This is my entry for the memoir prompt about itching.

Itching for me is sore subject, because I itch constantly. My skin is not happy. I have tried to find out why, but no one has any concrete answers about why it does or how stop it. I have been diagnosed with everything from Lupus, to allergic reactions to dust mites, to sun poisoning and everything in between.

This is something I have learned to live with and is more of an inconvenience than anything. After years of dealing with it I have come to the conclusion that no one thing will work when it comes to making it stop. So, when I am having an itching spell I just keep trying different “cures” until I put the fire out. Sometimes it works, sometimes it just dulls it, enough to go to sleep.

But, let me tell a story about an itch you cannot put out.

Many years ago when I met Les, that’s my ex-husband, we decided to move to the Houston area and live on a boat. I did not anything know anything about boats. A couple of my uncles had fishing boats, but that was not my family’s cup of tea. So for a young country girl, this was very exciting. We jumped in the car and drove to the coast and found us boat.

It was perfect. A sleek, fast, little 23 foot Ranger sailboat. Wow, I had never been on sailboat. It had room for a very small galley area, and the bow was designed for two people to sleep. On each side was a settee and a small table that folded against the wall and dropped down.

This little boat had been for sale for awhile, so it needed some TLC. We began cleaning and scrubbing the mildew, doing minor repairs, and painting the interior to make it livable. After, a few weeks we have this thing sparkling. Above the waterline! Now comes the fun part.

Les called Captain Wick, who owned the local boat yard and made arrangements to have the boat out hauled to clean the bottom. The day came and we took the boat over and had it pulled out of the water.

It was hauled up on the shore with a specially designed crane and put on stands. There was one other sailboat in the yard, but the rest of the boats were big, huge shrimp boats. Our little boat was like a gopher mound surrounded by the rocky mountains. No worries, Les knew what he was doing.

You have never “lived” until you scrape the dead, dying and living barnacles from the bottom of a boat. The smell is something that I just cannot describe, and let me tell you, there were a bunch them. After being cut, sliced and over come by the aroma we got down to the hull.

All the time the work continued around us. Guys busy with scrapers, sanders, and grinders busily getting their boats in shape. There was a light breeze blowing and dust was flying all around. Les and I put on our gear to being sanding the bottom, long sleeve shirts, pants and dust masks. Les said this was necessary because we did not want to get the fiberglass on us. After working non stop from the time we got there until dark I was ready for bed. We climbed the ladder and went in to eat a sandwich and lay down.

Ahhh. Thank goodness that was over for the day. While eating I noticed the slight tingling of an itch, but by this time I was exhausted and really didn’t pay any attention to it. We ate and talked for a few minutes and climbed into bed. We were young then and so was love, so we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other.

I don’t think I need to explain this any further.

But! Let me tell you, this was a lesson in life. NEVER roll around naked in a boat yard! All that dust and fiberglass that come off those big, huge shrimp boats went into our boat. Holy shit! There were fiberglass splinters where fiberglass splinters were never meant to be. Everywhere! Talk about ruining the moment.

I have never itched so bad in my life. Burning, itching, cussing we were now out of the bed and scratching.

We couldn’t get away from it. It was everywhere. There were no shower facilities so jumping in the shower was out. We did find a water hose and tried to wash it off best we could, but that offered no real relief. The only way fiberglass stops itching is to wear off. I don’t think either one of us slept a wink that night. When the sun came up we were out there finishing the bottom. Les wanted to make it perfect, but I just wanted it to be over. One of the guys that was working on the big boats saw my discomfort and offered his advice to help. His advice was to take a cool shower and scrub down. Never up. Don’t scrub back and forth. Only down, so it would pull some of the fiberglass out.

We got the boat finished that evening and the next morning we headed back to the marina. Yes, we have to sleep another night in the boat yard. But, this time we went to bed fully dressed and itching. Not much sleep that night either, but when your body is exhausted you can catch a few winks.

When we got back to the marina and the first place I headed was the shower.

Now, if I even smell fiberglass I scramble to find the upwind side. That is one thing I would NEVER want to go through again.

To tell the truth I have debated with myself all week, whether I wanted to enter a story about missing a grade in school. After all, they always say, ”If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

So, after much consideration, I have finally come up with what I hope will be a summary of the events that led to this mindset.

