Walking Backwards - Episode 2
Welcome to the second episode of the third collection of not quite true tales of Texas. Previous collections are:
The Cold Days of Summer - If you are new to these tales and the type who likes to know how things started I would recommend starting here
The Hollow Men - the second collection of not quite true tales of Texas.
New episodes are posted every Sunday. You can move easily between episodes via links to the previous and next episode.
If you are new to these not quite true tales of Texas but are the type who likes to dive right in I suggest you look at the prologue to Walking Backwards. The prologue provides a summary of the first two collections and descriptions of the major characters you will be reading about in Walking backwards.
Back in Episode 1 of Walking Backwards Drew returns to Austin after his ten year high school reunion, assesses his situation and comes to the conclusion he is all messed up.
The field
The night of September 17, 1986, I dreamed of the field. Most of the time I see the dead in the field. First there was Tommy, then Socks, then Daisy, then Kaiser, then my Dad. This night was different, Rick was there.
I knew where I was and that is what threw me off. I only see the dead in the field and now I saw Rick. I had to ask the obvious question.
“Rick, are you dead?”
“No, since I awoke I can walk in both worlds, this one and the one you think of as the real world.”
“What do you mean by that – 'the real world'?”
“Just that. You think of the other world as the real world.”
“Are you saying I'm wrong, that this is the real world?”
“No, I'm saying that you think the other world is the real world. It's all what you think. You can walk in both worlds and have for quite some time. Now I can too. That's it, no secret meaning, just the fact we can walk in both worlds. Most can't.”
“Why are you here?”
“To tell you something. Something very simple, but something you probably won't understand today. Here it is: you will die alone.”
“What do you mean by that? I will die alone. What the fuck does that mean? Jesus, could you be more vague?”
“You can call me Rick.”
I groaned at the poor attempt at humor. I could almost hear the rim shot. Rick laughed.
“Drew, well, no, it would be hard to be more vague. But that's not the point. The point is the meaning is up to to you. My hope is that now you know this you will make future decisions based off that. No guarantee you will, after all, we all have free will, but I hope the knowledge will influence your decisions today and in the future.”
“What do you mean by I will die alone?”
“Just that. That's all, it is up to you, through your decisions, to determine what it eventually means. Consider yourself lucky, most people never get knowledge of the future, they have to live by faith and persistence alone.”
“Thanks, one more thing to ponder and worry about.”
“Speaking of that, you owe me a serious call. I want to know what you've thought through and what it all means to you.”
“Well, Rick, maybe I'll wait to tell you when I am alone and dying.”
“Maybe you will, but I don't think so. I think you will call real soon.” With that Rick faded away, so did the field. I woke up. It was 2:30 am. Sam stretched in her sleep. I was still tired so I imitated her, stretched and fell back asleep.
I didn't call Rick until the weekend. The conversation started off nice and tame, then Rick drove to the point in that maddening way he always has had. There was one big difference, Rick showed his all knowing side.
“So, why do you think I was in your dream?”
I didn't respond, a little surprised, a little unsure where the conversation was headed.
“Drew, I'm a little disappointed if you didn't see where this was headed. You know I've been waiting for you to think it all through, all that's happened over the last few years. I've given you time, plenty of time. I was getting tired of waiting so that's why I popped up in your dream.”
I had nothing. I had thought about it all, but I hadn't seen where the pieces fit. I wasn't ready. So I stalled.
“Tommy tried to confuse me. He would ask me if I had control of my dreams and if I did, what that meant. Or if I didn't control my dreams, who did? Crazy kind of shit like that.”
“Nothing crazy about that. Valid questions or lines of thought. Are your dreams your dreams? Do you control them? Is it your subconscious spinning around a problem via the dream? Or is it something completely different? Maybe it is Tommy reaching out to you? Maybe it is some other external force manipulating you and Tommy. What is it? I don't know for sure, but maybe Tommy is trying to get you to think it through, to come to some conclusion, some theory, some hypothesis and work things out from there.”
Still stalling I said “I don't know. I really don't. I don't like thinking someone or something else is in control. I don't like that.”
“Fine, then you're in control. Let's go with that hypothesis. If that's true, what does that mean? If you're in control and Tommy, Socks, Stan the Skeleton Man - and may I say that's a hilarious name? - I don't know if he appreciates it, but I got a laugh out of it when he told me about it, and all the others that pop up in your dreams, what does it mean? If you're in control why are they there?”
I was quiet. Rick the all knowing was back in full force. How else would he know about Socks or Stan the Skeleton Man?
Rick was patient. The connection between Odessa and Austin was absent of any noise save for our breathing for a good two minutes before he spoke.
