Ridicula Page 12

  “What the fuck?” Carolyn replied, tone and blasphemy sounding like Maude. Until now, Carolyn hadn’t participated in all the cursing that Hippie and Maude had done during the many hours on the road. She mostly had kept quiet, agreeing or adding a harmless declaration about a topic here or a comment there. After all, she hadn’t much interest in jerky or niacin or baseball so had little to contribute. And because of this, she and Maude had mostly gotten along in recent hours. Thus, throwing her out now seemed arbitrary even for Maude.

  “Yep, time to go,” Maude continued, not angry, just matter-of-fact.

  Bearman’s pickup drew to a halt behind Maude’s truck, parked only three quarters off the road. Other drivers slowed down to honk as they passed, but Jim paid them no mind; he could care less about any honks, unless they sounded gospel or angelic.

  To Hippie’s extreme surprise, Carolyn exited the car without so much as one syllable of added disputation. Instead, she addressed Hippie. “If you see George, send him my regards.” This might have been the sanest remark she had spoken since joining them, because it meant that her obsession with finding George had finally diminished—maybe.

  A while had passed since Carolyn had mentioned George; so much time in fact that Hippie had temporally forgotten about her real purpose for staying with them for so long. For some odd reason, she had thought that they would run into George at some point in their travels. Hippie guessed that she had finally given up on the notion once they entered the great state of Wyoming. Who finds anybody they know by chance in Wyoming? He had never done so in all his travels to the marvelous state.

  But then, why had Carolyn embarked on this venture? She must have known that they would wind up in Wyoming sooner rather than later. After all, Hippie was still Hippie, and Hippie ALWAYS ventured to Wyoming.

  These thoughts about Carolyn gnawed at his inner being. Thus, understandably, he was reminded that he was due for another dose of niacin.

  Carolyn walked toward Bearman’s pickup, and Jim opened the door in gentlemanly manner: exiting his truck, honkers be damned, and opening the passenger’s side for her. She plopped herself on the seat without a word.

  “Are you sure about this, Maude?” Hippie asked. “She barely knows that man, and he may be all Jesus-loving on the surface, but who knows what he’s really like.”

  “I have a feelin’ Carolyn can take care of herself,” Maude replied. “He’d take a heavy knee to his groin if he were to act up. Anyway, I think he’s the real deal, unlike those lowlifes he hung out with. Not sure about Carolyn, though. She may or may not be a reporter, but she is certainly neurotic, wants her way, and is a liar. I guess that’s reporting nowadays.”

  Hippie chuckled at her cynicism but did not feel the same way. Sure, outlandish and maniacal reporting occurred, but most news people were just trying to seek the truth in an unfair, Trumpian society. As for Carolyn, he realized that he still knew little about her. Was she really who she said she was? He doubted it, but he didn’t let the question linger. That’s because he didn’t much care about the answer, as this was his trusting nature.

  If Maude thought that Bearman would turn around and take Carolyn home, she was as misguided as a model without a mirror, except that Maude had no use for a mirror and would probably crack it if she had one. Unsurprisingly then, when Maude put the pedal to the metal, Jim’s pickup followed right along. “Don’t they realize that kicking out Carolyn was my way of saying I no longer wanted either of them following us?” Maude asked, exasperated.

  “Of course not,” Hippie replied.

  “Do you know why they are here in the first place?” Maude asked, chagrined.

  “Not really.”

  “Do you care?”

  “Nah.” He would find out when the time came. Nature would tell him at the right moment. No need to worry about it.

  “They want to ruin my whole operation,” Maude went on, trying to tell Hippie what he didn’t need to know. “They’re not confiscating my peyote emeralds and entire petrified logging line.”

  “Peyote emeralds?” Hippie asked, not curious but interested nonetheless.

  “You know, one of my precious minerals I mentioned.”

  “Oh,” he said, seemingly not caring whether she elaborated or not. Smoking peyote of any kind wasn’t his thing. But smoking an emerald might be cool. The beryl minerals might produce some interesting flavor.

  “That reporter is gonna ruin everything. Why did I bring her this far?”

