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Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado

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Greaseball's Story. (Part One)
By Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado
Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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A homeless bum shares his story.

Image of American flag (c) 2011, by Karla Dorman.

What do I have to be grateful about?

I mean, look:  I don't got a home.  Homeless.  Yep, that's me.  Been this way for goin' on 20 years, nearly; don't see anybody bendin' over and tryin' to cut me some slack.  If anything, people treat me real bad and I don't like havin' anythin' to do with people 'cause they'd soon stab me in the back rather than help me.

Name's Greaseball.  Real name Connie (short for Constantino), but 'round here, I'm known as "Greaseball".  I'm a retired disabled Veteran; fought in the first Gulf War and look where it got me: a trip to nowhere, a trip to the streets.

Some gratitude, huh?  Thank you for your service; now get out of here 'cause you don't matter.  We don't wanna bother with the likes of you.

Yesterday was especially hard for me.  Everyone was celebratin' Independence Day, but to me it was just another ho-hum, boring day.  Spent a lot of it tryin' to keep out of the hot sun before I got cooked halfway to death, then lyin' in an alleyway, tryin' to get some sleep, but couln't, thanks to everyone shootin' off their stupid roman candles, fireworks, and firecrackers and shit.  Also could hear fireworks going off in the distance, which set the dogs off, so I ddin't get any sleep until well past midnight or so.

I used to have a home and a family, but I started drinkin' after I got out of the military, so they up and left me.  Been on my own since.  Have a son and a wife, but they no longer try to contact me (nor I, them).  Guess they got tired of me havin' too many conversations with the brown bottle, so they left me, just like that.

I drink to take away the pain.  Got shrapnel in my leg, leg all scarred up to shit, had several operations to try to fix it, but it don't do any good.  Walk with a cane (a crutch on bad days), also messed up in my mind: saw too much, heard too much horror; don't wanna think about it, so I drink.  Simple as that.

I ddin't see any fireworks; didn't want to.  Fireworks only mean sadness and death for me.  Don't wanna have anything to do with 'em, they sound too much like gunfire going off and I'm extremely gunshy.  When someone lights up a firecracker, firework, or roman candle near me and it goes off, I about have a moo-cow in my drawers; it scares me so bad!!  Then I'm ready to go after the person (or people), but can't move quick, so I just stand there, waving my cane (or crutch) and screamin' all sorts of obscenities at them.  It may not help them, but it sure helps me some.

I'm so glad the Fourth is over.  Now maybe I can get some sleep!  The past week has been hard on my nerves!!  If I don't hear another firecracker or firework or roman candle going off, it will be too soon!!

Well, I am gonna cut outta here.  Gonna get me something to drink; my throat is so dry it feels like I swallowed half of the Gobi Desert!  Take care; I'll write in here again soon!  Til then, this is Graaseball sayin' over and out!


~To be continued.~ 

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Reviewed by Mark Lichterman 7/7/2011
So sad! What a wonderfully terrible story, Karen.
A work of fiction here, but, so sadly, true fiction.
Your friend in Southern California; Mark
Reviewed by Michelle Kidwell Power In The Pen 7/5/2011
Awesome write Karen
Reviewed by Joy Hale 7/5/2011
Great subject, even greater read. Liked it very much, Joy L. Hale
Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 7/5/2011
Our Veterans should lack for NOTHING. Sad one, Karen. Terrible, the price some pay for their service ... well done.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. :(

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