Charlie Bowdre

Billy's left hand was a creature separate from the rest of him. He didn’t use it to do anything but shoot. Like he had a funny way of eating where he'd put down his fork to cut his meat with his right hand and then put the knife down and pick up his fork again with his right hand to eat it. It was ghostly white, because he'd always wear a glove on it if there was no danger of bein' in a gunfight. An arm or leg that's sprained or broken and layin' unused for a long time can grow skinny and weak and I reckon Billy figured on that because he'd do exercises with his hand, the fingers all swimming and curling around into each other like a hydra. With a rifle, I'm close to as good as you get, but I'd seen Billy kill more men with a pistol than he had years alive on this Earth.

There were four of us running, Me, Dave Rudabaugh, Billy Wilson and William Bonney or Billy the Kid as he is more famously known. We had tried to get Garrett that morning but after Tom O'Folliard and Tom Pickett got killed we took off and rode all day until we got to the rock house, a cattle driver's cabin that is made from rocks. We didn't know that Pat had such a large posse chasing us or we would have kept riding through the night, but not knowin' that we figured the rock house was a pretty good spot to make a stand if the need be.

Just a few short years ago Fort Sumner was a quiet little town. Farmers, sheep ranchers, trappers and a few independent miners out in the desert. Then the dude, John Tunstall, rolled into town and he teamed up with McSween and they began to do battle with the resident land barons, Murphy and Dolan. As they went about the business of dividing up the territory between them, neither side ever seemed quite satisfied with how things would settle out and they kept at it until Fort Sumner and Lincoln County were fully involved in a range war. First we were recruited by Murphy and then by Tunstall, but now Tunstall was dead, shot in the back by Murphy and his men. How they had hooted and hollered afterwards, even going so far as to defile John's remains. It turned my stomach, Billy’s too. John had been very good to us. After he was gone, McSween was soon to follow. He was killed running from his house with the rest of us after they had set it on fire.

The cabin is about fifty yards from the bush and looks down across some rolling hills and grassland. I take a slug of whiskey and look out into the twilight at the hills, not so much at the hills themselves but at the folds between them, deepened by the water flowing downhill over the thousands of years. I let a fancy take shape where I imagine the hills are just a bunched up brown blanket and wonder what new forms might take shape if the blanket were pulled straight and let to settle again.

After consolidated their hold on power by killing McSween, Murphy and Dolan turned their attention to cleaning up the county. That meant getting rid of our element. They had tolerated us for a while, even got a judge to offer us clemency if we would move back East. Tom O'Folliard and I had gone away for a while to see if the heat would die down, but when I came back Billy was in jail. I helped bust him out of there with Dave Rudabaugh and they went back to rustlin' cattle for a while, but things really turned bad for us after we ambushed and killed Bill Brady and one of his deputies, as revenge for them killin' Tunstall. Billy had killed Sheriff Brady careful, he being a former friend; shootin' him above the heart so that he wouldn’t last more than a few moments, but most people just said it was done in cold blood.

In the morning we're the first up and Dave asks me to get some snow to melt for coffee. The cold mountain air is bracing and I take a deep breath as I step out the door. I hear a big tree branch crack in the wind and that same strong gust picks me up like a giant hand and lifts me right back into the cabin. Billy's kneeling over me saying something, but he's so small and far away that I can't hear him. He's tying something to my stomach, but I'm worried I might pee on his hands because for some reason I'm going in my pants. Billy watch your hands! He turns and says something to Dan and they bring me some whiskey, but I just want water but they make me drink the whiskey and then they bring the water. Billy says to press on the cloth he's tied to my groin with one of his satchel belts. They sit me up and sling a rifle around my neck to hold with my left hand. Billy looks right into me with those osprey eyes, I can tell he's going to say something serious. You're killed Charlie. Those murderers did it to you, but now you can go out there and take some of them with you.

When Pat Garrett first came to Fort Sumner, he'd been out starving on the range so long that his face had a funny angular look to it and he being so tall and with those wooden teeth, we laughed out loud at the sight of him, me and Angela D., Billy’s girl at that time. Pat was always a good guy to have around if you were drinking or playing cards. He had a million facts and figures stored in that head of his. He knew things from zoology, botany, geography, history, you name it and Pat would have something intelligent or witty to say about it. He could drink until morning and not get drunk. Pat could always find a way to emphasize with someone down on their luck and was never cynical or high minded about someone who found themselves unable to get out of a bad situation. We all palled around quite a bit back in those days but I don't think any of us ever felt truly close to Pat. He always seemed to be sizing up the situation and you along with it. Someone once told me he knew French, but I never heard him speak a word of it.

