Waiting for the Greys!

Waiting For the Greys!

By Wentworth Boughn

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright  2016 by Wentworth Boughn.  All rights reserved.

IBSN 978-1-312-16334-8

Cover by Wentworth Boughn. 

Thanks to Rikk Murphy for the bug and Gustavo Varelas for the light.

Chapter 1: Biting At Air

Even while hanging spread-eagled upside down, it was apparent that Clarence was an earnest dresser.  Two polished wingtip shoes pointed defiantly to the mighty blue sky.  His charcoal gray pleated pants sported a fine, ironed crease.  The white collared short-sleeved shirt remained crisp despite the heavy chains crisscrossing his chest.  The one thing that didn’t jibe was his unruly mop top, which sprung from his skull in jubilant defiance.  Whether right side up or upside down, no comb could quite tame it.  Sometimes women he didn’t know would lick their fingers and try to tamp it down.  None succeeded.

A crumpled silver gum wrapper and a lonely nickel fell from his pants pocket and landed down by his head.  Clarence was a gum chewer, but not a bubble blower.  The nickel landed tails. 

When are they coming? Clarence grunted. 

Almost Doug wasn’t exactly sure who they even were, so instead, he held up the key, which he did remember was number three on the list.  Clarence nodded.  Almost Doug heaved the key into the desert brush.  He was impressed with how far it went.  Nobody would ever be able to find it.

To an upside down man, the sunrise appeared to slowly drop from the hanging mountains like the yolk from a cracked egg.  The native grasses of the desert were lit in gold.  However, Clarence didn’t allow the glory of a pretty sunrise to distract him from his greater purpose. 

Almost Doug, on the other hand, was delighted by what is known as the golden hour among photographers.  He snapped a few obligatory photos of Clarence for the archives.  Then he focused his lens on the morning mountains, bathed in a pink hue of innocent possibility.  From there he went onto a much smaller but no less majestic subject: a determined fire ant navigating the spines of a cactus.  The jaws opened and closed, angrily biting at air.

The sun ticked and the morning chill was gone.  Out of the whole expanse of the desert, the sun zeroed in on tiny Clarence.  His face had turned tomato red from sunburn and the blood pooling in his head.  While the chain dug callously into his ribs, he observed Almost Doug casually drinking tea from a plaid thermos.  Clarence’s throat was dust dry, but he felt it would be somehow cheating to get a drink.

You have any sunscreen? Clarence called out.

Remember that bottle I had, answered Almost Doug, adjusting the bill of his ball cap.  I had it for about seven years, and it always stayed half full.

Do you have it now?

Nope…  but wherever it is, I bet it’s still half full.

Almost Doug wore a tee shirt, khaki shorts, and an ever-present ball cap.  He wished he had one of those professional photographer’s vests with all the pockets and some cool gadgets to put in those pockets.   If he had a photographers vest, he could keep his sunscreen in there.

A jackrabbit hopped into view.  Sniff, sniff, hop.  Sniff, sniff, hop.  The jackrabbit hopped right by Lazar, Clarence’s dog.  Lazar ignored the creature, instead staring hard at a Frisbee next to his paws.  If the Frisbee were to suddenly move, Lazar would be ready.  The jackrabbit scooted up to Lazar, sniffed his butt, and satisfied, moved on.  Lazar paid no mind.

Clarence and his little sister had found Lazar three years ago by a dumpster, when he was just a puppy.  His head was stuck in an empty jar of strawberry jelly, along with a dead bee.  The jar was too heavy for his scrawny puppy neck and scraped along the alley as he walked.  Clarence popped his head out of the jar.  One eye was swollen shut from a bee sting, and strawberry jelly stuck to his fur.  Isabella was in love.  Clarence got a rag from the dumpster to clean him off, and when he turned back around, Lazar’s head was stuck in the jar again.

A pickup approached on the dusty highway.  Nineteen year old Ruby sat in the passenger seat, while her father drove with his weathered hands on ten and two.  Their ancestry was part Spanish and part Apache with a wee bit of Irish snuck somewhere in the mix, according to family lore.

Ruby saw a man spread-eagled upside down on a fence and another man doing a crossword on a rock, and Ruby was stirred.  She smiled and her eyes disappeared in her round cheeks.  Ruby had the urge to hoot at them.  Her father pressed the power button, closing the window.  There would be no hooting today. 

Ruby twisted her head upside down as far as she could to try to see the man’s face and maybe the world from his perspective.  Just as she was about to say, Hey, I know that guy, her father went over a bump, and she hit her forehead on the window.  Ruby gave her dad the stink eye.  He’d done that on purpose.  Her father kept his eyes on the road as they drove on.

When are they coming? asked Clarence.

Who?

The media.

Almost Doug first thought about shaking his head no, no one was coming.  Then he decided to shrug instead.  A shrug meant there was still a chance.

You’re in charge of PR.

Almost Doug was in charge of PR, as well as the Loch Ness division.  He preferred the low pressure of the Loch Ness.  A lake a half a world away with a dinosaur swimming in it was a nice little niche.  Public relations for Clarence always seemed to involve conflict and humiliation.

If no one is coming, why am I here? Clarence asked himself.  His face was flushed.  His head pounded.  I’m losing brain function here.  I need to get upright.  Find the key.

Almost Doug lumbered off into the desert brush.  While he searched for the key, Almost Doug thought about Hope.  They would chat for hours online, typing out all their dreams.  It was obvious that he and Hope were soul mates.  For the longest time, the words and thoughts were more than enough.  Almost Doug promised he didn’t care what she looked like, that he would love her no matter what.  Finally, Hope sent Almost Doug her photograph.  He couldn’t believe it.  She was beautiful.  She looked just like the Canadian singer-songwriter, Jewel.

