Read an Excerpt
Shifts
By James G. Davies Sr.
iUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2011 James G. Davies Sr.
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4502-9847-6
Chapter One
Why 'Time fries.' Or The 'Friday flue.'
Apparently someone is presently in a position, and not on just the 'horizontal' plain, to prove what is said about the 'almighty buck', 'you 'can-not' take it with you!' At least it would seem so - since none of what the 'dearly departed' had hoarded during his limited time here on earth is presently visible. And since there is also no 'Wells Fargo' or 'Brinks' truck anywhere to be seen in the immediate vicinity, it would appear that it's safe to say, that, 'when you go, you 'really, really' 'go'! Plus, you 'definitely' no matter what anyone else might try to tell you, 'you do not', well, other than what you are wearing and farewell trinkets, 'take anything else materialistic acquired by said 'loot' with you!
Now the 'who' or 'why' of the recently deceased is not really overly important at this time, well, at least not just yet. But, even though soft religious music is being pumped in from somewhere, a minister presently delivering one of his best often rehearsed eulogies to apparent friends of the literary 'poor sole' in the closed casket, there all traditional similarities - abruptly grind to a stop.
There is also the suggestive appearance of it being a hot sticky mid-July afternoon. As well, the atmosphere from the open aired service is noticeably affecting the strange antics of the large gathering. Instead of beads of sweaty tears or sorrow showing on the group's faces, soft smiles and light joyous conversation is floating among the just short of boisterous crowd, with the minister busily reminiscing about memories that were not any part of even his. Joining the festivities is an aroma of fresh summer flowers blooming close-by, blending in with the pleasing overhead clear blue sky. Also present are the sounds of passing chirping birds, as the chattering mob continues to act just as if they were really at some sort of joyous outdoor festivity, instead of the intended heart rendering farewell tagged onto the end of ones eventual departure.
In life the recently deceased had been recognized as an individual who was often considered as an all-around 'pain in the prostrate' to most of the men he controlled, with that definition being by far one of his good points. Justifiably nicknamed the 'Evil Dwarf' by the gathering, by factory workers he had intimidated or invoked anger from, the man's presence would obviously be far from missed. The fact that in life most found their departed foreman anything but likeable or friendly, it was something which apparently no longer really mattered. And it was only our singular smiling George Stone, his reputedly 'most' antagonistic worker, who truly and fully appreciated the exact extent of just what was really going on right now.
Constantly during the 'service' this well-groomed devilishly grinning individual 'I already warned you that our soon to be main man 'George' was a strange human who evidently found humor even in the all inevitable departure called 'death', had allowed his attention to float continually back and forth. Up down and across that is, through the sea of seemingly happy and also very familiar work related faces before him.
Suddenly now, as the minister's voice grew louder, our boy Georges' concentration finally belonged to this man of the cloth, and to him alone, as his eyes hypnotically followed the 'man of Gods" every over-exaggerated gesture.
Strangely his body suddenly felt pleasantly warm, and yet still contently hypnotized. In the background he could see a half dozen sardonic grinning 'pawl bearers' suddenly surround the bright acrylic red coffin, no doubt after a short wordless order from the minister. On more than one occasion, he could recall, it had been remarked that the foeman had been enough of a male's 'doniker' to warrant having to carry his own casket to the graveyard when the time came. But then again - as six men dressed in black tuxedos with matching stove pipe hats aligned the 'oblong box', it was just possible that a further remark about how most people would 'gladly' go to their bosses' funeral - strictly to make sure the wasn't just playing a trick on them. Hell, that would be too obvious, but then again , it just might very well be the main reason responsible for such a large presently rambunctious turn out.
Finally, as he continued to watch, each man then reached up and pulled the shining tubular stiff black hats down tightly against their now pushed out protruding ears. But when they quickly picked up the eye dazzling 'bloody nose red' container, a gun magically materialized held high over the clergyman's head, George couldn't help but start to laugh uncontrollably ahead of what he strangely knew could only be about to happen next.
Instead of a loud thundering 'bang' emitting from the weapon clenched in the minister's raised outstretched hand, a short ear-piercing 'ring' irritably echoed inside of his head. It was also, apparently for this gathering, a normal phenomenon, which in turn instantly seemed to prod the rest of the smiling funeral party into letting out a loud roaring cheer.