Pat calls out to us. He tells us to surrender because he says our horses are gone and there is no chance of escape. Billy and Dave help me to my feet and Billy pushes me out the door. Go get 'em Charlie! Get 'em! I have one hand on my gut and the other holding the rifle pointed at Garrett and his men. I fire a couple shots as I come out the door so that they'll keep their heads down. They're all crouched down in this hollow out of sight except for Garrett, he just sits there, looking straight at us. God I'm so thirsty. I think about bending down to scoop up some snow but my guts hurt so much I'm afraid they'll spill out all over the place if I let go of the cloth. I just keep trying to get to where Pat and his men are. It's something, something other than the pain that is going right through into the centre of me. I hear someone fire over my shoulder from the rock house behind me, but they only hit the top of Garrett's rifle strap and his gun falls to the ground. When he bends down to pick it up I notice that the top of someone's head is showing above the hollow that's behind him. The straggly blond hair belongs to Jim French. I'm pretty good at shooting from the hip with a rifle and as I squeeze the trigger I watch the top of Jim's head slice off. This brings a hail of fire from both directions. One takes the bicep of my right arm off. Luckily the rifle is in my left but now I can't press the cloth to my guts. I can feel myself breaking apart. The rifle flashes allow me to locate two more of Pat's men, but I don't have the strength left to aim and my shots echo harmlessly into the distance. It does make them duck their heads down again and the shooting stops.

As bad as things were for us after we killed Brady, they did offer us another clemency deal. This one would be signed by Governor Lew Wallace and even included jobs out East as part of the bargain. I seriously thought about taking it but in the end Billy talked me into staying a while longer. I was married now besides and had a good job with the Maxwells so it was kind of hard to just leave. Billy was making good money rustling horses and cattle at that time but I think the real reason he wanted to stay was that he was sweet on Pete Maxwell's sister, even though I'm sure Pete didn't want him coming around. Eventually they got tired of waiting. This time they made Pat Garrett a marshal and he sent us a letter asking us to leave the territory or he was going to come out after us. Tom O'Folliard came back around Christmas and we all decided we had better try to get Garrett first. Tom, as he was the best shot with a rifle, was riding point as we came into town and they shot him on his horse. Pat ordered him down but he said, I'm killed, I can't get down without help. He was dead before they got him to the ground. Then Tom Pickett got killed and we decided we better make tracks. Garrett set out after us with twenty men.

Now I'm almost at Pat and everything is real quiet. I hear someone calling my name from back in the cabin and as I look back I see a red line in the snow, straight as a razor going back there. I laugh and suddenly I'm glad they made me take that drink. I take a few more steps and fall into Pat’s arms. My guts     open up wet and slimy onto his new dungarees. Hi Pat. Hi Charlie. He's smoking a cheroot and he holds it to my lips. The smoke feels good filling my lungs instead of air. I let it out with my last breath and watch it fly up into the morning sky.

It's Been a Long Time (Since I Rock & Rolled)

One day my friend Donny called me with the idea that we should try to revive our failed music careers. I hadn't played the guitar in about five years and so I was pretty lukewarm on the idea.

Years earlier when I had finally moved out of my parent's house at the tender age of twenty, me and my friends were a pretty hopeless bunch of losers. I had dropped out of University and had no job experience beyond busing tables at a restaurant. About a day or two after moving out I felt an awful sensation where I was weak and my stomach hurt. It took about anther half a day for me to realize that it was hunger.

We were living in a basement suite in a house down by the railroad tracks in a suburb adjacent to the one where I had grown up. It was kind of a seedy neighbourhood and it was only a few months after we moved in that we were robbed and all my guitars and equipment got stolen. I never did play again after that until I got that call from Donny.

I finally agreed to a practice and went out and bought an old metal axe and an amp from a thrift shop. I went home to play and I was pretty terrible. I couldn't even hold some of the notes down cleanly. I persevered though and by the time I went over to Donny's I had recaptured a little of my old form.

Our practice space was the attic in Donny's three level apartment. His drums were set up and there was an extra amplifier for me so I didn't have to schlep mine over there. Our third band-mate was Ben, a good looking young lad from a rich family on the West side. He had hair that he had grown almost to his waist. Ben played base and keyboards, I played guitar and Donny was our drummer. Ben was a pretty decent musician and due to his influence we had put a few instrumental numbers together within a few weeks. We still didn't have a singer or any lyrics though.

Donny had a lot of connections in the Vancouver scene and before we knew it we were playing warehouse gigs and house parties. We also made what is perhaps the worst demo tape ever recorded. The backing music wasn't too bad but Donny's imitation of a punk rock singer was soooo awful. To this day I'm still kind of embarrassed that anyone heard that thing. Then, before we even had a singer we were booked to play at this huge club called Graceland for a comic book benefit that was going on there. To get ready for the show we had a couple of rushed practice sessions with this guy from Victoria who could sing pretty well, but he was just making the words up as he went along.

When the day of our big show arrived I was terrified. How could this go well? At least I had a good outfit. I was going to wear a black one piece woman's bathing suit on-stage with my hair slicked back like I was going to Sunday school. We were the opening band and so when the time came for our sound check we were low man on the totem pole. The sound guy seemed impatient and pissed off every time we asked him to change anything. I couldn't hear myself very well in my monitor and I asked him to turn it up but he just kept turning up the PA that was miked to my amp. By the time our sound check was done things were hopelessly fucked up. My guitar was so loud it drowned everything else out and when we started playing I couldn't hear anything any more except my guitar.

