I'm Only Going To Tell This Story Once

Well, it's a dreary day and I thought you might be looking for something to do. How about reading this story from my book I've Been Thinkin'?

I'm Only Going To Tell This Story Once

By Terry Beck

My heart had been broken (again), I had thrown my hands in the air and said "To hell with it all" (again), I was drenched and slowly drowning in my own unique version of self pity. My dreams and my dream like world in the small town of Florence, Texas had been shattered leaving me in a state of utter dumbness. All my plans, my goals, my heart and apparently even most of my intelligence were wiped out by one heartless phone call from the girl I had planned to marry.

About six months earlier I had decided to leave the warmth and safety of home and my home town and all the security attached to those things. After all, I was twenty-one years old, ready to get married and this would be the smart thing to do if I was going to make enough seed money for the big day. (I'll get back to the "smart" part of this later.) There was also a possibility I was growing tired of or possibly disillusioned with the education process. After all, I had been getting a formal education for almost sixteen years and I couldn't tell it was making a difference and the fact that I only needed twelve more hours didn't come into the thinking process. (Like I said, we'll talk about this smart thing latter.)

I began a job with a home town (Brownwood, Texas) company that was opening a warehouse in Killeen, Texas. Not liking the idea of adjusting to a bigger town, I found a room to rent in the small town of Florence, about ten miles southwest of Killeen. My landlord, Mr. Williams, was a well renowned widower in the area who quickly won my respect and became almost grandfather like to me in the six months we shared his home, his farm, his stories and his quiet wisdom. The small town turned out to be the perfect place for me to adjust, grow and all the while actually save money. I quickly befriended a handful of quiet souls and they helped make this small town a good home away from home. During the weekdays we would eat together, play, fish and with few exceptions shared a quiet, warm and reassuring friendship. Just what I needed to get me through the week until I could get back home on the weekends and reaffirm that the love of my life was worth it.

Then, when I had convinced myself that things could never be any better, I received the call that broke my heart. I can remember the lump that built in my throat and the knot that seemed to squeeze all that mattered from my heart. All of a sudden, nothing was important anymore, nothing mattered. All of a sudden this place that had served as my paradise away from home seemed so far away from anything good. I wanted to pack my bags and leave that very moment, but, as far as work was concerned, my Daddy didn't raise a quitter, so I gave my notice, and waited to go home.

Then came my final week in Florence. I had also become friends with a feller in Killeen who owned and operated a music shop. Jim and I would usually eat lunch together and then I would hang around his store for a while after work listening to music and shooting the bull. Jim was a little older than me and divorced so he tried to console me because, while our situations weren't exactly identical, they were close enough that he thought he could help. Jim talked of keeping my mind and body busy. He said that he and some of his buddies from Waco, were going to a club in Austin Tuesday night and it might be just the thing I needed to get my mind on something else. Although hesitant, I finally gave in and agreed to go with them rather than spend another night looking at the four walls of my room and trying not to think.

Tuesday, after work, Jim followed me to my place where we cleaned up, grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed to Austin to meet up with his buddies. The name of the club slips my mind after all these years, but it seems like it had something to do with the sky....Skyline or Skylight? From this point there are a lot of gaps in the timeline as well as assumptions made. I do remember walking into the Club and meeting Jim's friends. I can remember someone ordering drinks. It seems like these drinks involved a big mug of beer, a small shot glass of some kind of hard liquor, dropping the shot glass into the mug of beer (something about a depth charge) and then drinking the concoction rather rapidly. I was later told, I didn't last long. I apparently went (waddled) into the restroom (hopefully the men's) and never came back. Jim, and my new friends finally found me trying to hold the commode still while I threw up.

