The Laurel-Crowned Princess, Epilogue

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Before we move into our story....

Okay, this is the last chapter of the my story to the world: the science fiction, autobiographical dramedy 'The Laurel Crowned Princess'.

February is Black History Month.

For the entire month of February, I'm going to post information about important Black people, particularly within the field of music, specifically within the field of jazz organ. But they won't all be jazz organists-for example, Stanley Turrentine is a legendary sax player that played with many jazz organists, particulary Jimmy Smith, and was married to another jazz organist, Shirley Scott.

I will be indebted to Pete Fallico, a jazz organ promoter, historian, liner note writer, promoter, and his website,
www. doodlinlounge.com for most of the auto biographical information.

Today's contribution to Black History Month 2006-informing or reminding you, the gentle reader, that the month of February is Black History Month.

Now back to our story, already in progress and rapidly concluding.

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I love waking up late.

I love waking up late on a beautiful day and having the sunlight pour in past the window curtains.

Because I had stayed up late journaling the night before I didn't get to sleep as soon as I had desired.

Check out was 11:00 AM, I think I pushed that. The manager of the motel strongly encouraged me to wait in the lobby until my dad showed up.

I also remember that the motel manager had an old vintage Cadillac that was either owned by or had something to do with Elvis.

Most old nice Cadillacs apparently have had something to do with Elvis at one time or another.

If you ever need to stop in New Salem, TX, go to the truck stop cafe off I-20. I recommend the Beef Stroganoff. The cafe is on the North side of the freeway. You can't miss it, its the biggest business in New Salem, with the possible exception of the cemetery.

Cute waitressees, too. You can't beat a small town girl, sometimes.

It's within walking distance of the truck/auto repair business, which is across the street on the East side of the truck stop and directly across the freeway from the truck stop motel.

You only need cross the freeway at the overpass bridge that runs over the freeway.

Being stranded in a small town is a helpless feeling as you walk along the access road of a freeway. Everybody in the world seems to be passing you by as you walk along the road, and it might even seem that you may have to live in this new place for the rest of your life.

Dad wasn't real happy receiving just one day's notice that he would need to come to Abilene to tow me and the Impala back to Beaumont.

We got a tow bar jack from Abilene, and drove all the way back to Beaumont the next day.

The 68 Impala riding on the back bumper looked pretty intimidating, even from the viewpoint of my dad's Plymouth van.

We made it back to Beaumont without further incident.

I visited back to Abilene a few more times after that, but I haven't returned in several years, only to visit my sister Deana and my brother-in-law Chad after my niece was born.

The last time I was there I got the stomach flu.

I guess I've since decided that it is better to look forward than behind, but it's taken me me awhile to come to that conclusion.

Letting go of an age old apparition is like letting go of an old friend.

I ended up selling both the 1957 Chevy and the 1968 Chevy, but I always wish that I had just put even a used motor in the 68, because the rest of the car was really nice, and I enjoyed driving it around.

With the money I bought a good road bike and a nice 1988 Toyota Pickup that lasted me quite awhile.


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Afterword or Why I Really Like This Story

Initially I was going to do a purely factual account of the information contained in the preceding chapters. And I may yet post that version sometime in the future.

For now, this ended up being a lot more interesting and I was able to learn some new things about the experience.

I no longer feel sorry for myself for not finishing school in Abilene. It actually worked to my favor, and you can read that

here.

I had written a wild west version where I had beaten the short man, and appointed the bartender as mayor, but, it just didn't work.

If I ever come back to this story I will flesh out the fight scene a little more...give it more tension so the reader will wonder if I'll make it or not.

In some ways the story isn't over.

My Grandpa's role is one of my favorite parts of the whole story.

I love the way that time is loosely interpreted, it starts and ends in the late 80s, but goes to this no-man's land in the sand, and from there we visit, from a different perspective real events that happened in my grandparent's house and my previous college.

When I return to the desert it has become a wild west town where I try to duke it out with the short man. Then we're back at the I-20 truck stop.

Stay tuned for a possible Part II?

Not at least until after Black History Month....

