Keeper Of The Birds Of Heaven

While I trying desperately to find a way for falling asleep, much the same as one would count sheep's..
I had a strange dream about the fact that money was soon changed and, all the problems it caused for those in the past.
The cold, wintry day started out innocently enough with a stop for a hot drink to go and, while waiting for my change back..I decided on the spur of the moment to spend a dollar on a lottery chance.
Now it just so happened (I was to find out later) the drawing was for 347 million dollars~ Several days went past and, it was all but nearly forgotten until the sound of the buzz was heard. The sound was growing loudly across the land, someone had won this week's drawing~ Hmmm, I wondered who this lucky person could be?
Upon checking my number (by going to the web site) for the weeks state lottery drawing, I was to discover that I had won~! I was of course sleeping...None of this was real or was it?
COLUMBIA PICTURES WAS NEVER THIS GOOD~!!
In my dreams within dream, it seemed, I was able to transverse time at will, both into the future or, more often backward into the past..The past, because of unfinished business in the 20Th century.
You see, I wasn't finished with the 20Th century quite yet even so, it seemed time had licked me into the 21ST century with no mercy toward my wishes. Be that as it may, I decided to make the best of both centuries.
Having won such a huge amount of monies allowed me such freedom to attempt at resetting a few courses left in the past.
On one of the many outreach trips, the trail were mended and, lives repaired for a chance encounter in the future. I sought to purchase the gold on the world's market
(at the then current price of 32$ per troy ounce) for the purpose of bring it into the 21ST and resell at the highest price to that date.
The latest trip back in time found me carry large suitcase amount of currency for real estate purchase..
While sitting down at the closing table with the Realtor, it broke upon the conversation the sanity and, safety of using currency. A wire transfer from the future? No one had heard of such action.
The bank issued a statement that all transaction was suspended until the current investigation was completed. It seemed that the U.S Treasury Department was involved as well..
What was the problem with the purchase? The nightmare within the dream was, Just buy the land..with the currency I had with me.
With a extreme cold chill, it dawned upon me..The currency was real money from the 21ST century~!!
All of the future's money had such extreme measures invoked into it's designs. Compare if you will, the center piece offset, the security lines built into the design which were not even needed in the 20Th century on the whole..
As I sit here, writing this, you will understand my current encampment and, untimely predicament??

Of course, this is just a dream~!! or is it??

It was mid-summer, my younger brother, Don, and I had dreamed up many money-making ventures such as cutting grass and picking blackberries. Fishing for catfish became one of the most lucrative of these, and the funds generated from this activity were saved in a old jar labeled and designated as "fun money".
The Summers of South Carolina promised two things. Foremost, the sun hung unmercifully directly overhead, and, contrary to preconceived notions, the mid-day heat came not at noon but as early as eight o'clock. We would get up early, even before the morning had lost the coolness of the previous night. but, often as the case was, by the time we had gathered up our bait, fishing pole, and our lines and nets, by the time we had walked several miles on hot, sizzling asphalt, the heat of the day was upon us already and it was barely eight o'clock. Another typical, hot Charleston summer day.

The walk to the pier took us past the home of one of our closest neighbor. She was an attractive young woman, in her early twenties. To us she was a woman of the world with all the womanly attributes--like good-looking tits, a nice ass, and shapely, long legs. Her husband was absent, in the navy and, often away aboard ship, so she frequently came over to our house to spend the evening playing cards with us. Sometimes, when we would play Monopoly. it lasted well into the wee hours of the morning.

On one of these long evenings, our young neighbor looked at me and, with a slight twist of her head, asked, "Do you know how you can tell when a guy has been masturbating?"

Shocked and, at lost for words, at the turn of the conversation:
I admitted my ignorance in this matter, laughing at my flushed face, she informed me, "You can always tell because they have zits."

Being somewhat afflicted by this common teenage malady, Don and I were rather surprised by this statement. Later, we discussed why anyone would say something like that in front of people who obviously displayed some problem with acne. We wondered who she had in mind, specifically, since neither of us suffered as severely as another neighbor who had zits from ear to ear.
We separately and together contemplated our neighbor's bizarre conclusion and reached our own conclusion that she had confronted us with this statement being motivated by a desire for a sexual encounter. Thus, we walked to the fishing pier, pretending we were in the deserts of Death Valley playing games with the shimmering illusions of the mirages created for us in the intensifying heat of the morning.

The fishing pier offered no relief from the stifling heat, as the humidity rising from the surface of the water enveloped us, making us feel as though we were in a sauna. The wood of the pier was saturated with creosote as a preservative and the sun's heat caused the black, tarry substance to seep out of the wood and stick to our shoes. This also made it necessary to carry newspaper to sit on to protect our pants as we sat with our legs dangling over the side of the pier as we fished.

The pier sat low over the water, relatively close to shore with tall marsh reeds showing in the background. We soon discovered a fishing spot that turned out to be a gold mine--a mother lode of catfish. Our catch went into a bucket filled with water from a faucet nearby to keep it fresh from the heat of the day. It was best to cover the pail to shade the fish from the effects of the sun but not to cover them too tightly creating a steaming kettle.

