“What’s up!” he yelled so enthused believing that everyone wanted to see him. Many times, the familiar crowd at D’s house would pretend that he was the most important person in the world. On this particular night, “Look who is here!” One of them screamed. “Stop it.” The girlfriend whispered in his ears. He never knew the joke was on him.

 

“It’s been days. How you doing?” Lil D. asked. He had just finished rolling a joint.

“Spark it up, dude.”

“Gladly. Hey man you have any beers?”

“Hey man, can you believe they dissed me at Luxury Cars?”
“Again?”

“Yea man, they all gonna know when it happens.”

“You gonna light that thing?”

“Oh yea,” then he continued, as he lit the joint and puffed, talking about what happened at Luxury Cars. One of D’s friends handed him a beer. Then the joint was passed around.

 

“What’s up with that fly suit?”

“Man, I gotta look good when it happens.” By now he had the inspired high.

 

“When it happens?” D asked

  

(missing text)

 

 

Months later:

  

“Come on man. One more time. You ship out tomorrow,” Carlton said while showing him the lsd hit. Out of all the things, he thought his parents did wrong to him. He’d get mad when he’d get in trouble for doing things that his friends got away with doing. He had a curfew when his friends could stay out late. His father forcing him to study two hours every evening except Friday and Saturday.

 

 Then he didn’t think about what his parents did right: Teaching him a sense of pride. There were also good traits. Traits like being on time, being dependable, telling the truth. Taking pride in the way you look. Setting and accomplishing goals. Contributing positive things to society.

 

He didn’t think about all those things he let go of. He let traded everything for a chemically induced fog-but after all YOLO (You Only Live Once). Yet he did follow suggestion, from his father, to join the army. He had a low score on the ASVAB. He still never thought that he could measure up to his peers.

 

Carlton pulled up in his black Cadillac, that used to belong to his mom, before she got her new Jaguar. The Cadillac seemed like a ship with wheels. It had enough room in it to fit at least six passengers without being too cramped. His car cassette player was blaring loud The Verve’s “Storm in Heaven.” The ambient music seemed to linger in the air-ever so reminding him that life could possibly be carefree and happy. Carlton was still basking in the glory of being a highly skilled guitarist that all the kewl kids and young adults (who thought they were kewl kids) wanted to be around. He got in the passenger seat. Carlton had been smoking a joint.

“You want some?” Carlton asked.

He looked at Carlton with a bit of aggravation.

“You know I’m heading out in the morning.” He replied.