I’m a white guy that is turning 58 years old today.
‘Boss’ tries to teach me, don’t say I don’t know – just say I’ll find out.
Don’t say ‘if’ – if this, then that. – Just say that … Be confident.
If I can pass, then… – NO! JUST SAY – I can pass. Be confident he tells me followed by you’ll learn.
Fuck you.
He doesn’t wanna talk about the rhythm and shit I talk about all dreamy.
He proselytizes – These guys just need to know… confidence … as I picture him wagging his finger like Jeff Arcuri.
“Taylor” won the day one week after Bill went missing. But did he? He appeared to get the touchdown. The home run. “Charles” is pissed. This is a very BIG DEAL.
We’re in the first stakeholder meeting one week to the day after Bill disappeared and our community came apart.
We don’t know shit a week after Bill went missing and took all the jobs knowledge with him. He was the guy. The only one with all the knowledge of this job. I’d been working on other shit and Bill and I loved to talk shop. It’s how Bill and I became close friends over the past few months.
So – we don’t know shit about fuck. Taylor calls us on it one week after Bill’s disappearance in front of everyone – puts his face into the camera on the Teams call with the angry look and befuddlement and harsh words – shaking his head and chewing us out as I tell them ‘I don’t know… I’ll find out …’.
We’re looking like idiots, BIG TIME Charles texts immediately as if this is going to help.
Then he calls me during the meeting to chew me out while the conversation between stakeholders continues. I’m now the guy that just stepped in, during our communities recovery, now that my friend Bill is gone.
I shouldn’t be the guy. Bill’s the guy. But he’s missing.
All we know is that he’s not in Sherman and our daughter pulled his dead dog out from behind the 4th of July stage, his trucks are mangled, and his RV is missing.
Bill was a traveling job currently living at HTR in his RV. The flood took him and his dog. We know he is dead now. He is still that job, just not here. He is still a sword and gun collector, a Navy nuclear engine guy, a loner with one family person on this planet. He is still my friend. Dead friend, but friend no less.
That’s what I do know. I don’t know much else – but the Texas Ranger called my wife in the HEB pet food aisle as next of kin – first notified – his remains were found 25.5 miles downstream, 10 days later.
I do tend to believe hate dies in this world – he was a hater of immigrants and democrats and lgbtq and … I expect afterlife changes souls. I don’t fucking know. But I do carry this faith.
I don’t know is perfectly fine and I don’t have to find out. There’s so much I don’t want to know or never will.
I do know I just helped spread the word as next of kin. I knew this mother fucker for three months. We became friends. He loved me and my wife and the daughter he met and disagreed with at dinner in my house. He respected our friendship. My family.
We later realized we did talk to him in the rain in that alcove trying to get out of the corporate party to take a breath for a moment back in 2018. I wish I had remembered when he was here. I wonder if he would have remembered? Does he remember now?
Fuck.
I just learned my daughter helped recover 5-6 bodies. I didn’t know this, may never have learned this but KENS5 and everyone wants to talk about bodies.
I’ve also learned a new term I don’t need to know – Oil Bloom (or maybe drop?) I don’t know. I had to google it after a comment or post – it’s the fat from an underwater cadaver decomposing that creates that rainbow look on top of water. An oil slick. Of body fat decomposing. Cadaver dogs are trained to pick up on that oil smell to alert to search here, underwater. I’m guessing the dogs pick up on the human scent only? I don’t know. I may never find out.
That’s ok.
I got to maybe 30 some odd issues on my to do list because my mom is dying. Probably five that should’ve been done yesterday. Definitely 10-15 that are priority one. I’m calling it drinking from a firehose.
That was July 3rd.
Then Bill was lost. The Traveling job he was 3 months into of 12. He was on this job for a lot of months before that helping sell it, set everything up, and all coordination up to July 4th. He’s why they got the job. Him and bossman Taylor are buddies. I figure they still are.
Just like his oil bloom, Bill still lives in Taylor’s head. So does Charles. They’re being all competitive and shit. I’m still seeking rhythm, but won’t say it around the guy that gives me money to represent anymore.
