Run!

Luna Vista had recently been having a bit of a problem with bears. It seems a few bears from the neighboring hills had gotten a little hungry during the recent drought and come down to town to find some grub.

“I saw one ole' bear get into a dumpster and come out with his own sack lunch.” Rodney told everyone at The Store. It had gotten so bad, there were rumors that the city was going to put locks on the dumpster lids.

Ben and Barbara had been a fixture in town for many years. The elderly couple were always seen together, and once seen, were not easily forgotten - Barbara being blind and Ben not being able to see. Actually, Ben could see, but only about two inches from his face. They did get around despite their joint lack-of-sight, though. Both were active in the local church. Barbara played the organ at church and Ben had been a deacon since… well, since anyone could remember.

RoeMayo was home late one Wednesday night, sitting on the back porch of his little house behind The Store. It had been a long day and he was just enjoying the cool of the night with some refreshment. Now, most people that knew RoeMayo would have guessed that he was a cold beer-kinda guy. Some might have even thought him a bourbon man, maybe even a closet single-malt connoisseur. No, RoeMayo’s nighttime aperitif of choice was a Sprite…neat. He noticed Rodney and Imogene’s Great Dane trot over to the back of The Store and jump into the open dumpster. ‘Whatever’, he thought and drifted back to the deep musings induced by a beautiful night’s sky.

Ben and Barbara were the last to leave church that night and Ben, being a deacon, locked up. They only lived a few blocks away and since neither could drive, they walked. Ben, arm in arm with Barbara, who tapped rhythmically with her walking stick. Tap, tap, tap, a slow steady metronome in the night. Instead of walking along the highway, they cut back half a block and walked along the alley. In another part of the country, this would be unheard of, but this was Luna Vista. Crime was almost non-existent. Or as Imogene once told a tourist who had gushed, “This town is so quaint, I bet there is no crime at all.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda hard to rob the poor or rape the willing.”

RoeMayo’s profound reflections were broken by the tapping of Barbara’s stick. He saw Ben and Barbara walking along the alley and realized they would be walking directly past the dumpster containing Imogene’s Great Dane. He started to call out a warning about the dog in the dumpster, but for some reason remained silent-- or as a poet would say, morbidly mute.

Sure enough, just as Ben and Barbara got to the dumpster, the dog lifted his large head out of the open lid, eye-level with Ben.

“RUN BARB! IT’S A BEAR!”, and with that Ben took off running as fast as he could down the alley, leaving Barbara to fend for herself.

RoeMayo fell off his chair laughing as the staccato decrescendo of “TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP” echoed in the night.

Hardware Store

“Do you have any pocket doors”?

I’d asked that question several times today. Each time at a different hardware store. So far, no luck. Several had offered to special order one, but as for actually getting my hands on one, no luck. This was the last stop.

“Yes, I believe they are on aisle 23. Just a moment…” the man at the front cheerfully gave me the good news. He then spoke into his radio, “Robert, can you help a customer at aisle 23”?

Nothing

“Robert, you there? A customer needs help on aisle 23.”

“This is Robert. Can Carol do it? I’m busy at the moment.” So much for customer service.

Again, into the radio, “Carol, did you hear that?”

Nothing.

“Carol, can you help a customer at aisle 23”?

Nothing. This must me one of those high-class hardware stores. So the man turns to me and says, “Go ahead to aisle 23. Someone will meet you there to help you find that pocket door.”

Cue the profound shock and disbelief. ‘If I’d only had a camera to see the look on my face. Come on…I’m standing right here.’ And yet, I dumbly walk off toward aisle 23. I got to aisle 23, walked down the whole aisle and didn’t see a pocket door. ‘Maybe, I’m just not seeing it.’  Still no one to help me.

Ten minutes later, a store employee comes down the aisle towards me.

“Can I help you with something?” he courteously asks. Maybe there’s hope.

“I need a pocket door. Do you have any of those in stock?” I carefully inquire.

“Follow me.” And then he turns and starts walking off.

‘I think I’m in luck. This guy obviously knows where things are’, I think as I follow him. The sun is definitely shining brighter!  Hope has sprung forth and is in full bloom!

He leads me right up to the front of the store to yet another new guy and says, “Do we have any pocket doors?”

“Nope.” and then he turns to me and says, “But we can special order one for you!”

Western Justice

Roger hasn’t been an assistant DA in Luna Vista very long. In fact, this is the job that he took right out of law school. Now, being an assistant DA for a small, rural, county isn’t the most glamorous. It isn’t what most people dream of when it comes to dream jobs, and for Roger, it wasn’t really the fulfillment of his dreams, either. But it was a job, and Roger was of the kind that took life as it came to him. Such had always been the case. Roger, you see, wasn’t even from around this area. He had grown up around the Baltimore area. On completion of his bachelor’s degree, he had gone south and west to go to Oklahoma City University’s esteemed law school. When asked why he had come to OKC to go to law school instead of back east, he had replied, “Well, I kinda bombed my LSAT’s…and, well, this was the only school where my application was accepted.”

