Chapter 28

                        AN UNFORTUNATE PAST, AND A DANGEROUS PRESENT

Written By: Joseph Same

When my friends Rashon, John, and Ralph asked if I’d write a chapter to be included in their

upcoming book, I told them I’d rather not undertake that effort. It seemed to me that all I needed to

say, I’d already said in the book “The Same Tapes.” Yet, they insisted, and when I offered to expand upon some words I’d left out of “The Same Tapes,” they said, “Yes, give us that, but then also relate your evaluation of where life is ‘at’ in this city now.”

            Thus, today I’m submitting these words. And I imagine they’ll constitute one chapter of a

book I’m told is to be entitled “The Students Of The Highway.” And I hope you’ll find them uplifting and informative, rather than depressing and redundant.

            So, let me begin by telling you that recently I married a wonderful woman named Sharon. And we’ve settled here along the north shore of this city’s river. Yes, we’ve settled here in what is my city of origin. But my youth here was spent on the south, or poor side of this city. And Sharon and I now live just across the river on the northern or richer side of town, although we’re not living amongst wealthy people in the area in which we are. Instead, our neighbors are artistic type individuals who, like us, have also been establishing residences along the near north shore of the river.

            And I’m sure it goes without saying that Sharon and I are hoping for a peaceful future here. Nonetheless, we do know about this city and its peculiarities. And we do know it and its residents have been chosen for observation by otherworldy entities and deities.

            But I think John and Rashon wanted me to speak mainly about the past in this piece. Thus, here are some memories!

            I can still remember walking up to the podium to receive my high school diploma. Four years

of phoniness were coming to an end. And four years of being part of something I wasn’t really a part of were finally over. And none of my relatives, including my parents, even attended the ceremony. They felt I’d abandoned their south side cause.

            And I also remember walking back to my chair then with diploma in hand thinking, “You

know, I’m really in trouble here. What the heck am I going to do now?” And then I realized that

although during my high school years I’d made a point of becoming popular with my city’s wealthier inhabitants, probably my north side friends wouldn’t be there for me someday if I really needed them. And that’s when I sensed my graduation from high school would be more of an ending than a beginning.

            And as I sat there that day while my fellow classmates walked up for their diplomas, I

almost resigned myself to giving in to the “status-quo.” I almost decided I’d apply for work at our

city’s major factory - the same factory at which my dad was employed. Yes, I was nearly convinced

to stop my anti-establishment ways, and give in to the beer drinkers, the cigarette smokers, the anti-

intellectuals, and the purveyors of sameness who tell us not to attempt too much in our lives lest we

rock the boat, and God forbid, become part of the inevitable changes which deep down inside the members of even the “status-quo” must know will surely occur in society, although they tell themselves that nothing will ever really change.

            And, surely I guess it’s because I’ve had numerous such moments of realization in my life,

that today I admonish you to keep your freedoms intact! Learn not to restrict, abuse, or lose them. And before you criticize those who say things which are so much more easily said than done, remember, often it’s best to verbalize what we know, or strongly suspect our course of action should be prior to our embarking upon it. And why? Well, that way others may alert us to modifications that course of action might proffer from, or perhaps even convince us that course isn’t really the correct, or at least the proper one for us to pursue at that time.

            And it’s clear to me now, that while students of the highway should be encouraged to state

their views concerning all they encounter along the existing roads of life, it’s not their responsibility

to build new roads of life, or attempt to reconstruct or alter the topography of those which already exist. That’s the job of artists both real and true. So, let’s pray then, as one might argue we have an obligation to, that those artists construct or modify only such walks of life which, upon construction or modification will remain truthful to the Masters of Timeless Light’s eternal plan; thereby

pleasing those Masters, and leading mortals ultimately to the entrance door of that Timeless Light.

            But meanwhile, as we walk along those roads, we notice of course all the ways of the

world. And, unfortunate though it is to admit, only a few of us, as wayfarers there, will ever

completely comprehend all that’s even physically occurring about us on those roads, let alone the

symbolic references and reasons which led to all those occurrences. But it’s those few of us who

shall comprehend the majority of reasons, and symbolisms of those occurrences, who should

perhaps somewhat non-creatively, but certainly truthfully be termed “the bottom line people.”

And it’s the bottom line people who are always waiting and searching for the end of problems. And they’ll be there, if necessary, to call any difficulty finally resolved, and to encourage those affected by it to move on.

