CASE NUMBER SIX

THE CASE OF IT IS WHAT IT IS

CHAPTER ONE

The sign said ‘Pauline Church of the Teddy Bear’ and I was lying beside it looking up at it. The ground beneath me was warm and soft and fairly comfortable. A car pulled up beside me and stopped. I thought someone might get out and see how I was doing. But after a moment’s hesitation the driver pulled into the highway and drove off. I used both my hands and pushed myself up into a standing position and shook the dirt off my pants and shirt. I looked back down the driveway in the direction from which the car had come. A brick building, the church I presume, stood at the end of the driveway. There were still a couple of cars parked near the church and I decided to walk down to the church and see if anyone there could help me.


As I was walking to the church, one of the cars started moving and left the church grounds by going down a different driveway. That left two men standing by the front door. Both men looked at me suspiciously, which didn’t surprise me. If I saw me, in the condition I was in, I would probably feel the same way.


A man, who looked to be in his early fifties, greeted me as I approached.


“Good morning, stranger. What can I do you for?”


I was in a very acute state of disorientation (due to my latest harrying adventure: THE CASE OF LESSA CREEN) and I wondered later if the words I actually said truly reflected the thoughts that preceded them. What happened at the scene inclines me to believe they didn’t.


“How long has this church been here?” As far as I could ascertain, the church was sitting on the exact spot where my home slash office should have been.


“It was first built over sixty years ago. We’ve added on since then though. Why do you ask?”


“Oh, just wondering.” I wasn’t about to say why I really asked the question.


The man was growing a little impatient. “Now is there something specific I can help you with you?”


I looked like a bum with my unshaven face and out of date clothes so I thought I might as well ask, “Can you give me twenty dollars and a ride to I-20?”


“In the condition you appear to be in, I suppose that’s the least we could do.” He looked into his wallet, took out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to me. I thanked him.


“Charlie, if it’s not too much trouble, please drop this man off at the I-20 intersection on your way home to Samaria. I’d do it but I need to visit a church member at a nursing home in Columbia.”


So he was the preacher. I thought I could ask him a couple of more questions before he left.


“What’s the date?”


“October 7.” He gave me a quizzical look.


“And the year?” This time an even more quizzical look.


“2020.”


“Is God back?”


He didn’t answer that one. Instead, he got on his motorcycle and sped away from the church grounds.


Well, what do you know. A motorcycle that works.

CHAPTER TWO

When I was dropped off at the truck stop I went in and asked the clerk if it was illegal to try to catch a ride on a truck headed west. He said what he didn’t know didn’t bother him. He did, though, point me in the right direction and soon I was in the front cab of an independent trucker hauling a load of furniture. He said he could take me as far as Columbus, Georgia. From there, I would have to find another ride if I were to make it to Florida.


Why Florida?


I was hearing the beeping again.


It had started almost as soon as I had regained consciousness. I was utterly confused because if The Ghost had retired, so to speak, then why would the beeping still be taking place? Yet, unless I was crazy, and there were solid reasons to entertain that idea, the beeping meant that I was still on the job, albeit a job in which I found myself severely hampered.


My biggest regret at the moment had to do with the zipperless shirt I was wearing. Because of it, I had lost my Wullet along with my TPE ID slash credit back in the past and now I was both defenseless and broke (except for the twenty bucks the good minister had given me). Also, I was apparently in a time stream that had deviated from the time stream I had known. All in all, things were not looking great.


All I had going for me was the beep, and if this one worked out like the last one, it was all over but the crying.

CHAPTER THREE

The truck driver was a talkative fellow named Fred. He never had kicked the cigarette habit but I was in no position to complain. The weather was nice so I just rolled down the window.


Fred could see things hadn’t been going my way. He tried to cheer me up by saying, “"Hard times? I tell you what's hard times; it’s going through the day with a splinter in your ass."


I have to admit that made me laugh. Here’s another ‘Fredism’: “"Yankees take half the night to decide what wine to have with a piece of steak. Southerners need only a second to figure out what to drink with a Moon Pie."


And this one: "If I could have given Tiger Woods some lessons way back when, he'd be a lot better beer drinker today."


I asked Fred about the current political scene. If it was October of 2020, then that meant a presidential race should be running hot and heavy.


“President Joe Bidemytime and his opponent, Trixie Daley Bailey, are going at it neck and neck.”


“Who’re you pulling for?”


“Trixie, of course. She’s got the same name as the gal in my favorite song by Hank Williams, Jr.”


A memory stirred within me. I once knew a gal named Trixie and had even written a song about her. I asked,


“What song might that be?”


