Freakin' Mayberry

Cars sped by as I lumbered out of a deep ditch littered with everything from dirty diapers to urine filled beer bottles. Not a comfortable place to sleep.

I plopped down on the side of the road and held up my, "Homeless. Have a heart, please, so I can eat," cardboard sign.

A black Cadillac whizzed by. "You rich bastard," I yelled, "shove your money where it'll never be green again."

I ran my thin fingers through my deranged beard. Pulled my hole infested stocking cap tighter on my head to hide my unkempt hair. I'd have to search this flippin' town for a place to shower and wash my clothes, preferably free, before my own stench gagged me to death.

I had jumped off a freight train the night before. I thought this city was big enough to have a homeless shelter. But in daylight I glimpsed only a few buildings. I'm in freakin' Mayberry, I thought.

A blue BMW slowed and stopped. The driver's window hummed down. Several teenage girls glared at me. The driver waved a fifty.

"Hey, homeless, come and get it," she called.

I salivated at the thought of having a fifty in my pocket. I eased myself up and reached for the money.

The girl jerked it away, aimed a squirt gun out the window, sprayed me in the face several times and peeled out.

"Moron!" she shouted as the tires burnt rubber.

I could see the girls through the rear window laughing. I wiped the water off my face. Stupid kids, I thought and sat back down. Thank God, the spring sun already let it be known it planned a hot day.

The early morning traffic thinned and I eventually dozed off sitting next to the road.

A horn honked and nearly sent me rolling back into the ditch. A Mercedes stopped a few feet from me.

"Here." A blonde woman held out a few bills.

I shook the sleepiness from my head, stood and stopped. Am I dreaming? I wonder. Is this Crystal?

"Well, come on," the woman said. "I'm not waiting all day."

I prayed this woman was a Crystal look-alike. I couldn't let her know this is what became of me. But how could anyone forget their high school sweetheart--even nineteen years after the breakup--unless they looked drastically different, like I did?

"Thank you, ma'am," I deepened my voice to disguise it.

Her mouth dropped as I reached for the money. "Harry?"

"Sorry, ma'am." I took the money and ambled away.

"Harry David Johnson!" Crystal shouted.

Like a fool, I spun around before I realized I'd given my identity away. I tried covering my mistake. "What are you bellowing about, lady?"

"Cut the crap, Harry. I'd know that walk anywhere." She shut the engine off, got out of the car and leaned against the side of the front fender with her arms crossed. She still had curves in all the right places.

"Why the hell did you disappear like that?" she asked.

"What do you mean? You said you never wanted to see me again."

"You idiot. I didn't really mean it. I certainly didn't expect you to vanish."

I had decided, after she told me to get out of her life, to hitchhike around the country before starting college. That would keep her off my mind. I wrote my parents a note the next morning before they got up, and ventured out. I never made it to college and here I was still bouncing around the country.

"Why did you tell me that then?" I asked.

"You ruined my life."

"I ruined your life? Looks like you've done quite well."

"You knew I couldn't wait for summer to end so I could start college. Then you wrecked it all by getting me pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

"That's right, Harry."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Scared. Mad. I don't know." She studied her shoes.

"I suppose you had an abortion."

"No, I didn't. My husband and I raised your daughter. Matter of fact, she should have gone by here earlier on her way to school. She drives a blue BMW."

"She does?" I asked, and thought about the girl who squirted me and called me a "moron." I hadn't pay that much attention to her. My mind had been on the fifty.

"Well, get in the car," Crystal said.

"The car?"

"Yeah. You can use a shower." She waved her hand in front of her nose. "You don't want to meet Harriet smelling like that. And yes, I named her after you."

I didn't want to tell her I had already met my ill-behaved daughter, so I asked, "What about your husband?"

"We divorced ten years ago."

I learned, on the way to her house, she had married John Purdy, the puny jerk in high school who kept asking her out even though he knew I was her boyfriend. After I left, she figured if she dated him, then claimed he had gotten her pregnant, he'd marry her and nobody would be the wiser. It worked. They moved to New York City a couple of months after saying their vows and started a messenger service.

After they had made a bundle, Crystal decided the big city was no place to raise a child. So they sold the business, bought land in this backwater town and had house plans drawn up. At the last minute, Purdy backed out. She told him she was building the house and moving here with or without him. The fighting turned ugly and Crystal blared out Harriet wasn't even his daughter.

It turned out Purdy suspected it all along. He lacked numerous swimmers. And when the baby came three weeks early, she was big for a preemie. Even though Purdy had his suspicions, he was so thrilled to have caught Crystal, he could have cared less. But several years of being married to her had taken it toll.

She never told my parents I was the father of her daughter. At first, to keep up the front, and after Purdy found out, she felt there was no need to inform them since she hadn't seen them in nine years. After the divorce, she had written them several letters asking about me. She wanted me to know I had a daughter, but she didn't tell them that. Her letters went unanswered. She called once. My dad told her he didn't know where I was and hung up on her.

"I call my parents when I had spare change," I told Crystal. "Mom always cries and begs me to come home. I started in that direction once or twice, but the road has never led me there. I just continue bumming around the country. What are you doing for a living?"

"I went to beauty school, got my license, and opened a salon," Crystal said. "I could have lived off my half of the money from the business, but I didn't want to sit around the house all day watching soap operas."

She turned onto a circular drive and stopped in front of a large colonial house. "Here we are," she announced.

"Wow!" I marveled.

"Yeah, I love living here." She jumped out, trotted up the steps and unlocked the door. "Come on."

I followed her into the house. She gave me a quick tour. Told me I could help myself to anything I wanted to eat.

"I have to get to the salon." She opened the door, then stared at me for a second. "Harry, I didn't only want to tell you about your daughter. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Huh?" I asked.

"Stick around. Get cleaned up. I'll be back around three o'clock. We'll talk then, okay?"

"Okay," I said as she stepped out the door. Then I strolled into the kitchen, filled the four slot toaster, found a fry pan and scrambled up a half dozen eggs with as many bacon strips.

After I ate, I wandered into the bathroom. I took a look at the tub and decided a bath would feel better than a shower. A bottle of bubble bath sat on the edge of the tub. I thought, What the hell. God only knew the next time I'd enjoy another hot bath. I emptied the bottle into the tub.

Bubbles spilled onto the floor when I crawled in. I lay there watching them roll about and burst. I thought about being a father and how scary that is. Maybe I ought to grab a plastic bag, stuff if full of food and split before Crystal got back. After all, what would she want with the bum I had turned into? She told me to stick around, though. And I did want to get to know my daughter. No, I'd be dumber than a fence post if I didn't stay. Maybe this freakin' Mayberry town was the best thing that could have happened to me.