Joey

[stilltrucking]

I was about 15 years old when I had that dream about Joey. That would be about three years after his death.

I wonder why all this is coming back to me 50 years later?

Joey was not well, a pale boy you could see his veins showing through skin translucent.

I had him pinned to the ground as I sat on him my knees on his arms. My fist cocked to hit him.

I can remember the feeling, but I can't bring myself to write it yet.

Let it hang here
going to take a walk
maybe I can overcome the resistance to write about it.

Why?

Why even write it?

It seems necessary
to expose myself as a bully.

I think I got religion finally.

Roland Weary got nothing on me.

[stilltrucking]

I was pleased with my self. I found some one I could bully.

I felt just like a winner. Of course every one standing around us watching the fight was jeering me, Somebody came up behind me and punched me.


I have I mentioned that I am a heck of a nice guy.

Boring, but a nice guy.

[stilltrucking]

In the dream Joey forgave me, or something like that. I don't remember much about it except that in the dream I realized Joey was dead. And he seemed to tell me it was okay. Not any hard feelings. As if we were best friends again. As if I never pulled a Roland Weary on him.This was twenty years before I even heard of a book called Corinthians I.

How long can I hold a grudge?

If I could write, there would be a short story here. Maybe this is the way it starts?