“Drew, you're stagnant. I don't know if you're lazy or confused or not ready. I don't know. But you haven't progressed much at all since June. You've haven't. Right now you're wasting my time. That's fine, I've got time. If what you need right now is your friend Rick and nothing more, that's fine, that's what I'll be. But that isn't what you are here for and it is not what I'm here for. We need to be careful, we don't have forever.”
He paused. I didn't fill in the blanks. He sighed and said “Now, how about them Cowboys? Do you think they got a chance to make the playoffs this year?
The old Rick was back. We talked for another fifteen minutes about sports and anything else other than what the all knowing Rick wanted to talk about. When we hung up we promised to talk soon, I said I might come back to Odessa around Thanksgiving and I promised to think things over and through soon.
I didn't think anymore that day. I didn't have any beer in the refrigerator so I drove down to the grocery store and bought a case of Coors and some dog treats for Sam. Sam enjoyed her treats, I enjoyed the beer, drinking enough so that I hoped I wouldn't dream that night. I didn't.
Footloose and Fancy Free
Shit. About the time I think I have things figured out, that I've got the game licked, a new dealer shows up and it all goes sideways.
The second Monday of October 1986 was supposed to be a good day. My contract with IBM was coming to an end, everyone told me I had been doing a good job, that I was a shoe in for a permanent position. I don't know if they were all a bunch of dumb asses or a bunch of God damn liars, or both, but they were wrong, totally fucking wrong.
I was at work, wrapping up the final details of an AIX Redbook, when my cubicle phone rang. It was Shelley of HR (Human Resources) asking if I could come down and talk with them. I said sure, that I would be right there. I knew what it was, they were going to offer me a full time position. I walked down to HR, knocked on the office door and entered. I was smiling, Shelley wasn't. Her boss entered the office, asked if I would sit down. I wasn't liking where this seemed to be going, but I sat down, I'm not difficult.
Shelley's boss told me that my contract was being terminated, that I would not be offered a permanent position, that this site was in a hiring freeze, that only essential, high need positions would be hired for, that they loved my work and that next year, maybe February, maybe March, things would loosen up and they might be able to offer me a position and that I would need to gather my things and be out of the office by 12:00 noon. They gave me some paperwork which said all of that, just using a whole bunch more legal words. I walked back to my cubicle, a couple of the permanent IBM'ers came over, said that this sucked. They were right, it did. I gathered my things, shook some hands and walked out of the door at 11:45 am.
I drove home. Sam, my smiling dog friend, was glad to see me home earlier than either of us expected. The beer tasted good. There was really nothing to watch on TV that afternoon so I kept drinking. Nothing else much happened that week, Sam and I ran every morning. I drank every afternoon and evening. By Saturday I had enough. I called Rick, told him what happened and I told that I would be in Odessa later that week. On Sunday I had lunch with Jack and Mark, they sympathized, I told them not to worry, that the IBM gig was just that, a gig, something to keep me off the streets. That it was good to have it end, because it would force me to figure out what to do next, versus taking the easy decision and work for IBM. I sort of believed that, but I knew I wouldn't last long not having something to do or some place to be. I suspected I needed more structure than I was willing to admit.
Tuesday Sam and I drove to Odessa. Sam slept while I drove and thought about a lot of things, but mostly about what Rick had been badgering me about. Mom and Brutus were glad to see us. I told Mom that I was taking a week's vacation and what better place to spend it than in the loveliest town in the world, Odessa. She laughed but she was glad to have us. Tuesday night she baked a meatloaf. Sam, Brutus and I enjoyed that meatloaf the rest of the week.
Wednesday I dropped by the Anders’ house and spent most of the day with Rick. We drove around town. Rick was glad to get out. He wasn't driving yet but he told me he really didn't care to drive anymore. We talked a lot that Wednesday, well, that's not true. This time I talked, Rick listened and every once in awhile gave his perspective.
“I don't know, I feel a little lost. I was getting used to showing up for work everyday. The work wasn't hard, but it was interesting enough that I was getting into a groove. And now it is gone. Shit, maybe I now understand a little about what you went through when things started going downhill at VP Tanks.
“I know I need to figure something out, I don't think I can handle being totally out of work, totally without direction. The way the first week went, well, hell, I've been drinking too much.”
“Moderation, Drew, moderation. You got to avoid the extremes, avoid the ditches, stay on the road.”
“Yeah, I know, I know.”
“Great, so you know, so do something about it. Here's the good thing. You don't have to work, you’ve got enough money from our VP Tank days. Find something you really like doing. Maybe you can't rely on a big company, but you built a reputation as a good technical writer at IBM. Maybe you can parlay that into something sort of permanent, where you pick and choose the opportunities, versus letting the company have all of the controls. Hell, you know how to run a business, this time, instead of tanks, maybe this time stick with this writing gig. IBM isn't the only technical company in Austin, right?”
