Thanks, Bulletholes

For your too kind comment on our piece in The Vinyl District.  It was sweet of you.  As for our attending an England Dan and John Ford Coley show at an amusement park in the midseventies, what can we say?  We did it for a girl.  Namely our first love--unrequited of course--Darlene Shrader.  We did all kinds of insane things, including taking square dancing lessons, for her.  We remember sitting at her house--she lived above the railroad cut that separated the foundry from the cemetery, and actually lived on Cemetery Street--listening to John Denver records.  That is some sick shit there.  But we'd have done anything for her, including joining the Catholic Youth Organization even though we were a dyed in the wool Methodist.  We attended retreats, even went to mass.  We'd have become a priest for her, that's how crazy in love we were.  We never kissed, that's how chaste our love was.  We wanted to--we weren't nuts--but she was so sweet and innocent that the situation never arose.  No, we just listened to John Denver records and soaked up her beauty and dreamed of the day we would be together forever.  We made excuses to pass her house hundreds of times per day, especially after we got our driver's license and got access to our old man's orange and black ex-gas company truck.  Anything for a glimpse of her, and her otherworldly beauty. 

What happened? We're still not sure.  We suspect it had to do with our discovering drugs.  Fellow CYOer Hughie Redding turned us on to pot, and something changed.  We went off to college, and that was all she wrote.  When we came back on weekends we still saw her, but she was older and we were older and we'd lost the urge to hang out at the CYO, preferring instead to hang out with our new pal Dan Diehl and talk about Jack Kerouac while seeking all the wild kicks his books promised. There was booze and pot and a whole wild America we wanted to know, and Darlene just kind of got lost in the shuffle.

But we still wonder, all these years later, what our life would be like had we settled into a real relationship with her.  Would we be bald, with grandkids, and living on Cemetery Street?  An insurance agent?  Would we still be listening to John Denver records?  Or would we have sooner or later gone our separate ways, into a world that doesn't understand the kind of love we shared, the kind that takes you to England Dan and John Ford Coley concerts out of sheer, heartrending obsession?

Comments

[Jeffers]

Hey, crazy day here today, sorry I didn't call. Hopefully things are just jiggy.

[bulletholes]

I was glad to do it Mike. I was a bit ashamed that I didn’t spell “would” right, and I kinda dangled a participle but at least I didn’t have my caps lock on.
We come a long ways, me and you.

[Dave Mows Grass]

Steve, you dangle a participle like a deaf Turk swings a hammer!

[UF MIKE]

I've dangled a few participles myself. Just for the fun of it. Jeffers, no biggie. And Steve, thanks again.

[Martijn]

Particularly that last paragraph is beautiful. The 'what if' question hanging over all of our heads fantastically worded.

[UF MIKE]

Thanks, Martijn. That means a lot to me.

[bulletholes]

Mike i read this the other day, and as it does so often when I read a post of yours it set me to typing. But I cant share this story at Bulletholes right now...maybe i'll never be able to share it there, I dont know....but i'll share it with you.

One of my best chums in junior high was a girl named Bambi. I had a lot of guy friends, but when I think back, I liked Bambi the best when we were 13 years old.
She was the only kid on the block that would play tackle football with me.
We spent many an afternoon in the woods and fields alongside the neighborhood hunting birds with bows and arrows, and collecting snakes and frogs along the creek.

On really hot days during the summer of 1971, we would play spades in her living room, listening to ‘Snoopy vs. The Red baron” and “Jeremiah was a Bullfrog”. Sometimes we would go to her garage and play ping-pong, or to her back porch and shoot some hoops. She always whipped me at horse.
Bambi, she was the worlds greatest Tomboy, and she was my best friend for at least a couple years.

We went our separate way about the tenth grade. I discovered pot, and she went to a different High School so she could be on the swim team. I went bad, and Bambi stayed on course.

She got married right after High School, and I was going to go to her wedding, but I got stoned and I missed it.

But a couple years ago, when I got clean, I got to thinking about Bambi, because she was one of those people in your life that was so special that you know you will always like them, and what with the internet its so easy to find old friends and say “hello” and sometimes it’s a good thing to do, especially after you quit using dope for 35 years.

I couldn’t find Bambi.
But I found her dad, and after a year of thinking about it I finally gave him a call.
I introduced myself again, he would know who I was, and I left my phone number.
I was surprised to find that he returned my phone call so quick, and I didn’t get to answer it, it had gone straight to message.

“Sure Bulletholes, I remember you. Bambi is divorced. Her number is XXX-YYY-XYXY. She has had some surgery and she has Amnand disease now”

Now I was really surprised that he just came out and gave me her number. I figured he would forward it to her, and she could decide whether to call me or not. And it seemed like I needn’t really worry about this Amnand Disease, whatever it might be, because he didn’t sound like it was a big deal at all.
At least I hoped it wasn’t serious.

So I called Bambi!
We talked for an hour, it was like we’d just been down in the creek yesterday, or were about to throw the football a little, just like the old days.

I was relieved to find that Bambi doesn’t have Amnand disease. In fact, there’s no such thing.
See… Bambi isn’t Bambi any more.
Bambi is a man now, and his name is Roger.
I really do have to get a hearing aid.

I remember the day 42 years ago Bambi and I went to the local sporting goods store. The man behind the counter had said “How can I help you boys?” and we bought some arrows to shoot birds with. Bambi suffered through it, and laughed it off. It wasn’t the first time that had happened. It certainly wasn’t the last.
So, when I find out that Bambi is really Roger its no surprise.
And I promised Roger to keep his anonymity, but I have to tell you-
People would be about as surprised to find that Bambi is a man as they were to find out Bulletholes is an addict.

[Martijn]

Bulletholes, Steve, Bambi's friend... utterly beautiful, touching and amazing!

[Dan]

Love.