The Laurel-Crowned Princess, Chapter 16-'Aaaarrrrreee Yeeeewwwww Reeady Tooooo Rumbllllleeeee.....!'

Have you ever been in a car wreck? Time somehow speeds up and slows down in a weird kind of way.

That's kind of how the fight scene played out.

Don't remember who fired the first shot. I pulled out my gun that shot pure light, even pulled the trigger, though nothing happened. I later was able to determine that I forgot to turn the gun 'on', apparently it had an 'on/off' switch I neglected to activate.

Not a safety, but an actual 'on/off' switch.

Not sure the gun would have done anything but help me find my car keys at night anyway.

I don't think I got shot right away, I avoided it for a bit, I was able to dive back behind the bar for a quick moment and assess the situation.

The situation was not good from my perspective.

Me in that bar not liking the sheriff was an unpopular opinion with the rest of the patrons, it was like a cat being in a dog house.

Being behind the bar and underneath stocks of vice with anything that could be thrown or shot was not a good place to be, that was my first injury, a falling bottle of whiskey to the head.

The second offense was caused by the bartender who was not happy having me as a guest behind the bar. That bullet shaved my arm as I was running out from behind the bar, but that was like jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Lots of fire and orbiting furniture.

Since I was writing the story I figured some 'Matrix' moves might be good to try, but that's when I added to my head injury and sustained a neck injury, in addition to many other sorenesses that seemed to accumulate after that time.

By the time I was able to block a fast moving table from hitting the bar I'd had taken all I could take, plus a bit more. I don't remember how I arrived on the floor or when the shot to the stomach happened, but it appeared to me that the Sheriff was probably going to keep his job for the time being.

At least that's what he exclaimed as my field of vision faded to black and my day in the wild west was over....

Go To Epilogue

The Laurel-Crowned Princess, Chapter 15-'Them Thars Fightin' Words'

"The name is Costas, Mr. Hamby" said the man not mistaken for being too tall. "Sheriff Bob Costas." He still had on the yellow and black jester's costume on, but a badge over his left side.

"Well, looks like there's a new sheriff in town," I commented.

"Yes sir, Mr. Hamby, it does look that way," he countered. "And I have ascertained that you are aggravating my bartender."

"No sir, Sheriff. Just trying to get some orange juice, and talk to you."

"Well, this is ostensibly a tumultuous locale to be procuring orange juice."

"But not too rough a place to find a sheriff," I observed.

"All work and no play makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise."

"If I may say so I don't think that's the way that phrase goes, Sheriff. Nor does it really prove your point,” I shot back.

"Pertaining to my proving my point, you may be right Mr. Hamby. Unfortunately that's my perogative in the populace of my authority, of which we presently preside. So thars somethin' for ya to mull over."

"Sheriff, I'm real sorry to hear that, and I imagine that you're going to be even more sorry to hear that this ain't your town no more."

"Mr. Hamby! I'm taken aback to hear you say something that is congrous to that assertion. In fact, I would be disheartened if you were to intend what would be closely parallel to what you implied. That would be an antagonizing day for me and a conglomeration of nearby constituents, encompassing quite possibly yourself.”

"Yes, sheriff, I would like to clarify that what you perceive that I’m suggesting today is actually true and correct, only I ain’t implying it."

"For the welfare of communication, I’m satisfied to have your statement clarified, but I must concede I'm encountering incomplete villification that your suggestion isn’t less than vexified. I feel prevailed upon to provoke you to expound upon the age-old query, ‘you and whose army?’”

“Sheriff, I don’t need an army", I said in my defense. All I need is for you to pack up and get out of town. We can do it my way, which means you just turn your badge over to me real nice-like or we can do it what one might assume is your way, with a fight. I would expect no less from someone who has provided as strong line of defense as you have.”

“Well, Mr. Hamby, it would appear as if this town is lacking the expanse necessary to accomodate the presence of our simultaneous combination heretofore co-existing.”

“I reckon we’re getting real close to the part where thars going to be a big fight.”

“Mr. Hamby, it would make my day, and yours, too-to cease your continuing to consult a thesaurus to compose my rhetoric."

"Fisticuffs it is, then."

"To arms!!!"

Go To Chapter 16