"The pretentious memories of one Corky Cruthers"


Hmmm. Where shall I begin? Well, if one must start somewhere, the beginning is as good a place to start as any, but one must know a few things first.

One question you might find yourself asking is, 'What kind of title is that for a story?' Or more importantly, 'Who is Cathy?' Therefore, in order to make things as clear as possible at the outset, I will simply say that Cathy was, well, Cathy...and quite cool.

The night? Saturday, August 18, 1984.....


Once upon a time, long ago, in a mystical land called the Florida Panhandle, there lived two stoners. Corky Cruthers and Jean LeBron, who were as fast friends as friends could be. At that time of year downers were in season-- 714's, Gorilla Biscuits, 'Ludes --as were combustible herbs, and between the two there were plenty of both.

On this particular night one of our heroes' friends was preparing to make a perilous journey to the northlands where a vast city of learning was believed to exist. The city of Purdue. In preparation for the leave-taking the two stoners and many others converged upon the brave explorer's keep where a farewell celebration was to mark Explorer Bill's final days in the sunny south.

Now, one of the myriad of guests at this celebration was Cathy-- blonde and beautiful --wearing a pair of white sunglasses, and of these glasses Corky would later remember no detail. That ogre aptly named MAJ Concussion stripped their memory from Corky's mind, who is now, to this day, ignorant as to their demise.

With a fresh line of plastic credit, Corky and Simon stopped at a wine and spirits store to aquire that elixir known as Tanqueray. The previous night had revealed itself in 714's and there were one and a half left between the stoners. Armed with these and their newly purchased bottle they set out upon a destructive course toward oblivion. They should have stopped there, but no, into the pipes went hootch and hash-- different piles, same shite.

When the two arrived, the celebration was already in progress. Jean turned to Corky with a lazy smile and said, 'It's kickin,' C.' But Corky manage little more than a smile in return. For before the two stoners were the great doors to the Keep of Bill.

Before they could reach the gates, they were suddenly thrust open spilling sodden celebrants in the night. Corky and Jean hastily maneuvered to avoid an imminent collision, then quickly took the three steps up and into the party within.

The tableau that greeted them was one of excess and over-indulgence.

'Yes,' thought Corky. 'This is the where it all begins... And ends.'

The thought of consequences did not enter the minds of our two stoners, for this was a celebration in the truest sense, and besides, they had already passed the point of no return.

It was at this time that our heroes met Cathy and Lanta-- who were also fast friends. The girls marveled at the bottle of spirits the two had brought; both wondering what taste the elixer possessed. Corky and Jean, being the gentlemen they were, mixed drinks of Tanqueray and Ginger for the ladies.

By this time poor Corky's vision and motor skills were obliterated, and beyond any semblance of normal inebriation. Yet while the revelers wandered amongst themselves, out of one conversation and into another, Corky sat and talked to Cathy and Lanta. Of what, who can say? But enjoy himself he did, for how could he not in the presence of such sublime lovliness?

At some point in the evening Jean mysteriously disappeared, and it was not days later that Corky learned of his friend's great adventure. Though it appears Corky failed to notice the commotion, Jean had managed to trip over and fall into Mr. Bill's garbage. Rather than see Jean continue to embarrass himself, a mutual friend of the two was
kind enough to retrieve Jean's carcass from the pile of rubbish. Jean awoke the next morning safe and sound at a friend's house. Corky, however, was not so fortunate.

That evening Cathy managed to teach Corky a few dance steps that he needed
to be reminded of later, but it was generally agreed that Corky was a good dancer. The evening steadily progressed and at somepoint in time that evening Cathy's sunglasses were given into Corky's care. now, we can only speculate as to why, but he wore them proudly nonetheless.

As the evening wore on the guests began to take their leave and return from whence they had come in ones, twos, threes and fours. A suggestion was made at some point by Fraternal Bro. Todd LeFrenz, that the party continue at his place. Corky
and a few of the others agreed and made their prearations to go at once.

Corky went inside to gather his belongings and party materials, but once inside
he was accosted by the great Mr. Bill himself and was put safely to bed. As he had no
keys in his possesion, his shoes were taken to prevent him from leaving, which was in Corky's best interests since the yard was filled with wickedly big stickers. But Corky knew something Bill did not....

Corky had a bad habit of leaving his keys beneath the seat of his borrowed civic, but no one thought to search corky's car to insure that once put to bed, he would stay put. When Bill and his remaining guest were asleep, Corky rose quietly and meandered out to his car, shoes be-damned, and from their hidden place took his keys.

With sunglasses on (or so we assume) he eased the car onto the road and began the long, torturous journey home. He made it but one mile down the road before losing all control... As well as Cathy's glasses. The next thing he know's he's lying in a hospital bed.

The Doctors were quite impressed with Corky's ability to survive. Not only had he poured out of the drivers seat-- as well as the car --but he also slid across the highway on his face and shoulder, fracturing his skull. One can only imagine the number of other vehicles on the road trying to dodge Corky's body as it slid across three lanes of traffic, or the totalled civic shuddering to a stop just inches from the front wall of a gift shop.

Corky should have died, or at least suffered maiming for life, but such was not his fate. By some miracle of heaven, Corky survived to to remember all but nothing of his adventure.


So what happened to Cathy's glasses? I couldn't say; I am not a psychic, and your guess would be as good as mine. They were most probably swept up in the wreakage and hauled off to an obscure place called 'Junk Yard,' doomed to an uncertain future upon reeking mountains of Anonymity.



----

What you've just read was a poor attempt by me, mere days after the incident, to laugh off the event that should have ended my life. To this day I have little recollection of the events of that evening, and nothing that occurred after mixing drinks for Cathy and Lanta. James and I were as stone-washed as any hundred pairs of faded levis. We each ate 3/4's of a lude, and together smoked a couple grams of hash, and a quarter ounce of dope. We also partook of the fraternity keg, killed a fifth of Tanqueray, and drank from the communal hunch-punch bowl. Common sense would tell anyone who wasn't invincible, like James and I were in those days, that mixing pills and booze is a very, very, bad idea.

I remember Cathy came to visit me at the hospital. And I remember her asking if I still had her glasses. But no, I couldn't remember a thing, let alone recall the demise of a pair of cheap, white-framed, girly sunglasses.

Someone else came to visit me... Mary Angel, the girl to whom I write letters to this very day. The letters that comprise my personal journal-- in the form of letters to a girl who has moved on... the first girl for whom I felt genuine love.

I remember Mary Angel's father was a preacher. And I knew I had been out of church for far too long, and out of the will of God for even longer. I asked her to bring me a bible, which she did, not thinking it the least bit strange that a stoner like me would ask for such a thing.

In a very big way I've been recovering from that incident ever since. Only in recent years have I truely felt free of that singular defining event. Only... I've come to realize that events don't define people, actions do. I could have been free of that event years ago had I known then what I know now... Twenty-two years ago.

I do not know where I'd be today if it weren't for Mary Angel...

...And David and Peaches Skinner. But that's a story for another time.