            But what happens after that? What occurs after all has apparently been righted, and order, or

at least a supposed solution has been found? I asked that question of a man whom I met in a bar one evening a few years ago. And he answered by saying that things would be fine then for a while, and probably a short while, yet, then new problems would begin to surface again, and the same process would then be repeated again. But, then my new acquaintance changed the subject and began talking about classifications of humanity, and parallel earthly realities. And of course, at that time I’d already heard of those entities, but hadn’t, as of then, felt their impact upon my life.

And to be very candid, my first impression of my new friend was that he may in fact be drunk. But he made emphatic claims to the contrary. And as our conversation pursued, he went on to tell me that he was in fact one of two leaders of one of the four divisions of mankind!

            Now you may know how such a statement, made more or less out of the clear blue sky,

would register with me. Of course I again imagined my new acquaintance to be inebriated, but as

he continued to speak, I realized that was not the case, and sensed that indeed what he was telling me then would surely, from that day on alter my opinion of humanity and how it lives upon planet earth.

            Yet, I wasn’t overwhelmed by what Rashon (as he later introduced himself to me as) said.

In fact, I believed much of what he verbalized then was simply doctrinal, and I found it to be “tenets of life” if you will, and was certain I’d encountered a fair amount of it elsewhere. Yes, I thought I’d

heard and read a lot of his admonitions and revelations previously.

            Still, his words about the four classifications of mankind left a massive impression upon me.

And I’ll admit I had some initial difficulty believing that he was actually a co-chairman of one of

those classifications. Later however, as I was thinking about all he’d told me, I thought, “Sure, he

was telling the truth! Why wouldn’t this city have a co-chairman of one of mankind’s classes

living within it; all sorts of other bizarre happenings and actualities occur and exist here?” But

later still - days later - I learned that indeed our city was the home of both co-chairmen of the

students of the highway! And I became aware of the fact that the other chairman was Amber Rolon,

and that indeed she and Rashon were “an item” so to speak.

            And, of course I alluded to Rashon and Amber in “The Same Tapes.” And much of what they

told me was incorporated into that book, just as it’s been incorporated into the body of beliefs

which I now hold as true.

            But, of course since the publication of “The Same Tapes,” some have adjudged the assertion

which divided mankind into four distinct groups to have been but a fictional device, not necessarily fabricated by me, but employed by me to controversialize that book. Yet, that night, in that bar, seated  before me in the person of Rashon, sat what seemed to me to be living proof of that assertion’s truth.

            And when I mentioned the book “The Same Tapes” to Rashon, he admitted he’d not yet read it, though was anxious to begin doing so. And he said he’d actually spoken to Orlon Braem and Jane Doer concerning it. And he said that Orlon and Jane had told him that they and many others who now constitute a sort of “artistic colony” in this city are quite proud to have that book as the first example of artistic endeavor from within their circle of creative types. And he said those artists are pleased it’s achieved some success professionally. And he also said he hoped I, as its author, shared his enthusiasm about the book; to which I replied perhaps somewhat sarcastically, “It appears I do, doesn’t it?

            But thankfully my brashness didn’t upset or anger Rashon; in fact, he chuckled about it. And he then promised to introduce me to Amber Rolon, who like he, is also a co-chairman of the students of the highway. And I told him I’d already met her once, long ago at one of the parties held at the home of Lauren’s (my high school girlfriend) father; but that she’d not even allowed me to speak to her! She’d introduced herself to me, and then left my presence immediately.

            And I told Rashon that since my rather strange introduction to Amber, I’d thought about her from time to time, but had never known who she really was until now. And I also told him that I’d mentioned that chance meeting in my book, but didn’t tell him that the only words she’d said to me that evening were her name, and that any friend of Orlon Braem was a friend of hers.

            But Rashon seemed intrigued by (and wanted to talk about) the concept of the “move-novel,” which I’d said was a literary device which “The Same Tapes” was an example of. And he wanted to know if I really believed that such a literary work, which contained at least two, and possibly several tracks of narrative simultaneously, could actually become a successful written work of art. And I answered him that I believed it could.

            Yet, I also admitted that I knew many might attempt to build defense barriers against that form of art known as the move-novel. And I confessed that others might simply term it trash. But I said I hoped at least a significant number would grant it their approval. And I said I thought many would possibly find examples of it to be well written. And, thus ended my conversation with Rashon. But I still have other thoughts I’d like to share concerning the matters which Rashon and I spoke of that evening.

