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Tales From<br />

Wilton Manors<br />

Zine<br />

8 (<strong>2015</strong>-<strong>09</strong>)

The Mind Is A Terribly Easy<br />

Thing To Waste (Final Part 3)<br />

– Short Story Series by<br />

FishSpit The social worker<br />

had interviewed Bess (and me<br />

a little bit), and gone off to find<br />

a spot in one of our<br />

overcrowded psyche wards.<br />

Too many lunatics! What<br />

irked me was that no one ever<br />

came in to give us a little peak<br />

into how things stood. What<br />

was still more irksome was<br />

listening to a flock of doctors<br />

and nurses out there that had<br />

nothing to do but shoot their<br />

gobs off about stupid shit and<br />

fuck around. Waiting for the<br />

burn victims to pour in I guess.<br />

But when you are on a<br />

bummer (and I was the only<br />

one on a bummer now . . . Bess<br />

was in Ativan bliss), and you<br />

are just supposed to be with<br />

your gal on a 4 th of July, it’d<br />

been nice if a nurse would of<br />

poked her mug in every hour<br />

or so to tell us where we

stood . . . how things were<br />

going. I decided to go out to<br />

the giggling gaggle of nurses<br />

and docs to ask about it all.<br />

Jesus! What a stink eye I got!<br />

You’d think I’d just asked<br />

them for shot of morphine!<br />

“Who the hell was I?” “Some<br />

sort of trouble maker<br />

certainly!” “An impertinent<br />

bastard!” That’s what I saw in<br />

their eyes. Then this<br />

goddamned uppity broad<br />

nurse says to me, in a stern<br />

voice as if she were<br />

addressing a hydro encephalic<br />

hoodlum child, “Chuck is<br />

trying to find your friend a<br />

bed! He’s doing his best!<br />

You’ll just have to be<br />

patient!” Well, “fuck you too,<br />

nurse snappy puss!” What I<br />

should have said went unsaid,<br />

and my belief that a person is<br />

a person in a hospital and has<br />

a right to ask a goddamned<br />

question was shot down and<br />

so I slunk back to my room . . .