“If Heaven Ain’t a Lot Like Trixie.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Normally, at this point in one of these stories, when someone mentioned something poignant, I would drift off into revelry and reflection, but Fred wasn’t about to let that happen. He just kept talking. Didn’t matter if I responded or not. I guess that came from being a lonely truck driver for so many years.


"Nothing messes up the putting stroke as bad as 350 yd. tee shots. That's why I keep it dialed back."


"If the Beatles had played with fiddle and steel, John Lennon would still be alive."


"If everyone could ride in the car Hank died in, no one would drink bad beer anymore."


"If Freud had eaten boiled peanuts growing up, he wouldn't have hated his mama."


"Why are there so many bar fights during happy hour?"


"Everything I know about nuclear physics, I learned at Waffle House."


"It's alright to have beer for breakfast as long as you leave room for grits."


This went on to Atlanta where we stopped at another truck stop. I went inside to utilize the facilities and to rest my ears. On the wall of the restroom a sign read ‘If it’s Safe and Sure, It has to be Shagah. Buy the best at the Shagah Sex Shop nearest you. Located only at the finest truck stops.’ So Shagah Ink was still in business in 2020. I hadn’t seen that coming.

CHAPTER FIVE

Back on the road with Fred, I decided it was time to get some real information out of him; a two-way dialogue, if it was at all possible. It wasn’t going to be easy. Before attempting at what might be the impossible, I let him go on for a few more minutes, waiting for an opening so to speak, sort of like a heavyweight boxer patiently waiting to make the left hook to the glass jaw that would end the fight as quickly and efficiently as possible.


"If all roads lead to Rome, we're just down the road right now."


"There's free speech in America, and freer speech in the Confederacy."


"If I didn't know better, I wouldn't know worse."


"If I've had one too many, you've had 17 too few."


Fred paused to light yet another cigarette. I jumped in,


“Tell me about this Trixie Daley Bailey.”


“She’s the granddaughter of Richard Daley of Chicago. She moved to South Carolina to attend the University. Go Gamecocks! After college she married Bertram Bailey, a private in the South Carolina National Guard, and who now happens to be state commander of the Guard, and they settled in Lexington where they built a less than thriving business together. Then a lot of things happened and she became Governor.”


“How’s her campaign for president going?”


“Well, why don’t we turn on the radio and find out? The paper said this morning she was doing a live press interview on the long hair, wine sipping stations at 8 pm. It’s just a few minutes past eight. Let’s give her a listen.”


Fred found the station rather quickly (did Fred listen to classical music when he was alone?).”


“Ms. Daley Bailey, what do you think about the thirty-three billion dollar national debt?”


“It is what it is.”


“What about the crumbling national infrastructure?”


“It is what it is.”


“Are taxes too high?”


“They are what they are.”


“Will you reveal all your sources of income?”


“No.”


“What about the crime rate?”


“It is what it is.”


“Will your reveal your personal sex life?”


“No.”


“What’s your position on gay marriage?”


“It is what is.”


“What about poverty in America?”


“It is what it is.”


The press interview went on for thirty minutes. Daley Bailey had the same one of two answers for every question. I looked over at Fred who had not said a word during the entire time. He looked to be in a trance (reminiscent of Nitram, Keeper of the Beeper).


When the press interview was over, I asked Fred what he thought about it.


“I loved it! That woman tells it like it is. She’s got my vote. Yessirreebob.”

CHAPTER SIX

Fred dropped me off in Columbus at the bus station. He lived not too far away in Plains where he was a part-time peanut farmer. “Hell, I was proud to be one once.” was the last thing I heard him say as he drove off, cigarette smoke and diesel fumes combining to form a less than pleasant odor as they escaped into the night air.


The beep was still beeping in the direction of Florida, but a detour had become necessary. I needed to see and talk to the afore-mentioned Hank Williams, Jr. A country music show on Fred’s radio announced that Hank was performing a concert tomorrow night in Montgomery, Alabama, which was about 90 miles from Columbus. Fred, a generous guy who would give you the shirt off his back (especially if you were willing to listen to him talk for six hours), had loaned me fifty bucks when I’m told I’m needed to see Hank; he didn’t even ask me why. He just said, “Old Hank (Fred was referring to Hank, Jr’s daddy) would’ve done it that way.”


I spent the night in the bus station (buying a ticket convinced the bus station employees I was not just trying to find a free place to sleep for the night) and the next morning I left for Montgomery arriving there around 10 am. I spent the day taking in the sights, then at about 5 pm I wandered over to the downtown area where Hank was playing that night. I was hoping the guards would let me in and talk to Hank for a few minutes while he was getting ready to do his show. They didn’t, of course, but I did manage to talk one guard into taking a note to Hank. It said ‘Hawaii-1959-Ukelele-Trixie.’ A few minutes I was being ushered into Hank’s dressing room.


