AFTER PUSH COMES TO SHOVE
#126 - But his senses returned. His own actions and thoughts scared him. He stood there, staring, shaking. What had happened? Who was the crazy one, now?
Welcome to Before I Forget . .
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AFTER PUSH COMES TO SHOVE
Except for the few years away, Charlie has visited these woods almost every day for better than thirty years. Since he was a teenager.
The woods are an oasis surrounded by suburbia.
He was on his third dog. All of them chased the squirrels that call the woods their home. They would chase squirrels all day if they could.
The redwoods and oaks are more than twice the height from when he first saw them. A pond with cedars and willows and a few palms is at the far end.
Charlie knew many of the locals who frequented the woods.
Pepe was one of them. Over twenty years now.
Coming from somewhere south of the border, Pepe lived with his older brother, Roberto, already here for a few years. Roberto did yardwork in the area and also served as the local marijuana dealer.
One day a few years ago, Roberto told Pepe he didn’t feel well and went to bed early, never to awaken again. Pepe was left alone in a country not his own.
He never learned much English.
Hearing about Roberto’s demise, Charlie tried asking Pepe what had happened to his brother. He couldn’t explain past a few words. He teared up. It was a sad situation.
Almost every time Charlie saw him, winter or summer, Pepe was alone down at the pond under the shade of the willow trees, drinking beer. He would ask for money. Sometimes Charlie gave him a few bucks.
Nothing changed over the ensuing years. He got by somehow, had a place to stay somewhere, and apparently stayed out of trouble.
A white guy started accompanying Pepe to the pond, beer on hand. He was a tall lanky unsavory looking character who wouldn’t make eye contact.
Then, Charlie saw the guy often, alone.
He always barked at Charlie’s dog which always freaked the dog out. The guy enjoyed it.
Charlie avoided him when he saw him.
One time, the guy stepped out from behind one of the trees at the pond and started his barking, walking towards the dog.
He was drunk, at the least, if not also drugged.
Clearly, the guy thought Charlie wouldn’t do anything. And he was right. He would normally retreat from such situations seeing it as the prudent thing to do. Take the high road, discretion and valor and all that.
The guy was bigger, years younger, and crazy. But Charlie burned inside at the intimidation. It sucked.
As he called for his dog and turned to go, the guy turned toward Charlie. In a couple of quick strides, he was in Charlie’s face barking his fool head off, so close Charlie could see his rotted teeth through his psycho-Joker smile, the spittle on his rabid lips, and the evil in his eyes.
He pointed his bony index finger at Charlie’s chest, then started poking him while barking at him through his stinky breath.
Charlie’s world closed in, his blood now charged with adrenaline, his peripheral vision gone because of the pressure on his eyes. His heart pounded, sounding in his ears like the beating of a drum.
The maniac shoved Charlie.
Charlie was on automatic, no longer thinking but reacting. As he stepped backwards to catch himself and maintain his balance, he planted his foot and then delivered an open-palmed uppercut to the guy’s scraggly whiskered chin, the only thing he saw, such was his focus.
Taking the guy by surprise, he landed the blow, snapping his head back.
He fell backwards, head over heels splashing into the pond. Only his head, upper chest, and right arm remained above the water. He was out like a light.
Charlie had intended to kill him, to drive his jawbone back into his brainpan or break his neck.
Did he kill him? No. His chest rose and fell in the pond scum. Was his jaw broken? He couldn’t tell. Broken teeth? Couldn’t tell. Lacerated tongue? No blood evident.
How easy it would have been to finish the job. To push him further into the pond and hold him down until drowned and left to the bottom feeders to feast on one of their own.
Charlie started down the embankment, then spotted his beer stash behind the tree. He picked up one of the bottles and thought he would break it over the guy’s head. To rid the world of this two-legged scum. Evil does exist in the world.
But his senses returned. His own actions and thoughts scared him.
He stood there, staring, shaking. What had happened? Who was the crazy one, now?
His dog at his side whimpered.
Charlie looked up at the sky and then down at the man.
There was a time when civil men put evil men down, like a mad dog, never to be bothered by them again. It didn’t matter who they were or what was the cause of their problems, they were a plague on their fellow man.
The guy started waking up, he had rolled to his left, taking in a mouthful of pond water.
Sputtering, and still dazed, he spit out the water, and blood.
He threw the bottle over the guy’s head, where it skipped one time on the water’s surface before sinking.
Charlie and his dog continued on down the path.
Across the pond, hidden by the cattails, was another familiar figure Charlie knew.
Andy the birder saw the whole thing.
Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . !
For my new Subscribers - a post from May 31, 2024,
The "Fifties" - 6 + 2
Here are 6 + 2 more 50 word stories I’ve contributed to Justin Deming's Fifties by the Fire. It’s more of a challenge than I would have thought.
Image by DALL-E 3
We've developed some 'unusual' standards about what is right and wht is wrong.
Yowza! What a story, Ron! Even without the twist at the end, it was powerful just seeing him make the decision to walk away. But the witness really nailed it. What a despicable character you created in such few words. More than one evil exists in the world. Excellent work.