Cynthia and the Dumpster Diver - Chapter 3

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Cynthia and the Dumpster Diver
Chapter 3

By Portia Bennett

Randy’s wanderings have taken him to the well house near Cindy’s home and the place where she almost drowned. Randy is seriously ill and the girls get Cindy’s father to donate some clothing to Randy. The seriousness of Randy’s illness is very apparent and Stan calls for an ambulance. In the aftermath, Stan discovers that more than likely Randy really was in a war and it was a war that had never happened. Randy has a Purple Heart and the certificate is signed by George W. Bush, President, a man who never was president. The Wizard lurks.


 

I have researched the Spell’s—R-Us Universe diligently and cannot find anything that violates it, other than that The Wizard is a bit kinder and gentler than sometimes reported. Don’t get me wrong. Given an opening and The Wizard could resort to some of his more ironic and nasty transformations. I’m sure that could happen at any time.

My thanks must go to Holly H. Hart for taking time once again from her harried life to correct the multitude of errors made while creating this story. She is a dear.

This work is copyrighted by the author and any publication or distribution without the written consent of the author is strictly prohibited. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to persons living or dead is coincidental.


 

Chapter 3

 

3371, 3373, 3389, 3391: some of those a real close together. I double checked. I’m pretty sure they are prime numbers. I noticed something. I seem to be peeing a lot more than I used to, and I get real thirsty. I was sleeping out by the turnpike the other day and I was dreaming about peeing. I woke up and discovered I had pissed myself. That’s real awkward. There wasn’t anyone else around and I washed my clothes out in the creek. I hid under the bridge and it took all day for my clothes to dry. I realized that I had been able to sleep that night. I didn’t dream about the Taliban.

I saw the angels again and they waved at me. They even talked to me for a while until someone at the school chased me away. He was real nasty. I’ve never hurt anyone. Well, I think I killed some people in Afghanistan, but that’s different. There’s something about them, the angels. I think they know about me. I think I want to talk to them, but I can’t do it at the school. They don’t understand there.

I didn’t used to hurt like I do now. I’m not sure what the problem is. I think it started, the pain, after a bunch of us got together down by the river. One of the guys had got a road kill deer. He said he saw it get killed. He dressed it and a bunch of us had a feast. Old Ned had fixed up something to drink. I think he had collected a bunch of stuff from God knows where. He said most of it was alcohol, but it was real sweet. He found some stuff behind a store. He said it was fuel for tiki torches and was pretty good stuff. He said the other stuff was some sort of alcohol, too. He said he remembered that from school. He had a couple of jugs of it. I didn’t recognize what it was. That’s a problem I’ve had over the last few months. Ever since I got hit by lightning, things aren’t the same.

Some things are just like I remembered, but then there are these real weird things. Take the cars. Sure they got Chevrolets and Fords. They look OK, but here’s the weird stuff. There’s Edsels and they’re new. The designs are new. The grills have that toilet bowl shape. Shit, they stopped making Edsels before I was born. At least I thought they did. Then there’s this thing about the presidents. George W. Bush owns a part of a baseball team in Texas. He tried to run for a senate seat, but was beaten by this real strange guy named Kinky Friedman. The guy’s some sort of nut, but apparently he has done some real neat stuff. At least that’s what Ned told me. I never heard of Kinky Friedman.

