Vagrant Meetings

"For God’s sake, how long was I out?"

I am gripping the side of my head as I stare blankly at the motley crew I am riding with. they are all laughing hysterically. I don't know why.

"Are we in New Waverly?" I ask with genuine concern as they erupt into another round of hilarity.

My head is pounding as a few moments of the last hour creep into my brain pan. I concentrate harder trying desperately to remember just what in the hell happened. I close my eyes, and see a hand, Beau Hughes' hand, bright lights, and then pavement.

"Beau, what did you do to me" I query, still clutching my favorite head.

" I hit you." He says nonchalantly.

"Well damnit I know that! Did you get it on video?"

They all start laughing again. Just when I am about to succumb to the fact that the hour of my life, the missing hour, will remain forever in the abyss, Scotty Nichols spins around and faces me from the SUV's passenger seat.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Of course, New Waverly."

He starts laughing again and informs me that we were in New Waverly Texas about 30 minutes ago and that I had been asking the same 2 questions every 30 seconds since we left the bar in Huntsville. I still don't know what happened.

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"The concept of the game is simple. If you are caught drinking with your right hand, you can be called out by anyone drinking with you. When you hear the word, "Bull-Moose" you have one minute to finish the drink in your hand, no matter how big, if it is a double or single, or how strong it is. The person who then caught you, gets to punch in you in the face."

"I'm in, lets play." I shout with a cheery smile. "I'm going to be a cheap date, but I'll be damned if one of you can catch me"


"Bull-Moose." says Beau Hughes with a toothy grin. Beau is a rugged sort, soft spoken, but when he opens his mouth, people tend to stop and listen.

I look down, and sure as hell, there is a double Captain and coke in my right hand.

"Son of a bitch." I huff as I chug the drink to the last drop. I look at Beau and begin sizing him up. Weighing in at 230 pounds, it is no wonder why he had developed a reputation for being one of hardest hitters in the entire Texas bar scene. I should know, I used to be a bouncer with him at a local bar.

We stammer out into the parking of Humphry's Bar and Grill. I holler to Scotty Nichols to hold my hat and catch me after the blow. I pivot around and hold my chin up high.

"Ok Beau, you better not hit like a bloody wo---"
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The trees are passing faster as I take notice of the local flair in Tomball. The surrounding trees are a mixture of Acer Leucoderme (chalk maple) hybrid conifers as well as several species from the Genus Quercas (Oak). The leaves of the deciduous are turning into a rainbow. Pinks. Purples. Reds. Autumn, is finally here. I shake the daydream from my thoughts and continue the interrogation of my posse.

"Let me get this straight, after you hit me, the Copenhagen (ahh sweet Copenhagen) fell out of my lip as my legs gave out. Then, after 10 seconds of writhing about on the chilly parking lot, I pulled the Cope can out and put in, yet another dip, all the while not even knowing my own name."

"That's about right"

"Well at least I knew what my priorities were."

"Don't forget about the part of asking the same question over and over for 30 minutes."

"How could I forget."

I shift my vision to outside. The forest had given way to the slash, burn, and clear cutting hand of man. Strip malls and restaurants as far as the eye can see. Luckily my vision is still a bit blurry from the heavy hand of my friend, otherwise I might take offense. I notice my own reflection in the vehicle window. I gaze long and hard at the contours of my face, the gnarly beard, the blonde hair. Words of William Congreve begin swirling around in my bludgeoned cranium.

"He has a violent death in his face. But, I hope, no danger of hanging."