DESPERATE

[Nikki]

                                       


THIS IS NOT FICTION

 

It was the summer of 1984, we had just finished a chocolate-chip pancake breakfast w/ Orange Juice. My “New-Comers name was Chris Scoggins. A quiet, un-happy guy who, like all of us, wanted to leave Straight Inc. He, however , took extreme measures,. Walking into the kitchen, to clean our dirty plates , he broke his glass, then ran into my parents bedroom where my infant niece lay a sleep. As I ran after him, entering the oom I saw the un-imaginable ! Chris , leaning into the crib with the broken glass pointing towards the baby’s throat. Screaming for my dad, he demanded the front door key’s. Later, he was captured and brought back. In disbelief I spat on his face.

[Woof-a-Doof]

My story, also non-fictional, pertains to a nameless fellow. Not out of any particular honor or hub-bub about leaving out names…I simply do not remember the guys name. But I remember his behavior. I don’t believe I had new comers at the particular time of the incident, but I well may have leading up to the incident.

If I may set the physical scene; my parents owned a small two-bedroom villa on St. Petersburg Beach, That was built during world war two as a R&R destination for the folks out of Mac Dill air force base I believe and other surrounding bases. Because they were built for military personnel, they were built with extraordinary care. Solid re-enforced walls with a crushed oyster exterior, certainly nothing fancy, but built to take extensive abuse, both from the outside enemy forces and from marauding military personnel on leave.

One of the many guys that stayed with my family was a guy that who not only did not wish to be there, there was clearly something amiss with his ability to cope with the circumstances we all found ourselves in. He was a head banger. Not the head bangers we all now associate with music of the head banger genre. He literally would bang his head into the walls of the bedroom.

Knowing the density of the walls and the construction of them, I would try and separate his head from with the walls with a pillow or something remotely absorbent. This always resulted in a fistfight, which I would inevitably loose and he would return to banging his head against the walls. Genuinely concerned I informed my parents of what was happening. My mother, bless her punkin head, tried to re-direct him by doing what mothers do…begging, pleading, slapping him with guilt trips… my father, prick that he was/is, simply explained the logistics of the building and left it at that.

I don’t’ recall how staff was notified, via my own means or thru my parents, but the answer was that he was to return back to my home. I believe he was the only new-comer to return home with me that night….which seems all to typical.

I awoke that night with this individual welding an 18 inch trophy I had been awarded for something or another. He held it above my head and said…â€