  “‘Cause you know she’s not really a reporter,” Hippie replied, stating what he found obvious.

  “But what if she really is?” Maude looked nervous, which was unlike her, and her fear was completely unfounded.

  “What if I’m really Jesus?” Hippie gave her his whimsical smile.

  “Bearman would love that, wouldn’t he?” she asked in reply with her quick, guttural chuckle.

  Now miles into Wyoming and putting his mixed feelings about the state aside, Hippie decided to enjoy the scenery of Yellowstone Park. No matter how many times he had come or would go, the beauty of the park heightened his senses and gave him a high that no peyote could. That would always be the case for him unless climate change ruined his natural high.

  Hippie opened the window to feel the breeze on his hands. Then he extended his head out as a large dog might. While his hand did not feel the temperature immediately, his head bore the chilly gust with a teary vehemence. He persevered, keeping his head out the window, continuing to bear the fresh piercing cold but wondering how he could be enjoying the icy air when, not long ago, his alter ego had been waterskiing with a warm breeze blowing into him.

  Through his teary eyes he recognized a beautiful larch, which had branches protruding onto the road, from which he could see a few leaves fall even though it was only late August. He loved larches, because it was one of the few deciduous conifers and a beauty in nature. This one was particularly stunning with its enormous height, its prickly pine fragrance, and an elegance that seemed to emanate throughout the woodlands; thus, he made a point to acknowledge it every time he passed it, which was often enough. “Oh, larch tree, show me your beauty, and let me hear your allure.” In response, the tree seemed to call out its quick melodic tune in the breeze.

  “What are you yapping about now?” asked Maude, used to his affinity with nature but still letting it be known that she found it odd, especially when he talked aloud to trees and such.

  “Behold the larch,” he responded in jest, although they had sped by it already.

  “Lovely,” she said dismissively. “Are those clowns still behind us?”

  He had temporarily forgotten all about Carolyn and Bearman. He twisted his head against the wind and could barely see the truck through his tears even though it was still pretty close. “Yep.”

  “Foolish fucking fools,” she announced, stressing “fool” twice as she put metal to the truck pedal.

  “You have a real truck. Jim has a pickup. You really think you can outgun him?” he asked, finally returning his head fully into the truck, tears from the wind streaming down both cheeks.

  “Nah, but I bet a pickup can’t go through trees!” Maude replied, veering off the road into a forest that was likely protected under federal law. Hippie didn’t care much about that law, but he did care about getting his handsome face gnarled against a big beefy tree.

  Maude did not hit the tree head-on. Instead, she sideswiped it and the next and the next on both sides until the truck entered a clearing, which Hippie had not seen from the roadway. It seemed that Bearman had also not seen the clearing so had chosen not to follow.

  With minimal damage to her truck, and thankfully, to the trees as well, Maude came to a stop. “Let’s go before those two nincompoops spot us and follow on foot.” She opened the door and jumped out, running when she touched ground. She was extremely limber for such a broad woman, so much so that Hippie did not think he could achieve such a feat. He opened the door more carefully and stepped out. />
  “Come on, you sissy,” Maude yammered, running to where the woods grew thick again. “Let’s go.”

  Hippie obliged, caught up in this whole escape concoction that Maude had fabricated. He didn’t have any reason to believe that Carolyn and Jim had any other reason for coming other than just to be tagging along in Bearman’s case and hoping somehow to run into George Cramwell in Carolyn’s case. Hippie could not imagine George being a suspect in anything, let alone in a crime as important enough to make any news, fake or not. George could be a buffoon at times, but he was honorable and would never commit a felony, at least not since he’d stopped his crime spree in his youth.

  “You’re lucky those other two clowns haven’t found the truck yet,” Maude said when Hippie finally caught up to her. “I would have had to leave you to your own devices. And you’d try to befriend a wolf and offer it flowers, surely getting yourself ripped apart and eaten.”

  “Okay, Maude,” he responded, attempting to roll his eyes, acting like he wouldn’t do as she said but knowing that he would. “They’re not trying to find us anyway.”

