Screech!

Screech!...not the sound of screaming brakes, or water pump...or raptor peering down, from high in sky...Screech, a skinny sort of hippy guy...who had a gift...restoring old antiques...and that was me...for sure. Screech came around, from time to time...with his dear mate, Marilyn...and we would chew the fat...as they say, and drink beer, and talk and talk and talk...

Then...Screech and mate, would roll old Screech's jerry rigged contraption...clean on out of there...and me and Angie...we would miss them...and weeks and months would fly on by...and Screech would call..."Hey!...duck plucker!" He would say..."Want to come on up to North Dakota?...You can buy a whole damn town for five k."

"Oh...yeah, Screech...that's right up there at top of Angie's priority." And then, he went away, a few weeks pass, months, a year...ring a ding..."Hey! Duck plucker!...what you gotta say?" and we would shoot the breeze...Marilyn would take the phone, and Angie on the other end...the girls would chat...the real brains...and there would be a pause for months...or years...

Old Screech, the kindest carpet bagger man, had a plan for every thing...hated him the city..called and called again, to try to get us on their frequency...trouble was, Angie needed specialized care...we couldn't drift out there to jerry rig land...even if we wanted to...and Screech was my soul...calling me again, but I never went...my choice was clear...you do not leave a friend...

In the middle of no where...so that went on, and then, as time went by, we never heard again, from old Screecher...did he die...or did his girl of many years, just up and go...weary of her same old creature...I don't know...but I know, my sorry  soul has a hole, where my pal never calls no more...stay in touch folks...it hurts...when you don't...


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2015

Art: Junkman Frozen In Time, by presently unknown artist