Gene Therapy

Doomed, a funny word when said out loud, but then again I was six and really didn’t know what doomed meant. But again I had heard the word and was sure that this was what I was. The morning had gone well, I stayed in bed long enough for my mother to give up yelling at the bottom of the stairs and come up to make me get out of. I had brushed my teeth, washed my face and looked out the bathroom window of our house, our house that I learned just the other day, was located at One-eighty-six North Main Street. It was a cold winter day and the snow had not fallen yet, but you could see by the way all the bare branches on the trees looked stiff in the wind it was raw. I went to the window and placed a wet warm hand on the pane to watch the fine art work of Jack Frost melt in the intense super heated power rays that I was sure that I had in my hand when I saw him. This is where I thought of the word doomed, my father crouched low to his car on the drivers side and my mother with about thirty feet of extension cord trailing from the house, the cord was plugged into a hair dryer. It seemed that the lock to my dad’s car had frozen, in effort to blow into the hole and unfreeze it he had (doomed) ended up with his lips stuck to the metal. It was terrible, couldn’t dad have waited just a few more years before I found out that there was a sticky situation/accident prone gene coursing through his son’s body. My little brother Brooke came into the bathroom, he was four, quickly I ushered him into the other room, I knew that it was my job to save him from finding out. He was only four, he needed a few more years, (live my young brother, live happy and free, ignorance is a virtue!). Me on the other hand, I was affected almost immediately, (Although I would use the knowledge that wet lips stick to cold metal on him in later years at the time he needed shelter).

Cultivating the Gene

LaMark said it best, use it or loose it, I guess my father seeing that we had defeated natural selection felt that it was time to hone this sporadically used, (bike crashes, stove top fires, near death of a friend) gene into the awesome machine it was meant for. The covert destruction of ones self and other close to you unintentionally. Point in case, marking; now you may think if marking like branding or tattoos but the true markings are those of play. My dad chose a tire swing, It was awesome. The three of us, my older brother Chris, Brooke and I watched as dad used a chainsaw to cut a tire into a swing, When he was done it was beautiful, we cheered, he found two ten foot lengths of rope and looked around. We being the ones who would surly ride this great creation suggested a tall oak tree that stood outside, clear of any obstacles that we may have hit during a high swing (silly us, where’s the challenge). But sensing that this was a good way to teach us about pain and humiliation dad chose the inside of the barn, we questioned this course of action, but then again, he’s our dad (and was about to make sure that everyone knew it). Our barn was big and old, the inside had been cleaned out, (this meant sharp objects placed in dark corners) and the bricks stacked up the walls and the large dory set off to the side. He tied the rope to the center beam and the swing to the rope and smiled. Now, I can sit here and say this now but the point hadn’t crossed any of our minds, when you tie a ten foot rope to a beam eleven feet of the floor and there is a wall of bricks nine feet away, there is great potential for disaster. But nooooo, we wouldn’t dream of letting simple though processes get in the way of our fun. It was at that point David, one of our neighbors came in, (remember, those close to you) saw the swing and smiled.
“ Can I go too?” he gleefully asked.
“ Sure” My dad said.
“ Can he go first?” My older brother said nervously.
“ No, I made this for you guys.”
“ Oh.” Chris said with a shaky voice.
I was in awe of the persuasive techniques used by my dad to get Chris onto the tire swing of death, with a slight bit of reverse psychology he was able to get him to mount the swing on his own accord. I had to admit, it looked fun, higher and higher he went finally yelling.
“ Higher daddy!”
“ Here we go!” dad was laughing, Chris was laughing, it was a scene from any wonderful childhood back yard.
Then it happened, since we hadn’t really thought the bricks would come into play, why in the world would we think about the beams (sure they were there but we were having fun). With a great push the swing rose, the ropes caught on the beam a few feet in front of the swing causing the swing to launch into a rocket-like upturn. I am sure that if the next beam was not placed at exactly where we heard Chris’s head crunch he would have been propelled into the barn’s loft and safely land on the soft hay strewn all over the floor. There was a blood-curdling scream and he came shooting back hitting my father the shins almost toppling him onto a now bloody Chris. Dad always the trooper showed his calm in dire situations, he unloaded the first damaged body set him on a bench off to the side handed him a handkerchief and looked painfully at me.
“ Ben, Your turn.” He winced as he spoke.
“ Yea.” My voice was low as I looked at my semi-conscious brother. I really don’t know what made me do it, maybe it was fear, but I mounted the swing, holding back tears. How could I not we were having fun with our dad…quality time. There was really no need to yell higher daddy; there was no need to talk, just to wait until this was over. Later as I look back at this I realize that this was a rite of passage into scarred manhood, and a good lesson in if your brother almost gets decapitated are you going to follow him? (Of course! I’m an idiot….swing on!). Dad was getting pretty good with the swing, it only took three pushes (a better ratio of weight of son versus height of beam) to give me my mark of manhood. I was set next to Chris and we shared the handkerchief and laughed about our near death experience and talked of the good time we had on the swing, because in our short lives so far we now had a scar and a story to tell the kids at school. Brooke was the toughest to get on the swing, he wined a bit, something about wanting a memory, but we convinced him that it wasn’t that bad to only live with a damaged short term memory. And how the feeling of not knowing who you were and where you were for about ten minutes was sort of cool. He finally mounted the swing and within two pushed he was wondering around the yard with the rest of us (brothers to the end…I think). Then our day of fun took a turn, David seeing how much fun we thought we were having wanted to ride. Dad looked at our little neighbor and smiled, I think he knew that marking a neighbor boy like he marked his sons would be wrong. So he changed his grip a little and heaved, one push, one large grunting push was all it took. The ropes hit the beam and something different happened. David was no longer in the swing, we all watched with a blurred amazement, as David hit the bricks about halfway up the wall and stopped. He then he bounced backwards landing in the boat, this would have been fine but the bricks fell at once and covered him. After reviving him, patching him up and sending him limping home (Funny, we didn’t see him for about a month), we went inside, cleaned up and had some soup, to this day we all have little scars on our forehead, and an intense fear of tire swings. It was that day that we were shown the use and potential danger of the gene and it was our turn to use it and practice using it until we had harnessed the power.

