This writing was accepted for publication in the 84 page perfect-bound issue of cc&d (v227) (the December 2011 Issue, You can also order this 5.5" x 8.5" issue as an ISSN# paperback book:						This is also in this 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback “Wrapping It Up” Order this 6" x 9" ISBN# book:

Order this writing in the book Fragments (a cc&d collection book)		get the 322 page September-December 2011 cc&d magazine issue collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Order this writing in the book 1,000 Words (the 2011 prose collection book)		get the short poem 226 page collection 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Gotta Keep Them in Line

Bob Johnston

    I don’t know why I’m here, hell, I don’t even know where here is. First thing I saw was white walls, one window high up with bars. I tried to move and it hurt so bad I musta passed out again. Now I can tell I’m lying on a bed with tubes up my nose and in my arm. Gotta figure out what happened, how the hell I got here.
    It had to be that bitch I’m married to. She was getting out of line, worse and worse. It was a helluva lot better when she stayed home and took care of the kids. Whatever time I got home from Steve’s, she’d have dinner waiting for me and the kids put to bed. She kept the house clean, and she was good in bed too. Always ready to screw, gave me a good ride and never mouthed off.
    Worst thing the old lady did was ruin the kids, especially the boy. Got him to writing poetry, for God’s sake, make a fag out of him if she had her way. She called him Maurice which was his middle name, Mickey wasn’t good enough for her. But I fixed that okay, took my belt to him when he got out of line. Then when he started high school there was this big jewboy that was beating him up. I’d taught Mickey to box but that just didn’t cut it, so I lent him my brass knuckles and he gave that jewboy a helluva lesson. Good kid, Mickey, never did tell where he got the knucks. So he got sent up to Juvie for a year, and when he got out he just took off. Wherever he is, at least he’s a real man now, knows how to take care of himself. I never had much to do with raising the girl. Marlene was sorta pale and wishy-washy, but goodlooking enough to get pregnant when she was sixteen. I twisted the guy’s arm a little so they got married and she has three kids now.
    After Marlene left, the old lady got a job. Letting her do that was the biggest mistake I ever made. She was just a glorified secretary, but she made more money than me. That pissed me off, especially when I’d come home after working my ass off, eight hours on the dock. Once she even tried to hold out part of her paycheck.
    Things kept getting worse. I remember one time when Monday night football was on, she wanted to watch some dumb PBS program about the Civil War. Stupid woman, she actually tried to grab the remote. I backhanded her and she went off to bed. I almost missed the best play of the game. That black bastard Geronimo Jones finally got what was coming to him, got both legs broke, one snapped when he got hit and the other in the pileup.
    The next week I went out to Vegas to see the big fight of the year, Tony Cannizaro versus Stash Krynitsky for the heavyweight championship of the world. Greatest fight I ever seen. The wop decked the polack three times in the ninth round, but the polack came back and cut the wop to pieces. Blood all over the place. They both lost rounds for low blows, and it looked like they were biting in the clinches. The polack won in the thirteenth on a TKO when he closed both of the wop’s eyes. What a fighter, that polack! Got real heart.
    Anyways, when I got home from Vegas the old lady was all bent out of shape because Marlene had brought her three kids to see us, over Thanksgiving. Hell, I’d told the old lady two weeks ago I was going to Vegas. She just didn’t get the picture.
    At least I could get away from her yapping. Rocky, Jack, and me had a cabin up by Bear Lake, and the second deer season was just starting. We took along a case of bourbon and plenty of beer, figuring we could play poker and ride it out in case the weather turned sour. The snow held off, but we never got out hunting till the third day, and by then we were too wasted to get anywhere near a deer. Did shoot something, a cow, I think. Whatever it was, we put a dozen rounds in it, and it bled like a deer. Then a blizzard came along, and we hunkered down for some serious poker. It was a great trip.
    We headed for home with me driving because Rocky and Jack were passed out. I dumped them off, one on each front porch. By the time I got home, it was almost midnight. The old lady had me locked out and I’d lost my key somewhere. I banged on the front door and kicked it until she came and let me in. “Where the hell have you been,” she asked me. Now wasn’t that a great welcome?
    I hustled her into bed, took off my clothes, and jumped in on top of her. I was riding pretty good when something hit me between the shoulder blades. Felt like an icicle. I figured the bitch had stabbed me, so I got my hands around her neck and kept squeezing till I passed out.
    And that’s the last I remember.

    I’ve been sleeping most of the time, I guess they’ve got me pretty well doped up. The last time I woke up there was two of them in the room, a cop and a guy wearing a white coat and a stethoscope. I made like I was still asleep so I could hear what they had to say. The cop had been to the Speedway the night before, and he was saying what a great race it was. “You shoulda seen Barnhoffer crack up, right in front of the grandstand. His car caught on fire, but he got out all in one piece. One wheel came zoomin’ into the grandstand and wiped out two citizens, and I was standing no more than ten feet away. Blood all over. Talk about a great race!”
    “You were really lucky,” the doc said. “I saw it on TV, but it wasn’t the same as being there.”
    The cop came over and stood by my bed. I was still faking it. He turned back to the doc: “How’s this guy doing? He ever going to get well enough we can get him out of here and into a regular cell? And how’s his old lady doing?”
    “She didn’t make it.” The doc waved his arm in my direction. “He won’t be leaving here anytime soon. Poor bastard, one thing you have to say for him, he didn’t let his old lady push him around.”
    That made me feel a little better, and I decided to go back to sleep.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...