"The Mojo Tokers" (Part I Story Time)

[Sunstone]

When I was sixteen, I did something that frightened a lot of people in my hometown of just over 2,000.

Fear is like alcohol -- it's intoxicating -- and frightened people can be just like drunks in the sense that 'they are not themselves'. About three quarters of the people I knew in my town decided to ostracize me. Their number included my best friend, as well as everyone else I would ordinarily talk with on a daily basis, so I was suddenly quite isolated.

One day after the ostracism was in full swing, I was approached at school during the lunch break by a kid a year younger than me. "I've always wanted to meet you" He began. "but until now I knew there wasn't a chance you'd want to meet me."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"You don't know, do you?" He replied in an oddly kind voice.

"No. I really don't."

"I'm Jeff. I'm an outcast, just like you are now. It's because I'm a Willis."

When I still didn't understand, Jeff added. "From Tallulah."

"Thanks. Got you." I said. I'd never heard of any Willis family, but that didn't mean anything. I'd heard all about Tallulah. A tiny town -- maybe 300 people -- stuck out on the prairie -- and with a verifiable history of breeding 'trouble makers'. Folks in nearby towns were still telling stories of infamous crimes committed up to 140 years ago by 'boys' from Tallulah.

"What was it like" Jeff went on. "when you did it?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Not yet, least."

"That's fair. Wait here a moment."

When I looked reluctant, Jeff added, "Please."

I waited. Jeff walked over to a small group of kids much taller than him. Kids I knew to be from Tallulah. Within just a few minutes he returned, bringing one of them with him. A tall lanky kid who was in my class, and whose name I knew. Tim. We exchanged greetings.

"Anyway", Tim said almost immediately. "Jeff has vouched for you. So you can hang out with us now, if you aren't doing anything else nowadays. And I kind of doubt you are." It suddenly occurred to him to add, "We're the Mojo Tokers."

A bell rang. Lunch break over. We split up to go to our separate classes. Me to British History. Jeff and Tim to Wood Shop.

I didn't know what to feel about it all. But I was curious what might come next.



To be continued....

 

[Sunstone]

A few weeks later, Jeff and I were alone for a few minutes on our lunch break when Jeff abruptly asked, "Are you going to college when you graduate?"

When I told him 'yes', he asked. "When did you decide to go?"

"I don't know" I replied after a moment of thinking about it. "I guess it's always been assumed I'll go, and I just assume it, too. Are you going?"

"No. I'm going to prison first. Then I'm going to learn a trade."

"Prison! Why do you say that?"

"I'm a Willis. The Sheriff put both my brothers in prison one after the other, right after they graduated. Five years each. Lied, framed them. He'll frame me too. He's got a hard on for us Willis boys. Thinks if he can teach us our place, he won't have trouble from us later on."

"But Jeff, it doesn't work that way. You got to do something wrong. You got to commit a crime first."

"I don't have to do nothing wrong." Jeff looked at me like I was a child. Like I knew nothing about the world and might even be hopeless. There was the slightest hint of anger in his voice. With anyone else, I might not have noticed it. But Jeff was the most gentle kid in the entire school, so far as I had discovered. That slight hint was loud and clear to me.

I chose to back down from explaining to Jeff how things worked, and instead listen. He went on. "I don't want you feeling sorry for me. I don't even feel sorry for myself. But it is how it is. I'm planning on prison, then a trade."

Then I remembered something Terri had told me a couple years ago. She was back in school after having been suspended three days for something I could no longer remember, and she was still angry about it. Suddenly, she lashed out at me. "If I had your mom, Bassana would never have dared suspend me. You can get away with murder in this town. Your mom and her friends are our rulers, only who elected them?"

Mom had never, not even once, told me she had any power at all in our town. I didn't believe Terri for half a second. But now Jeff had hinted at the same thing. I was confused. How could I be sixteen years old and not know what was going on in a town I'd lived in nearly my whole life? But a part of me, a part I wasn't quite yet ready to listen to, knew Terri and Jeff were not BSing me. It just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. I felt a pang in my chest, like I was in the woods, and had just realized I'd lost my sense of direction.



Perhaps to be continued at another time, depending if I have another boring night with nothing better to do.

 

[Evangelicalhumanist]

Well, I for one am very much looking forward to the next entry in this serial...

 

[Sunstone]

Well, I for one am very much looking forward to the next entry in this serial...

Thank you for your very kind encouragement!

The irony is I'm going through a dry spell when it comes to writing poetry for my next book. How is it do you figure I can't write poetry, but all these memories are coming back? Sheesh! Brains are funny things!

