Ray

XLVIII

I HAD a little hashish and some Jack Daniel’s, so I went out to Tuscaloosa airport, broke in the hangar, and took up the Pfeiffer Wire Learjet. Wanted to go everywhere. Refueled in Atlanta. Then I was all out of chemicals and had to do it on guts to get near Toronto, over the border. No chance. I was out of fuel, lights were off. So I crashed it in a small lake by the woods. First time Ray ever had a crash. Had his son’s new guitar so as to strum along and almost burned it up too.

I walked away from there and the Lear blew up and took away about an acre of pines. I could not believe I lost that much good equipment. But wait a minute. The explosion lifted my son’s guitar out of the cockpit, and I saw the bright strings loft over the pines and I ran and caught it.

So I hitchhiked back to New York, where I had a friend. I got a sailboat to outside of Philly. Then I rode a train back to here.

I was black as an Indian when I arrived at the door of my tranquil house. I’d lost weight. I was back to a hundred and forty, as in high school. My lovely, caring brother Robert was in the house, They all had huge eyes, worrying if I was dead.

“Who are you?”

“Your relative,” I said.