Post by James Gilmore on Apr 6, 2019 3:17:20 GMT
”DOUBLE DUMBASS ON YOU! - PART 2”
JAMES’ PERSONAL LOG: Continued from the previous page...
What a weird, weird day I was havin’. At first, I was out enjoyin’ a good lunch at a restaurant while listenin’ to Hank Williams.
One minute, I was lyin’ in the middle of Fredericksburg’s main drag.
Then the next, I was bein’ transported to somewhere, out in the middle of nowhere. It felt like an eternity, like I was dreamin’ that I was floatin’ among the clouds of an early spring sky. Yet as I slowly opened my eyes, I found myself starin’ at a silhouetted image of a lovely female figure that reminded me of her on so many levels...
“Yulia…babe, is that you...?!”
...except it wasn’t Yulia. I knew this because she had this distinctive accent that came straight outta Manchester, England, that reminded me of my own stepmother Joni. While my vision was still a bit foggy, I could tell she was puttin’ some sort of rag on my noggin after dippin’ it in some weird concoction, like healin’ water or somethin’.
“There now, just relax for a moment. You hit your head really hard against the pavement...”
“How long have I been out--?!”
“You’ve been asleep for almost five hours now.”
“Oh God...it was horrible! I had this...this bleepin’ nightmare...that some young gal busted my personal Galaga record, and when I tried to get to the salvage shop by crossin’ the street so I could ask her some questions, I...got hit by my own Datsun pickup truck…”
The mysterious woman giggled at me, but I could tell how nice she was really was.. She wasn’t laughin’ at me, she was laughin’ with me as she stood up...
“Well, at least I’m here to help you feel comfortable on the jolly old Kimble Ranch.”
...and after hearin’ that last bit, my vision suddenly cleared.
“The jolly old KIMBLE RANCH!?! GAHHH!!!!!!”
I quickly sat up and scanned around, tryin’ to get my bearings. One minute I was at an all-Texan eatin’ joint, and the next...I was in this lady’s bedroom that looked...oddly familiar to me. It was then I realized that, indeed, I was back at the very same ranch house Yulia and I agreed to watch over while Fiona was away.
Except...this wasn’t in my timeline. Everything looked different, from the noticable splatches of paint that covered cracks in the walls to the presence of a small 13-inch color TV that looked nowhere near the flat-screen units I was used to seein’.
“Who...wha...how…?!”
“I think that leaves out the ‘why’ and ‘when! I brought you here after hitting you with my jimmy--or as you Texas people call it, my truck...”
Now I understood. Yet as I tried to remove the pink washrag that was coverin’ my cranium...
“Keep it on your head.”
“Oy vey, the stench--!!”
“I know...but it’ll make you feel better.”
What shoulda been a few seconds to get adjusted to the different surroundings, it felt like more of a full day’s work in the ring. Thanks to the whiplash from hittin’the pavement, I could barely move my neck. I took a deep breath, wonderin’ who this lady really was.
“Who...who are you anyway?”
“My name’s Kimble...Regina Kimble.”
“Kimble…?! I heard you were that legendary kindergarten teacher turned principal…”
“In another life, I could be. How are you feeling, Mr. Prescott?”
Knowin' that she'd noticed the Dak Prescott jersey I was wearin', I raised a brow...
“Why’d ya call me Mr. Prescott…”
“It IS on the back of the kit you’re wearing, you silly goose!”
...before outstretchin’ my arms. It was then I realized that I had to introduce myself--albeit with the caveat that I keep some sort of cover so’s not to contaminate the timeline, which I figured I already did considerin’ the ruckus my accident had caused.
“Actually, my name’s James...and honestly, I dunno the polite word to describe how I’m feelin’.”
“Then I’ll spell it out for you Mr. Prescott…James: dumb-arse!! You caused quite a stir in town today; you’re too young and tough to do something stupid like that!!!”
“Yeah...you’re right. Double dumbass on me…”
She laughed out loud and patted me on the shoulder. As a distinctive kettle-whistlin’ sounded, I watched the curvaceous Miss Kimble walk out of the bedroom, only to bring back a silver tray with two piping hot mugs of tea.
“Here, try this cup of Earl Grey with sweet cream. It’s good for the soul.”
I’ve never had Earl Grey before in my life, not even when my stepmom made it. Yet I couldn’t help givin’ it a try, and as I took a sip...I warmly gave a slight nod. I loved it, and truthfully...I felt like beggin’ for me even though I had just started workin’ on the first mug.
“Listen, I have to drive over to the police station to work out the report; it’s merely a formality at this point. Lara will be here momentarily to take care of you.”
“Lara…?!”
“Lara Croft, she’s a local singer; she’s performing at a karaoke event for charity tomorrow night over at Duke’s Saloon.”