So when Taylor stared into the camera that day and chewed Charles’ team out in front of the COO down – Charles got angry, texted and called me as if playing quarter back, and I conceded that Taylor got a touchdown.
Two weeks later, I don’t know if Taylor got the touchdown.
I’m starting to think Taylor fumbled that day and we recovered. His reaction to losing Bill was to be a dick and instill fear. It was acknowledged by at least one other in that meeting that came to me. I’m starting to expect the Executive that lives in our community – of the hospital – may know more about what’s really going on in our community than the middle management guy in Dallas that chewed us out that day.
Probably not a good look for Taylor.
I don’t much care in that sense. I’ve never been competitive. I literally don’t care if someone loses or wins. I have to not care if these bosses ever read this and get butthurt, but I still changed some names and left it anon enough. I don’t even know if I’ll make this public yet. I’m processing. Nobody’s holding my pen when I write.
I tend to celebrate the wins and try to find and appreciate the lessons of the lost.
I am glad we get to play the game. Def feels better when we win. I do get that. But life goes on if we lose. Even if it’s everything.
Everything. This is also what I told Charles as he was trying to bring a trailer down to pickup Bills stuff and get it to Bills cousin, or family.
it needs to get back to the family, even if it’s muddy tools – from the Jobox that we got into in the back of his truck. The one that the salvage yard helped cut out of his truck. It was only muddy tools.
Bill’s cousin, his one and only family – if i get the surgery, she’s the only one that can put me up (for a recovery) – gave me the Jobox. She doesn’t give a shit about the muddy tools that were in it.
He was supposed to go to Sherman to hang out with her that weekend.
I was hoping Bill’s sword collection was in the Jobox. They meant something. Cinda, Bills only family; Russel and Melissa, Bill’s Navy buddy for decades and his wife that Bill officiated recently; and Bill’s estranged brother – they could’ve all had a sword if we found three. I would’ve loved to honor another of his swords in my house, if offered.
(they did find his gun safe and some guns, the feds keep them for a long time before something happens)
But the Jobox will be his memory at my house. Still not sure what I’m going to do with all his muddy power tools and crap that were in that Jobox. They’re still sitting on the side of my house.
So I tell Charles – don’t come Friday with your trailer – there is nothing to haul back to family of Bill’s stuff. It’s gone. All of it.
The stuff doesn’t exist on this planet anymore. Like the souls of Bill and his Corgi, Sage. Like the RV Park that I drove to that morning and had to tell Bill’s only family – it’s gone.
Everything. Every RV, cabin, a lot of concrete, the underground utilities. gone.
Bill. Sage. Swords. Gone.
I. Don’t. Fucking. Know.
CHRISTIAN TRIGGER WARNING in case the ‘fucks’ weren’t enough. Just please stop reading if you like to argue. Please keep reading if you want to learn something about me and others.
But the veil is thin right now. God is here. Third time in my life I’ve felt a physical presence of … God.
I don’t know what that means. Neither do any of us, really. Fact.
(belief, faith, I know… got it – fact is we don’t know)
There is faith. It is real. I get it. Preachers boy and Christian U stuff here in my head.
The thoughts and prayers are back. The Christians are everywhere.
No other religion is making noise. Because the Christians hate them. Christians believe others are going to hell and others know this. Join us, repent, accept Jesus – or go to hell. That is your message, and I don’t buy it. I no longer share that faith, have not for decades, nor do I want to for any reason. It’s label is agnostic. I have been saying Christian for myself if pressed around them, because it really is just easier.
I don’t know if I’m going to continue after this.
The immigrants are terrified. They are traumatized as bad as us, and so much more.
(the Mexicans are more native here, btw – everyone else here migrated from somewhere else)
The Mexicans and brown people, the Spanish speakers here and they are much, much more terrified than the white people are from the tragedy of flooding. The Mexicans are also dealing with the flood while literally living in legitimate fear of being kidnapped and ripped apart from their children and loved ones by masked and heavily armed gangs of roid’ed out men in military uniforms wearing masks all over this fucked up country.