My new found comrades apparently brought me back to the table and propped me up in a chair for an undetermined amount of time. Later, my buds decided it was time to get a bite to eat, so they carried me out to the car, again propped me up and we were off to find a restaurant. I was left in the car (I assume they were tired of carrying me) while they went in to eat. I finally woke up (or regained consciousness), or at least sort of, and did have the whereabouts to know....I needed to potty. I removed myself from the vehicle and, not having the foggiest notion where I was, started looking for a restroom. As I walked (waddled) through the parking lot, a car with several gals aboard stopped and asked me where the nearest convenience store was. To the best of my ability, I told them I had no idea, that I was looking for a restroom. They told me to hop in and I could go with them to a store. I said, "All righty!" and the saga begins.

It seems we drove for a while, but they did find a store and we were all able to take care of our needs. After getting back to the car I suggested that they might ought to take me back my friends car before they missed me. They said they would be happy too and then said, "How do we get back to the car?" Uh OH!

We drove around for what seemed like hours and saw nothing familiar. I finally decided that my clubbing buddies where probably long gone or had the police looking for me. I told the equally confused gals to please just find the freeway and I could find my way out of town and hitchhike back home to Florence. Another eternity seemed to pass, but we finally found the freeway and after a short farewell I thanked and bid my fellow masters of confusion farewell and I was off on my first attempt at hitchhiking.

Still wobbly, and feeling like I would have to die just to feel some better, I began my quest spending more time turning and sticking my thumb out to every passing vehicle, than actually walking. I had no idea what time it was, not that it mattered, every hour seemed like an eternity. I had never felt so lonely and be in the middle of so many people. After a while I began to take the rejection of the passing vehicles personally and finally thought "To hell with it," ducked my head and started to walk as fast and straight as my inebriated concentration could handle. I would glance back every once in a while to see how far I had traveled, only to be disappointed at the meager mileage I had logged. After several eternities, I quit looking back and just marched on, my sweat soaked shirt and dress slacks sticking to my panting body. My huffing and puffing was more of an effort to keep from crying than from fatigue at this point.

Then, without warning, and from out of nowhere, there was a barrage of flashing lights and a booming voice, "Stop walking and move off the shoulder of the highway!" I turned and it looked like there were ten police vehicles behind me (Turns out there was only one.) I moved off the shoulder of the road and again the voice echoed,"Stand where you are with your hands held out where I can see them!" I wasn't lonely anymore, I was scared spitless.

Time began to move in slow motion. It seemed as though I stood in that spot forever before I was finally told to walk slowly toward the car. With about a half dozen spot lights shining on me, it was difficult to see the car much less if there was anyone out of the car. As I came closer to the car I finally was able to make out the silhouette of the officer standing in front of the vehicle. He began the conversation with a series of simple questions, which was good in that I don't think I could have answered anything that would have taken any concentrated effort on my part. He then asked for some form of identification. I reached for my billfold and slapped nothing but an empty back pocket....my heart stopped. I knew it was gone but for some reason I gave myself a pat down, slapping all my pockets, front and back. I think I was trying to buy time , because I sure as heck didn't know what to say. My only thought, "Here comes the handcuffs!"

Fortunately for me, the officer was taking this situation a lot calmer than I was. After watching me nearly slap the pockets off my slacks, he finally asked me my name and my address. I told him my name and my Florence address and was told to stand in front of the car as he sat back in the car and began talking on his radio. After another eternity, he finally stepped out of the car and asked, "Son, is the Florence address on your driver license?" Stuttering now for the first time in my life, I told him that my hometown address in Brownwood, Texas was on my license. He disappeared into the car again and in just a few minutes, he finally turned off all the spotlights and told me to get inside the car. My thought, "Ok, here we go to jail."

After sitting a few minutes, the officer finally spoke, "We received a call about a possible drunk walking on the side of the highway. Do I need to test you Mr. Beck?"

Not knowing any better I answered, "Well, about an hour or so ago that would probably have been me, but I feel like I've walked ten miles and other than not feeling very good, I don't really believe I am drunk now."

There was another long pause, then he asked me to tell him how I ended up walking down the highway in Austin, Texas and I told him, I told him the same story I have been telling you. I'm not sure but it looked like he wanted to laugh. He then asked, "Well Mr. Beck were you going to walk all the way to Florence?"