I, like MiMi also went to school with a mean, hateful boy, that must be a prerequisite for kindergarten. The boy’s name was Charlie. The first weeks of kindergarten we all went home with black and blue chins. He was mean. It didn’t matter who you were. He would kick you in chins and spit on you, and despite the efforts of the teacher and this continued for weeks. My mom even went to the school ad demanded to know what was going. It didn’t help. He just kept kicking and spitting. My mom knew the morning I got dressed to go to school and put my cowboy boots on, that I had had enough. She fully excepted the a call from the teacher. The call never came, but needless to say our chins returned to normal, but the color of Charlie’s chins matched the black rubber of the swings.

This incident led to me having a reputation of, “Don’t mess with Kim.” I did not start any crap, but that didn’t mean I was going to take any either.

Everything went smoothly for several years, until the eight grade. Then a new girl moved to town from a big city and thought she had to throw her weight around. Everybody told her to leave me and my friends alone, but she just had to start it. Needless to say that led to a trip to the office. Blah…Blah…Blah.

Now, because of one incident, off campus, I was a trouble maker.

So, the questions I would ask in class would go unanswered and I was sent to the office. I can’t help the coach they brought in was stupid. He might have known about football, but he didn’t know shit about agriculture.

We lived several miles out in the country and my parents tried to let me play sports, but it really wasn’t practical to drive to town at 11 pm to pick me up after a ball game or something. This meant I was not on the basketball team and therefore had no future. The new teachers/coaches they hired were interested in one thing. Sports. If you weren’t on the team, you were nothing.

Now, it’s time for high school which is actually the story about missing a grade.

I can remember being excited about being able to “choose” our classes when we went high school. I dutifully checked the list and selected the things that would interest me. Science, calculus, advanced English. I am not sure why we even got to fill out the form, because what I got was basic math, basic English, and basic biology. If it was “basic” I got it. Did I mention that I was not on the basketball team?

Now, you are probably saying that a trouble maker like me didn’t have the grades for these advanced classes. I guess A’s aren’t enough if your not part of the team. If you got C’s but were on the team it was okay, because you had a future.

My dad even tried to appeal to school, but he was a ranch hand and therefore I had no future. No money for college meant; just do your time and leave.

I really can’t ever remember causing problems, just asking questions about things that we weren’t talking about at the time. No more fights, no nothing, just questions. I was an interruption to the rest of the class so therefore I was asked to sit in hall. Everyday, from class to class we would file in and get the overview of today’s basic lesson. Then, I would be asked to take my desk and sit in the hall and do my work out there.

I spent two years in that hall. Until one day I asked myself why was I even going to school at all?

Part 32 of the thrilling 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

“ We need to call the cops.” she stated.

“Then what?” Jake said.

“Then, we get the hell out of here.”

After talking it over, they decided a hazardous spill would create the quickest response from several different agencies.

Praying they would not shoot her in the parking lot, she walked inside to a payphone.

More tension filled writing comes from Kim Horton in her 31st installment of the 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

“What are doing?” Jake said, “These guys are playing for keeps. You need to get the hell out of here.”

Danny looked him dead in the eye and said, “ I think it’s too late for that. These guys don’t look too forgiving.”

“First thing we need is some breathing room to think,” Janie said.

We are up to part 30 in the 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

The three sat there in silence.

The car drove around and parked in view of the trucks.

Janie broke the silence,”I hate being watched, it just pisses me off.”

The two had been friends long enough to know what the other was thinking.

Talking like Jake wasn’t even sitting there, they started making a plan.

This is my entry for the memoir prompt; the history of nuts.

I would like to say first and foremost, I love nuts. No, not those crazy people you see on a daily basis, but real nuts. Pecans, walnuts, cashews, peanuts…..etc… I am not sure I have ever met a nut I didn’t like. (Sorry I couldn’t help myself.)

When I was very small we lived in my grandmother’s house in town. My dad had gotten a job with a very large ranch a few miles out of town. The pay for ranch hands back then was dismal to say the least, but part of the pay package is that this ranch offered housing as part of the salary. The only problem was that there were no houses on the ranch that were immediately available. After several months one became available.

I can remember when he came home with news about the house we were going to get to move into. There were mixed emotions, but we went to see the house. It was very old and in need of repair, but sat right on the bank of the river.

It was perfect. My mom and dad worked hard to get this house back into shape, and we moved in. We took many rides through the pastures and went fishing in the river, what great fun. Come the fall of the year my dad put a long bamboo pole in the truck a couple old bed sheets. He said we were going up the river. I didn’t really know why, but if daddy was going, I was going to. In fact everybody was going.

