Storymania - An American Tale by Shaun Hurley

An American Tale
Shaun Hurley

"Never let yourself be broken whatever the odds!" The man in the wheelchair exclaimed. His blond locks of hair flipped back and forth as he looked around the room to make sure everyone was still paying attention. From the mid-thigh down he had no body, but his presence made other's see more than just a poor wretch in a wheelchair that deserves pity. The audience that surrounded was caught in his powerful sway all dangling on his next words. "See, when you allow yourself to be broken you become a horrible creature. I was broken once a long time ago, when I was over in 'nam. My platoon was under heavy fire and we got seperated. I was searching around for the rest of them when I stepped on a land mine; it took the entire lower half of my body. A man found me and seen that I was still alive. This heroic man carried me over one hundred yards to a hospital, and it was there I had spent the next year wallowing in self-pity and depression. I did not want to live. The man who saved my life came and visited me. I wasn't appreciative towards him as soon as I figured out who he was the first thing out of my mouth was, 'why? Why did you condemn me to this life of hell,' at that time I could barely talk, but he understood every word? Every week he visited me, sometimes I would do nothing but cuss and scream at him, and other times we would sit in silence. My self loathing engulfed me so much that I was blind to this man's generosity."
Pausing briefly to examine the room to evaluate who all was paying attention. Everyone was captivated by his inspiring words he smiled. Continuing, "look at me now. I go from place to place preaching about life and how not to let it break you. You may have been through some hard luck, but that don't matter it is only hard if you let it be. Take on everyday with a smile and hold hope close to your heart then all of your problems will seem less of a pressure. Keep in mind these problems won't go away until you face them with an open mind. Never give in to self-defeat. I hold a view of the world from a wheelchair, from the thighs down my body is gone. Still life is fine, I choose not to be brought down, because hey in the end it will all be okay. Yes it is true that I am homeless, or rather I don't have a house. I live from shelter to shelter and enjoy my life. Let me ask you this, what is home? Is it your house? No, houses can be burnt down. A home will never go away. My home is speaking to people, doing this brings feelings of joy and security that I couldn't even begin to describe. Home is more than a house; it is a state of mind. Remember that if you should become down and out in the future." His strong deep voice resonated around the room. It reached the ears of his onlookers. The dazzled look in the people's eyes he seen while he gave a speech always amazed him. He liked what he did, going from school to school, living from one homeless shelter to the next, he is a proud confident man and it showed by the way he carried himself.
"In closing if you remember nothing else, please remember this, life is not as bad as it appears. If it all seems like it has come tumbling down, unlike Humpty Dumpty, it can be put back together again. I would like to thank you students, your teachers, and your school for inviting me. Remember, nothing is as bad as it seems." It was quiet, deathly so. No one clapped as he took his leave, it did affect him. He knew how he left people completely speechless. Their heads just followed him as he pushed his way out of the assembly hall, then one person clapped then another, and another. By the time he made it through the door his crowd was giving him a standing ovation.
A short fat man with brown tufts of hair approached him as he was pushing his way out the front door. The fat man pulled out a big green wad of money; "here's your money. You can use it to by alcohol or drugs or whatever it is you homeless people do."
He took money and threw it back into the man's face and said, "I hope your students at least got something out of my speech, because God knows you didn't. I don't do this for money, man, I do it for the pure joy of helping people." The short fat man gave a disgusted look, but he ignored it. After all he was used to the way people reacted to him being homeless. Pushing the handicapped button on the wall, he waited for the doors to happen, then left the building. He wheeled himself down the street passed the liquor store and stopped at the stoplight, waiting for the light to change. Alongside the wall a man was standing with a sign beside him that read, 'Please help, am dying of cancer, and children need food '. He turned and pushed himself towards the standing man. Always one to want to help he started to speak to the man in hope of inspiring him to get a job, "you know, friend, I see you out here every time I pass. You beg for money and what you do get you spend on that alcohol you're so fond of. When are you going to start spending it on your kids?" The guy just glared at him and was about to speak, but he didn't give the guy a chance to, "there is a better way than this. You can make something out of yourself and build self confidence, are you interested?"