I told him that I was hopeful I would catch a ride. That's when he asked me if I knew that hitchhiking within the city limits was illegal. My thought, "Ok, here we go to jail!"

After several minutes of tapping on his clipboard with his pen he said he thought that I probably had a tough night and that it wasn't over with yet, but that he didn't have many choices. With that, he told me to sit back and we pulled out on the freeway. Things looked bleak. As we drove, my clearing mind wandered back to how happy, content and free I had been only a week ago. My main thought, "Why am I so stupid?"

We drove forever, not saying a word. Then we pulled over to the shoulder of the road and the officer cleared his throat and said, "Mr. Beck, this is the end of Austin city limits. This is the Lampasas Highway. The cutoff to Florence is about halfway between here and Lampasas....I hope I'm not making a mistake, but if you think you are alright, I'm going to let you out and let you get home however you can....you just be careful, and.... well.... here, take this old flashlight so you won't get run over."

With that said, I shook his hand and thanked him, probably too many times, and stepped out into the fresh night air. I stood there for a while, glad not to be in jail, but thinking, "Now what? Boy it is dark out here and not much traffic. I wonder what time it is." I took a deep breath and started walking, my head feeling like a bass drum every time one of my feet hit the ground. I remember thinking that I wished there was more traffic, more people, more noise, more of something other than this dark silence. I needed something to distract me from thinking. Thinking is what got me in this mess. Then there came a distant rumble that broke my descent into no telling what. Then two headlights and the multiple running lights of an eighteen wheeler came over the hill. The closer it came the more it looked like a carnival ride with thousands of lights....what kind of person would be driving something like that? I turned on my flashlight, still undecided if I should try to catch a ride with this diesel powered light show. As he got close, I just couldn't make myself stick the old thumb out...I would wait for the next vehicle. I turned, ducked my head and started walking as the truck blew by me. Then his brake lights came on and he rapidly slowed and pulled over on the shoulder of the road with his hazard lights flashing. What the heck was I going to do now?

I quickly decided that the last thing I wanted to do was to make some trucker mad, so I took another deep breath and started trotting toward the truck. I didn't realize how far ahead of me the truck had stopped. It felt like I was running a quarter mile run and, considering the shape I was in, my innards felt as though they were coming up into my throat. I finally arrived at my destination and reached up for the grab iron on the side of the truck with my trembling hands (They were trembling more because of my apparent withdrawal from the drunken state I had been in rather than from fear, I think.). I opened the door and pulled myself into the seat. The first thing I heard was, "Damn buddy, I almost didn't see you!" He was a man in his mid fifties or so, clean cut, graying hair, and smelled really good. He appeared to be normal as compared to the personality oddities that my poor mind had conjured on the brief jog to the truck.

As he powered up his truck and we pulled back onto the highway slowly picking up speed, he asked where I was headed. I told him I was trying to get back to Florence and he slapped the steering wheel and said, "Yep, I know right where the cut off to Florence is. I used to cut across there when Killen was on my run. Too bad I'm not going that way tonight, but I can at least get you to the cutoff."

I didn't have to talk much, he talked as if he hadn't had anybody to talk to in months. I did ask him where he was heading and he told he was heading to Brownwood to deliver half his load and then on to Abilene to unload the rest. I wanted to tell him Brownwood was my home town, but he didn't pause his conversation long enough for me to get in a word. Anyway it was nice listening to him talk, he was obviously very happy and happiness to me seemed like such a long time ago. He finally slowed down to catch a breath and asked me what the heck I was doing out here in the middle of the night. For the second time that night I started my short but getting longer tale of woe. I had no more than gotten started when he blurted out, "Oops, sorry buddy, but this is your cutoff to Florence."

He brought his rig to a stop, we shook hands and I thanked him (Again, too many times.) and as I opened the door to get out, he said, "Well, good luck son. You'll be awful lucky if you see anybody on that road this time of the night and make sure you keep an eye out for snakes, you know how they like the warm highway at night."

