Mike Humfreville
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Bad Habits, Conclusion
Bad Habits, Part 9 (conclusion)
He sat somewhat upright on the floor of his balcony, his legs resting on the baseboards, his back against the outer wall of his second floor. There
was no pain. He felt the pool of warmth forming underneath him. What the hell happened, he asked himself. Below he could sense the resumed
activity, the men hauling boxes from his garage to the boat at the shoreline. He realized too late that in his presumed absence, the men had used his
garage as a staging area between sea and land transportation for the smuggling of cocaine.
I?ve got to stay still, he thought. If I don?t move they?ll think I?m dead. I?ve got to lay still and let the bleeding stop.
Hallucinations often occur in a time of panic and they hit him now. He wasn?t quite sure what was real and what was imagination. There was a dance
of lightning over the sea to the east and he could see men rushing about their work, stocking shelves of groceries in his mind like a supermarket. He
saw his sister with her family at a meal they?d shared at their table, flatware, napkins in holders, fresh glasses of red and white chilled wine. He
heard a motor fire and sensed a boat pull quickly from the beach, turn and head north into the wind.
He reflected back over his life in what seemed like real time, reliving his first moments of sweetness, a caress from his mother, hug from dad after
winning a field game. His first good pals in elementary school and learning that Christmas didn?t include Santa Clause and that his best friend had
once lied to him, and when he?d lost the stuffed deer doll, Bambi, his aunt had given him year?s before and how hard, how hard he?d cried knowing
there was no getting it back, and his first love sweet girl when he was 12 and living in a strange place and how tender she was and how sensitive and
caring toward him, how soft he felt when she was there with him as they hiked the desert in places new to him but not to her.
His bubble burst, if only for a moment. Where did I get all this hardness? He wondered. What is it that had made me so cold with life? I never saw
it coming, it just somehow crept up and devoured him. Maybe it?s an age thing. Why have I been so bitter, so hateful? He had no answers. And there
he was again in his middle teens proud to play his guitar at campfire on Venice Beach and share the times with his close friends, gathered together in
the warmth of the small and illegal firepit in the sand. He was riding to high school in his buddy?s Model A with a bedsheet for a roof, the cold
early morning air flowing freely through nonexistent window glass and the two of them whistling at Colleen and Margie as they neared the parking lot
and how he trusted his fifth period teacher who was always open and honest with him while telling him he wasn?t working up to his potential and his
first dance and how awkward his feet were and how his hands didn?t want to fit her waste and hold her close, and how lonely he had been for his family
and close friends when he?s been shipped away to boarding school in an unfamiliar town and the coldness of the hard cots at night and the sounds of so
many other boys snoring and turning and sleepless like him, perhaps, in a new world and how uncomfortable he?d felt about his mother getting remarried
and the three of them traveling to places he?d never dreamed of and it was all, somehow, all coming together in his mind.
He realized, in a sudden glaring light of truth, that this was his life as it had been. Somewhere something had happened that had turned him hard and
it seemed as if from that point everything around him had also turned hard. Maybe he?d not given it a chance. Life, that is. Maybe his life was a
simple reflection of him.
He could feel himself growing weaker and his mind wandered, again into and out of reality. But it?s all real he told himself. It?s all real. It?s
all real. Then he was at a wedding and she was walking down an aisle in a most beautiful white flowing dress and heads were turning toward her and
her father was passing her hand into his and all was as perfect as it could be and the room, the world, filled with love and a few years later small
children carried life full circle and he, they, were rewarded and fulfilled and very much in love and walking all of them on the nearby paths of the
rural city park against the foothills and holding hands, the four of them holding hands and singing. And singing. He remembered the singing. He
remembered the late evenings when the children were asleep down the hall and he?d wound down listening to slow music in their living room as she
watched television in the den and later how they?d sit and watch the news and just be happy to be together and still very much in love and filled with
the inner warmth that only builds on a foundation of security and love that starts at the very beginning. At the beginning. He was so proud of his
life at that point, earlier, he sensed, than the present. Perhaps this was the end of his life and he was reliving it through the present. Or was it
the past? Where did it all go from here? He had no clue.