We drove a short distant up the dirt road and arrived at a place on the river bank covered with trees. We all piled out of the pick up and I could tell my granny was excited. She bent over and started picking something off the ground. It was pecans! Trees and trees of pecans.

Many, many years ago somebody had planted a pecan orchard and now it was absolutely beautiful. We picked up all the pecans under one tree and then my mom and granny spread the bed sheets on the ground. My dad would take the long bamboo pole, and thrash the pecans out of the branches he could reach. The pecans fell dutifully on to the bed sheets and I was supposed to pick up the ones that missed.

Granny and my mom would pull up the sheets by the corners and pour the pecans into feed sacks.

This went on from one tree to the next. We didn’t even make a dent in them.

When they decided we had enough we loaded them up and went home. Setting on the front porch we sorted out the leaves and hulls, and put the clean ones back in the sacks.

Just for those of you who may not know, the green outer shell of pecans will turn your hands BLACK. And, it doesn’t wash off, it wears off. After several feed sacks we all had black hands and it looked like we all had some strange disease.

Anyway, my granny would sit in her chair every night and crack the pecans, clean them and put them in old bread sacks that had been washed and dried. She would then take and put them into the freezer where they would patiently wait until mom would make something delicious out of them.

What great times those were.

I think I might just make a pecan today.

Part 29 of the 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

They all stared as the car circled the lot again.

Jake started apologizing, “I am so sorry. Sorry for everything.”

He handed her the guns and started to open the door.

“Wait! You can’t go out there. Those guys are going to kill you.”

“ I know, I just wish I knew why.” he smiled.

As Joe pulled up to the old school house he cut the lights. It was pitch black,” Perfect,” he thought. This would scare the girls real good, and before the night was over, he might just get lucky.

Jimmy was not so crazy about the whole idea, but Jimmy was crazy about Jenny. When Joe doused the lights she leaned into him even closer. Brooke on the other hand, was all for it. “Let’s go,” she said.

As they started to get out of the pick up Joe let out a banshee wail. Jenny jumped as if she were shot.

“I’m not going.” she told Jimmy.

“Come on, it will be fun.”

“ No! My dad told me never to come out here. If I would have known this is where we where going I would not have come.”

“Don’t be that way Jenny.” Jimmy whined.

“Stop being such a wimp.” Brooke said.

Joe chimed in, “Bock, bock, bock!”

Reluctantly she gave in and stepped out of the pick up.

The night air was hot and humid. There was no wind stirring at all, still Jenny felt the goose flesh ripple up her arms. Jimmy knew she was scared. He felt uneasy too, but he would never admit it to Joe.

The four of them made their way to the school house with a single flashlight. Once inside they saw the graffiti that lined the walls of the old building. Joe took out a can of paint started to write his name on the wall.

“STOP!” Jenny screamed.

“What now?” Brooke asked.

“Bad things happen to people who do that.”

Brooke rolled her eyes and said, “If we would have known you were going to such a crybaby we would have left you in town.”

“I wish you would have.” Jenny mumbled under her breath.

Jenny was from here, but the other three had moved here from out of town, and didn’t know the stories.

She stood there almost paralyzed, as Brooke wrote her name on the wall. They tossed the can to Jimmy.

“Don’t do it Jimmy, Please, Don’t “ Jenny pleaded.

He raised the can, but the look on Jenny’s face in the glow of the flashlight convinced him to toss it back to Joe.

“You guys are such pussy’s! Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid ghost stories about this place.”

“ So you do know the stories about this place, and you did it anyway?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Oh, shut up already!” yelled Brooke.

“I am going to check out the cemetery, come on Brooke.”

Once outside Joe and Brooke took the flashlight and started towards the cemetery.

Jimmy and Jenny started back to the pick up in the darkness.

“Damn it’s dark out here.” Jimmy said.

In the darkness he could see Joe’s flashlight and hear the hiss of the paint can.

Suddenly he felt something pass by him. Must have been an animal he told his self.

They were about half way back to the pick up when they heard Joe.

“ Whoa! What is that?’

They turned and looked. To their amazement they could see a green glowing light, hovering above the ground.

Jenny started screaming, “ Oh God! Oh God! It’s the light! Run!”

Before Jimmy could say anything, Jenny was at a dead run.

Jimmy heard Brooke say,” Hey Joe, let’s check it out.”

“ NO!” Yelled Jimmy, “Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Joe and Brooke started towards the light, then were stopped in their tracks when a voice from the light said,” Yes, Joe come on.”