3691, 3697, 3701, 3709, 3719: those are real close together. I think they might get further apart as I go along. I think I’ve been through these numbers before. I don’t have anything to write them down with, and sometimes I forget where I left off. I think I’m going to wash off in that creek down there by that old well house. I got some food saved up there and maybe they won’t find me there.

~~~~~*~~~~~~

“Look, Bobbie, there he is. I think he was swimming down there behind those willows. I think he’s been sleeping in that old well house. He had a fire down there this morning. Let’s go talk to him.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? I mean two ten-year old girls shouldn’t just go down and visit some homeless guy who is kinda weird.”

Cindy pondered what should have been obvious to her; however, her eagerness to help someone had probably made her a bit careless. “You’re right. Let’s go talk to mom. That guy’s been wearing the same clothes for months. I bet we’ve got some of Dad’s old clothes we can give him.”

The two best ‘buds’ had been playing at the Schmedlap’s new home. They had been watching television, and had been concentrating on some of the programs targeting young girls. Outsiders would have been intrigued with the conversation between the two. Bobbie had been soaking up the young female culture long before her transformation the year before. Her parents had long before accepted the fact that in spite of what appeared to be a young boy, Bobbie was actually a girl. What it boiled down to was that Bobbie was much more in tune with being a young girl than Cindy, who had actually been a physical girl longer than Bobbie.

They learned from each other. Cindy was considerably worldlier than Bobbie, having lived 35 years as a male in the business world, and she could point out the methods used by advertisers to influence young people and their choices. Bobbie, in turn could educate Cindy about what was culturally important as far as being a young girl in modern society. Their genders were strongly female, and subconsciously they were already thinking about the cultural mating dance that would permeate their lives over the years ahead of them.

Marissa and Stan were working on some food preparation for the barbecue they were hosting for some of their neighbors later in the day. The Schmedlaps would be joining them as would the other families on their shared driveway.

“Hi, girls,” Stan Lewis greeted his daughter and her friend with a hug and kiss, “how did your morning go?”

“Great, Daddy. We watched a bunch of those Saturday morning programs. They advertise some neat stuff and I explained to Bobbie how they work on young people’s minds. It is educational, too. I still have a lot to learn.”

“Cindy, I think you and Bobbie are doing very well. I think The Wizard was right about not changing things too much and letting both of you learn on your own,” Cindy’s mom added, wiping her hands on her apron. “How would you girls like to help preparing the food? We need someone to work on the salad.”

“We’d love to, Mommy, but we have a bit of a problem. You know that homeless guy we see walking all over the place? He’s been staying down in the old abandoned well house down by the pond. We think he could use some of Daddy’s old clothes. I think you put some things in a bag for the charity to pick up and Bobbie and I would like to take some things to him.”

“Well, I’m not too sure that would be a very good idea, Stan said with a concerned expression. “Often, these homeless people are a bit unbalanced. I don’t think it would be a very good idea for you to go down there.”

“Daddy, Bobbie and I talked to him the other day. He was walking by the school. He thinks Bobbie and I are angels. His name is Randal Mantooth and he says he’s from here. I think he is confused about a lot of things. He says he was in the war, but I don’t think he’s old enough.

“You know how I can detect certain things? Well, I think I felt it about him, but it’s different. I’m not sure how. Bobbie says he real sick. She says his kidneys and liver are failing,” she added while looking at Bobbie who nodded her head in agreement.

“How do you know that,” Stan asked rather incredulously.

“I don’t know. It was almost like I could see under his skin. Most everything was OK, but those two kidneys and liver. I think he’s dying. We’re going to ask The Wizard how I can do that.”

“Speaking of His Wisdom, I haven’t heard much about him lately. Are you girls still talking to him? He hasn’t set up his shop around here lately, has he?” Stan, as were the Schmedlaps, was very grateful for what The Wizard and others had done for the two girls; however, Stan wasn’t that sure that he trusted him. As they learned more about The Wizard’s powers, they realized they had little control over what he might do.

“I think Maddy has talked to him once in a while, and he has installed some lessons on the computer for me and he’s been teaching me about my powers of observation and how to strengthen them.

“Daddy, could we give him some of your old clothes, please? He’s not a bad person. He’s sick and needs help. Let’s go talk to him and see if there is anything we can do.”

“Alright, sweety, pick out some things from the bag in the laundry room and we’ll take them down to him. If he is as sick as you say, he might need to go to the hospital.”

Cindy and Bobbie gathered some clothing, and they followed close behind Cindy’s dad down the long driveway, across the road and down to the old well house. They could see some smoke rising from the other side of the stone building; however, Randy was not in view. There was an old pathway where the grass didn’t grow as tall, and they followed it toward the house. As they neared it they could hear a sound that they all knew, but didn’t like. Randy was throwing up.

“Girls, wait here while I check on things.” Stan rounded the corner of the house to see the disheveled homeless man on his hands and knees. He was no longer throwing up; however, he was still poised over what little he had earlier ejected from his stomach. As ragged and tattered the man was, Stan realized he was quite young, maybe in his early 30’s. He had seen him many times; however, had never looked at him closely. Rather, like many, he had turned away whenever he saw him.

“Are you alright? Is there anything we can do for you?”

Randy turned to see who was talking to him and fell back on his haunches. He stared at the man he had never seen before; however, when he looked past him, he saw the two girls, his ‘angels’, whom he had seen several times.

“Uh, no sir, I think I’m sick. My stomach hurts real bad. I think I may have been poisoned by something.

“Hi Cindy, hi Bobbie, is this your father?”

“He’s my father,” Cindy replied. “We brought you some clean clothes. We live in that house up on the hill.”

“Which one? I used to live up there.”

“The salt box: the one with the rear garage.”

“I used to live in that house before I went to the war. My parents lived in it when I got back. I’ve been looking for them, but nobody knows who they are.”

“What war are you talking about? We haven’t had a war since the Gulf War. You’re too young to have been in that.”

“That’s what everyone tells me, but I know there were two more. One is in Afghanistan and there’s another one in Iraq and they’re still going.

“Look, I can prove I was in the Air Force. I still got my ID. I’m in the reserves, or I was.” He reached into his tattered trousers and fished out an equally tattered wallet. He sorted through some cards and other items until he found what looked like a military ID card. He struggled to stand in order to hand the card to Stan, but collapsed to the ground. He held the card, waving it for Stan to come and get it. Stan took a few steps forward. That’s when he saw the blood.

“We need to get you to the hospital. I’m calling for an ambulance.”

“I can’t afford any doctor. They’ll just kick me out.”

“Any hospital will have to take you; however, you’re a veteran and they can take you to the VA Hospital.”

Stan called 911 and they waited for the ambulance.

While they waited, Stan asked him some questions about the war. He heard the same tale that Randy had told many others. The real strange thing was about the house. Randy knew the house. He knew every room. He knew about the wet bar in the cellar. He knew where the attic door was. He said his family had moved into the house right after it had been constructed. That had been twelve years ago when he was seventeen. He lived there after he got out of the Air Force. That is until they found him and tried to kill him. He had to get away. He couldn’t stay anywhere very long or they would find him.