With that, I slid on out to the ground, waved and said thank you one more time, and shoved the door closed. He gunned the engine a couple of times, blew his horn and pulled back out on the highway. I just stood there as he pulled away and listen to him run through the gears on his moving light show. I stood there until he disappeared over the next hill and then there was silence and there was darkness. I just thought it was dark back at the city limits of Austin.

I finally turned, looked every direction, then headed toward Florence, one step at a time. I felt horrible, my stomach was growling, my head was throbbing and my feet were already hurting. After walking about a mile, I started to think (I know, we'll talk about this thinking business after a while), I had driven this fifteen miles or so of road several times and it seemed like there was several long curves and jaunts in the road. If a feller could walk a straight line through the country, he might cut several miles off the trip. I convinced myself that I was never going to see anybody on this little highway anyway so I might as well see if I could cut a few miles off the trip. The first time the highway made a jaunt to the left, I climbed the fence and walked straight, figuring I would run back into the highway after a couple of miles as it meandered back my way. The key was to walk straight and remember the highway would always be on the left.

Have you ever tried to walk straight with no moon, no visible landmarks, just pure darkness? This was my first try. I quickly found out that the loafers I was wearing were not hiking boots and it wasn't long until I had grass burrs, prickly pears, and no telling what else clinging to my socks and up to my knees on my slacks. After about fifteen minutes of wandering in the wilderness, I came to a creek and it just so happened this was one of the few creeks that had running water in it. It must have been spring fed (There you go thinking again, Daniel Boone). I walked back and forth for several hundred yards trying to find a place to cross. The narrowest place I could find appeared to be only five or six feet wide. I finally convinced myself that I could jump over it without a problem. Anyway, I used to broad jump farther than this when I was in elementary school.

I backed up about fifty feet or so and began to run, as fast as you can run in slick bottomed loafers and, when I approached the edge of the creek, jumped with all my might. I soared into the night air stretching out with all my might for the other side. And then came the landing, a little over midway across the creek. As I stood there waist deep in the pure spring water, I looked at one bank and then at the other and it became clear, I had misjudged the distance across the creek. I completed my trek across the creek and pulled my tired, wet and now muddy body up on the bank.

I really didn't want to get up, I wanted to just lay there for a while. Then something crossed my mind...Water Moccasins! The last thing I needed right then was for a Cottonmouth to crawl up my pant leg. I was on my feet and sloshing my way clear of the creek in seconds. There is probably only one thing worse than having grass burrs, prickly pears and all kinds of sticky stuff sticking to your socks and slacks, and that is having all that stuff sticking to your wet socks and wet slacks. Also, It didn't take long for we to figure out that wet loafers are much less comfortable to hike in than dry loafers. I was miserable, however, I wasn't hot any more.

I trudged on to the irritating rhythm of my wet loafers squeaking with every step. I was no longer thinking to myself, I was now talking out loud to myself. I would have definitely been offended had anyone else called me the names I was calling myself. Then, in the middle of nowhere, there stood a house. My first thought was to just knock on the door and throw myself at their mercy, let the chips fall where they may. It would probably have been the smart thing to do if I had found the house before the creek, but now I looked like an escaped convict. I wouldn't even help someone that looked like me. I decided to quietly bypass the house. As I started around the house, trying to be as quiet and keeping as much distance as possible, I heard this low, gravely growl. My heart actually stopped as I stopped in my steps and slowly turned toward the haunting growl. There in the partial shadows of the security light stood one of the biggest dogs I had ever seen.

I could see that it had a chain hanging down from his collar. Without delay, I began running. My only thought was how long is that chain? About the time that I figured he surely was running out of chain, I began hearing a strange hissing noise to go along with the dogs violent barking. I glanced over my shoulder and I could see the other end of the chain was hooked on a clothes line and the hissing sound was the hook sliding down the line as the killer dog closed the distance between us. I felt the dog clip my foot with his paw and I knew the end was near. Just as I had spent the last of my strength and energy, I heard a loud pop and a terrible yelp from the dog as he ran out of clothes line and was jerked backward to the ground. I began to slow down and just as I turned to see the dog, I heard a door slam closed and a man's voice yelling, "What ya got out there, Rocky?"