  Then, before he could finish, he heard Carolyn’s voice. “There’s the truck. I told you they didn’t really crash.”

  Maude scolded him with her eyes; they stated that he was the dumbest, most naïve fool this side of the Rocky Mountains. Without a word, she moved on through the coppice.

  Hippie thought of finding the other two instead of continuing to follow Maude. But then he would be leaving nature in favor of people. That was certainly not him, so instead he decided to pursue a bird’s call, which happened to be singing in the direction that Maude had taken. This way, nature guided him instead of the broad-shouldered whacky woman.

  When he could not hear the bird any longer, he searched for anything that would help determine where he should move next. He settled on a scurrying rabbit he spotted ahead, which perchance, was following the trail that Maude had left behind. When the rabbit veered out of his sight, he felt for the wind to guide him on and moved with tranquility, listening for the wind’s music in the rustling of leaves. In this way, he moved always in Maude’s direction but never catching her. Occasionally he saw the woman glance back, usually with disgust, but he barely heeded her.

  They continued like this for what seemed hours until finally the wind died down enough for him to hear Maude calling him. “Hey, nitwit. Get your head together. We’re almost there.”

  Climbing out of the clouds in his head, he found his words. “I still don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Now that I think we lost your demented bear and that other demonic friend of yours, you’ll be finding out shortly,” Maude coughed out, which finally broke his prolonged peace in nature.

  Hippie caught Maude as she rounded a spruce. “Are you meeting with your buddies again like you did in Tahoe?”

  “Nah, just retrieving some goodies, including some peyote emeralds. A girl has got to make her truck payment, you know.”

  “What about your petrified logging? Doesn’t that pay for something?” Hippie asked, starting not to care even as he asked the question.

  “Ah, yes, that will make some dough. But it’s all for the children. We are a charity after all. Remember?”

  “Oh yeah. KIDS.” Hippie had totally forgotten until that instant, but this forgetfulness made him realize that he had to re-energize his mind and cleanse his body again. He popped a niacin pill into his mouth. One should do for now. No sense in becoming too ruddy. With two, his appearance might clash with the piney terrain, but a healthy one-pill hue would work just fine.

  They continued onward or in a circle or square pattern; for all their walking, they seemed not to be getting very far. Hippie swore he had just seen the red grapevine they now passed twenty minutes ago, but he took it all in stride. He was in no rush.

  He stared longingly. Although he was no expert in identifying types of grapes, these made his mouth water for cabernet sauvignon red wine. And maybe one more pill of niacin, which might not make his face clash as much as he thought it might just a moment ago.

  Then the wild grapevine lay behind him, hopefully for good this time. He had no Cab to drink anyway.

  “Did you bring any beer in that backpack?” he asked Maude, just now noticing that she wore one.

  She reached in, grabbed a beer, and tossed it to him. She produced another for herself. This stuff was not exactly Cab, but it would counter the niacin pill nicely.

  They walked through a copse and around a large evergreen. There, in a clearing that let in rays of sunlight from every direction, either directly or by reflection rays, Hippie saw something that could forever change his life.

  Or at least make him very happy.

  He saw a garden.

  But not any garden. Here, mounds and mounds of mushrooms grew, mostly portabellas, on a raised bed with neighboring green peas and asparagus, a barely visible tap root that could only mean one type of food: sunflower seeds and dirt pots filled with nearly ripe avocados. Beyond them, he saw bell peppers and broccoli stalks growing from deep soil. This odd assortment of vegetables were all rich with B3.

  Yes, he had stumbled upon a niacin garden!

  Sure, chicken and pork had an abundance of niacin, but for vegetables these were the shit. Especially the mushrooms which lay in compost of manure.

  “Have you reached heaven yet?” Maude asked with a large grin, which looked out of place on her often-austere face.

  “You knew this garden of niacin heaven was here?” Hippie asked back to her, his excitement barely contained. He wanted to charge into the garden and eat everything. In late summer, the vegetables were ready for harvesting. Perfect timing!