They are being judged by skin color and their beautiful culture by terrorists supported by Christians and being forced into cages without due process. Christians and Patriots call it Alligator Alcatraz, they want fear & retribution for something. The Christians have been and are glorifying this. Shame.
And the Christians are everywhere … and shrinking. And scared. Their churches and influence appear to be statistically shrinking fast. They just seem excited about it all because rapture and mythical beliefs.
Trump and Noem and masked military ICE men are here. Military and police are everywhere. A large group of them yelled authority at me just yesterday – a cleaned up white guy on ‘their river’ to GTFO! I fucking live here. A middle aged white local.
(to their credit, I was dressed like a reporter yesterday with cream slacks and a tucked polo).
And yet somehow, the local Mexicans are more terrified and horrified and traumatized than I am.
Duh, and WTAF! SHAME on us.
But we stumbled into helping to feed them and get supplies their way and my Colonel friend is scared I’m going to be arrested.
I’m generally not telling my Christian friends and family about this. I don’t trust them with immigrants. Immigrants like, you know – Jesus himself.
I get to hide behind white. I look and can act Christian easily without commit. I’m accepted easily. But I’m next. They’ll know I’m not Christian and that I will stand between all those they hate.
It is the immigrants and lgbtq right now. It is the non Christians next, and currently happening on the ground here. The non-Christians here are not okay.
If we keep on this path – It will be me and my White family next. We are in the crosshairs. The powers do not care, and it will be Christians when those powers are fulfilled.
Or so I fear it will take this long before my brother breaks open his 2A safe too late. He’s not going to be able to survive a masked military gang either, and I’m way behind him in prepared.
Fuck.
I want to scream on every corner and in every meeting
JESUS IS NOT REQUIRED. JESUS IS NOT THE ONLY WAY. CHRISTIANITY IS NOT THE ONLY WAY.
YOU ARE LOVED! I LOVE YOU! ALL OF YOU.
Even the Christians.
They washed my car for free, heard me, hugged me, prayed for and with me, I’m still wearing their friendship bracelet where every color means something Christian’y – I was told about every color in a script as this teenager tied this Rastafarian looking bracelet on me. My new 6yr old friend, Violet, was given the same script by the pastor when they put it on her.
I love these goofy bastards. Their youth group washed my car and truck for free the first time since around July 2. I love to wash my cars. I genuinely love Christians, but they are wrong.
(and they were just okay at washing cars, btw – two stars and all my love)
Jesus is NOT required. And I love you. You are loved. We’re not all going to hell. -my faith
God is not sending everyone to hell that doesn’t follow your beliefs. We generally have never given a shit if you carry that faith, but now you’re coming after us. Not cool.
The car wash bunch asked me what church family I’m with – my new response is ‘It’s personal‘. Worked great. Use it. It shut them down the first time both times I’ve used it recently. I figure I can just repeat it simply and it will go nowhere with them. They’ll probably get their script for it eventually.
But, Christians, I’m actually not one of you. And Jesus still loves me. I’m still … saved? just like everyone of us – including the immigrants. There is still an infinite that we cannot know here and now.
But you want them in Alligator Alcatraz and I want to feed them, quietly, because quite frankly, I Am scared of being kidnapped by masked military because I WILL get in the fucking way. I hope you know the rich/powerful pricks are coming after you next. It’s human. Power has no limits. Facts.
“Complexion Protection” the Mexicans called me and we all laughed. But I was the one that asked the Texas DPS why he’s parked right in front of the Martinez house where we’re making 100 meals to distribute down the road to Little Mexico. He was given this address specifically to park in front of all day. He doesn’t know why, but we both look over the river and search and rescue and sigh. Shake hands. Check that each other is okay.
The DPS guy is a fucking Mexican. We’re in Texas. White people did not exist here until the mid-late 1800s? America didn’t show up until 1845. But somehow the Mexicans are the ones scared of Alligator Alcatraz.
I’m only scared I’ll be put in white jail maybe overnight at the most and my life can go on ‘where I live’.
Fuck.
If people can hate for no reason, I can love for no reason. I Love you, Bill.