hey

You know its funny how long it takes someone to accecpt the fact that if you want to do something you need to do it or just hope it happens. Well, instead of telling people about my writing I will just post it.


Lleaping for Llamas


I was going through some papers, you know the ones that you want to save but in the back of your mind know that they should have been tossed about five years ago. Pulling out a crayon drawing of a man with a cape and twin ells on his chest, I smiled. How a poorly drawn picture is able to bring back such vivid memories, but more than memories, life changing events, one that made a mild (and slightly crazy) mannered man into a super hero, but not just any super hero, Llama Man! Defender of small children and exotic animals! I sat down on my couch and laughed out loud, this was one of those insane chain of potentially dangerous events that in the end turned all the players into hero’s that to this day are still talked about, (most likely as in, I knew this idiot once).
My girlfriend (at that time) her daughter and I had pulled up stakes in Vermont and headed back to my Home State of Maine. Not only did we come with a lot of furniture; we came with two horses, two Llamas and a dog (a potential traveling road show to say the least). We were lucky enough to find a farmhouse in the small town of busted had land and room enough for all. She immediately found a good job at a petting farm (I was thrilled to have more animals). I set right to work fixing up the barn, building fences; you know the general things you do when you seem to be collecting animals for the ark. And coincidences of coincidences the owner of the zoo had a Llama as well! Susan (name changed to protect the innocent) while in Vermont, had created a business called Llunch with a Llama. Now it may sound odd but people loved to have her take them out hike around and eat peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. After all at this point llamas were a rare thing to see In Vermont, and to go back to Connecticut and tell your fellow workers that you indeed did have a peanut butter and fluff sandwich in Vermont with a llama (we took pictures for proof). Was the ultimate in cubical one-ups-man ship. She decided it was time to expand, she would take in the zoo’s (six foot four, four hundred pound!) llama, named Pasta, and teach him to walk around and dine with out of starters. Our llamas…..Roy and Fred (Names are changed as well, they were innocent…. Pasta was defiantly not!) were happily grazing in the field (that I had just put an electric fence around) When Pasta arrived. He was big, strong and just a wee bit skittish (That should have been my first hint) but we put him in with the others and he seemed happy. It was at this point that his owner looked at me and said. “ You know Pasta has never been near an electric fence before.” I responded confidently.