            Lately it seems a lot of people are saying, or at least inferring that they’re writing and producing the means by which the middle class can be satiated. But I wonder if in their minds they really believe that satiation of the bourgeoisie is a worthy, or even an artful goal? Certainly true artists are never to mock the working classes! And oh, let that be said once more! Never shall the arts and artists intimidate those foundations of society upon which they, whether they wish to admit it or not, exist upon! Yet, denial, subjugation, and ridicule of artistic talent can also not be justified or accepted; nor can the dire consequences of anti-intellectualism, be they downplayed or tolerated.

            And can you visualize how all that’s just been said becomes truthful and real? It’s there! It’s

there, just the same as the air we breathe! And while the air we breathe sustains our mortal lives in

conjunction with other necessary physical manifestations, artistic realizations spurn us on. And we

move on then to learn that others before us already knew how sometimes the “status-quo” attempts to stymie art through accusations of possible insanity, sacrilege, or even criminality.

            And we’re learning every day! And we’re growing toward all we feel we must be and do! Oh, but it’s such a devastating realization when we finally sense the time has come for us to either leave, or remain forever within the classification of humanity known as students of the highway. And those other classifications will lobby for our membership then. And yes, before we go further, let’s acknowledge that many mortals will remain students of the highway for all their temporal years, And they’ll never really find what society thought was to have been their lot in life. But then, perhaps their lot in life was to never find a so-called lot in life!

            But are we truly creative enough to find sanctuary amidst true artists? Or have we grasped

the nuances of life itself to such a sufficient extent that we might lobby for inclusion amongst real artists? Or are we reactionary? Do our goals lie in the past, and in the re-interpretation of it? If so,

then reluctantly we must seek partnership with the “status-quo.”

            But is our fate really going to be that we’ll exist within the very narrow confines of a

structure of life which casts a disapproving eye upon all newness, whether it be artful or simply

pedestrian? And will we live our temporal years in the darkness accrued from a fear of change? And will that very fear of change itself cloud our belief that we’ll someday gain entrance into heaven?

            Those above-mentioned questions are for you alone to contend with. But personally, I can tell you that no matter what may be said concerning me, I know that when I reach a proverbial fork in the

road, I don’t need to throw my hands up in remorse and say “All is lost.” Yet, much has been lost. And the “status-quo” continues its crusade against myself and others like me.

            But let’s also not forget those thrill seekers of today. They’re living for good times only. And reluctantly the students of the highway must accept them as part of their genre of humanity.

            But in my own life, despite all of the above, I sometimes tell myself I can’t be touched by either the symbolisms or the restrictions of the so-called classifications of humanity. Yet, I nevertheless must always face all the dilemmas common to a common man. Still, I won’t sanction blandness, or careless and irresponsible lifestyles.

            And frankly, I’m concerned that such people as practice those lifestyles are ripping society off – so to speak. But yet, in a related perspective, and one which may show me as boastful, I’m proud and comforted to say that I possess the courage to say what I just said in the previous sentence. Oh, and yes, I also possess the ability (unlike some people I’ve known, and others I still know) to admit that people, places, and things do change as time passes.

            But before I praise myself too much, let me admit that sometimes I struggle here as I attempt to play the hand fate has dealt me in this city. And sometimes I seemingly can’t grasp hold of any type of order, be it literal, figurative, or even symbolic. But I carry on here. And trust me, I’m very fortunate to have a wife named Sharon, who by the way is not native to the Earth One reality; she’s from Parallel Reflections, the reality which was also the first home of Ralph Hawk.

            Some, but not all of the preceding words were written by me shortly before I’d completed my book “The Same Tapes.” And originally I’d thought they might be used in that book, however, as “The Same Tapes” neared completion, it appeared to me as though their inclusion therein would only have been redundant. But now, the brief remainder of this chapter shall concern a very unfortunate set of occurrences which took place at my and Sharon’s home recently.

            It was somewhere between 11 P.M. and midnight. Sharon was gone to bed, and I also should have been, but instead was watching some late night television programming. Suddenly I heard a loud pounding on the front door, and of course that frightened me somewhat, as no one, I thought, should be calling on Sharon and I at that time of night.

            I went to a living room window then, and with the help of street lights was able to see that a car was perched right up on my front lawn. And I knew then of course that if I opened the door I’d be confronted by someone who had come to my home for no good reason. And, based upon the parking job he or she had done, I guessed that he or she was drunk at the least, or perhaps high on some type of drug at what might be considered the worst case scenario.

            And, unbeknownst to Sharon, I keep an unloaded pistol in the house. And at this time I went to retrieve it, and some bullets for it. And I wished then of course that the pounding on the door might have ceased, and the potential troublemaker simply left the scene, but that’s not what happened.