As I was saying, Roger is the assistant district attorney for the Luna Vista area. There isn’t a ton of crime around here, but obviously, if there is a blog about this town, there are some pretty interesting things that go on. And as assistant DA, Roger had seen more than a few interesting cases. Roger was playing darts in his office at the time he received the following phone call.
“DA’s office…”, Roger chimed.

On the other end of the phone line, Evan McKinley opened up. “I wanna press charges on my neighbor.”

Roger was going to ask what for, but didn’t have to, as Evan continued, “He shot my puppy! My poor little puppy, how could he do something like that? That’s…that’s animal cruelty! And I’ve done a little research and under Section 47, paragraph 12 of the state statute, animal cruelty is a felony offense. I want to press charges!”

“Hold on now. Let me get some information from you, first”, Roger said cautiously. He knew to slow down when people started quoting statutes. “You say your neighbor shot your dog. Do you know of any reason he may have had for shooting your dog?”

“Well, he told me the other day to keep my puppy off his land and away from his cattle or else he would shoot him. But he’s just a little puppy. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing. You can’t just go and shoot a puppy!”

As you can tell, Evan was somewhere between tears, shock, and anger. A kind of blubbering anger, that is hard to understand unless you knew a little more of his background. You see Evan isn’t from around here either. In fact, he’s from California – San Francisco to be exact. He came out to Luna Vista to experience the unadulterated Earth…to get back to Walden’s pond, so to speak. Yeah…Evan was one of “those” types. Anyway, he took his trust fund and headed to the backwoods that you, the reader, are becoming more and more familiar with.

“So your neighbor had caught your dog chasing his cattle before?”

“Yes, but he’s a puppy and he couldn’t really hurt those cows!”

“And the dog was shot on your neighbor’s property?”

“Yes, but…”

“Well sir, it sounds like your neighbor gave you plenty of warning to keep your dog off his property and he shot your dog while on his property. I’m not going to press charges.”

“What?!? What do you mean you’re not going to press charges? That’s…that’s animal cruelty! He was just a puppy!”

“I’m sorry sir, but there’s just no way that you could get a jury from Luna Vista to find someone guilty for shooting a dog that was chasing his livestock…especially when he had given you a warning. This ain’t New York City!” As you can tell from the last sentence, Roger had acquired a little of the local flavor. There are just some times when you need to throw in a good ‘ain’t’ to get your point across. This was one of those times. This particular ‘ain’t’ hit its mark as the line was silent, except for some heavy breathing.
“I’m really sorry about your dog” Roger continued in a more sympathetic tone. “I honestly love dogs and hate to see things like this, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

“Is there someone else I can talk to about pressing charges”?

If you had been a fly on the wall of Roger’s office, you would have seen the reaction this question provoked. It was one of those exaggerated eye-rolls with a not too small, yet strangely silent sigh. The sigh helped, though. It gave Roger the necessary patience to calmly reply, “No…I’m sorry, but there isn’t anybody who will press charges. Again, I am sorry your dog died, but there is nothing that can be done.”

That pretty much ended the conversation. A few ‘goodbyes’ were muttered and the phones not so carefully placed back in their cradles. Let this be a lesson to you, who venture into the serene and seemingly peaceful flora and fauna of Luna Vista. Don’t let your dog chase the neighbor’s cattle!

Asthma

Most people describe the roaring metropolis of Luna Vista as ‘a spot in the road’. The more eloquent further stating, “that if you were driving through and blinked, you’d miss it!” This is not completely accurate, however. If you truly blinked, then you would miss the sign signaling a change in the lawful speed limit from 65 to 35. Yes, indeed, there is no in between! At that point, Luna Vista’s most ardent and zealous law enforcement officer, a hybrid of Barney Fife and Junior from HeeHaw, would greet you at the dusty pull-off area across the street from the Store. Sitting there, waiting for your hundred dollar, self-inflicted donation to the City Of… tends to slap you in the face with the realization that there is, in fact, a town here.

Luna Vista is a sleepy little town, no doubt. There really is only one main street…that street going by the obvious name, “Main Street”. The town mostly consists of a convenient store, post office, town hall, one tavern, two churches, a school, various Mom & Pop businesses, and a motley set of homes ranging from recently built Tudor-style homes, to 60’s-style motor homes. Many times a home of the former style sits right next to a home of the latter style. Obviously, the concept of zoning never caught on in Luna Vista.