"Hey, as’ole, I don `lieve I `vited yo` wheelshair shittin ash to come over here and try an give some kind o fugging advice that I don even need!" The man roared with a drunken slur in reply to his question. "So why don you jush do us all a fugging favor and go advise someone who cares, okay pal!" The guy's icy blue stare would have frozen most men, but not him.
He just shrugged his shoulders and retorted with, "you know, friend, hate consumes poor unfortunate souls like you. I feel bad that you have to live as you do, behind you veil of anger, but if you look deep you'll find that it is all in your head. Nobody is there patronizing you. I truly hope that you find peace." With that he pushed himself on down the street.

The man standing by the sign waited until the wheelchair man push down the road a little bit then screamed, " oh yea`, mudderfugger, what da hell do you know bout my problems." He tried grabbing at his sign but his reactions were to clumsy from his drunkenness and it skittered to the ground. Throwing out curses left and right he bent over and picked up the sign. Moving around the corner of the store he parked himself on the other side. He never liked being very far away from the store; even his bed lay in the alley behind it.
Still grumbling about the obnoxious man in the wheel chair he planted his sign beside him and stood there. Occasional passers by would give him a pitiful look and throw some coins at his feet. Whenever the pile of coins would get to high he would reach down, pick them up, and stuff them into his pocket. Once he got enough he stumbled into the store and bought a fifth of Jack Daniel's wrapped in a brown bag. He stumbled back out the door and went to lounge beside his sign. This composed his life begging for money, getting drunk, and then begging for more. He opened the bottle and began drinking. While he was sitting there a tall man passed him by and threw a twenty-dollar bill down at his feet. Not wasting any time he reached over and scooped it up, shoving it into his pocket.
Around an hour later the bottle was empty and he turned it upside down and grimaced. Stumbling back into the store he bought another fifth of Jack. He twisted off the cap and started to drink that bottle. Not clearly understanding why he drank like he did, one thing was for sure it eased the pain that his heart ached. As soon as he got outside the store his stomach turned and he spewed out a large pool of blood onto the ground. In a daze, half-puking half-choking, he stumbled out into the middle of the street. He heard some kind of sound, but was to involve with trying to breathe to figure it out. More blood spewed from his mouth and he heard the sound again, it was someone honking. He looked up and saw a semi heading straight towards him. Trying to scream but all that came out was a gurgle of blood, the truck screeched as the driver slammed on his brakes. The driver was to late though, the trucked slammed into him, and his body was sent through the air and he landed with a thud. His body was broken and battered, blood poured out of his mouth, nose, and various other body parts. The chest looked as if it had caved in on him.

After giving that poor man in front of the liquor store a twenty, the tall man headed down the street and around the corner to his apartment. He opened the door and the overwhelming smell of cooking meat filled his nostrils. His kids all rushed to greet him with their smiles and hugs. Hugging them back he made sure he told each of him that he loved them. He walked over to his wife who was cooking over on the other side of the room, "that sure does smell good, baby." Wrapping his arms around her he pulled tight and kissed her on the back of her head. She was a portly woman with long scraggly blond hair and thin pale lips. To everyone else she was in no way pretty, but he didn’t care love dictates beauty, and to him she was angelic.
Life for there family had always been a struggle and this now was their high point. The tall man had a job, which was his first in six months, and they had just moved into this studio apartment; a good change of pace from the box they used to live in. Living in the apartment was quite different than the box and it was taking a while adjust, he still felt like he had to go outside when he wanted to relieve himself. Now things are changing and life is good, he had no complaints. They have always been a close family and even through the rough times they still stuck together. It all comes down to one thing, life is grand, and nobody could tell them different.
The room was almost bare. They had only the necessities-stove, bedrolls, toilet, refrigerator, and a couple boxes to separate cloths- and a television. He was saving up to buy a washer and dryer so he could stop going to the laundry mat. Toys he had gotten for free from a store called Mercy Unlimited were all stored in a box.
After he released her, his wife patted him on the head and walked over to pick up the baby. She went and sat down on a bedroll pulled out her breast and began feeding the child. The other kids were playing with the toys, and the oldest sat in the corner writing on a pad of paper. The oldest, Nick, was fourteen and had three stories published in a local magazine that doesn't pay, but at least he gets recognized. Nick's stories were about real life experiences, but twisted so that they were humorous.