Now talk about someone giving you a suspicious look. Hank looked me over twice and was just about ready to personally throw me out of his dressing room, when I exclaimed, “I will, Ma. I promise I will!”


Hank stopped in his tracks, went back to his chair, and started weeping. After composing himself, he offered me a Shagah Lite and we sat and talked for a while. Hank was almost seventy and was still going strong but hadn’t hit a big hit since he had lost his pro football singing gig. I suggested why not a variation on his old hit about Trixie. I suggested the title ‘If Heaven Ain’t a Lot Like Pixie.’ Hank seemed genuinely excited about the idea.


I was getting ready to leave when a strange look came over Hank’s face (which wasn’t easy to see because of the beard, dark glasses and cowboy hat). Hank then recounted an adventure from about twenty years ago when he had a Sunday afternoon free after a concert the night before in San Diego. For some reason, he had felt compelled to visit the area around Mount Palomar Observatory. He had gone for a hike when he had come upon a strange looking skinny guy sitting by a campfire. The man said he had been expecting him and then handed Hank what looked like an ordinary black wallet. The man then told Hank to hold onto it until the “appointed time”. He then told him to get the hell out of there because bullets would soon start flying.


Hank then walked over to an old guitar case, reached into a secret compartment and pulled out my Wullet containing my TPE ID slash credit card. By this time, I was shaking, finding it hard to contain my joy. I had my best friend back.


Hank invited me to stay for the concert and afterwards I partied with Hank’s rowdy friends. Since everyone there was a senior citizen it didn’t get too far out of hand. I wish I could say I left for Florida the next morning but it was closer to twilight the next day before I got of Montgomery.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Before leaving town I went to one of the seventy-five Montgomery Wal*Marts and bought new clothes (this time I made sure I got a shirt equipped with a zipper over the left front pocket), rented a Ford 150 pick-up (I was down South after all), ate ten pancakes at IHOP and then hopped on the highway to Plains via Columbus. I had decided since Fred played a crucial part in my getting my precious Wullet back, it was the least I could to do to stop by his house and pay his fifty dollar loan back. Fred had told me his address and I plugged it into the GPS (Global, not God Positioning System; the celestial GPS was still in the Flying Belt, back in 2011 or 2012, whichever year it was back then.)


I found Fred’s home without any trouble. It was a single wide trailer with an old car jacked up and without tires sitting in the front yard (I say yard very loosely.) I knocked on the front door but there was no answer. A high pitched voice spoke behind me,


“Fred’s gone. The trucking company had a special assignment for him: carrying Shagah sex products and Shagah Lite beer to the Alleghenies. I know because he asked me to feed the cats.”


I turned and what looked like the oldest man I had ever seen in my life was standing by the road holding himself up with a cane. I nodded respectfully,


“Howdy, my name’s Nick and I just stopped by to pay Fred back some money he loaned me.”


The old man answered, “I’m Jimmy, Fred’s neighbor. I’ll be glad to take that money from you. I know some hungry people across the river and into the trees who could use it.”


“But it’s not your money to give away.” I replied.


“Government is a contrivance of human wisdom to provide for human wants. People have the right to expect that these wants will be provided for by this wisdom.”


“That’s a mere tautology and anyway, what’s government got to do with Fred’s money?’


“I have often wanted to drown my troubles, but I can't get my wife to go swimming.”


“What?”


With little or no hesitation, I made up my mind not to give Jimmy the money. I’d spend it at Disney World. Fred would be ok with that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Why I was headed to Disney World? Because my Wullet told me so.


At least the GRID (Geo-Radarlike-Instrumental-Detector) in the Wullet did. It was part of the 2010 technological revolution that occurred at the Pond of Fire Pyrotechnics & Astro-Talmud School (an adjunct of the POF Experimental Physics & Mr. Wizard Lab). The GRID told me the beep was coming from Orlando. Yes, Orlando. Not exactly Disney World but close enough and besides I hadn’t been to Disney World in say (if you add the eight years I overshot 2012) almost 33 years.


While driving to Disney World, I passed the time by listening to Michelle Heathen, nationally syndicated talk show host. She was interviewing President Joe Bidemytime (who was, as mentioned earlier, running against GOP nominee Trixie Daley Bailey).


“Good evening, Mr. President. Thank you for being with us.”


‘My pleasure, Michelle. I just finished dinner in the White House Dining Room. It’s a beautiful room, Missy. Have I ever told you that? The china is simply admirable. Yes, they still are a brutal dictatorship but they do have nice features. The food was blah, though. No zing to it. Has that ever happened to you, Melissa?"