‘Lara Croft’...that name rang a bell to me. It was then, at that moment, when I fully understood that I had a mission to accomplish. Yet in my heart...I didn’t know whether or not to be shocked at seein’ my friend again, seein’ Fiona and her smilin’ face after she’d been away for too long.
“I’ll be there to see her sing tomorrow night...the least I can do for bein’ a dumbass.”
“Oh, I'm sure she’ll appreciate that very much...as long as you try NOT to get yourself killed next time you’re in town!”
“Next time, I’ll rent a Yugo…”
As Kimble left, I felt a wide range of emotions race through my mind. Grief, happiness, anger...they were all there, waitin’ for me to see which one I’d choose. Yet then, I heard a very distinctive female voice spewin' out some not-so-PG-rated verbatim, then a slam of the house’s front door, followed by the sound of keys bein’ tossed onto the kitchen counter…
“...piece of fucking shite YUGO! Tomorrow, I feel like going to the fucking Marathon place and demanding another fucking automobile! A fucking Mazda, a fucking Nissan, a fucking Chevrolet, a fucking Ford, a fucking Mercedes--four fucking wheels, a fucking stereo with tape deck, a fucking adjustable seat, something fucking EASIER to fucking fix than that pile of fucking rubbish that fucking ADAM SANDLER endorses!!!”
It was her! It was Fiona--CLASSIC Fiona, showin’ her not-so-docile Chef Gordon Ramsay-esque side.
I couldn’t help but give a perverted snicker, knowin’ that my Yugo snide had paid off. After all, there must've been some reason as to why they were considered some of the worst cars ever made. Yet just when I thought I could keep my mouth shut…
“Did Marathon give ya Neil Page treatment or somethin'?!”
I slapped myself in the forehead for my big yapper, and right then...I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Who’s there!?! Who’s the sow-fucking mouth-breather in that bedroom that just signed his fucking death warrant!?!”
It didn’t take Fi but a few seconds to barge herself into the bedroom, and then…
“I’m the mouth-breather you’re talkin’ about, dudette...”
...she covered her own mouth with her left hand. I’ll never forget seein’ how she was sportin’ a flashy new haircut and somewhat-revealin’ attire, with just enough...ahem, cleavage...to whet even the weakest of appetites. It was a far cry from how she looked like a few months ago, and as I gazed into her eyes...a wave of finality had set within me.
Those eyes were still burnin’, with a fire forged in somethin’ far deeper than anything I had ever known about her.
Yet before I said anything else, she was passed out on the floor.
This weird day wasn’t over--not by a long shot.
-Page 2 of 2-
To be continued in “Reunion”...
JAMES’ PERSONAL LOG: Continued from the previous page...
What a weird, weird day I was havin’. At first, I was out enjoyin’ a good lunch at a restaurant while listenin’ to Hank Williams.
One minute, I was lyin’ in the middle of Fredericksburg’s main drag.
Then the next, I was bein’ transported to somewhere, out in the middle of nowhere. It felt like an eternity, like I was dreamin’ that I was floatin’ among the clouds of an early spring sky. Yet as I slowly opened my eyes, I found myself starin’ at a silhouetted image of a lovely female figure that reminded me of her on so many levels...
“Yulia…babe, is that you...?!”
...except it wasn’t Yulia. I knew this because she had this distinctive accent that came straight outta Manchester, England, that reminded me of my own stepmother Joni. While my vision was still a bit foggy, I could tell she was puttin’ some sort of rag on my noggin after dippin’ it in some weird concoction, like healin’ water or somethin’.
“There now, just relax for a moment. You hit your head really hard against the pavement...”
“How long have I been out--?!”
“You’ve been asleep for almost five hours now.”
“Oh God...it was horrible! I had this...this bleepin’ nightmare...that some young gal busted my personal Galaga record, and when I tried to get to the salvage shop by crossin’ the street so I could ask her some questions, I...got hit by my own Datsun pickup truck…”
The mysterious woman giggled at me, but I could tell how nice she was really was.. She wasn’t laughin’ at me, she was laughin’ with me as she stood up...
“Well, at least I’m here to help you feel comfortable on the jolly old Kimble Ranch.”
...and after hearin’ that last bit, my vision suddenly cleared.
“The jolly old KIMBLE RANCH!?! GAHHH!!!!!!”
I quickly sat up and scanned around, tryin’ to get my bearings. One minute I was at an all-Texan eatin’ joint, and the next...I was in this lady’s bedroom that looked...oddly familiar to me. It was then I realized that, indeed, I was back at the very same ranch house Yulia and I agreed to watch over while Fiona was away.
Except...this wasn’t in my timeline. Everything looked different, from the noticable splatches of paint that covered cracks in the walls to the presence of a small 13-inch color TV that looked nowhere near the flat-screen units I was used to seein’.
“Who...wha...how…?!”
“I think that leaves out the ‘why’ and ‘when! I brought you here after hitting you with my jimmy--or as you Texas people call it, my truck...”
