The Coolest Guy In All The World
Back about 50 years ago my Uncle Jim, the famous rodeo cowboy, picked me up from school with the shiny new sports car he had earned with all the money he made bulldogging and roping cattle. He let me handle all its features which were state of the art for 1969 including a radio that could record all the neat tunes coming out of the Grand Ole Opry and a telephone built into the dashboard. He rode with the top down so that I could feel the wind in my hair and I swore that my Uncle Jim was the coolest guy in all the world.
Then he pulled up his shiny new car in front of the house I lived in with my parents and my brother and my sister and my dog with a grin to his lips and I thought to myself what a wonderful life this was.
“All yours,” he said in his debonair way.
“Why, Jim,” my mother said to her brother, “Why aren’t you something, now, sweetheart?”
Jim drove away from our family’s house and down those roads of blacktop and gravel until he reached an airport far from our little country town. He bought a ticket for parts now unknown. Doubtless, his ultimate destination was known only to him though it likely involved more bulldogging and more roping cattle. The airplane taxied swiftly down the runway as Uncle Jim leaned back in his seat, its speed increasing with each second. All appeared to be going well until shortly after takeoff when his plane snagged on some branches from the treetops sending it tumbling to the ground nose down in a burst of flames. All were injured including Uncle Jim who was paralyzed on his left side and would never speak, walk or think the same way again. His days of bulldogging and showing off shiny new sportscars were over. It was the damnedest thing.
©2020 Will Mayo All rights reserved.
Will Mayo is the author of Hoodoo Voodoo And Other Strange Stories Of Life, Dreams Of Mongolia, Roadmaps Of The Mind, and other books of the extraordinary. He lives with his six-toed black cat in Frederick, Maryland, said by some to be the most haunted city in the state. Most of his writing is done between the hours of 3 a.m. and sunrise. He enjoys wordplay and strange tales, and hopes that you do too.