This short story is semi-autobiographical and adventure general fiction. The autobiographical part of this story is not completely accurate according to how these unusual incidents happened. Although they are real, some were the results of dreams, visions, and thought processes. I experienced the majority of these stories, no matter how unreal, over the life course. The adventure general fiction is my way of making sense of the bazaar dreams and happenings. Rather than stop the story where it ended in a dream, I added a fiction component to support the action of the general theme. I titled this story "I Fly" because in my dreams when I was faced with danger: cut, stabbed, shot, drowned, murdered, I always develop the ability to fly and I simply flew away. Although it is not mentioned here, I have landed on board of jet airplanes, ships, and have been suspended in mid air for hours. When I flew in these instances, I felt catheterized. A peaceful tranquility came over me in my sleep and rather than wake up, I sank into a deep sleep. The initial fear I experienced during a fight, disappeared each time I took flight. I have always said that I would have loved to spend my life in the deep jungles of Africa or Brazil on one adventure after another. After reading this book, I hope you will learn that you are a total person: mind, body, and spirit, and all these forces come together to produce a whole you. Don't be afraid to use your dreams, premonitions, and hunches to help you solve problems, arrive at conclusions, and become a changed individual.

I Fly

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Little Boy Blue
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-9098-9

Chapter One

I left Columbus, Ohio on September 8, 1965, relocating to Chicago, Illinois. I had never been to Chicago before, and I did not know anyone living there. I was getting away from my ex-wife, Janice, as fast I could. I promised myself that the next time she dragged me into court for late child support payments; I was going to leave Columbus. I paid her half the monthly support payment and I promised her I would catch up by the next month. Her Attorney, Ethel Jancowski, told her to issue a warrant for my arrest and take me to court. Ethel said, "She had enough evidence to have me jailed for a long time". I was shaking all over because Ethel Jancowski was unforgiving. As I walked to the edge of the down stairs steps in the courthouse hallway, I heard voices coming from the basement. I looked down there and there were no people in the basement. A voice seemed to have come from the basement and said, "We who are with you, outnumber those with her." I put my shoulders back and held my head high as I walked before the judge; the case was dismissed. I had already sold all my furniture, and I had moved into one room with nothing in it but a broken down sofa bed.

I had heard about the excellent job market in Chicago; thus, I left Columbus with $75 in my pocket. When I reached Indianapolis, Indiana, I felt sharp pains in my esophagus when I swallowed. I had just heard on the radio that Actress Dorothy Dandridge "died from an accidental overdose of Imipramine, a tricyclic antidepressant". All I could think of was that I too was dying.

When I arrived in Chicago the condition had grown worse. I got directions to the VA hospital, and drove myself directly to the emergency room. I called a friend back in Columbus and told him that I was dying, and I gave him directions on how to find my car. The Doctor came in and asked me, "What is the emergency?" I answered, "I am dying." He asked, "What brought you to that conclusion?" I explained, "I have cancer of the esophagus, because I cannot swallow." He asked, "Where do you work?" I told him, "I am unemployed; I have just arrived in Chicago tonight." He said, "You are fine, as soon as you get your life together, your esophagus will heal." He was right! I got me a room at the Chicago Avenue YMCA. I was tired from the ordeal of moving, not feeling well, up all night, and ambivalent about my physical condition. I sat down to compose myself, and that is all that I remembered.

I had been looking for work all day to no avail: I was tired. I was thinking of some kind of excitement to relieve the stress of the day. I entered the restroom needing badly to use the urinal. Just as I walked towards the urinal, three young hoodlums blocked my way. I asked them to, "Let me pass." Instead of allowing me to pass, they proceeded to move closer towards me, I backed off, and I found myself pinned against the west restroom wall. The restroom was located in the basement of an abandoned building. The room was dismal and lighted dimly. The whole room smelled of last week's urine, in fact, there was competition for which odor was stronger: crusted over fecal matter or urine. This is the kind of place one only dreams about in a nightmare. Underneath the toilet bowl rim was thick brownish and greenish plaque; the toilet bowls appeared to have never been cleaned.

Although I really did have to urinate badly, my subconscious mind probably brought me down here because this place had the reputation that homeless men persuaded crack headed women to come down here to engage in sexual activity of all kinds. Rumors were that one could see men inserting broom handles, and iron pipes into the vagina and anus of these women. It was also rumored that some of the men and women who frequented this place became crack heads themselves, and turnabout was fair play.

The wall I backed against was where the light switch was located. I was afraid to turn my back to these fellows, so I reached behind me fumbling for the light switch hoping to turn more lights on to brighten the place. My left hand came across the switch; I flipped the switch and nothing happened. The lights seemed literally to become dimmer. I was scared!

My right arm rotator cuff was injured when I was slam dunked to the floor by a diabetic attack several years earlier. Samuel lived with me, and we had an argument about whose night it was to wash or dry the dishes. Since washing dishes was easier than drying and putting the dishes away, Samuel wanted to wash each time. I pushed him aside, and I tried to take the position to wash. He called me a punk, pushed me aside, and he shoved me so hard I fell backwards into the next room. I became so angry that it raised my blood sugar level; thus, slam dunking me to the floor. I lay there for a few minutes assessing the damage. I tried to move, but I couldn't. At first the ceiling was out of focus, but as I lay there, everything started to return normal.

Samuel came over and lifted me onto the sofa. After several minutes, I recovered, but the damage was done. I could not lift my right arm above my waist. While I was still pinned against the wall in the restroom, the three thugs were in my face. Their gold teeth were repulsive; they needed polishing. The gold was tarnished, and between the teeth was a good portion of the last meal they ate. The one closest to me his breath smelled like burned copper. It smelled like putrid rotten flesh. His breath was so offensive; I had to breathe in intervals. The three of them were less than a foot away from me. I tried to push one of them back off me, but my arms were too weak to be effective. I tried to talk but my voice failed me. I felt something happening on the inside of me. It felt like when one sees a ground mole running underground. In college I was taught in psychology 101 that the body prepares for fight or flight when it is experiencing great danger. I was frozen; I didn't know what to do.

I was walking with Johnny, Kenneth, and Solomon one night as we were walking home from a basketball game. A car drove up behind us with four white boys, hillbillies, and they began to taunt us. The car stopped and one of the boys was getting out of the car with a baseball bat in his hand. I turned to tell Johnny, Kenneth, and Solomon to fight one-on-one, but they had already run away. I started to run, but my starting speed was so fast, I flipped head over heels. The white boys thought I had broken my neck, so they jumped back into their car and drove off . I was outside and it was easy to try to escape. Being pinned down in the restroom, did not afford me that luxury. One of the thugs pulled a knife from his pocket, and all I could think of was that he was going to kill me.

September 26, 1949, I was chosen by the family to stay out of school for a week to care for my terminally ill grandmother. One morning, around eight o'clock, after everyone was gone to school or work, my grandmother wet her bed. She asked me to change the wet sheets on the bed and replace them with dry ones. My grandmother weighted at least 250 pounds, and I weighted 100 pounds wet. I couldn't imagine me lifting her out of bed, changing the sheets, and putting her back into the bed. I was young and I did not know how to roll a person to one side, tuck the sheets under, and roll the person back to the other side, to remove the sheets.

I placed my hands under her and attempted to lift her from the bed. That is all that I remembered. When I came to myself, I was lowering her back into the bed. The wet sheets were lying on the chair. I was so scared! What...