We limped through our set. It was so frustrating not being able to hear anyone that I became incredibly agitated. Thankfully we were so loud that people couldn't really tell what the fuck we were playing and everyone seemed to enjoy the show immensely, especially my bathing suit and they were all clapping us on the back going "good show!" afterwards.

Ben came up behind me. "Hey could you even here what I was playing?" I was talking to someone and didn't quite hear him. He hit me lightly on the back of the head with a rolled up tube of papers. I had been drinking since noon to get my nerve up for the show and I was in a really terrible mood because of how things had gone. Sometimes when I was really drunk back then, I would do terrible things and poor Ben was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I turned around and got him in a headlock. "There they go!" yelled the doorman enthusiastically (the same guy would later take off with all the door money that was supposed to go to the comic book). I thew Ben down on the ground and kicked him in the stomach, causing him to writhe in pain on the floor. I went outside and helped Donny load up the van.

"Where's Ben?"

I shrugged my shoulders sullenly.

We drove back to Donnny's place and he was glaring at me. When we got there he said "Could you even hear what I was playing!?" We argued for half an hour until I had had enough.

"Fuck this and fuck you Donny."

"What? Are you quitting?"

"Yes I'm quitting."

"Todd what are you going to do without this band? You have nothing going for you!"

"I'm going back to school in the summer."

"School!!?" he sounded like I had kicked him in the balls. "Look you don't have a job, you don't even have a girlfriend!"

"I'm temping and... Lauren."

"She's not really your girlfriend and besides Lauren's ugly."

"What do you mean she's ugly!?"

"She's sexy but, she's not very good looking."

"You just say that again you smug little fuck-head."

"What?"

"Fuck you."

I'm a pretty crappy fighter but Donny was even worse. By the time I backed off I was worried that I had killed him. He was lying on the floor his face a mass of blood and gore. That was the end of our band.

Margaret

There was a certain point in time where I was in the habit of going to parties in full drag, except for a wig sometimes. I make a pretty homely woman so I don't know what the attraction was. One evening, so attired, I went to a party at my friend Bill's place. He and some other friends were renting this big suburban house that everyone called the Brady House because it looked like the house from "The Brady Bunch". There was a real mix of people at the party including a bunch of these rocker dudes from Surrey who weren't quite sure if they should beat me up or not for wearing women's clothes.

About half way into things I met this really neat girl named Margaret. She was pretty but that wasn't really the thing about her. She seemed to have the force or something. I was fascinated by her. At one point I managed to drag her into the bathroom and we were necking in there and I was kind of pawing at her. Finally people who wanted to use the can broke in and we were interrupted. I lost track of her and wandered around. My lipstick was smeared all over my face which the rockers seemed to like. When I finally found Margaret she was talking intimately with Ron. Ron was far and away the best looking of all our friends and more or less had a monopoly on all the women. I had had enough of the party and shared a cab with Brian the punk rocker and his girlfriend. I said something obnoxious to him and he told me to fuck off in so many words.

The next time I saw Margaret was at a party at some other friends who lived in a house on a hill in Burnaby that had a great view overlooking East Van. I was feeling playful and tried to jump on the back of our friend Clara from a chair. Clara was a very large black girl. She had some kind of epileptic disorder that had the side effect of making her muscles very hard. Plus she was five eleven and easily three hundred pounds. When I landed on her back it was as though I had hit a brick wall. The air was forced out of my lungs and I fell straight downwards hitting my ankle painfully on a coffee table. Undaunted I jumped up. "I want to manage you Clara."

"What?"

"There's this new thing starting down in Nevada where people have these bare fisted brawls in an octagonal ring. I think you could mop up the floor down there."

"Fuck off Todd, please."

"Okay whatever."

Margaret and I started chatting out on the porch. There was a definite attraction and we moved down to the basement and sat on an old futon cushion. I can't remember if we made out or just talked. At any rate we agreed to have a date. I called her a week or two later and went over to her house with a case of beer. She was living in South Van with Aiko and Erin who I both knew and Aiko's girlfriend Sarah. We went to Margaret's bedroom which she had decorated to have this neat sixties look. She was a huge music fan and had a million records. I felt a little uncool due to my fairly limited knowledge of the latest alternative music.

We started talking and laughing and really hitting it off. We thought about going out but then decided against it. The sex seemed to sweep us up like a wave. My God that girl could fuck, it was actually like having a religious experience. I was on a high for days afterwards. She had grown her fingernails long recently and wasn't quite used to them yet. When I got home later my back was torn to shreds. I felt proud of my wounds as I felt we had hit some kind of sexual high water mark.

Margaret ended up dumping my ass a few months later. I don't know if she just got sick of me mooning around or it was something to do with my on-again-off again relationship with Lauren. Maybe a bit of both. I was devastated and Margaret would haunt my dreams for many months. She called me up a couple weeks later and asked me what I was doing. I guess it might have been a booty call but I was in no shape to go back in for more. We chatted for a while and then hung up the phone.