Now I understood. Yet as I tried to remove the pink washrag that was coverin’ my cranium...
“Keep it on your head.”
“Oy vey, the stench--!!”
“I know...but it’ll make you feel better.”
What shoulda been a few seconds to get adjusted to the different surroundings, it felt like more of a full day’s work in the ring. Thanks to the whiplash from hittin’the pavement, I could barely move my neck. I took a deep breath, wonderin’ who this lady really was.
“Who...who are you anyway?”
“My name’s Kimble...Regina Kimble.”
“Kimble…?! I heard you were that legendary kindergarten teacher turned principal…”
“In another life, I could be. How are you feeling, Mr. Prescott?”
Knowin' that she'd noticed the Dak Prescott jersey I was wearin', I raised a brow...
“Why’d ya call me Mr. Prescott…”
“It IS on the back of the kit you’re wearing, you silly goose!”
...before outstretchin’ my arms. It was then I realized that I had to introduce myself--albeit with the caveat that I keep some sort of cover so’s not to contaminate the timeline, which I figured I already did considerin’ the ruckus my accident had caused.
“Actually, my name’s James...and honestly, I dunno the polite word to describe how I’m feelin’.”
“Then I’ll spell it out for you Mr. Prescott…James: dumb-arse!! You caused quite a stir in town today; you’re too young and tough to do something stupid like that!!!”
“Yeah...you’re right. Double dumbass on me…”
She laughed out loud and patted me on the shoulder. As a distinctive kettle-whistlin’ sounded, I watched the curvaceous Miss Kimble walk out of the bedroom, only to bring back a silver tray with two piping hot mugs of tea.
“Here, try this cup of Earl Grey with sweet cream. It’s good for the soul.”
I’ve never had Earl Grey before in my life, not even when my stepmom made it. Yet I couldn’t help givin’ it a try, and as I took a sip...I warmly gave a slight nod. I loved it, and truthfully...I felt like beggin’ for me even though I had just started workin’ on the first mug.
“Listen, I have to drive over to the police station to work out the report; it’s merely a formality at this point. Lara will be here momentarily to take care of you.”
“Lara…?!”
“Lara Croft, she’s a local singer; she’s performing at a karaoke event for charity tomorrow night over at Duke’s Saloon.”
‘Lara Croft’...that name rang a bell to me. It was then, at that moment, when I fully understood that I had a mission to accomplish. Yet in my heart...I didn’t know whether or not to be shocked at seein’ my friend again, seein’ Fiona and her smilin’ face after she’d been away for too long.
“I’ll be there to see her sing tomorrow night...the least I can do for bein’ a dumbass.”
“Oh, I'm sure she’ll appreciate that very much...as long as you try NOT to get yourself killed next time you’re in town!”
“Next time, I’ll rent a Yugo…”
As Kimble left, I felt a wide range of emotions race through my mind. Grief, happiness, anger...they were all there, waitin’ for me to see which one I’d choose. Yet then, I heard a very distinctive female voice spewin' out some not-so-PG-rated verbatim, then a slam of the house’s front door, followed by the sound of keys bein’ tossed onto the kitchen counter…
“...piece of fucking shite YUGO! Tomorrow, I feel like going to the fucking Marathon place and demanding another fucking automobile! A fucking Mazda, a fucking Nissan, a fucking Chevrolet, a fucking Ford, a fucking Mercedes--four fucking wheels, a fucking stereo with tape deck, a fucking adjustable seat, something fucking EASIER to fucking fix than that pile of fucking rubbish that fucking ADAM SANDLER endorses!!!”
It was her! It was Fiona--CLASSIC Fiona, showin’ her not-so-docile Chef Gordon Ramsay-esque side.
I couldn’t help but give a perverted snicker, knowin’ that my Yugo snide had paid off. After all, there must've been some reason as to why they were considered some of the worst cars ever made. Yet just when I thought I could keep my mouth shut…
“Did Marathon give ya Neil Page treatment or somethin'?!”
I slapped myself in the forehead for my big yapper, and right then...I knew I was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Who’s there!?! Who’s the sow-fucking mouth-breather in that bedroom that just signed his fucking death warrant!?!”
It didn’t take Fi but a few seconds to barge herself into the bedroom, and then…
“I’m the mouth-breather you’re talkin’ about, dudette...”
...she covered her own mouth with her left hand. I’ll never forget seein’ how she was sportin’ a flashy new haircut and somewhat-revealin’ attire, with just enough...ahem, cleavage...to whet even the weakest of appetites. It was a far cry from how she looked like a few months ago, and as I gazed into her eyes...a wave of finality had set within me.
Those eyes were still burnin’, with a fire forged in somethin’ far deeper than anything I had ever known about her.
Yet before I said anything else, she was passed out on the floor.
This weird day wasn’t over--not by a long shot.
-Page 2 of 2-
To be continued in “Reunion”...
Well howdy there pardner.