chastised. Back to my little<br />

chair in my little corner . . .<br />

God what a drag! Hours later<br />

(hooray hoop whoop!), a bed<br />

was found. It was in the next<br />

hospital over! Ha ha! 20 feet<br />

away! Just a push shove and<br />

Bess a bed was now in a<br />

ward . . . and I finally got to go<br />

home to my gal. But this was<br />

just the beginning of my week<br />

long adventure of Bess being<br />

locked away. Bess has been in<br />

the mental health system all<br />

her life. Literally! At the age<br />

of two she was in a car that got<br />

creamed on the highway and<br />

she suffered serious brain<br />

damage. Nothing had been<br />

right since. 40 years later!<br />

Soft in the head! Her<br />

apartment, since she was a<br />

hoarder and never got rid of<br />

anything, had decades of pill<br />

bottles in it . . . filled, empty,<br />

partially filled . . . old and new.<br />

It was a regular pharmacy.<br />

And I like pharmacies! I like

to do a little sampling of all the<br />

goods. See where they’d take<br />

me! I had no computer access<br />

so most of the time I didn’t<br />

know what the hell I was<br />

taking. I’d just pop a few pills<br />

from a bottle and see where I<br />

went. I spent most of the week<br />

in that apartment, with them<br />

three cats, going up, down,<br />

and sideways . . . sometimes<br />

turning into a tongue chewing<br />

babbling idiot . . . sometimes<br />

bouncing zing zong about the<br />

apartment. And the cats<br />

watched in awe. What made it<br />

all the more weird was that<br />

Bess would call every day<br />

because she still needed<br />

something. Half a dozen<br />

suitcases filled with her shit<br />

and she still needed<br />

something! The first night the<br />

pillows and blankets weren’t<br />

right there at the ward . . . so<br />

the next day, after popping a<br />

handful of her Adderall with a<br />

mix of Pregabalin, I headed

down to the hospital to chat<br />

with her and bring her a pillow<br />

and blanket. I remember I was<br />

dressed real suave that day,<br />

and I think this nurse had her<br />

eye on me. She was awful<br />

kittenish. But . . . hell . . .<br />

well . . . maybe it wasn’t an<br />

amorous eye . . . maybe it was<br />

a watchful one . . . as if, “Jesus,<br />

this guy belongs in here too.”<br />

I won’t go all soppy poofterish<br />

on the beauty of how nice it is<br />

to leave a place when the poor<br />

other bastards can’t. But<br />

that’s freedom! And I don’t<br />

mind going to psyche wards if<br />

can leave at will. I actually<br />

enjoy it. I’d return to Bess’s<br />

condo and my three pussy<br />

cats, and I’d get more twisted<br />

and the next day a call would<br />

come from Bess. I was on pills<br />

that I had no idea what they<br />

were . . . by now I had a system<br />

and a color code for what pills<br />

took me up . . . which pills took<br />

me down . . . and which pills

took me to the moon. I’d mix<br />

the uppers and the downers to<br />

hit “just right.” Simple, nonpill<br />

poppers, think uppers<br />

cancel downers and viceversa<br />

. . . no . . . they work on<br />

different plains, giving you an<br />

even keel on a higher plain . . .<br />

an even better “even” than<br />

anything reality can supply . . .<br />

and, of course, it has nothing<br />

to do with a spiritual plain . . .<br />

just a “high” higher plain. But<br />

the calls kept coming. The<br />

next day Bess needed<br />

detergent because she was<br />

allergic to that used at the<br />

ward. Off I went with the new<br />

detergent. The next day she<br />

needed her lipstick case . . .<br />

which when found had 57<br />

lipstick tubes . . . a hoarders<br />

lipstick treasure . . . some had<br />

to date back 20 years. And the<br />

pills were being a popped and<br />

the calls kept coming! The<br />

next one? Oh . . . they weren’t<br />

giving her enough Suboxone

at the ward! Would I bring som<br />

about it? Make sure none of the s<br />

to her as we had a nice chat abo<br />

still to suicidal to come home and<br />

a few more days. Tim, Fi Fo Fum<br />

food and pets . . . when they l<br />

experimentations . . . in that we<br />

with decades of stuff that Bess<br />

was only one clear spot in the<br />

available to sit in. Again, like in<br />

to a tiny chair in the tiny corner<br />

come to its end. Bopped up on b<br />

ward when they’d discharged h<br />

bottles of pills to add to her col<br />

reader . . . two fuzz brains return<br />

I left Bess to drool in her corner o<br />

filled with different pills so I co<br />

got home. But let’s not leave you<br />

of such whackadoodle pillsoma<br />

might beloved peruser . . . and yo<br />

let’s look in to the future just a<br />

and my vileness. It ended! Yes d<br />

today I am clean and sober. Don<br />

been made . . . and now I regular<br />

psyche ward and do right by her<br />

It’s just so damned hard to fin<br />

hoarder’s treasures, so I can mak<br />


e? And would I be extra sneaky<br />

taff knew. Sure! I slipped them<br />

ut how they’d decided she was<br />

wouldn’t I care for the cats just<br />

, and Rumsie got their tuna, cat<br />

et me . . . and I continued my<br />

ird apartment . . . overflowing<br />

just wouldn’t get rid of. There<br />

entire apartment . . . one chair<br />

the urgent care, I was relegated<br />

. Like all things, insanity must<br />

op pills I picked up Bess at the<br />

er. There she was with 7 more<br />

lection. So ends my story dear<br />

ing to a jungle of an apartment.<br />

n her only chair . . . my pockets<br />

uld keep experimenting when I<br />

my sweet reader on such a note<br />

nia. Judge me as a fiend you<br />

ur judgments are justified. But<br />

bit and see what became of me<br />

ear reader . . . I found sanity . . .<br />

’t touch the stuff! Amends have<br />

ly take that nut case Bess to the<br />

, Tim, Rumsie, and Fi Fo Fum.<br />

d those cats in the stacks of a<br />

e sure they get their Friskies and

Catholic School Boys In Trouble<br />

(Part 7) – Short Story Series by<br />

Brett Butler Pickles was head over<br />

heels in love. He and Louis did<br />

everything together. Louis even<br />

taught Pickles how to play softball.<br />