Rick was right. There were lots of technical companies in Austin and while I did like the comfort, the stability of being at IBM, the comfort, the stability, in the end, was a sham. The right thing might be to do just what Rick said, set something up on my own, where I decided what to work on and who to work for.
“You know I'm not going to let you off the hook. You've had since June to think it through, so what have you thought?”
“Rick, the simple answer is I don't know. Clearly, I'm not in control because there have been several things in the last few years that if I was in control would not have happened. Honestly, I don't think anyone or anything is in control. Most times I think it is all chaos and random chance. Some days you roll seven's and eleven's, some days you roll snake eyes. From what I can tell, there is no rhyme or reason to any of the shit that goes on.”
“What happened to faith through discipline, discipline through faith?”
“I haven't been faithful, I haven't been disciplined.”
“So what have you been?”
“Alive, and that's about it.”
“No, Drew, you haven't been alive, not really alive. You've been slumming, just getting by, just doing enough to get through the day. Maybe that's why you didn't get the gig at IBM, because you were doing just enough to get through the work, but not going all out. In their eyes maybe you weren't essential. Man, I don't know, but I still don't see you moving forward. You're dog paddling through life, not drowning but sure as hell not making a lot of progress.”
“I'm doing better than most.”
“Yeah, you got your sanity, so to most people you are up on me. You got a house, you got money in the bank, you've got it better than a lot of people. But what have you really got? What's your mission? What's your legacy? If you died tomorrow, who would remember you?
My ire was rising. I didn't really care for where the conversation was headed.
“Fuck, Rick. Who would remember you?”
“Who remembers Tommy?”
That sent me right back to the field when Tommy asked me not to forget him.
“I remember him. Shit, Rick, I remember you.”
“And that's good of you. You don't forget. You won't forget Tommy. If for no other reason, you won't forget Tommy because you told him you wouldn't forget him. You're loyal, almost to a damn fault. And, I know that no matter what happens to me you won't forget me. That's a comfort, that's a true comfort, to know you won't be forgotten. It's almost a form of immortality, when someone remembers you after you are gone. You never know who will remember you or why they remember you. All you can do is your best to make sure that those who remember you remember you in a positive light.”
I nodded my head in agreement. I really didn't have anything to say to that so I didn't.
Thursday we surprised Matt Johnson. We arrived at Manuel's at 11:50 am, asked for a table and when the waiter didn't take us to Ray's table I corrected him.
“Sir, Mr. Johnson has lunch here every Thursday. This is his table.”
“I know that. We're friends of his. Don't worry, he will be glad to see us.”
Well, hell, for a moment it looked like they might call the cops on us, but one of the senior waiters came out, looked us over and recognized us from so many Thursday lunches years ago. He smiled, and didn't even hand us a menu because he knew what we wanted.
Matt walked in at a few minutes after 12:00, looking much the same as he did the last time I saw him. Sure, a little older, a little grayer, maybe a little paunchier, but the same decent man we had known for years. He looked a little perturbed to see that someone was sitting at his table, then he recognized me, then he recognized Rick and then he smiled that warm, light up the room, Matt smile.
We had a grand time. We talked and talked. Matt wanted to know how we were both doing. He had been talking with someone who kept up with me because he knew I had finished my graduate degree. I'm guessing that Uncle Bill had kept him up to date. Matt spent most of his affection on Rick. I don't know if I had ever seen anyone so overjoyed to see someone as Matt did Rick. Sometimes I felt I was on the edge of the conversation, but that was all right. It was more than all right. Near 2:00 pm we ran out of things to say other than to promise that we would not let such a long time pass before the three of us got together again.
Standing in the parking lot we watched Matt drive off.
“You see, there is real good in this world. That Matt, he's one of the best.”
“Yeah, one of the best. Rick, I don't mind you being all knowing as long as you're right, and in this case, with Matt, you're right, he's one of the best.”
The next day we dropped by the National Bank of Odessa to see my Uncle Bill. Most of Uncle Bill's time was spent talking with Rick. When someone comes back from the edge of madness, well, it is hard to top that in conversation. I didn't mind, it was good to see Uncle Bill's reaction to Rick, it was good to see Rick driving the conversation again. Our final stop that day was SouthWestern Tanks. Over a few ice cold cokes, (mine, Carey's and Ned's were spiked with a little Black Jack that Carey kept in his desk) we learned of what had happened in the last few years. Bucky had moved on, leaving SouthWestern Tanks when times got real tough in '84, no one was sure where he was. Jim was still the shop foreman, Ned was still the engineer and Carey now managed the front office on his own. Times were till hard, there wasn't much work to be had, but Matt kept as many of the old crew employed and paid as he could.
Around 6:00 pm Rick and I pulled up to his house. We sat out front, not sure what to say. As it had almost always been, Rick got the words going.
“When you headed back? I think you've seen all there is to see here. You look like you're about to itch out of your skin.”