 

[Kenny]

I am loving it! Thank you! Have a blessed New Year... and hopefully you will share a continuation soon!

 

[Sunstone]

I am loving it! Thank you! Have a blessed New Year... and hopefully you will share a continuation soon!

Thank you so very much, Ken! You're encouragement is deeply appreciated.

 

[PureX]

Does the genre really matter that much?

Art is sharing your experience of being, with others. And when it's done well, and honestly, it is greatly appreciated by most of your fellow humans. Because it helps them cognate their own experience of being, better. And it helps them to know that they are not alone, even though they are unique.

 

[Brian2]

A few weeks later, Jeff and I were alone for a few minutes on our lunch break when Jeff abruptly asked, "Are you going to college when you graduate?"

When I told him 'yes', he asked. "When did you decide to go?"

"I don't know" I replied after a moment of thinking about it. "I guess it's always been assumed I'll go, and I just assume it, too. Are you going?"

"No. I'm going to prison first. Then I'm going to learn a trade."

"Prison! Why do you say that?"

"I'm a Willis. The Sheriff put both my brothers in prison one after the other, right after they graduated. Five years each. Lied, framed them. He'll frame me too. He's got a hard on for us Willis boys. Thinks if he can teach us our place, he won't have trouble from us later on."

"But Jeff, it doesn't work that way. You got to do something wrong. You got to commit a crime first."

"I don't have to do nothing wrong." Jeff looked at me like I was a child. Like I knew nothing about the world and might even be hopeless. There was the slightest hint of anger in his voice. With anyone else, I might not have noticed it. But Jeff was the most gentle kid in the entire school, so far as I had discovered. That slight hint was loud and clear to me.

I chose to back down from explaining to Jeff how things worked, and instead listen. He went on. "I don't want you feeling sorry for me. I don't even feel sorry for myself. But it is how it is. I'm planning on prison, then a trade."

Then I remembered something Terri had told me a couple years ago. She was back in school after having been suspended three days for something I could no longer remember, and she was still angry about it. Suddenly, she lashed out at me. "If I had your mom, Bassana would never have dared suspend me. You can get away with murder in this town. Your mom and her friends are our rulers, only who elected them?"

Mom had never, not even once, told me she had any power at all in our town. I didn't believe Terri for half a second. But now Jeff had hinted at the same thing. I was confused. How could I be sixteen years old and not know what was going on in a town I'd lived in nearly my whole life? But a part of me, a part I wasn't quite yet ready to listen to, knew Terri and Jeff were not BSing me. It just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. I felt a pang in my chest, like I was in the woods, and had just realized I'd lost my sense of direction.



Perhaps to be continued at another time, depending if I have another boring night with nothing better to do.

Have you got the story worked out or is it made up on the way?

 

[Cooky]

Does the genre really matter that much?

Art is sharing your experience of being, with others. And when it's done well, and honestly, it is greatly appreciated by most of your fellow humans. Because it helps them cognate their own experience of being, better. And it helps them to know that they are not alone, even though they are unique.

I like the way I envisioned myself in my old lunchroom... As if I were placing myself as the main character.

 

[ChristineM]

Thank you for your very kind encouragement!

The irony is I'm going through a dry spell when it comes to writing poetry for my next book. How is it do you figure I can't write poetry, but all these memories are coming back? Sheesh! Brains are funny things!

Write poetry about your childhood memories... problem solved... its a free service i offer...

 

[Sunstone]

Have you got the story worked out or is it made up on the way?

I just wrote down what I can still recall having happened.

The events in the two stories were a long time ago -- roughly 50 years ago -- but they left quite an impression on me. Unless my memory is fooling me -- which is always possible -- what you read is how it happened. At any rate, even if some of the details are false memories, the bulk of the stories are true.

To 'work out' the rest of the story, all I have to do is recall it. That, and be in the mood to talk about it.

 

[Sunstone]

Write poetry about your childhood memories... problem solved... its a free service i offer...

I wonder if that would work with me? I don't recall having tried to turn anything in my childhood into poetry yet. Although I once wrote poem about middle school. "Garden Gnomes Desperately Seeking Love" -- or something like that.

 

[PureX]

Poetry is very precise, but not usually that specific.

Just my 2 cents.

 

[Sunstone]

Write poetry about your childhood memories... problem solved... its a free service i offer...

Chris, the thought just occurred to me, you would have adored Jeff. Physically, he was one of the shortest kids in his class. But he was always surprising me with how much he noticed, how much he picked up on. He would say things to me I'd never heard from any other kid before. More or less in your class for being perceptive.

