The 52nd Fire: A Tale of Adulthood

As the fires dwindle and I throw myself into it, I wonder, what if? What if things had been different?  It will never matter, but sometimes I look back on the moments that make me who I am like a shattered mirror with reflections of multiple decisions. Thank you for coming with me on this journey. May the fire always rage.

Richard

...Miles and miles later, I was at the top of my running game, doing two miles under 13 minutes. For someone who started out doing a mile in 15 minutes, I was proud. Boot camp was a breeze, combining my physical preparation and years of Boy Scouts. After boot camp was a different story.

Remember how I told you that I talked to a Colonel about a dirty urine test? A secret clearance is not to be given to people in my situation. Learning air defense technology, such as stinger missiles and early warning systems is a no-no if you’ve ever done speed.

Halfway through my training to be a Bradley Linebacker Crewmember, I was reassigned to 91W, water purification specialist.

This did not go well with me. I was supposed to be a warrior with limited life expectancy in combat, not some water jockey pumping canteens all day. When you’re 18, four years doing anything seemed like it would be an eternity.

So I choose an option they did not give me. I swallowed a bottle of aspirin and took a nap. I felt very at peace with it.

The next thing I remembered was being carried down the hall into an ambulance and drinking a charcoal concoction that was supposed to be horrible, but I thought it tasted like a thick milkshake.

I spent two weeks at a mental hospital, shuffling down the urine scented hallways with real crazies. After they said I was fine, the hospital released me and the Army began the separation process, eager to be rid of such a disappointing soldier.

Coming home, I basically started right back where I left off, doing drugs and trying to bury my dick in vagina.

But it wasn’t to be. A few months later, my dad was arrested and charged with rape. The woman he slept with claimed to have thought my father was myself, and she felt as though she had been raped. How she thought it was me, I’ll never know. I’m about a foot taller and fifty pounds heavier than my dad, but the county and the DA had had enough of him. He is now currently serving three consecutive life sentences.

From there, life became hazy as I desperately tried to escape reality. I blamed myself, for if I had never come back, my dad would never have been mistaken for me. Also, never stick your dick in crazy.

My best friend took me away from my shithole hometown further up North to the sweet Cascades. The mountains, forests, and this good friend helping me to kick the hard drugs and learn to live life at a slower pace.

I will always be thankful to Ryan, the only person I’ll name in my story because he is my greatest and truest friend. He saved my life from complete destruction. If anything in this world, I hope that all the good that can happen, does to him. He is the only one who deserves it.

I enrolled in a community college, mostly to meet more girls, but to also pursue my dream of becoming a film director. I figured I had the best chance at influencing the world through the magic of cinema. That, and there was a shitload of money, right?

It was through college that I started writing more. I would always get comments about my style, that it was easy and fun to read.

A teacher told me the way to be a director was to be a writer first. “Write a book about what you want to film”.

I finished up junior college and just sort of drifted, never really pursuing that dream. I was far more entertained by video games, women, and just trying to make it day to day.

I’ve worked in a few industries. Been a carpenter, hotel clerk, canvasser, dispensary manager, trash man, even an advisor for veterans coming back from service and transitioning into college. But mostly, I’ve worked in kitchens. I like food and I like to make it. We’ve always clicked, food and I. So the kitchen is where I have the most skill, able to make that meat sizzle.

About ten years ago, an opportunity came about. Though my time in the Army was short, I still qualified for the Post-9/11 GI Bill, granting me a percentage of the amount to return to college.

Already having an AA and transfer credits, I was able to choose a State university. I did, and I began my journey in English Studies, learning the tricks of the trade, with an emphasis in editing and publishing.

Upon welcome week, I discovered that they had ended the editing and publishing program. So I was like fine, at least I’ll learn about English, with a bit of journalism peppered in there. I graduated a few years later, still no clue of where to go from there.

Always working while in college was something necessary to get by. My job at graduation included meeting someone I loved and still do.

Together we had a child, the one thing I’ve done worth a damn.

Together, also, is the source of my greatest shame.

Couples fight, they always will, but once I reacted in a way that will forever mark my life.

During this particular fight, I grabbed her by the throat and choked her till she tapped on the ground, unable to vocally beg for me to stop.

And, in that instant, I thought about not stopping. A split second, that’s it. But long enough.

I let go and she left, of course. The cops came a little while later.

I pleaded no contest to the misdemeanor charge of domestic violence.

I lost everything. My kid, everything owned, my entire life as I had previously known it. And I deserved every bit of that punishment. A year of penance, monetarily, weekly, and spiritually to see my child again.

Life started back, free from probation and the heavy fines. My relationship with my child and her mother are still, and always will be, healing. But I needed an outlet, a place where I could vent or create and not feel like the useless piece of shit that I was.

Previously, I would comment on Facebook, a source to lash out and vomit my brain on the screen. It wasn’t long before I got the 3-day, week, or then 30-day ban from that platform.

There was a place, a site that I had heard about. I signed up and knew what I was to be called. I already was a Garbage Man.

Initially, I never planned to tell you my past and sins. I was to be just another political pundit, spraying my diarrhea opinion all over Minds.com.

The reviews came naturally. That was easy.

The Fires were not. They required the same kind of weekly penance such as I had previously done.

Now I own it, I own my past. You’ll never take it, but at least now you share it.

And now that you know, maybe we can be good friends. Or maybe the truest of enemies.

We all have sins, we’ve all done wrong. I admit mine freely and without apology.

This fire, this fire is mine.