And then he was there for his son, just as his father had been there for him, cheering him on in the midst of a game they were losing and happy with
his son regardless of the goodness or badness of the shot or of the score. The game ended and the two of them returned to the stands where family was
waiting and they were in their favorite place for dinner with the rest of the team and shared pizza and cokes and joy, simple joy over winning or
losing who cared it was just the challenge that mattered, the stimulation of life as a whole that made things work. He knew now, he knew, that life
didn?t end at all. It simply recycled on another plane. Not like being born again or reborn as reincarnation, rather, like starting over in another
frame of mind, in another iteration of the same existence. Perhaps this was his mind dealing with impending death. Or perhaps it was fact.
Regardless, it was warming for him to review his past and to realize that once everything had been warmth and love and dancing and friendships and now
he saw his mother and father as he?d never seen them before, young and restless and in love and the world unfolding before them in it?s many mysteries
and challenges and they?re facing the issues together and bearing and raising children, him, raising him and loving them and never letting them go.
Don?t let me go, mom?dad. Never let me go. His consciousness dimmed again and his mind was absorbed with a single thought and he wondered if this
thought was the net result of his entire life waiting to be reborn as a new entity in a universe full of entities. He wondered but knew he?d never
know. The thought was in his head now and looping through the slowing synapses of his mind and he couldn?t shake the thought, he just couldn?t shake
it. It was abstract non words just an abstract and he wondered how he could wrap this abstract up and carry it with him to his life waiting, he knew
it was waiting to just finish this current episode and be renewed. How can I wrap it up he asked himself over and over. Over again.
You are what you give. Your life when it?s about to recycle itself is a net result of everything you have brought with you, have given back to life.
You are what you bring with you. There are no additional requirements. You get out of it what you put into it.
He knew he had it with that abstract nondescript thought. He would have to live with that and carry it with him to his rejuvenation as he thought of
it in his mind.
You get out of life what you put into it.
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jerry
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great story mike. thank you; im going back and reread it all once again
jerry and judi
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Mike Humfreville
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Registered: 8-26-2003
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Jerry
You can find the entire story assembled into one piece at either of the following, thanks to Fred Metcalf at UCR and Don Humphries:
http://math.ucr.edu/ftm/bajaPages/Correspondents/BajaWithMik...
http://www.bajasundog.com/directory2/badhabits.html
Thanks for reading.
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Sallysouth
Super Nomad
Posts: 1835
Registered: 10-9-2003
Location: Capo Beach
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Mood: missing Baja...
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Wow Mike, you can really tell a tale! I have been waiting and reading, and reading..you do it so well.. Thanks for the insight.
Happiness is just a Baja memory away...
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Packoderm
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Registered: 11-7-2002
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Maybe the character can pull through. He can turn his back on the hatred and have a little less jaded outlook on life. With this new outlook, he can
be less hostile with himself; he can thus relate with others with less hostility. We will all be the better for it. We will be one people under the
sun from wherever it shines. We will look and relate to each other as of the same seed rather than names of division such as gringos - especially
P-nche gringos. Let the bitterness go. We will have no use for threads such as "Hatred," for how you shine on others is how you really shine onto
yourself.
Mike, am I on the right track? Is this story about a certain somebody in a very indirect way?
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Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
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Packoderm
You're right on with the concept of caring for yourself and you will likely care more for others in the process.
But alas this poor guy just grew tired, in his last moments, of being gruff and wondered where it all came from when his beginning was so warm and
sweet. And, as he wouldn't face his unavoidable death he turned to a "continuing life" theme just to allow himself to die.
Beyond that there is no conscious comparison to anyone that posts here. But many of us could stand to accentuate the positive sometimes.
Thanks for reading and your comments.
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Packoderm
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Thank you for writing the story. It was awesome in the way you offered it without solicitation, and in how you gave it in installments. Who would ever
think they would read something like that on a chat site? It was a brave thing to do - but the truly triumphant things usually are.
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eetdrt88
Senior Nomad
Posts: 986
Registered: 2-20-2005
Location: Az/Ca/Baja
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mike,what inspired you to write a nine chapter story on an internet forum??
it is a cool story,even though i have to admit i havent read it all...i have a very short attention span....did you write it spur of the moment or
over a very long period of time???