“Who the hell is that?” Joe yelled. “If you losers are trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

He called out a dozen names of people he thought might have had a grudge against him.

No answer.

The light just kept getting closer and closer. Now, Joe was feeling uneasy and Brooke began backing up toward the direction of the pick up.

“ Come on Brooke let’s go.”

They started at a walk that quickly turned into a run.

Behind them they could hear the laughter of a bunch of people coming from the light.

When Joe turned his head to look, he tripped but quickly regained his feet.

Jenny was already in the pick up, and Jimmy was right behind her. Feeling the keys in the ignition she started the truck.

Jimmy was yelling, “Come on! Come on!’

The laughter stopped! As the light began to encompass Joe. They could see his silhouette in the light. As the light grew in intensity so did Joe’s screams.

After a minute the light dimmed and the screams stopped.

Brooke was running fast as she could and as soon as she jumped in the pick up Jenny gunned the truck. Gravel spewed from the tires until they finally found solid ground and the truck lurched forward.

The big engine roared as the truck continued to accelerate down the road. The speedometer was sitting on 90 and the green light was still gaining.

“ We will have to throw her out.” Jenny said calmly.

“ What?”

“ It is after Her,” Jenny said. “ It’s not going to stop until it gets what it wants.”

“ Oh! No way!” Jimmy said.

“ It’s the only way.”

The wrinkled hand trembled as the memory of that night came rushing back. Tears were streaming down her face as she held an old yellowed piece of newspaper. Her granddaughter ask why she was crying.

She had brought the scrapbook to make Grandma Jenny happy. She always loved the stories that Grandma Jenny told about Grandpa Jimmy. She thought the scrapbook would just add to the stories. Little did she know, that tucked into the back of the scrapbook was an old obituary about two teenagers who died over 60 years ago.

Grandma wiped the tears away and said, “ Just promise me you will NEVER go out to the old school house.”

The Long Road Home, the 55 word flash fiction series written by Kim Horton,  is seeing part 28 published now…

“I think a better question is who are you?” Jake said.

“You saved my life and I don’t even know your name.”

She thought about it and said, ” Janie, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

Jake started to reply but was cut off by Danny.

“Look. Your friends are back.”

“ I don’t know these people.”

The 55 word flash fiction saga, The Long Road Home, continues with part 27

Before she could turn around, Danny had Jake pinned against the trailer.

“Wait.”

“We need to get inside,” Jake said.

“Why?” asked Danny.

The words barely cleared his lips when the black Cadillac creeped slowly by them.

“That’s why!” answered Jake.

Once they all climbed into the rental truck, she asked again.

“Who are You?”

The 55 word flash fiction series The Long Road Home chimes in with part 26…

They parked and walked inside.

“You know he had to walk, he may not be here yet.”

The look on Danny’s face said it all.

He was going to give this guy a piece of his mind.

They walked out to their trucks, and as she opened the door, a voice behind her said “Hurry!”

The popular 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home, continues wit part 25…

With Danny’s help she was on the way.

He couldn’t imagine why anybody would be out in the desert getting shot at.

Danny would get an ass chewing for being late with delivery, but he was seeing this through.

Hours later they were pulling into the parking lot Charlie’s.

“Well, where is he?” he said.

This is my entry into memoir prompt about a time you slept outside.

Best I can recall the year was 1996. My husband had been told be had Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. Turns out that wasn’t the case, but we decided that all work and no play made Les a very dull boy.

So, we went out and bought a couple of motorcycles and went on whirlwind trip down the Texas coast.

Man, I had wanted a bike for years and this was my chance. There was no way I wasn’t going along with this one.

Yeah, we all dream of a beautiful Harley, but that really wasn’t in the budget. So, I settled for I Honda Rebel. Les assured me that it was a very good bike to learn on. I loved and trusted this man with my life, so I said, “Okay!”

The excitement was building as we gathered things for our trip; a small tent, Coleman stove, foul weather gear….etc.

Being nervous about not really knowing how to ride, I asked that we not ride in traffic, not at night, and not in the rain until I got the hang of it. He assured me this would be this would be nothing short of a wonderful relaxing experience. I knew better. I had been with him long enough know that he did NOTHING at a relaxed pace. For Les it was always balls to wall.

After a few basic riding lessons we packed up and headed out. Yeah! Out in traffic. Try learning how to ride a motorcycle on the 610 loop around Houston, Texas at 4:30 in the afternoon. What an exhilarating experience. White knuckle grip on the handlebars and heart pounding we made it out to the two lane.