            So, I put some bullets into the gun and opened the door. And I wasn’t surprised when I saw who was standing there. It was my old high school girlfriend Lauren Havess, and she was stoned. “What are you doing here” I asked as she pushed her way into the house.

            “I’m here to tell you how stupid you were years ago. Why didn’t you keep me as your woman? You’re the only man I’ve ever really loved. And I’ve had sex with a lot of guys since I left this city.”

            “I don’t want to hear this,” I said as I tried to push her out the door. But she always was rather strong physically, and even then, with her being as intoxicated and high as she was, I couldn’t move her.

            “You’re a foolish man Joe,” she said then. “If you’d have stayed with me, and married me, you’d be a part owner of that big factory today. But instead you ran off to the army, and then married that freak of a first wife you had when you returned.”

            “Don’t talk about Laura like that” I said. “At least I knew she loved me. And I was someone she cherished and treated kindly. And I’ll never forgive myself for not showing her the kind of love I really felt for her.”

            “Don’t lie to me Joe,” Lauren said. “Laura was an arrogant snob, and that’s why you started drinking, and eventually the two of you divorced.”

“Well, I’m glad you know so much about the way I’ve lived,” I said. “And if you’d have really wanted me years ago, you would have been good to me; and you wouldn’t have paraded me around in front of all your dad’s rich friends just to see what they’d say about me. And by the way, what are you on tonight – just booze, or a combination of alcohol and drugs?”

“Why do you care?” she asked.

“Because no matter what all you’ve done, it’s still not too late for you to change your ways. And it looks to me like you’d better change soon, or else you won’t be around much longer.”

And for some reason those words seemed to especially anger Lauren, and she charged at me then. And then she wrapped herself around me, and both of us fell to the floor, as we knocked over a living room lamp – which made a loud noise. And as we we’re lying on the carpeting with her on top of me, she said this amidst short breaths of air which smelled of alcohol:  “I still love you Joe. I always will.”

“I can’t help that,” I said. “You had your chance to have me, but you were too proud and self-centered back then. And you always thought you were better than me.”

“I didn’t think that,” she said as she continued to lie atop me – a position she seemed to like.

“Get off of me,” I said angrily as I struggled out from under her just in time to see Sharon coming down the stairs.

And when she reached the bottom of the stairs Sharon said “What’s going on here Joe?”

“We’ve got an unwanted visitor” I said. “Do you know who she is?”

“Well, this is the first time I’ve ever met her, but I must say, it looks like what I’ve heard about her is true.”

“ So, there’s your second wife, huh Joe. Your first wife was a freak, and your second one is a slut.”

“Just for your information Lauren, I’ve never slept with anyone I wasn’t married to,” said Sharon.

“Oh, the same is almost true for me too,” said Lauren laughing mockingly. “Only I’ve never slept with anyone I was married to.”

“I want you out of this house immediately” said Sharon then. “And it’s pretty obvious that you shouldn’t be driving in your condition, so I’ll drive you home now.”

“Why can’t Joe drive me home?” asked Lauren.

“I don’t think that question needs to be answered” said Sharon. “I don’t want some drunken rich girl who continually tells herself how bad her privileged life has been, trying to seduce my husband.”

“See Joe, she’s afraid you wouldn’t be able to withstand me” said Lauren then.

And at this point Sharon became enraged, and swore at Lauren with words I’ll not repeat here. But then Lauren also responded verbally, and then grabbed the pistol I’d carelessly left lying on the living room couch, and fired a shot at Sharon with it. And the bullet grazed Sharon’s right arm, causing blood to appear of course, and leaving both women noticeably startled.

And I immediately grabbed the gun out of Lauren’s hand then, and held it facing her. “How badly have you been hit?” I asked Sharon.

“Not badly,” she answered. “But had the bullet been fired an inch to the left, my right arm would have been shattered.”

“Do we need to call an ambulance for you?” I asked.

“No, I think it’s only a minor cut really – not to diminish what she could have done to me.”

And at this time Lauren seemed too scared to speak. And she just stared back and forth at the two of us and said nothing.

“Is she having a panic attack?” asked Sharon.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but probably she’s too doped up to have one. Well, anyway, we’ve got to do either one of two things now, and I’ll let you decide which,” I said to Sharon then. “Either we have to call the cops now, and have them deal with her, or else call Ralph Hawk and have him come over here immediately to help us decide what to do about this. What’s your choice?”

“Let’s call Ralph” said Sharon.