Even non-locals know that The Store is Luna Vista’s miniature version of Grand Central Station. It is the hub of all that goes on in Luna Vista. The Store really is more of a convenience store / gas station / café / arcade / pool hall / general meeting place. The store sits strategically in the center of town next to the bar and across from the above mentioned pull-off area. Many a speedy traveler were further humiliated by the jeering and even cheering of the local populous loitering on the Store’s porch. Rodney and Imogene run the store and could best be described as the inspiration for that childhood song that goes, “Here comes the bride…” Truthfully, it is a stretch to say they both run the store. Imogene runs the store. Occasionally, you might find Rodney flipping a burger at lunch, but usually he is playing cards, shootin’ pool, or just hidin’ out from Imogene. When least expected, customers and other passersby are treated to the piercing shrill of “Rooodddneeeeee!!!”. Most never forget the experience. Somehow, Rodney is entirely capable of forgetting it.

RoeMayo and Jasper happened to be playing cards at the store when the call came in. Both worked for the town and were supposed to be at the fire station, on call. Don’t be upset by this, though. Calls were and are frequently forwarded to the store. After all, the fire station doesn’t have a pool table!

Now, you’re probably wondering why his name is RoeMayo as it’s not a common name. Don’t worry, it isn’t his real name. It’s a nickname he earned in high school. Unfortunately, that story will have to wait for another time. For now, just know that it’s pronounced just like Romeo.

RoeMayo and Jul…Sorry, slip of the tongue. A lot of people are under the misconception that, as third party, omniscient narrator, I know everything that is going on and am infallible, as it were. In short, that I am god. In fact, this is erroneous. We narrators are just as infallible as others; we just have more austere voices. Anyway, RoeMayo and Jasper were playing cards at the store when the call came in. You would think Imogene would hand the phone over to one of them when she found out that the call was a medical emergency. No…she took the call herself and then bellowed out for all to hear. So much for HIPAA.

“Melvin’s been stabbed! He’s at his house.”

It was, indeed, Melvin who had called 911 in duress. Actually he dialed “#44” the first time…Melvin being a somewhat myopic creature. He was also perseverant, though, and quickly corrected his mistake. RoeMayo and Jasper found Melvin lying up against the refrigerator in his trailer watching college football. It looked like it was a Nebraska game…playing some poor school from directional LA.

“What’s the score, Melvin?”

“47-3, 5 minutes left in the 3rd”, he gasped before taking a swig of beer. I forgot to mention that he had a six-pack in his lap.

“Living good today, I see”, Jasper quipped, referring to the 6-pack of Miller Genuine Draft in Melvin’s lap. You see, while Melvin was rarely seen without a bottle in his hand, usually said bottle was a magnum of Cobra.

“What seems to be the problem today”, RoeMayo asked, knowing full well what the problem was. (Also, don’t let RoeMayo’s lack of urgency trouble you. These things tended to happen with high frequency to Melvin. Like most redundant jobs, this one had a “been there, done that” feel to it.)

“Well…Henryetta got upset…and…well…she had a knife in her hand at the time she got upset.”

RoeMayo quickly ascertained the rest of the story, the blood from Melvin’s chest reasonably indicating the extent of Henryetta’s ire. RoeMayo efficiently tore off Melvin’s shirt revealing, not one, but three puncture wounds.

“Looks like she was pretty mad”! said RoeMayo

Jasper thought it was kinda a dumb comment, but maybe Roe’s just trying to keep Melvin talking…bedside manner and all that.

RoeMayo carefully began the all-important job of probing and poking. It’s the first thing they teach at EMT class, after all. He checked Melvin’s heart rate, while Jasper started cleaning and applying bandages to Mel’s chest. Maybe it was the movement, maybe it was the relief that the EMT’s were here, or maybe it was the fact that directional LA had just scored on a punt return, but Melvin all-of-a-sudden went white and looked like he was going to faint. He dropped the bottle of beer that he had been holding in his right hand. Thank goodness it was already empty!

“MELVIN! STAY WITH US!”

A slap to Melvin’s face accompanied this demand. While I don’t think they teach this particular slapping technique in EMT class, the effect, was, nonetheless, as desired. Melvin started to come around.

“MELVIN, WHAT’S WRONG? “CAN YOU BREATHE?!?”

Melvin blinked a few times before gasping, “No… I have asthma!”

That’s right. He may be full of holes and somewhat drunk, but it’s the asthma that’s going to kill him. Melvin didn’t die, though. RoeMayo and Jasper got him to the hospital. The doctors patched him up. Within a week, he was back home in good ole Luna Vista.

Postage Due...

As Luna Vista's mail carrier...i'll just drop a few letter's in as often as there's mail...the substance which can be pretty slim in this lazy, sun-drenched southern utopia...

All i ask is that you keep your hounds tied safely under the tree...

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