Whew!

It was springtime, so the days were still pretty short. By the time we got to Galveston we had ended up riding in the dark. Figuring the worst was behind me, we dutifully set up camp. I was determined to have a good time. At least it wasn’t raining. Yet!

That came the next day. After riding several hours and getting one hell of a sunburn, the rain started slowly. It was a gentle sprinkle at first. Now, I don’t know how many of you that will read this story have ever ridden a bike in the rain, but on top of a 3^rd degree sunburn, a light sprinkle feels like cut glass piercing your skin.

We stopped and made camp. Okay, we got the three I don’t want to’s out of the way. It’s going to be clear sailing from here on out.

Maybe not! The rain continued at a steady pace. By the time we got to South Padre Island I was ready to stay there…..forever. I don’t know if there was apart of me that didn’t hurt.

We got a really nice campsite near beach, and decided we would stay here for a few days. Oh happy days are here again! That night the rain came down in buckets.

The next morning we awoke to a gray black sky that looked even more dismal than the day before.

After going for a walk and swim in the rain, we came back to the tent and relaxed. Well, relaxed as one could get with everything soaked.

The next day we decided to find a laundry and wash and dry everything. This was more like it. Shortly after arriving back at the tent the monsoon hit. Les went and ask the park ranger if we could move to higher ground in the campground. He said, “No.” We paid for that site for three days and that is where we had to stay. Les told him that in water was rising and we needed to move and he still said, “No.”

When the seagulls were literally swimming past the door of the tent I had had enough. We packed everything up moved to higher ground despite what mister “I’m in a nice dry shack said.”

That night the rain was relentless. The wind was blowing the tent over sideways. You could not sit up straight it was leaned over so far. The wind drove the rain through the outer shell and inner shell of the tent. There was no place to get away from it. All the while the lightning was striking everything in sight. The floor of tent rose in response to water underneath. The only thing holding it down was the stakes driven into asphalt.

The rain I can deal with, the wind an inconvenience, but the lightning was another story. I do not like to be out in the lightning. Les knew I had about all was going to tolerate. He went and asked the ranger if there was a motel nearby, and the ranger told him where the closest one was.

When the water was half way up the side of the engines on the bike, Les decided it was time to leave. We both got on his bike and headed to the motel, leaving everything else at the campsite.

The motel we found was one of those classy spring break motels. There were three different colors of linoleum on the floor, hair in the bed, and the sink and bathtub had stains would never be removed. Not mention the stalagmites of mildew hanging from the ceiling.

I have to say that it was the best motel room I have ever slept in!

Though this story may sound tragic to some, it was definitely a trip a will never forget. I smile every time I think about it, and have to laugh at the image in my mind of those seagulls swimming past the door of that tent.

Back for part 24 of the 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

After a fitful night, the sun finally rose.

The phone rang and it was Danny, letting her know he was about an hour away.

A series of calls secured a rental truck, and her truck repaired.

The calls to the insurance company would take much longer.

She could do that on the way to Charlie’s.

The Long Road Home 55 word flash fiction series goes 23 episodes deep with this installment from Kimsworld…

Jake walked as far as he could.

He should be at Charlie’s tomorrow.

Rummaging through his jacket, he found a half a pack of crushed, peanut butter crackers and a piece of jerky.

He really needed another backpack.

If people are going to start shooting at him again, it would take longer to get home.

Here it is, part 22 in the 55 word flash fiction series, The Long Road Home…

Part 20 of the popular 55 word flash fiction story  series, The Long Road Home, races in as the femme fatale gets more involved…

Her mind raced as the hot water ran down her body.

She would make all the necessary arrangements tomorrow.

Stepping out of the shower she knew she should eat, but right now, she wanted a drink.

The motel bar was small, but had the necessities.

“A shot of Jack,” she ordered as the bartender approached.

Part 19 of the popular 55 word flash fiction series by kimsworld, The Long Road Home…

As the officer started asking questions her mind drifted.

“Who was that guy? Why would somebody be out in the desert shooting at him?”

The officer interpreted her lack of attention, to shock. He went to his car, retrieved a blanket and tried to drape it on her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

The Long Road Home Part 18, the 55 word flash fiction series continues…

As she watched him walk into the heat waves, she wondered.

“Why did I just do that?”

The whole event had happened so fast.

She started to run after him and make him accountable, but as the border patrol agent stepped out of the car, she didn’t say a word.

He’d better be at Charlie’s.