Then, from the gathering, came a pair of identical and beautiful obviously built for breeding scantily clad young women, edging themselves closer to George's knee-crossed seated form. He in turn, even stranger for those who knew him and his attraction for 'top heavy' overly endowed young ladies, seemed entranced, as his eyes joyously engulfed the now uplifted casket being comically whisked away by the six work-related pawl bearers. And as they moved jerkily, just as if they were on a thirty-three and a third rotations record presently being played at an advanced seventy-eight speed, the sound of joyous pulsating applause once again filled the gay atmosphere around them.
Even passing pigeons seemed to be a party to what was happening because one, an obvious critic, now flew low over the bobbing coffin and made a noticeable deposit as if to signify it also had know of the deceased man's memorable virtues.
Suddenly, just as when things going all too well always seemed to do, something happened that was about to bring an abrupt end to our boy's joyous festivities. When the second ear-piercing ring from the minister's weapon reached his ears, it somehow caused the comical dream like world around him to instantly freeze, only then to start melting, like raindrops running down a car's windshield. In one foolish last second of desperation, as if his brain had already sensed what was happening, he tried to wrap each of his arms around the two voluptuous cud-able creatures now smiling on each side of him, their hands resting on his neck and shoulders. But when his arms passed right through the intoxicating creature's bodies, the often contagious smile that had been at home on his face, regrettably likewise started to drain away to join them.
Some as yet still unknown wave of invisible pain now caused his head to suddenly feel as if it were the 'clapper' inside a gigantic unseen church bell. Then, while the fading images reverberated and echoed down the corridors of his interrupted dream world, his body slowly acknowledged its beckoning back to the harshness of reality, a reality with its painful existence now once more calling out to him.
It was in this passing 'twinkling of an eye', as had happened on over countless other such similar nights, that the often humorous protective fantasy world of our George Allen Stone regrettably once again 'died' the unavoidably inevitable death.
Our boys' material world, although very often closely associated with that of his fantasy domain, was sometimes exactly as he dreamed himself and others to be. It was something he brought with him from his childhood, something that had made older women wanting to scold and pinch his little cheek each time his devilish nature had acted up. The only thing different between then and now, even though he was still inclined to act up, was that now that some older woman he knew, and even some of those who didn't really know him - now just wanted to occasionally 'slap' that very same cheek.
His quick biting wit and overall friendly attitude had more than once brought people forward, in search and appreciation of his well-intended acid tongued comments. It was this personality, something we more sense and feel towards one another rather than see or hear, that helped make him always smile in even the touchiest of situations.
All of these things, only led to the fact that he was about to wake up in his own bed. This, in itself, was a 'real' rarity, considering places such as the backyard, bathtub, pool deck, front lawn, and unlimited other similar strange places that had served as his mattress on past occasions. But the originally anticipated location would 'not' prove to be the 'first and only' highlight of his soon to be pain-ridden day.
A deep-rooted habitual instinct caused one of the arms on his now tortured horizontally resting form to sneak out and 'kill' the reverberating monster that had summoned him back to the existence he had once more almost successfully drowned in alcohol, only scant hours earlier.
Using that same instinct to push his groggy body fully erect from the bed beneath him, because he'd never been a 'five-minutes-more' type of sleeper, George's hands automatically shot out to carefully and gently encase a pulsating head that suddenly felt as if it were about ready to go off like a giant roman candle. Letting gravity make his body fall backwards into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, a small moan escaping his lips, only managed to slightly relieve the throbbing time bomb straining to explode inside of his aching 'pumpkin'.
Slowly now, more through instinct than necessity, he forced his eyes to scan the room's fuzzy familiar surroundings in search of a usually non-sympathetic wife, a consistently on the go individual he presently and secretly hoped would now be in the kitchen putting a silencer on his 'snap-crackle-pop' breakfast. Instantly he found that even 'they, his 'stained portholes' to the world each time they were forced to try and focus on the razor sharp outline of any object in the bedroom encasing his tormented form, ached in protest to their every movement. Holding them closed, his pulsating head agonizingly matching and counting off the tormenting passing seconds, he talked to himself briefly "You damn idiot!" before once more foolishly feeling ready to challenge the enemy again.
Cautiously using only one eye at a time this time, but just as 'slowly' as earlier, he let the windows to his conscious world hesitantly flutter open until they both could eventually lock onto the object most nearest him. As the reality that it belonged to the alarm clock, sank into his aching thoughts, he instantly remembered that it had been this obviously devil created instrument that had brought him out of sleeps peaceful sanctuary, only without mercy to toss him into his present tormented condition. And the biggest thing he 'really' hated about repeatedly being treated with no respect, was that he always seemed to land on his 'head', or why else would it always give him the most trouble when arriving back onto the first step of his next new journey
Mature intelligence told him that the act he was about to perform couldn't possibly ease any of the terrible pulsating pain he was still presently experiencing, but he did it anyway. In one fluid nonstop motion he scooped up the mechanical device now silently performing a function it was also created for, and tossed it sidearm out through one of the bedroom's two opened windows, directly across from him. And as he watched the alarm clock sail majestically out of view, something he had also done countless times before, he at least felt psychologically satisfied when his ears registered on the loud unseen 'plop' it made when landing in the backyards similarly located swimming pool.