Like that whole business about going to prison. I vaguely recall him saying his uncle had "explained the facts of life to him when it came to being a Willis". I can't be sure, but I think any other kid I knew back then would have either been in denial or would have been seething with rage, fear, and anger. But Jeff was just calmly laying plans to deal with it.

He had a beautiful voice. Never raised it.

 

[Sunstone]

Poetry is very precise, but not usually that specific.

Just my 2 cents.

I've been finding my voice, as they say, in poems based on people and events in my life. I'm new to poetry. Didn't know most poems aren't too specific. At any rate, I'm not trying to be a poet, I'm just having fun.

 

[Brian2]

I just wrote down what I can still recall having happened.

The events in the two stories were a long time ago -- roughly 50 years ago -- but they left quite an impression on me. Unless my memory is fooling me -- which is always possible -- what you read is how it happened. At any rate, even if some of the details are false memories, the bulk of the stories are true.

To 'work out' the rest of the story, all I have to do is recall it. That, and be in the mood to talk about it.

The longer you think about the past the more comes back. I imagine that could complicate a flowing story sometimes or enhance it with asides.

 

[Sunstone]

The longer you think about the past the more comes back.

That is certainly true. Good point.

I imagine that could complicate a flowing story sometimes or enhance it with asides.

Perhaps make for seemingly endless rewrites were I to allow it. As you can guess, I am leaving out so much more than I'm including in this serial story. Got to pare things down to have any hope at all of being understood.

Do you write, Brian?

 

[Brian2]

That is certainly true. Good point.



Perhaps make for seemingly endless rewrites were I to allow it. As you can guess, I am leaving out so much more than I'm including in this serial story. Got to pare things down to have any hope at all of being understood.

Do you write, Brian?

I have tried my hand at some poetry and eulogies but these days I just admire others' writing and write on this forum. It is only relatively recently that I have started to really enjoy using or trying to use just the right word in the right place, but now I'm getting older probably more are being lost from my memory than added.
At school it was a real chore to sit down and write an essay and a chore to finish reading a novel.

 

[Kenny]

A few weeks later, Jeff and I were alone for a few minutes on our lunch break when Jeff abruptly asked, "Are you going to college when you graduate?"

When I told him 'yes', he asked. "When did you decide to go?"

"I don't know" I replied after a moment of thinking about it. "I guess it's always been assumed I'll go, and I just assume it, too. Are you going?"

"No. I'm going to prison first. Then I'm going to learn a trade."

"Prison! Why do you say that?"

"I'm a Willis. The Sheriff put both my brothers in prison one after the other, right after they graduated. Five years each. Lied, framed them. He'll frame me too. He's got a hard on for us Willis boys. Thinks if he can teach us our place, he won't have trouble from us later on."

"But Jeff, it doesn't work that way. You got to do something wrong. You got to commit a crime first."

"I don't have to do nothing wrong." Jeff looked at me like I was a child. Like I knew nothing about the world and might even be hopeless. There was the slightest hint of anger in his voice. With anyone else, I might not have noticed it. But Jeff was the most gentle kid in the entire school, so far as I had discovered. That slight hint was loud and clear to me.

I chose to back down from explaining to Jeff how things worked, and instead listen. He went on. "I don't want you feeling sorry for me. I don't even feel sorry for myself. But it is how it is. I'm planning on prison, then a trade."

Then I remembered something Terri had told me a couple years ago. She was back in school after having been suspended three days for something I could no longer remember, and she was still angry about it. Suddenly, she lashed out at me. "If I had your mom, Bassana would never have dared suspend me. You can get away with murder in this town. Your mom and her friends are our rulers, only who elected them?"

Mom had never, not even once, told me she had any power at all in our town. I didn't believe Terri for half a second. But now Jeff had hinted at the same thing. I was confused. How could I be sixteen years old and not know what was going on in a town I'd lived in nearly my whole life? But a part of me, a part I wasn't quite yet ready to listen to, knew Terri and Jeff were not BSing me. It just didn't make sense. None of it made sense. I felt a pang in my chest, like I was in the woods, and had just realized I'd lost my sense of direction.



Perhaps to be continued at another time, depending if I have another boring night with nothing better to do.

patiently waiting

 

[Sunstone]

patiently waiting

Thanks! I guess the follow up threads ended up out of sight. Here they are...

"In the Aftermath of an Act of Darkness" (Part II Story Time)

"The Warm and Fuzzy Straight Jacket" (Part III Story Time)

"The Rise of the Mojo Tokers" (Part IV Story Time)