I didn't look back again, I ran into the thick undergrowth of briers and brush. As I ran the briers seemed to be grabbing my arms and spinning me around, ripping at my clothes and slapping across my face, but my feet and legs never stopped. I was still running as fast as my sick, worn body would move when I hit a barbed wire fence, partially hidden in the dark by brush and briers. I bounded backward hitting flat on my back, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a moment I thought it was all over. I didn't know if I had been shot, clubbed or electrocuted. Finally, I found the flashlight laying next to me. As I shined it on my chest, I could see the telltale scratches of barbed wire through my torn shirt. I turned off the flashlight, slowly got to my feet, climbed over the fence and slowly walked into the darkness. I didn't care anymore. I was so tired, so sick that , even though I knew I was hurt, I just couldn't feel it anymore....I was numb.

I started walking with nothing on my mind except, "The road is on my left." I didn't care about distances anymore, I didn't care about my appearance....I wanted to go home. Just as the eastern sky began to take on a slight glow, I finally came to another fence and on the other side of that fence was the road and I was still alive. I crawled over the fence and stumbled over to the road's shoulder, ducked my head and started walking toward Florence. I could now feel every bloody blister on my feet, but I didn't stop, I didn't even slow down.

The glow in the eastern sky grew brighter and a cool morning breeze soothed my tattered body and throbbing head. Then the silence was broken, I turned to see an old pickup coming up behind me. I stopped and turned but I didn't stick my thumb up, I just waved. I felt like I was back in civilization again. The pickup pulled just past me and stopped. I walked up to the open window on the passenger side and as I looked in, an old man behind the steering wheel said, "Are you alright son?"

I opened my mouth to speak, and nothing came out. I swallowed real hard, cleared my throat and tried again, "Yes sir, I'm doing a whole lot better than I look like I'm doing."

He asked where I was heading. I told him I was renting a room from a feller outside Florence on this road. "Are you the boy renting from Mr. Williams", he asked.

I responded, "Yes sir, I am, do you know Mr. Williams?"

"Shoot, I've know that old fart for nearly seventy years, not a finer feller around these parts," he growled "He's told me some about you....he thinks you are a fine boy. What the heck happened to you, well, never mind, get in the truck and I'll take you home."

I paused and told him it would probably be better if I just hopped in the bed of his truck because I was wet and dirty.

"Damn boy, you don't need to do that, you aren't going to hurt the inside of this old truck any. Shoot, I've carried chickens and all kind of varmints right up here in the cab with me," he said as he turned and spit out the window.

I tried to knock some of the filth off of me and then crawled up into the cab trying to keep my pain to myself. As we pulled back out on the road he asked, "What in the world happened to you?" Then before I even opened my mouth he continued, "Na, don't tell me, cause if you tell me, I'll probably tell old Williams, and if you want him to know what you been up to, you ought to be the one to tell him....By the way my name is Bob Thomas, but you can call me Mr. Thomas or you can just call me Thomas."

Mr. Thomas pretty much dominated the conversation for the rest of the trip giving me a brief history of Florence and how Mr. Williams had been responsible for it being a booming cotton town at one time. As we pulled into the driveway the sun was just starting to peek above the horizon.

"Well, looks like this is your lucky morning, looks like old man Williams is sleeping in this morning. Maybe you'll have a chance to cleanup and get a little sleep before you see him."

With that said he reached across the seat and offered me his hand. As we shook hands he wished me luck and told me when I got to feeling better to tell old Williams to bring me out to his place and we could do some fishing. I thanked him, slipped out of the seat, closed the door, and then stuck my hand back inside, shook his hand and said thanks one more time. Mr. Thomas backed out of the driveway, waved and drove away. I never saw him again.