On many occasions, the oppressive heat of the day made the water look so inviting that we were tempted to go swimming. However, we knew that the water presented a deceptively pristine image, because just under the surface of the sparkling water lay a broken sewer main. This was why this spot was so rich in catfish. The fish abounded there because of the ever abundant supply of food for them. Lord, how they loved that spot. They really grew big. They must have just planted themselves in one spot and sucked up everything that came by, because they were gigantic monster of catfish.
The first time we fished there, it was for the pure pleasure of fishing, just to see how many fish could be caught. Starting for home with our full bucket of fish weighing more heavily with each step, we wondered what should be done with our catch. Knowing where they had been caught, we had no desire to eat them. Luck with us, our path took us past an old fish market housed in a single story, long, narrow clapboard building weathered silver by time and the elements. It had a high false front and an overhang like an awning held up by chains and sheltering the doorway over the sidewalk. A faded hand-painted sign high on the false front indicated that this was Nat's Fish Market. A rusty screen door was held in place by a single nail bent over. This rickety door inhibited the progress of the flies very little.

Inside the market was a long narrow aisle between homemade counters heaped with ice and displaying the catch of the day. There were elevated walkways behind the counters to accommodate the owner's service to his customers. Bare rough planks, worn smooth by the passing of many shuffling feet, creaked underfoot. The interior was lighted by a couple of low-wattage bulbs hanging from the ceiling on cords and topped with round metal shades. Nat's Fish Market was a cool, dark, cave of a place with a ripe fishy smell--fresh mingled with not so fresh--that indicated a long history in the fish business

As we passed the market that day, Nate himself stepped out from the shadows to examine the catfish we had caught. He asked us if we would like to sell them. Since we knew that no one in our family would eat them, we thought it would be a great joke to sell them to him. He offered us fifteen cents a pound and said he would take everything in the future we could catch. Thus began our fishing business venture. We quickly replaced our water pail with a big galvanized washtub. On many occasions, a washtub filled with fish would earn us from fourteen to eighteen dollars for our morning's efforts.
Quite often when we caught our limit, the limit being what two boys could carry between them, we started out for the fish market with a lot of water in the tub. As we progressed, Don began tipping water out of the tub. A race developed as we tried to balance the effects of the heat on the fish with the benefits of the decreasing weight of the water--tipping water out, but still keeping the fish alive. Later, the load was shifted to a Red Flyer wagon pulled by hands.

The fish money went into a jar that Don and I kept in our bedroom on our dresser. It was a communal property that we decided was to be used for fun. A lot of hard work had gone into catching the fish, and the joke was on the fish market for buying sewer cat fish. So, between us, we made a pact to use the money for fun things like going on a date, to the movies, bowling, or going once a week to a club to dance. Most of these activities didn't require or cost much in terms of money. The movies we went to would cost a dime, the bowling alley only a quarter, and when we went dancing, the only things to be purchased were a ticket to get in and, the drinks for our date. So, it was obvious to us that something strange was going on when one day we noticed our jar had taken a quantum leap toward depletion.

After realizing we were missing small amounts of money that neither of us was taking, we begin to keep an accurate account of just how much was in the jar and who took what. Still, we were coming up short sometimes by five, seven or ten dollars. It seemed like this deficit in the "Fun Money" jar always coincided with a visit from our neighbor. One evening when she was there visiting, I had gone to the bathroom and, upon coming out I saw a quick movement out of the corner of my eyes. Going into our bedroom to investigate, I discovered her set of house keys left on our dresser near the money jar. The top was off the jar.
The night's activities continued without so much as a word from my lip about the incident.
Wee early in the morning, just before daybreak, we broke up the game and, everyone departed for bed.
I waited around a few minutes as;
I gathered up enough courage that morning to go to her house, to confront her with this evidence. Not knowing what exactly to say or do. For a 15 yr old, this was heady stuff.
When I arrived at her cottage, she was just standing there by the front door..waiting.As I showed her the keys, she begin to cry and shake, uncontrollably. I opened her door and she then invited me into her home and the living room. As we were talking and sitting on the couch, she tearfully confessed that, Yes, she had been taking various amounts of money over time. She needed money for buying food and for paying her rent. She said, Her husband, it seemed, was always in debt with his gambling losses. She tearfully asked if I were going to turn her over to the police as she had taken what amounted to a considerable sum of money over this period of time. I quickly assured her, I had no intention of revealing her secrets to anyone.

As I put my hands on her knee to comfort her, I felt a scar and asked her about it. Seems that her husband also abused her. She asked me if I would like to see them and processed to take lift up her top to show me. I had never seen scars like that before on a woman's breast. While slowly touching them, I looked her in the eyes and explained to her about the pact Don and I had made committing this money to the pursuit of fun throughout the summer. There were no serious intentions in our saving the "Fun Money". It was there to be used in a carefree way. I told her about the early morning fishing trips, about catching tons of catfish grown enormous in size by feeding off sewage, and about our private joke in selling them to Nat's Market. We both laugh.
Slowly she stood up, holding my hands firmly against her breasts. We walked slowly backwards through the bedroom's doorway as if we were floating on air.
The sweet fragrance of honeysuckle filled the air as we both tore each other's cloths off, laughing together, sinking onto her fresh smelling bed in each other's arms, lips locked. That moment, the love shared and learned has always been one of depth, caring and consideration for the other person.

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This is dedicated to the memories of my wonderful brother who died much too soon and yet, not a day earlier than he would have wanted. July 25, 1984.