~~~~~*~~~~~~

It took the ambulance almost 30 minutes to get there. Randy was able to talk coherently about his version of the world while they waited, and Cindy wasn’t paying detailed attention until he started talking about the unit he had been with in Afghanistan.

“The Captain and the Chief were two of the best people I ever knew. They are real heroes. They came after me and a bunch of other guys. Andrioli was already dead, but they got the rest of us out of there. That’s when I got my Purple Heart. See, I got it right here.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the medal with the likeness of George Washington on it. The medal was attached to the pocket flap and had definitely seen better days.

Cindy could see that her father was going to say something, and then thought better of it. She knew what he was thinking. Anyone could buy a Purple Heart at a flea market.

“I even got the citation here. I keep it in this bag.” He pulled a zipper locked plastic bag out of the same pocket, carefully opened it, and extracted a folded document. “See, they gave this to me after I got out of the hospital. I wasn’t in very long. The General gave it to me, but Captain O’Donnell and Chief Stephens were there too. The Captain was a sharp cookie and there were a bunch of gals around the base who would have loved to jump into the sack with him.

“I’m sorry; I guess I shouldn’t have said that. He was real handsome; about six-two, dark hair and almost black eyes. There was only one girl for him, but she broke his heart. I think they had some sort of fight. Her name was, was ….”

“Her name is Jo, Josephine Beebe. It’s OK, everything worked out and they got married. They are very happy.”

Randy was shocked. “How did you know? It did happen! I’m not crazy. It did happen!”

That was when the ambulance showed up. The next few minutes were spent securing Randy to a stretcher. The terrain was too rough to get the wheeled stretcher down there and Randy was `too weak to stand on his own. The medics had hooked him up to an IV and determined that they would take him to the VA Hospital in town.

“Daddy, after the barbecue, would you take me down to the hospital to visit him. Bobbie and I need to talk to him about some things.”

“Cindy, how did you know who he was talking about? This is crazy. How could you possibly know?”

“I know because I was sort of there. Remember, before I got into this body, the spirit and I took many trips to many places; and many of them were not in this world. I think what I am saying will make more sense when you read that certificate he left with you.”