“ Don’t worry, our boys have never gotten out.” Now, looking back on those few words we spoke I just can’t understand why I didn’t just say, “ Really, well load that beast back in the truck before it destroys this quaint little town!” But I didn’t and he left shaking his head (or laughing).
Susan and I watched the three frolic in the sun for a while then decided to go in (lord knows we neglect the two pot bellied pigs, the baby kangaroo and the now two dogs!) and relax for a while. I will say this, if you haven’t noticed Mother Nature has a sense of humor, and she was feeling her oats that day. I looked out the window not a half hour after going in and it was dark as night, then it started haling, then there was a loud clap of thunder, then a loud scream and a car horn. I was sitting around in shorts and a tank top and we were talking about (oddly enough) how we would meet our new neighbors. We leaped out the door and saw our two llamas but no Pasta. I immediately threw on my boots and went to the barn cursing the hale as it pelted me, grabbed a halter and some rope and ran to where there was a stopped car. The woman inside was fine, she looked a little shaky, but good. For a woman who had never even heard of a llama never the less had one jump in front of her in the middle of a freak storm and spit on her windshield (quite a trooper in my book). I asked her if she was all-right, she just looked at me as if to say, well nothing she just looked at me. I turned and started down the road in hot pursuit, If you have ever had the wonderful opportunity of chasing a llama, then you know they are fast. If you ever had the chance of chasing a pure white one in the middle of a hailstorm…they are fast and hard to see. The only thing at this point (which was to neither of our advantages) that leveled the playing field was that we didn’t know the area (But that would soon change). As I was running a horn sounded once more, I turned to see Susan in a car, with a closer look I saw the very woman that was only minutes ago speechless (our first new friend). She was still in a daze and probably figured that she should listen to Susan and escape with the first opportunity. Susan yelled out the window that they would drive ahead and cut Pasta off, good idea, but then again it’s only in the movies that when being chased by a car you stay directly in front of it, and of course this only applies to humans! First stop. Town graveyard, (forgive me father for I have sinned). Hooves and soft earth don’t mix well, add a few headstones and you have a veritable maze of marble and granite posts on ice. The first to loose grip was Pasta, careening into a headstone; I was so horrified that I tried to stop and took out another. It was terrible, Pasta kept darting in and out of the stones, by the time we exited out the other side it looked as though some insane pilot had landed a seven-forty-seven in the place (I saw a lot of church in my future). Susan had exited the car by now and released our friend to speed away, and was running down the road towards Pasta. It was the next incident that made us move within a week of this happening. Pasta ran through another fence, this was bad enough, but helplessly watching the twenty head of cattle, three horses and a goat run through the other side to reek havoc on the rest of the town. Made me just want to turn and run, pack and drive. Susan ran into the now (so we thought) empty field and I hit the road, running for all I was worth yelling Pasta! Pasta! At the top of my lungs. I could only imaging what the neighbors thought of the new people in town.
“ Hey Martha! Come over here!”
What?”
“ Quick! Stay away from the window, he might see you.”
“ Is he yelling a recipe?
“ Lock the doors…I’m getting the gun!”