Rick was right. I had been itching to leave almost since I arrived but the problem was I really didn't have anywhere to go. No job in Austin, no real purpose to what I was doing. The lack of structure was worrying me. I hadn't handled this unexpected freedom all that well.
“Think over that idea we had, of you starting up your writing thing. I think you could make a go of it. Contract yourself out, you know all about contracting. Take the work you want, take the work you need. Stay busy, but not so busy that you've no time to move forward. Hell, maybe it is time to see if you can write something else than what someone has told you to write.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You see things no one else sees. You hear things no one else hears. That isn't by accident. That's by design, whether you accept it or not. Time for you to make more use of your gifts, time for you to start giving back.”
I wasn't ready to accept that things happened by design. No, not ready. Too much seemed to happen by chance but I wasn't interested in the discussion or the argument on that topic. I was tired. I was ready to go. But I did like the contract writing idea.
“I've been thinking about the contract writing thing. I'm beginning to see how it would work. Think I even have a name for the company. What do you think of VP Words?”
Rick smiled, slapped me on the shoulder and said “I like it, I like it. Now, get going and make me proud.”
We shook hands, he walked to the front door and waved from there as I drove to my Mom's house.
The next morning Sam and I packed up and drove back to Austin.
The following Monday afternoon Sam and I were at home when the doorbell rang. It was Mark with a case of beer.
“Shit, this layoff crap must be contagious. First you, then me. But, hell, at least I got a few weeks severance.”
The next few weeks were a little hazy. Mark was over at the house nearly every day and if he was there we drank. Neither one of us were making much progress in our future. Most nights Mark drove home to his apartment, but in mid-November he moved out, moved most of his stuff to a storage shed and spent most days and nights at my house. I actually was trying to make some headway with my plans for VP Words but I was spending more time drinking with Mark than I was thinking. The first few weekends of “freedom” Jack joined us to watch college football games but he had a job and was serious with Shannon so he didn't have as much time for serious drinking as his two unemployed friends did.
Mark spent Thanksgiving week with his parents in Odessa. Since I had been in Odessa just a few weeks earlier I stayed in Austin. Sam and I had a quiet holiday, a sane holiday as I dried out.
Monday morning after Thanksgiving I put together my plan for VP Words. It wasn't a very elaborate plan, I didn't want to waste time on a lot of details. Instead I focused on being adaptable. My first decision was to focus on short term jobs, no long contracts. I called up some of the people I knew from IBM and told them that I was available for “hot shot” writing, writing and editing gigs that lasted from a couple of days up to a couple of weeks.
Tuesday I went down to the University job center and put together a list of Austin companies to call, companies owned or managed by UT alumni. Wednesday I crafted a cut sheet describing what kind of services I could provide. Thursday IBM called and wanted me to work the last three weeks of December. Too many of their permanent employees were taking the holidays off and practically no one would be around to work on the publications. They knew my work, I knew their products. It was a perfect fit. I wasn't looking for anything long term and they weren't offering anything long term. Friday I called almost every company on my list. Most companies were courteous but didn't let me speak to a decision maker. Saturday I sent out my cut sheet to all of the companies on my list. The first week of December three of the companies from my list called me, said they had received my cut sheet and wanted to meet with me. By the end of the week I had set up two more short term contracts that would take me through January. I was working again and this time I had more control.
Mark called me on December 10th. He was still in Odessa and was going to stay there. He said he had a line on some accounting work in Midland and that it was good to be back in West Texas. I told him about VP Words and that I had lined up my first three contracts.
December and January were busy months. The three week contract at IBM went well. My first week there was a transition week, the people who were about to go on vacation caught me up on what they wanted me to work on. The last two weeks of the years the plant site was a bit of a ghost town, but I was there every day logging my hours. My contract ended on Wednesday, New Year's Eve.
I had the rest of the week off and started my next contract on Monday, January 5, 1987. This time I was working for a law firm who needed some help on marketing and advertising materials. The last half of the month I worked at a small software firm in south Austin, editing their technical documentation.
Author’s note: Most of the characters in these not quite true tales of Texas are amalgams of people I know (in most cases more than one person) and some absolute fiction.
The character of Matt Johnson is based on one person: Don Williams, the president and CEO of Western Tank Company of Odessa, Texas. The above photo is of the five Williams brothers in either the late 1940s or early 1950s. Don is the smiling one on the right hand side. I worked at Western Tank for three years while I was attending Odessa College and UTPB. From my experience Don Williams was one of the truly good ones.
Speaking of “not quite true tales of Texas” - my goal is to tell a story that is mired just enough in what really happened that it becomes a little difficult to separate what really happened from the fictional part of the story.
Next week: In Episode 3 of Walking Backwards a friend from the past invites Drew to Houston where Drew meets someone new.
love the surrealism of life