Something previously undetected, now in the room's doorway, moved at the side of his present line of tormented vision. Forcing his head to pivot in its direction, even though he already knew what the intrusion could only be, he wasn't at all surprised when the outline of his reputed 'better half' came into full view. And when her soft seemingly unconcerned voice said, "Morning hun. One of these days I guess we're just gonna have to find out if someone makes a cheap waterproof alarm clock that's available to the public." he didn't even attempt to acknowledge the sarcastically weak remark.
Wordlessly watching her as she then made her way towards their bed he was still sitting on, another ritual they were often a part of because he wasn't yet sure if he was capable of speech, he made no effort to move. And his evaluation of her present attire, her bandanna wrapped head said that she was either about to totally dust down the house as soon as he was off to work, or they were going to too have Aunt Jemima pancakes for breakfast, he kept to himself right up to and after as she spoke once again.
"Breakfast is almost ready, and Fred's still comatose in his car out in the driveway."
Concentrating fully on simply standing erect now, with as little discomfort as possible, he finally managed to mumble "Good morning yourself." through lips that felt as if they and the tongue they were concealing had been used as a 'doormat'. Smiling a little sadistically, the object of his affection almost unintentionally, set her-self up for a fall. "Did ya have a bad time last night, hon? You kept waking up and touching me."
George, again more through instinct than necessity, didn't even hesitate, let alone consider the agony he would have to pay physically and psychologically for the reply, shot back brokenly, "Oh, I was probably, just checking to see which 'nightmare', I was presently visiting just now."
He next cautiously used one hand on the nightstand close-by so as to help steady his already anticipated tormented shaky movements. Then, for reasons probably known only to his warped sense of humor, the very reasons why he had not kept the waterbed they had purchased a year earlier, flashed through his memory.
On more than one occasion he and the wife had heard of so many therapeutic benefits of a waterbed from friends and relatives, not to mention its rumored sexual attributes that they had decided to purchase one. But right from night 'one', the rippling creature had proven to be an unwise investment. For him it had been a long time since he had experienced an intoxicated induced floating bedroom, and the first night had quickly brought that queasy sensation back fresh into his memory. The second night had started off a little more hopeful, after, a sometimes more comical than clumsy contortionist bout with 'laying a little pipe', meaning attempting sex, but it soon only preceded more bobbing hours of lost sleep. And when on the third night the wife had developed a bad case of body shaking 'hiccups', something he still swears gave him his first experience with a nauseating bout of 'seasickness', they had both decided that the rippling monster would have to find a new home.
Even, though all of these memories had flashed through George's tormented head in less than a second, he knew he didn't have to glance at the 'love of his life's' face to know that the whimsical grin that had been seated on it as she had entered the room, was no doubt still there. He was also smart enough to realize that any attempt to 'lying the-afford mentioned 'pipe', although he constantly was commenting that it was one of those things you couldn't 'save up' or 'put in the bank', would not only have been totally one sided. He also knew that any strenuous activity could be a lot more painful than the threat of 'death itself',, although he thought, its painless sanctuary 'did' sound appealing, especially just now. Also, since Judy was far from being an exhibitionist, it was highly unlikely that sex had entered either of their heads last night, considering his present condition. Besides - similar past experiences told him the 'chub' he was sporting just now was only full of kidney strained booze, 'not' anticipation.
Twenty years of living together as husband and wife had given both of them more than enough time to know and adapt to each others personal oddities or traits. And when George finally managed to perform the maneuvers he had missed on the first try, grabbing the night stand securely, he made no attempt to look in Judy's busy direction, when finally asking if she had sent one of the kids out to the car to wake Fred up.
"Ya, Ian's going to do it as soon as he gets dressed." there was a noticeable brief split second's silence at the end of her reply. It was almost as if she were waiting for George to respond to it, but he in turn only used the pause to finally glance in her direction. The gesture, as their eyes met, told her that it was safe enough to quickly add what else was on her mind.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Shifts by James G. Davies Sr. Copyright © 2011 by James G. Davies Sr.. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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