Sunday, November 9, 2014

The Greaser

  November had snuck into The Van Man's life. He had lived in a day-to-day fog since the rainy end to October. The Halloween Hangover. A Samhain Siesta. The City of Angels had continued on without him and he needed to catch up. There were rehearsals and film shoots and construction gigs on the horizon. November seemed to offer kindness to him. The Cough did not.
  Van Man had been plagued with the affliction for far too long. And The Cough was not ready to give up its lung apartment. He choked and wheezed for five minutes. He felt the throes of suffocation. Don't let me end up dead in the back of a van, thought Van Man. Who he had asked was a mystery to him, but it seemed like the correct dramatic interpretation in the moment.
  Van Man needed money and the construction work was plentiful. Cough or no cough, he would work. The gig was a three-man job. Van Man, Big Jim and The Foreman were to build a ritzy tree house at a ritzy house in ritzy Brentwood. The gentleman whom had paid for the entire job was a father of three and former collegiate basketball hero-turned lawyer. The Father introduced himself to Van Man and extended his hand which Van Man shook. A few minutes had passed and The Father explained some of the things he wanted for the tree house. Van Man noticed that The Father had gnarly hands. Two fingers were absent on each. One hand had the thumb, index finger and pinky intact. A sort of everlasting I LOVE YOU symbol made famous by "Superfly" Jimmy Snuka. The other hand lacked the index and bird finger. It appeared to Van Man as a good tool to spice up the love-life with the wife. Van Man chose a name for the sexual hand. The Greaser. A hook for the bush and two in the tush, she's lovin' that shit, thought Van Man.
  The three laborers worked the day away. They chopped. They sawed. They hammered and nailed. Up and down and up the tree they went. Van Man inhaled the sawdust which he knew was not a good combination with The Cough. His thoughts turned to Father Fingers. What had happened to him? Had he been a college hoops star with an NBA dream only able to see those dreams dashed after one night out with the friends? One too many drinks by some asshole who drove too close to the median. In a flash, traumatic events unfolded and the future uptown lawyer would wake up on a hospital bed. He handled the doctors explaining to him that four of his fingers were mangled beyond repair and had to be removed. He would accept the fact that his basketball days were over. What he could not accept was that two of his friends were dead. It would be a tragedy that would haunt Father Fingers for the rest of his life. But he would be dedicated to making his life great. A law practice. A beautiful wife. Three wonderful children. And a Tesla.
  Yes, Father Fingers had come full circle and was alive and well in the midst of a better dream. One that took place in Brentwood. One that inspired The Van Man who did not even notice the rupturous Cough as he contemplated the journey of Father Fingers. Van Man worked away in the tree. He was anew. And he was glad he had all of his fingers.

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