I was a total spaz in that<br />

department and Jordan had<br />

become my personal trainer. He<br />

was going to make me a sportsman<br />

before the summer was over. I<br />

couldn’t fight my feelings for him.<br />

Maybe it was because Pickles was<br />

so in love and I wanted the same. I<br />

e-mailed Luke, but he seems to be<br />

MIA. So as Jordan taught me how<br />

to hold a bat, my feelings were<br />

going to burst. Even in sweats he<br />

looks good. I could hear Pickles<br />

warning me not to go for him and to<br />

wait for school to start to see about<br />

Luke. But it was the air, the birds,<br />

and may I dare say, the smell of<br />

Jordan’s sweat.. I even made<br />

myself sick as I dropped the bat<br />

and ran back to the bunk. I lay in<br />

my bunk so confused and wanting<br />

Pickles’ help, but I knew I needed<br />

to trust my own feelings. Luke was<br />

a god and Jordan was the devil. I<br />

took a cold shower and walked into

the bunk in just my towel. Jordan<br />

came in and grabbed me. We<br />

started to kiss. I wanted to push<br />

him away, but I couldn’t. We fell<br />

on top of the bed, he took off his<br />

shirt, and we kissed again. Then I<br />

heard Pickles yell “Oh my god,”<br />

with Louis standing next to him. I<br />

pushed Jordan to the floor. I<br />

pleaded, “it’s not what you think”,<br />

as I adjusted my towel. “Really<br />

poppy, it looked like you two were<br />

going to do it”, Louis said as he<br />

made hand gestures. Jordan stood<br />

up. I could tell he was<br />

embarrassed. “It was horse play.”<br />

Pickles put his hands on his hips.<br />

“Horse play with your tongue<br />

down his throat?” “Yeah, I need a<br />

shower”, Jordan said as he grabbed<br />

his shirt and ran out of the bunk.<br />

“Oh sweetie, I can’t leave you<br />

alone for a minute”, Pickles said as<br />

he walked over and sat next to me<br />

on the bunk. “We’ve got a word for<br />

boys like you were I come from.<br />

It’s called puta,” Louis said and<br />

left the room. I felt awful and<br />

confused. Should I have my<br />

summer of love with Jordan, or<br />

fight these feelings and wait till I

see Luke Roberts when school<br />

begins. Jordan came back to the<br />

bunk in shorts, with no shirt on<br />

and his black hair combed back.<br />

Pickles was like a mother bird<br />

protecting her eggs. “You need to<br />

stop playing my friend,” Pickles<br />

said fixing his hair. Jordan came<br />

over to us. “Why don’t you let<br />

Blair decide what he wants?” I<br />

looked down at the floor. Jordan<br />

bent down and looked into my<br />

eyes. “Me and you, lunch alone,<br />

and it’s a date”, he said and left<br />

the bunk. “Oh god sweetie, you<br />

can’t go on a date with him. He’s<br />

trouble and you are so close to<br />

getting Luke.” I stood up.<br />

“Thanks for the advice, but I am<br />

going on this date, and I ain’t no<br />

puta.” I got dressed as Pickles fell<br />

against the bunk beds in shock<br />

from my decision. Louis entered<br />

the bunk and ran over to Pickles<br />

to help him up. “What did you<br />

do, puta,” Louis said giving me<br />

the evil eye. I got dressed and<br />

walked outside. For the first time,<br />

I was enjoying my summer at this<br />

camp. Next time: Luke Roberts<br />

shows up at the end of camp.

Father of The Year (Part 3) –<br />

Short Story Series by Brett<br />

Butler As I’ve mentioned<br />

before, I have been single for a<br />

very long time since my<br />

partner is now gone. Now I<br />

don’t live in a cave or anything<br />

like that. I have gone out on<br />

some coffee dates, even to<br />

dinner, and on a very rare<br />

occasion, and I mean rare, a<br />

one-night stand. It’s hard to<br />

date when you have a twelveyear-old<br />

son. I would like to<br />

find that Mr. Right again and<br />

spend, I dare to say it, my<br />

golden years with him as I<br />

watch my son grow up and<br />

start his life. I was invited to an<br />

Art Show and I took my son,<br />

because he has started to paint<br />

and seeing other artist’s work<br />

inspires him. As we toured the<br />

show, I bumped into an old<br />

friend that I had not seen in<br />

years. I must say, I was<br />

attracted to him. We had dated<br />

before I met my partner. We

talked and laughed and I wanted<br />

to ask him out. How strange<br />

though, I felt like I was in high<br />

school and I really don’t have any<br />

game plan to snag him, and I was<br />

also scared of being rejected.<br />

Afterwards, my son grabbed me<br />

and pulled me away from<br />

everyone. He was upset. I asked<br />

what was wrong and he told me I<br />

should have asked that guy out on<br />

a date. I told him that I was sure he<br />

was not interested in me, but my<br />

son told me I was blind and that<br />

he was totally checking me out. I<br />

told him he was wrong, so he<br />

gave me this simple bit of<br />

wisdom. “This is why you are<br />

alone, because you don’t go out<br />

on dates, Dad,” and he walked<br />

away. Damn, that kid is smart.<br />

This is yet another reason that I<br />

won’t be Father of The Year.

Our Other Publications:<br />

Welcome Tales From To The Wilton Doll<br />

Manors House Zine (Free)<br />

eBooks For Sale:<br />

1. Valley of The Barbies<br />

(An Original Screenplay)<br />

by Brett Butler<br />

2. The Adventures at<br />

Toxic Beach (Attack of<br />

the Killer Eddies) by<br />

Brett Butler<br />

3. The Rhythm of Youth<br />

by Brett Butler<br />

4. (Coming Soon)<br />

Alternative Nation<br />

by Brett Butler<br />

Buy from:<br />

Buy from:<br />

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com/<br />

talesfromwiltonmanors.weebly.com/<br />


Writer/Self-Publisher:<br />

Brett Butler<br />

Editor/Webmaster:<br />

Eric Schleicher<br />

Visit our Website:<br />

for Color/Print Version of<br />

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Contributors:<br />

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Anonymous<br />

Poems, Poems, Short<br />

Short Stories, Stories, Art,<br />

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Photography,<br />

Feedback are<br />

welcomed.<br />

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