It was Clarence who informed him it was Jewel.  The photo was taken from the liner notes of her sixth album, Goodbye Alice in Wonderland.  For a brief moment, Almost Doug was ecstatic.  He had fallen in love with one of his favorite singer-songwriters and didn’t even know it!  Soon, the sad tragedy of reality set in.  He’d been duped.  Almost Doug deleted his Yahoo right then. 

Almost Doug hadn’t gone out with anyone since his break up with Hope, whom he never actually met in person. 

I wish I could skip the initial meeting part, and the dating, too, Almost Doug called out to Clarence across the desert.  I want to be in a relationship where the romance is gone, and the couple is already comfortably bored with each other.

Upside down Clarence didn’t know what he was talking about.  Clarence felt he had to provide Almost Doug almost continuous guidance to keep him focused on the important things.

Find… the… key! Clarence reminded him. 

Lazar didn’t bark when the military police arrived.  He licked his Frisbee.  The older officer walked up and stopped with his boots right by Clarence’s head.  Clarence remained still as a fence post.

It’s going to be a hot one today, isn’t it?

I want the truth.  Clarence spoke through gritted teeth, directly to the boots.

I know you do.  I read your sign. 

Almost Doug had posted a sign that did say exactly that: I WANT THE TRUTH.  It had been number two on the list.   The young officer yanked the sign down dramatically.  He flung the sign over his head for more dramatic effect, but it simply fluttered to the ground.  The older officer scanned the land.

Where’s your buddy?

Almost Doug popped up from behind a sagebrush with his hands raised, part surrender, part hello.

Can’t find the key, he apologized.

Get your butt over here, so I can arrest you.

Almost Doug trotted over, almost skipping.  He and Clarence had been out in the desert for a long time, and he felt the military police had somehow rescued them.  He happily offered his wrists to be cuffed.  They told him to go sit on a rock, and that is what he did.  He admired the crisp authority of the officer’s uniform.  Sometimes Almost Doug thought about joining the military, maybe become a Navy Seal.  Women love men in uniform.

We have a civilian who has chained himself to the fence on the south side, third quadrant, the young officer radioed in.  Bring the bolt cutters."

I threw that key far! Almost Doug whispered proudly to Clarence.  Clarence coolly surveyed their situation.

Roswell.

Clarence spoke it like the epiphany that it was. 

Roswell…  Roswell.

Clarence began shouting the epiphany, punching the syllables hard, and shaking the very chains that held him.  It would have been a very powerful moment if he had a few hundred protesters chanting it with him, building to a dramatic crescendo.  There was only Almost Doug, who pretended to be busy looking at his shoe, so he wouldn’t have to join in.  Clarence didn’t need the safety and reassurance of a large crowd behind him.  He had the truth.

Roswell!  Roswell!  Roswell!   Roswell!  Roswell!  Ros-

A quick spray of mace to his face cut off the chant.  The poison burned his eyes and closed his lungs, courtesy of the United States military industrial complex.  Clarence gagged, spit, and coughed.  Tears and chemicals mixed.  He couldn’t open or close his eyes.

F.Y.I., Clarence wheezed.  I’m developing a resistance to pepper spray…  Roswell.  Roswell!  Roswell!  Roswell!  Roswell!

He was upside down and now blind, but his voice was strong and unrelenting.  Surely, it must have echoed off the distant mountains across the land for everyone to hear.

Chapter 2: A caged light bulb

Drip…. Drip-drip… drip…. The stainless steel sink in the cell marked off the time, only it didn’t quite keep a steady beat.  It would drip, drip, drip-drip… drip, and stop.  Almost Doug waited for the next drip, and there was nothing.  Then just when he thought it was over, it would begin again.  Drip.  The drip was unpredictable and unrelenting and doing it on purpose…   Drip.

Almost Doug had been yelled at a few times in his life, but he had never been arrested before.  Jail was much worse than being yelled at.  It was like being yelled at by all of society.  He never thought that society would deem it necessary to lock him up, whereas for Clarence, it was part of his plan.  Ghandi.  Martin Luther King.  Johnny Cash.  Clarence Matussey.  The truth didn’t come easy.  Jail came with the territory. If being locked up bothered him, he wasn’t letting anyone know.  He showed no fear, no regret.  The fact that he had been arrested proved to him that he was on the right path.  The government was shaking in its boots.  Clarence scraped a rock against the cinder block wall, making a determined, thin tally mark.  Day one.

Clarence had the wiry build of a bantamweight club boxer and the temperament to match.  The orange jumpsuit that had been issued to him was a few sizes too big, and he had to roll up his pant cuffs.  Still, they bunched at his ankles and dragged on the floor.  Almost Doug’s jumpsuit was a bit too small.  His pant legs came mid-ankle, like Dayglo capris.   When he sat, they rode halfway up his shins.  Clarence felt the ill-fitting jumpsuits had been done on purpose as a way to humiliate them, a futile attempt to break their spirit.  It never crossed their minds to simply trade orange jumpsuits. 

Clarence stood still as a statue in his socks and too big orange jumpsuit on the cold concrete floor.  With his neck craned to the ceiling, he stared at the caged light bulb overhead and smiled hard.  He had his father’s piercing eyes and his mother’s steadfast jaw.

The body associates looking up and smiling with being happy.  So if you look up at the ceiling and smile, you will become happy, Clarence said with a smile.

Are you happy now? asked the guy on the bottom bunk.  The guy on the bottom bunk had his blanket pulled over his head.  

Sometimes it takes a while.

Clarence regularly used this technique when things were