His father was not a very good reader himself, but he used to read to Nick. How Nick learned to write was a mystery; it just seemed like second nature to the boy. He was definitely confident that his eldest had a future in writing.
Earlier that week their landlord had said that the man who owns the building was going to tear it down and build a condo instead. Ever since then he has been looking for another apartment but with no luck. This only concerned him a little because his wife and kids would be there with him, and besides he knew something would turn. It always did. Just like his new job at Plastipak Incorporated, a plastic factory that recycles old plastic bottles and builds new ones. Compared to what he was used to, this job was high paying, ten dollars an hour. Though it still was hard to support his wife and four kids they managed. The shift he works starts at five in the morning and since he has no car he walks, sometimes gets a ride, four miles to the job. This job gave him more self-confidence, and he had no doubt that he would find a different apartment. Nobody else in the family, except for his wife, knows anything about this; he didn't want to spread any kind of concern to his kids.
He went to go sit down by his wife who finished breast-feeding. She smiled warmly at him, and he wrapped an arm around her. "How was work today?" She asked.
"An accident happened today," she raised her eyebrows in concern, "actually, it's kinda' funny. At work we have these glue pots that burn at seven hundred and twenty five degrees. We stick the glue in them to melt it and then meld the plastic together. Well anyways, some guy decided to stick his whole hand into it. He says, 'I wonder if this is hot.' I told him how hot it burns, but before I even finished what I was saying he had opened it up and stuck his whole hand in. He screamed and pulled it back out, and the only thing he had was bone. I tried to warn him though." His wife began to laugh hysterically. He laughed with her. A few minutes later she stopped and wiped the tears that had formed away from her eyes. She got up and went over to the stove to check on the cooking meat.
He looked at her in admiration. She really was a fabulous woman: fabulous for putting up with their situation and fabulous for sticking with him throughout his alcohol problem. Recalling how he met her always brought a smile to his lips. It was ten years ago, and she was sitting on a bench in the park. Riding his back down the road he saw her and couldn't stop staring. Not really paying attention to where he was going he slammed into a brick wall. Flipping up over his handle bars his head banged against the wall and he passed out. She just happened to be looking at him and watched him slam into the wall. When his head crashed into the wall she didn't waste anytime and ran over to help him. He was sprawled out on the ground with blood coming out of his cracked skull. She wasn't able to wake him so she ran to a phone and called an ambulance. When the ambulance arrived at the scene it turned out he had a concussion and was transported to the hospital. She rode along with him and waited for the doctor to tell her how he was, after the doctor examined him. Over the course of the next few weeks they had become close friends. He had a well paying job then and took her to fancy restaurants and movies. Eventually they ended up marrying and now here they are ten year later, still together and just as happy.
He heard his wife say that supper was ready, and he went over to where she was passing out the metal pots they used for bowls and some plastic eating utensils. She cut off pieces of meat for everyone and passed it out. After he got his meat he went and turned on the television. He went back to his supper and sat down to watch the news. The newscaster was talking about an apparent suicide, "out of this tragedy comes some news that will make hundreds of people happy. James Selover, a well known land owner in this city has left in his note that he isn't going to condemn the Bayside City apartments..."
No longer did he listen to the woman reporting the news he just felt like smiling and laughing. He isn't going to condemn the apartments. Nick and his wife were the only ones, other than him, that was paying any attention to the news. His eldest son looked at him in question. Seeing his father smiling made his eldest smile along with him. Looking at his wife, she also was smiling and got up then walked over to kiss him. Even though the landowner committed suicide it was still a joyful day for the family. On the teevee it showed earlier footage of the landowner waving to the cameras.

The landowner brushed a hand through his short brown hair and waved at the news cameras. He walked off of the stage. He felt no remorse for condemning the apartments; the place was a shit whole. That was the way he felt about it. There was no profit in the low-cost housing and condos just had more money to them. Leaving the stage he hopped into his limo and left.
The limo drove down the street to his building where he got out and went inside. He took elevator up to his office, on the way he told his secretary that he didn't want to be disturbed. The landowner sat behind a desk in a big brown leather chair; kicking his feet up on the table he lost himself in thought. The two huge windows behind him gave a luxurious view of the city. Anybody who walked in at that moment would have had an impressive display of him. The light that flowed through the window silhouettes the outside of his body. He appeared majestic, but this was far from how he felt.