I walked around to the door to my room and notice Jim's car was still there. I couldn't imagine where Jim might be, but I would find him as soon as I cleaned up and put on some decent clothes. As I walked into my room, to my astonishment, there on my bed asleep was Jim. As I walked over to him, he woke, threw back the cover and rolled out of bed saying, "Terry! Where in the hell have you been? What the hell happened to you? How did you get home? Man, you look like crap!"

I gave him an abbreviated version of my night, leaving out some of the more embarrassing parts, which was most of the story. He told me that they had come out of the restaurant and when they found that I wasn't in the car, they had searched every other restaurant, bar and business within walking distance looking for me. After hours of looking for me, they stopped a police car and explained that they had lost a friend. He went on to explain that the police officer made some calls on his radio, but advised that they had no information about me at that time. Jim said as they walked back to the car, the police officer pulled back up to them and said he had just talked to another officer who stated he had just taken a man claiming to be Terry Beck and fitting his description, out to the edge of town and was last seen walking toward Lampasas and that he understood he was heading to Florence.

Jim said they rushed to their car and headed for Florence hoping to find me along the way. He said they covered every inch of the way between Austin and the Florence cutoff and then all the way into Florence. I didn't go into all the details but I told him that I may have taken a detour or two along the way. The way it sounded, I probably missed them while I was playing Davey Crockett out in the wilderness. Jim told me that he told his buddies to just leave him at my room, he was going to call someone to open his shop and he planned on backtracking all the way back to Austin to see if he could find me as soon as he got a little rest.

I felt terrible, not just physically, but also because of what I had put Jim through. He was a real friend who after knowing me for only six months was genuinely concerned and obviously upset over the stunt I had pulled. I told him how sorry I was and how appreciative I was for his concerns and his efforts. I apologized repeatedly to the best of my diminished mental abilities and my semi-coherent verbal abilities. He said he was just glad that I was still alive, shook my hand, said he would see me later and left. Sadly, I never saw him again.

I took off what was left of my clothes, and walked into the shower and there I stood for at least thirty minutes with my forehead against the cool tile, letting the clean cool water roll down the back of my neck. I walked out of the shower, dried off and checked my wounds to see if stitches would be needed, called work and told the boss I wouldn't be in that day but would be in to finish my last two days, then crashed on the bed. The next time I opened my eyes, it was dark and I was totally confused. I wasn't sure if it was the same day but it didn't matter, I got up used the bathroom and even though I was starving, got back in bed and slept some more.

I woke up again about three o'clock in the morning and just lay there, partly because there wasn't an inch on my body that didn't hurt, but mostly I just didn't have the willpower or maybe I should admit, I didn't have the mental strength to get out of bed. Finally, I got on my feet, walked over to the mirror and looked at my shredded body. I had lost what was then the love of my life but, my God, that was no reason to do that to myself. I was mad, I was ashamed, I was an idiot. How could anybody trust in me again....how could I ever trust myself again.

I guess I had been lucky, other than the torture I put my body through, my only other loss was the loss of my billfold, about a hundred dollars in cash, my Driver License and Social Security card and a few credit cards. Then the day I was going to leave for home my Dad called. His first words were, "TD, are you alright?" He went on to say that he had gotten my billfold in the mail that morning from the Austin Police Department and it scared him to death. I told him that I was fine, that I had found out that I wasn't much of a drinker, but apparently I made one hell of a drunk. He told me the billfold had about a hundred dollars still in it and it looked like all my cards and stuff were still there. I told him that I would see him later in the day, that I would explain the mess to him and that I loved him. He said, "Let's not tell your Mom about this, she worries enough without stuff like this on her mind."

I couldn't believe I had been so lucky. So many things could have happened that didn't. What can I say? One thing, I know the ex love of my life probably thought I would just sit around and mope, but by golly I showed her. Then there is this thing about my intelligence. Well, it is apparent that smart and I don't get along very well, but, I really think that smarter and I may have a little thing going.