  ‘Yeah; my ranger buddy plants them. He loves his niacin as much as you do. Probably put pork on the grill if you’d like, too.”

  Only then did he see the cabin behind the garden. This had to be the ranger’s home or headquarters, although it didn’t seem like much of a place to work or live. It looked smaller than a shed. More like a kid’s clubhouse, really.

  Then, someone walked out of the cabin. He thought it would be the ranger, but it was only a boy. He couldn’t be more than fifteen years old, barely able to shave and smaller than most boys that age, too. He was extremely pale, as if he had not been in the sun in a very long time. Yet, his golden hair glimmered, and his bloodshot eyes radiated embers in the sun, a peculiar guise for any kid.

  “Maude, Maude, what a pleasure,” the boy greeted with a surprising husky voice.

  “Likewise,” replied Maude in a deep voice that somehow seemed less husky than the boy. “This is Aspen,” she continued. “A fellow niacin lover.”

  “This is the ranger?” asked Hippie.

  “My ranger, yes,” responded Maude.

  “I oversee her lands,” said the kid.

  “You own a part of Yellowstone Park?” Hippie asked, incredulous.

  “Oh, poor Aspen, always confused,” Maude replied, electing to use his real name to emphasis his innocence. “Of course, I don’t own it. That don’t mean I don’t use it. I have my stuff all over this park but mostly in the cabin, which my ranger protects.” She guzzled the last part of her beer down and threw it on the ground. Then she flattened the can with one big stomp.

  “Protects? How?”

  The kid answered by performing a wheelhouse kick followed by five quick chops in the air. Then he flipped like an acrobatic monkey, landing at Hippie’s side in position to strike like a cornered snake.

  “Oh, I see,” Hippie said, impressed. Where did this kid learn such skills? But as was his way, he did not bother to ask. His curiosity had already dissipated. Instead, he asked, “And you were willing to show me this location to me? You trust me that much?”

  “Well, why not? You are a trustworthy hippy, and some think you are Jesus, too.” She laughed her gruff laugh. The boy followed suit with a laugh gruffer than hers. Go figure.

  “So, what is it that you want, Maude?” the pale but gruff voic
ed karate champ asked.

  “Some peyote emeralds, of course. Ah, hell, how about all of them?”

  “As you wish.”

  They walked to the clubhouse and the kid threw open the door. Hippie peered in—and his mouth dropped.

  What he saw was beyond anything he could have imagined.

  Chapter 17

  Bloodshedder

  The balloon spiraled out of control.

  At least that’s what Kenny thought when the wind smashed into him.

  He held on for dear life. He felt that the wind from the storm was going to push him overboard. He could read the headlines: Idiot Thirty-One-Year-Old Scmuck Splatters atop Yellowstone Geyser. Those paparazzi don’t care about human lives—just the outrageous story.

  “Get down, you idiot!” yelled Jade. She must have paparazzi blood in her.

  He did as he was told, explaining, “I just wanted to see the geyser.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s still a storm out there!” screamed Jade over the hollowing wind.

  “I couldn’t tell, because my stomach was trying to puke out anything left of my intestines.” Kenny touched his stomach and felt the rumbling. He hadn’t eaten in what felt like a millenium. “How long have we been up here? Why haven’t we landed to wait out the storm?”

  The mustached pilot semi-twin of Bobarino heard him. “Haven’t you been listening to me? It’s safer to wait out the storm from the air. Landing would be too dangerous. But the storm has lasted a long time. We must descend soon anyway.”

  “So, we are going to land during the storm? We’ve drifted all the way into Wyoming, or Oz, or wherever Hell is, just to die?” Maybe Kenny was being dramatic, but he was more than a little pissed off, cranky, and ready to raise hell.

  “The storm is letting up. See the sun peeking out from the clouds slightly eastward?” responded the pilot. At first, Kenny had no idea where to look because the sun was mostly hidden by dark menacing clouds. He turned his head all around like a spaz on amphetamines and finally glimpsed a patch of sun, realizing at the same moment that the rain was letting up, only soaking his sodden body instead of entirely drenching it.