Stan unfolded the soiled certificate and scanned it. Although he had not been in the military, he was familiar with this sort of thing. One of the partners in the company had been in the Army and had several military awards on the wall of his office. Everything looked very legitimate until he got to the bottom. There were several signatures, the Secretary of Defense, the Secretary of the Air Force, and the President of the United States. The signatures may have been reproduced; however, that was not what caught his attention. The first thing was the date. It was only a few years previous. He wasn’t sure about who the Secretary of the Air Force was, and he thought he knew who Donald Rumsfeld was. But this was screwy. George Bush had been President many years before. He couldn’t have been president when this medal was presented.

Then he looked at the President’s signature in more detail. It was signed by George W. Bush, not George H. W. Bush. How could that be? He wasn’t even a senator.

“Cindy this is crazy. George W. Bush was never President.”

“I know Daddy. Randy is not from this world. He’s from a different world; one that I visited for a while; one where this country is still fighting two wars; one where George W. Bush was elected President.”

“Bobbie, we need to talk to The Wizard right away. There is something really strange going on, and I think he needs to know about it.”

Bobbie had been taking it all in and had avoided any comments up to this point. “Cindy, all that stuff you’ve been telling me really is true isn’t it?”

“I don’t think you have to look any further than yourself to know that it is. We need to talk to Randy and find out what he knows. Maybe there is a special reason he made the crossing. I know The Wizard and his kind can do it, and I know the spirits can do it, but Randy is not a wizard, nor is he a spirit, at least not yet.”

“Cindy, you’re talking like a grown-up again. I wish you would stop it,” Bobbie said with mock seriousness.

~~~~~*~~~~~~

Next: Now Randy is in the hospital; however, he is a man without a world. His SSN won’t match and there won’t be any service records about him. He might be seen as an imposter and could be in serious trouble if the government gets wind of him. At last we meet The Wizard.

Portia

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Comments

Horror

Going though severe depression and PTSD is bad enough, but this is worse. Both of those cut you off from everyone else. Randy has been tossed into a whirlpool spiral with no way out. There is literally no one he can talk about his experiences to because in this world they never happened. No way of sharing the pain and no way of healing. Thank goodness for his Angels!

Hugs!

Grover

Schizophrenia

Schizophrenia is how the average mental health professional would label Randy at this point. He has clear hallucinations, after all who would believe George W. Bush was president (sorry, couldn't risist). He has paranoid thoughts since people are out to get him. His self-care skills are weak as evidenced by his dumpster diving life-style, which would be assumed to be voluntary rather than a necessity. He might also have ADHD and/or a mood disorder; that's not clear from the story so far. He does display many of the symptoms of PTSD, but the "hallucinations" about wars and non-existant presidents point back toward schizophrenia as a primary condition.

Aren't you glad there are some mental health professionals who actually have slightly more open minds? You're right to be glad there are SRU Wizards and other helpful folks out there?

I Am Glad That Stan

Listened to the girls. And Thank You, Portia for naming him after me

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine
    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

don't drink the purple stuff

laika's picture

Methyl alchohol- Yeeeessh! Bad news! (Squeeze, the perfect complement to any road-kill stew...)
From people I've known who have turned the color of spoiled meat and died, I'd say Randy
might need more help than the doctors will be able to offer. Good thing the Wizard
is (hopefully) on his way. He's good with all sorts of plumbing problems :)
I'm loving how you convey the POV's of all the different characters...
~~~hugs, Laika

Mixed Drinks

littlerocksilver's picture

Methyl, Isopropyl, etc., bad stuff; then there's ethylene glycol - anti freeze. One of my daughter's best friends committed suicide by drinking anti-freeze. It was so sad.

I'm not sure what the acronym POV stands for. In my business it means privately owned vehicles.

Portia

Portia

POV

In this case, it means Point Of View.

KJT

"Being a girl is wonderful and to torture someone into that would be like the exact opposite of what it's like. I don’t know how anyone could act that way." College Girl - poetheather


"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin

Portia, a very interesting

Portia, a very interesting story with a certain caveat, which is how do you prove who you are when no-one knows you and everything you know has changed. I look forward to reading each chapter as you offer it to see how Ray manages to convince others, not just his "angels and the father. Jan