The following story was written in November 2014, when The Angora Chronicles was but a few months old.
My problem is when I think of something I have to get busy with it then and there or I may never get it done. It’s that way with writing stories. When something pops in my head, I need to get it written or I may never think of it again.
That may be the reason that in just a few months time I’ve written about everything that’s happened to me and around me in a whole life time. If I had paced my myself, the stories could lasted a long time. But no, I had to submit them all in a hundred days.
Since my brother is ultra-shy or has the better sense than to get on FB and blurt out everything that’s ever happened in his life, I now may have to resort to visiting him for long enough periods of time to sponge up some stories off the floor of his life.
He always reminds me of things that happened to us together that I’ve forgotten about or better yet, there are a wealth of things that he has done that I was completely left out of. Just for an idea of where this can go, I have spent the past 40 something years 99.9999% completely sober. All I can say is Kenny Lewis’s sobriety rate has been somewhere well south of that percentage. It has always been known that Ken knows how to have a good time.
If anyone thinks my life has been wild and many times crazy, consider this; we came from the same parents, were raised in similar circumstances and did much of the same things, so if you mix in a little alcohol there have been some very memorable incidences in Kenny’s life. Hopefully more of those stories will follow.
As an example of the things he jogs my memory with, we are talking on the telephone this afternoon. He ask me if I remember jumping out of the car when we were driving down Mormon Mill Road at about 20 mph. He says it was slightly faster than that, but I say 20 mph is a pretty unbelievable number, so I’ll just stick with that. It all happen like this: I was always thrust in with a crowd of older and much bigger guys. Those being Kenny’s friends and classmates. One day we were on Mormon Mill Road coming back toward town when it was still unpaved. Kenny was driving, with Terry Becker, Damon Thurman and a couple of others as passengers. The subject came up, as it often did, that if I didn’t behave to their way of thinking, when we got into town they would pull my pants off and make me run through the streets naked.
I had been threatened with that many times before but this seemed to me to be going past the threat stage. It only seemed to me like there was one sure way out. Make a sudden exit. Without warning I opened the door and bailed out. It seems now like an impossible feat to have done that and been able to stay on my feet, applying my brakes all at the same time. I’m not sure how my little short legs wound up going that fast but it took a little ways to make a complete stop without falling. When I think back on it, it seems more like a cartoon than real life.
After seeing what had just happened, the car came to a complete stop and they coaxed me back inside. I think the running naked threat had disappeared into, if this kid did it once, he’ll do it again and we don’t won’t to be a part of that. So they pretty much left me along for the rest of the day.