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Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
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Packoderm & eetdrt88
I guess it all started back with the old Amigos board which encouraged all sorts of different stuff (not that nomads doesn't also). This is the first
purely fictional story I've written. Other stories of mine have come close but were basically nonfiction. I started this in Ensenada 6 weeks ago
while my family was getting dental work done. I wrote part 1 on a borrowed Internet machine at Hotel Las Dunas there and posted it immediately. I've
done my share of posting but have always had the piece, regardless of the number of parts, completely written before anything went public. Sometimes
I'd sit and wonder where the story was going to take me. But friends implied that they were accustomed to happy endings from my work so I worked on
giving the final [art an up beat. Before I wrote part 9 I was worried and thought I was just going to let the "hero" die but found that was boring
and decided to make it more complicated. What I thought was going to be "corny" turned out to be the only part that had any depth in it. Packoderm
nailed it when he was inclined to read between the lines and to figure what I was implying.
Anyway, more info than you ever wanted. I hope you enjoyed the story and thanks for reading. You can find a collection of some of my work on Fred
Metcalf's Baja California Information Pages board at:
http://math.ucr.edu/ftm/bajaPages/Correspondents/BajaWithMik...
Also, I've got a book coming out, I hope, in time for this Christmas. I'll post further information when I have it in the nomad classifieds.
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bajaruby
Banned
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Registered: 6-8-2004
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Thanks Mike,
I think a lot of us could, or should, take a step back and look at ourselves and our lives. I'm sure there are things in our lives that could use a
little more of an up-beat perspective as we get older.
Thanks again,
Ruby
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Steve in Oro Valley
Nomad
Posts: 105
Registered: 11-14-2002
Location: Near Tucson
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Hi Mike:
Touches of Ibanez' "Blood and Sand" and "Flor de Mayo" - a kind of dark touch and a melodramatic flow with a true meaning to pass on to the reader.
I just saw a great Ida Lupino directed movie about two baja fisherman " The Hitch Hiker" (1952) .. dark theme... on TMC..
A great first attempt by you here which could use some fleshing out . I kept comming back for more...
Steve in Oro Valley
[Edited on 8-9-2005 by Steve in Oro Valley]
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bajajudy
Elite Nomad
Posts: 6886
Registered: 10-4-2004
Location: San Jose del Cabo,BCS
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Reflections we could probably all stand to make.
Are we happy with who we are today?
Please dont ever let me get to be so cold as this man.
Or please let me discover what he did before I pass on?
Many unanswered questions here.
Thanks Mike...well done
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David K
Honored Nomad
Posts: 64478
Registered: 8-30-2002
Location: San Diego County
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Mood: Have Baja Fever
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Congratulations on getting published Mike! We have been waiting a long time for the good news!
Here was the caption under your Feb. 2002 photo (at Viva Baja 3):
Mike Humfreville, author of dozens of Baja stories posted on Amigos de Baja.
His manuscript is ready for publication!
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Mike Humfreville
Super Nomad
Posts: 1148
Registered: 8-26-2003
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Thanks David. Sorry I missed the festival at El Rosario. I've read the posts that resulted.
Thanks to everyone for reading.
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Braulio
Nomad
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Registered: 11-7-2002
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A belated gracias Mike - keep us updated on where we can get the book.
And no - to me 'tweren't too corny at all.
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Eli
Super Nomad
Posts: 1471
Registered: 8-26-2003
Location: L.B. Baja Sur
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Mood: Some times Observing, sometimes Oblivious.
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Don Miguel,
If I was wearing a hat, I would take it off to ya!
Although I have done next to no computer travel in the last couple of weeks, I read your story as it unfolded here, and have reflected on it's final
message daily.
I think it is good to know what bitterness is, to feel that emotion is also part of being a humanebeing, the trick is not to get lost for a life time
there. I spent a couple of years madder than mad, really, really glad to understand the feeling and even glader that it is behind me now, sure don't
wanna go back to that.
Always looking forward to reading more when you got the chance to put it out there.
Simpre thanks, Sara
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