The landowner lay back in his chair with his feet on top of the table and eyebrows drawn down into a 'V'. His manner was dark and brooding. He was thinking about how his life was going and where all his friends had gone. Sometime, about three or so years ago, at least he that she was. Whatever happened to her, he wondered? Visions of her were seen through a pair of hazy heroin blared eyes. Just about all of his past he seen through those same hazy eyes; he could hardly recall a time when he wasn't high. Having all this money from the real estate really does him no good. He just spends it on heroin.
His thoughts again focused on this woman. A woman he used to love and pretty by standards other than his own. She had long brown hair and piercing blue eyes from what he remembered she was a marvel to look at. Where had she gone? A pang of regret shot through him. The only that came to mind about that is him waking up one morning and her not being beside him. She left a note saying how she couldn’t take it and was leaving him. At the time he didn’t care he just wanted to shoot up. Perhaps he still didn’t care, he knows her name and if he really wanted to he could find her, but he feared that it would only turn out for the worst.
Deciding that thinking of this was leading nowhere, instead he wondered where his friends were. Well he had friends now, but they were just there to suck up or use up his money. Where did all his real friends go, the ones he could depend upon for something other than drugs? The answer to that question evaded him. Each day he would sit in his office and stare at nothing, thinking about what had happened. At some points he was the happiest man in the world, but now his existence seemed hollow and lonely. Nobody was there for him now, and he had the dreaded feeling that nobody would be there for him in the future. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Kill yourself, leave all your money to your dog, and screw over as many of your supposed friend's as you can with this. Usually he just laughed all of these thoughts off, but this time he was seriously considering it.
Picking up the phone he called his lawyer, "bob, this is Thomas fax me a copy of my will, I want to amend it." The lawyer put up little argument, and faxed it. The lawyer waited on the phone while he looked over the will, "is there anyway you can make this look as if I changed it a week ago? There would be a healthy sum of money for you." The lawyer said yes. He changed whom he was leaving all of his money to from Bobby Vurton, the vice president of the company, to his dog, Charly. He left his dog to a wheelchaired, Vietnam vet he had once met, the vet had inspired him to get up and do something—what he did was become a landowner. Now he knows he went wrong somewhere. All of the rest he left to his that woman. Though he didn't know where she was, or what she was doing, he knew he used to love her and that was enough for him. He wrote down names of ten people he felt used him the most. Leaving them each with one lump of coal, and he did laugh at that. His lawyer asked what was so funny, "nothing." He replied.
"Okay I am finished, now I'm going to sign and make sure you make it look a week old. When you receive this send me an official paper, so that I can state that I am not going to condemn that apartment complex. Could you also please see that the police arrive here in one hour?" The lawyer inquired about what was happening, and all he said was that he was going away. Thinking about how many of those bastards he would screw over with this, and of how lonely he felt he was sure that he wanted to do this. Nobody could understand his position and nobody ever would. He pulled the sent documents out of the fax machine and signed all of them all. While sending them back he filled out a check to his lawyer for one hundred thousand dollars, signed, and sent it too. "Thank you, and remember make it look good." The lawyer hung up.
Life to him was pathetic he really had no reason to live this depressed, but at least it brought a little joy to know that he was making sure those bastards didn't get a thing and that they would suffer for using him. He got up and pulled papers off of shelves and out of cabinets. The landowner spread the papers out across the table. All of them were incriminating either towards the company or towards his drug dealers. These papers contained names, addresses, and accounting records of hundreds of thousands of dollars that just disappeared into the upper management’s’ fat pocketbook. He smiled at his handy work. Gently he pressed the letter to the tabled and opened a desk drawer revealing a silver revolver. He pulled it out and pointed it up his nostril. Laughing and crying he squeezed the trigger. With a thunderous boom a bullet propelled out of the gun and pierced through his brain killing him instantly. It flew out of the back of his skull, causing blood to squirt all over the window, and busted through the window shattering it. His head fell forward to the desk and the gun landed on the ground with a clunk, causing it to fire again. The second gun shot echoed around the room and with that it was finished.