“It’s Michelle, Mr. President. Now your campaign slogan is ‘Things could be worse.’ Would you agree that slogan is not a very positive one?”


“Well, Margaret, it Is positive when you consider the undeniable fact that if my opponent is elected, things will be worse. No ambiguities there, eh, Mary Lou?”


“It’s Michelle, Mr. President. Have you considered running on your record?”


“Yes, Millicent, and that’s why I’m not doing it.”


“It’s…oh, hell, one last question. Is the country in better shape today than when you first took office?”


“Which country, Meredith?”


The interview abruptly ended and Michelle Heathen went to a break.

CHAPTER NINE

A Barry White tune then came on the radio, followed by a voice that transmitted authority and outspokenness. “Hi, loyal and faithful customers. This is Mr. Shagah with exciting news about a brand new product from Shagah Ink. Especially designed for you, the loyal customer who buys Shagah products on a regular basis and keeps the cash flow coming in so we Shagahs can stay safely ensconced in the Evil 1%. Now the new product is (drum roll is heard on the radio) Shagah Suppositories! Which I can personally guarantee, having tried them myself, will signal the end of your end troubles. The End is Here! Brothers and Sisters! Join the Shagah Revelation Revolution!”


Then bumper music came on and Michelle Heathen came back on the air with the following announcement. “In the interest of fair play and the Fairness Doctrine, we now have with us Ms. Trixie Daley Bailey, GOP nominee for President.”


“Good evening, Ms. Daley Bailey.”


“Call me Trixie.”


“Yes, Trixie. Your campaign has caught fire. Any thoughts on why that has happened?”


“It is what it is.”


“Oh, you just said the words that you made famous ‘It is what it is.’ Just what do you mean when you say that?”


“I mean it is what it is.”


“Do you think you can win the upcoming debate with President Bidemytime?”


“Yes, as long as he is what he is.”


“Is the country better or worse after four years of the Mr. Joe Administration? Wait a minute. I know your answer. ‘It is what it is.’ Well, thank you Trixie and good luck on the campaign trail.

CHAPTER TEN

I reached Orlando early Tuesday morning and filled up on caffeine at Starbucks. I then drove to Disney World and bought an all day pass. The beeping had stopped about the time I had arrived in Orlando. What was called for now was old-fashioned, basic, garden variety TPE reconnaissance, i.e., walking around, talking to people and hoping to catch a break.


As I meandered, strolled, ambled, and perambulated through the gigantic recreation park, nothing seemed to jump out and say ‘this is what you’re looking for!’ until sometime in the mid-afternoon I happened upon an exhibit entitled ‘The Fountain of Truth’. Hmmm, there may be something to this. I decided to sit down on a bench outside the exhibit and await further developments. A short time later Goofy walked up to me and said “Hello, I understand you’ve been looking for me.”


Most people are familiar with the most famous Disney characters such as Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Snow White, the Seven Dwarfs, etc. Goofy, while not in the top tier, is also well known. In essence, he’s a big dog with floppy ears, walks on two feet and acts and talks goofy; hence the name. But the Goofy I was now looking at was about seven feet tall and spoke perfect English.


I answered, “I have?”


“Yes, Nick, you have. I’m Goofy aka Author Godfree aka The Ghost.”


“But why now? Why have you allowed me to finally find you?”


He simply said, “It was time.”


“Speaking of time, what the heck has been going on? First, I was in a twilight zone-like 1959. Now I’m in a 2020 where so many things are out of whack.”


Goofy assumed a professorial stance: “People think of time as a river moving in one direction; from past to future. And that’s true as far as it goes. But time is also another river moving in the opposite direction; from future to past. These rivers run simultaneously and beside the rivers there is a path known only to select individuals, of which I happen to be one. Those who have access to the path can, by walking either forward or backward on the path, enter the river at any point in time. “


“But why are so many things out of whack; such as the Church of the Teddy Bear? There was no such thing back in 2011.”


“Both rivers of time have tributaries. Things can go slightly off the reservation on the tributaries. You’re on one now.”


“So the real reality is the main river and the pseudo-reality is the tributary?”


“It is what it is.”


That phrase again.

EPILOG

“Are you happy, Author?”


“Pretty much. I find that the Goofy costume both centers and grounds me. After an eternity of etherealness, interacting with the gravitational pull feels darn good. Also, the ghostwriting business was going nowhere and performing as Goofy gives me the opportunity to stay in show business.”


“Will you ever go back to being The Ghost?”


“Never say never forever.”


I smiled and then responded,


“It is what it is.”

THE END