Camy Lobe
Well, I see I've been slacking and haven't posted anything for a few days, so today is the day!
I've noticed that several of the folks I've recently discovered are writers. Keeping that in mind, I decided to take the easy way out this morning and post a story I wrote many years ago. As I recall, I penned this in a college creative writing class I took with my mom one semester. Yes, with my mom, and I'd give anything for her to be alive today so we could do it again. So, here for you this morning is a funny story...at least it's supposed to be funny...and I hope you enjoy it.
How To Convert Your
Wheelchair Into A
DUNE BUGGY
“Why did I
make that trip?” I wondered aloud.
This was a
question I had pondered a multitude of times in the last week. One seems to have quite a lot of time to toss
around questions like this, when one is confined to one’s bed in the traction
ward of the local hospital. Was it
because I had really wanted to go see my old friend, Cammy? Was it because the weather had turned nice
enough to provide just the right amount of cure for my cabin fever? Or was it merely a good excuse to get away
from that shrew, I mean that, ah, lovely flower I’m married to? I’m not sure really, I just know that I went
- boy, did I ever!
I well
remember the start of that ill-fated day.
It was a Saturday morning, about 9:00 AM, 75 degrees with a light
breeze. I was out on the deck with my
morning coffee
and enjoying the sunshine, when that soft, sweet voice came
wafting to my ears, “HEY
DO-NOTHING! Whata ya got planned for
today?”
“I’m not
sure, my love, I haven’t quite finished my coffee yet.”
“Well suck
it down, slick! Ya got two choices. You
can stay here and cut the grass and trim the trees with me, or you can go to my
mother’s house and cut her grass and trim her
trees. You also have to go say happy
birthday to that old fart friend of yours down at the home.”
“You mean
Cammy Lobe?”
“Well,
moron, how many old fart friends do you have?
You can go before you start your work, but DO NOT piddle around!
You have far too much work to do.”
Being
spoken to in this manner really infuriates me.
I gathered up all my energy, turned and looked right in her eyes, and as
usual got in the last word, “Yes, dear.”
Cammy Lobe
was a friend of mine who lived down at the
Sandy Dunes Rest Home. Although
Cammy was 86 and mostly confined to his wheelchair, he had no lack of energy or
enthusiasm. I suppose that’s why Cammy’s
kids had chosen Sandy Dunes. After all, it did have a swimming pool, an
aerobics class, and a full service machine shop.
The head
nurse looked up as I came through the doors, attempted to smile and started to
shake her head.
“Good
morning, Nurse Needlestick, I’m here to wish Cammy a happy birthday.”
“I’m sorry,
Mr. Bach, Cammy isn’t in his room right now.
I’m not exactly sure where he is, but you might try the machine
shop. He’s been spending a lot of time
down there lately.”
I shuddered
at the thought of some of Cammy’s other machine shop adventures.
“He’s not
still trying to develop a reinforcing mesh for Mrs. Bulgey’s corset, is
he? We almost didn’t get her out of the
last one before she went from blue to purple.”
“I know
,Mr. Bach, I know. Thank God you had
those bolt cutters with you!”
“Well,
nurse, when you’ve known Cammy as long as I have, you learn to be prepared.”
The machine
shop was empty, except for the instructor, who was sitting on the floor against
the wall while rubbing the temples of his aching head, which was currently
resting on his curled up knees. This appeared to be another Cammy reaction.
“How’s it
going, Oilcan?”
“ Well, Mr.
Bach, I may have had worse days, but I can’t remember when.”
I nodded my
head.
“He’s not
here, Mr. Bach. He left just before you
came in. I tried to stop him, but you
know Cammy!”
I was
afraid to ask, but I knew I had to,
“What did he do this time?”
Oilcan
slowly looked up and said, “I’m afraid he converted his wheel chair into a dune
buggy!”
“This,” I
thought to myself, “is not a good thing.”
I just
prayed this wouldn’t be as bad as the time Cammy “tuned up” Mrs. Peterson’s
hair dryer. However, I was surprised at
how quickly an 84 year olds hair can grow back.
“ I’m
afraid, Mr. Bach, that I don’t know how in the world it could get any worse.”
I thought
of this morning’s conversation, and said,
“You want to go cut some grass?”
Upon my
arrival, the sand dunes just behind the ‘home’ were nearly empty. I say nearly because there, right out in the
open, just to the left of the his-and-hers port-a-potties, was Cammy Lobe. Cammy was smiling at me from beneath his
World War II Flying Ace helmet when I stopped about five feet from him and
his... his... dune buggy?
“Cammy,
what is this?”
“Speak up
son, you know I’m hard of hearing!”
“WHAT IS
THIS!”
“This,
Buckwheat, is the only V8 powered, supercharged, twin paddle tire wheelchair in
existence!”
“But Cammy,
why?”
“You bet it
flies! Does 0-60 in 5 seconds!”
“No, no
Cammy, just look at this thing! Do your
kids know?”
“I just
told you it goes! Didn’t you
listen?”
“Yeah Cammy
I listened, but you’re too old for this.
You need to get out of that thing before you get hurt. You better listen to me!”
“What’s
that son? You wanta see?”
Before I
could say anything else, my voice was completely drowned out by the roar of 650
horses of wheelchair mounted V8. At this
point my brain was screaming at me to run, but my feet refused to respond. The next thing I saw was the huge roostertail
of sand as the wheelchair, buggy, dune thing rocketed into motion.
Had the
wheels of Cammy’s buggy been pointed straight ahead, things may have gone
alright. However, they were turned just
enough to send Cammy and his invention on a collision course with the ,
thankfully vacant, port-a-potties. Cammy
and his fire-breathing monster dead centered John and Jill at about 80 miles an
hour. This caused the port-a-potties to
shoot up in the air, and slightly back, toward
me. The crash had also not
straightened the buggy’s wheels. It’s course had changed, just a bit.
The circle had widened, just a
bit. To the best of my calculations this
put the buggy on a direct pathway, to me.
I’m not
sure what hit me first, Cammy, Jill or John, but I do know that I felt three
distinct ‘contacts.’ The last thing I remember seeing was the face of a wild, crazy, smiling old
man, a whole lot of roll bars, a very large sand roostertail and long,
streaming trails of toilet paper.
I’ve not
found out for sure what happened to Cammy.
Rumor has it that after hitting me, the wheels of the buggy straightened
and the whole combuberation headed east, running out of fuel somewhere south of
North Dakota.
Oh well, it
is nice and peaceful here at ‘traction city.’
The nurses are nice, I don’t have to cut the grass, and ....
“HEY
DO-NOTHING! What are you doing lying around while the grass gets taller?”
Oh no......