I actually started laughing, here I am in the middle of a storm, big clunky boots, tank top, shorts, covered in mud, and carrying ropes, yelling pasta. There was nothing else to do but laugh. Then it struck me, I had heard that there were cattle up the road, and what else? I was looking at Susan running through the field when it hit me with such a force it almost made me fall. “ Susan! Bull! Bull!”
“ What!” She yelled.
“ Bull! There’s a bull in the field!”
“ Fool in the field!”
“ No Bull in the field!” How the hell she get fool in the field? “ Get out of there!
“ I almost…” Not another word was said as I watched in amazement as she realized what I was yelling. She made a dash that would have made flash proud.
“ Where’s Pasta.” She said out of breath, like running from bulls is a common thing.
“ He’s stopped over there.” I pointed to Pasta just hanging out in the farmer’s driveway. I couldn’t help but take a quick peek at the house behind us, knowing that they were still watching.
“ Martha, now there’s two of them.”
“ I’ll get another box of shells deah.”
Slowly, painfully slowly I made my way to Pasta; I was about to grab him when the owner came running from around the house yelling. “ Out they are all out!” For some reason this scarred Pasta and the chase was on again.
Luck was on our side this time, llamas like many things, they are smart and very inquisitive, but they especially like dogs, and even more small dogs. To our benefit there was a small dog about a half-mile down the road chained to a post, and Pasta heard and found the little pooch. Susan was the first on the scene; Pasta was towering over a now scarred quiet poodle. All jumped when the dogs owner burst out of the door, terrified, not knowing what really to do, and in his boxer shorts. If that wasn’t enough humiliation for one day, Susan (always the professional) tells the guy that llamas like dogs (I know he was thinking, for what, Lunch). She instructed him to hold his arms up like he was a fence and wave them slightly (It is a well known fact that a mostly naked man waving his arms will stop a four-hundred pound llama) This would give her a chance to get Pasta. I was on my way over and realized that Pasta would know what I was coming for, Then I saw it (This is where you meet my sidekick...Alpaca guy) a school bus, My neighbor’s bus. I waved down the bus full of fifth graders and it stopped and the doors flew open to reveal a slightly amused Joe (Not really Joe and you know why).
“ I have a slight problem.”
“ It seems to look like that.” Joe laughed. “ How can I help?”
“ See Susan and the naked guy?” I pointed.
“ Yea, is that one of yours?” He saw Pasta.
“ I’ll explain later, I need you to drive up slowly so I can get Pasta.”
“ Are you serious?”
“ Yes Joe, unfortunately I am.”
“ Jump in.”
“ Great.” I boarded the buss and turned to see it full of kids, kids who were dead silent at the sight of this dirty rope toting thing looking back at them. I just sighed and turned looking through the window. “ Joe…after that llama!” To both of our delights every kid on that buss leaped up and cheered at the top of their lungs. Joe slammed the door closed and jammed the llama mobile into first. Now kids, especially young ones like to make up songs, and this was no different. For a half-mile we heard “ We’re on a llama hunt…. We’re on a llama hunt, all in unison.
“ Should I pull up like I’m letting kids off?” Joe asked seriously.
“ Yes.” It wasn’t like Pasta was going to go, hey here comes the…. Wait a minute this is a trick.
“ Here we go.” Joe started to slow. I turned and all went silent in a somewhat petrified awe, to be honest I did feel a little like a super hero, dozens of little eyes on me waiting for me to take on the evil Pasta. We stopped and the door slowly slid open, there was slight murmuring from the kids as I stepped calmly and slowly from the bus. Susan couldn’t believe it; naked boy stopped waving his arms and somewhere off in the distance the hooves of a runaway horse could be heard. I was the one, I was going to bring this llama down, Pasta looked at me, I at Pasta and he bolted. No way! You are mine! I ran along the side of the bus to cut him off. I hadn’t noticed but all the kids had their heads out the window and started yelling.
“ Go llama! Go llama!” I dove (For the kids man! Do it for the Kids!) Kids screamed, Susan gasped, naked boy picked up his dog and ran like hell, and I got him. Pasta kicked whined spit and I struggled swore (Sorry mom) and yelled, finally we came crashing to the ground, tired dirty and sore, I had won. Not only had I defeated the evil Pasta, I gave a busload of small children (and the now famous Alllpaaaacaaaa! Guuuuuyyyyy!) A story that no one would believe unless they were there.
After vet bills, apologies, promises to leave town, all was once again quiet in our little part of the world. Susan’s daughter came home and smiled she was the most popular kid in school, (after all how many kids live with a super hero) she handed me a stack of drawings, of a man in a cape with two ells on his chest flying through the air. As for Joe, he is the most popular bus driver ever at the school, I think kids feel that there’s a better chance of running into exotic animals when he’s driving. Naked boy, well, He has taken to wearing clothes when his dog is tied out, and me, I don’t really care for llamas that much, but somewhere deep inside llama man still exists. Besides I have friend that raises Emu’s, you never know, they say super heroes never really retire.