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BUTCH HOLLIDAY · (11-07-2017)

"The strongest touch won't make me feel
The pain and suffering this darkness wields
I cry for sunlight within my nest
Beg for forgiveness so I can rest
I lay in discomfort and take my last swallow
Hoping that closing my eyes won't bring on tomorrow
Alone in this cell I still wander this day
Praying for the escape that only I delay
Circling and pacing and failing to see
That it was me all along who hid the key"

"Very good, Butch. Thank-you for sharing."

"Thank-you, Butch."

The audience chimes in as the man sitting behind me stands up and pats me on the back.

"Everyone can learn a lot for Butch here. You have to dig deep and express your inner-most feelings. Express what hurts you. What damage has been done. Butch lead us through his trials through rhyme. Thank-you, Butch. You can have a seat."

He pats me on the back again signaling to the chair I left empty only a few minutes ago. I make my way back as I'm instructed and have a seat.

I'm sitting alone. The rest of the sad saps around me left atleast two chairs in between them, too. You could tell between the people that truly belonged here compared to the ones that were just in for the slap on the wrist. The couple weeks of punishment because they spent too much time out and about and this never happens to me type of people. The ones that cried when they were arrested. The ones that were scared sobberwhen it all went down. The ones that called their mom's and dad's out that night to bail them out so they didn't have to spend the night.

Kudos to them. Kudos. Because, to be honest, it wasn't their fault. It was the judgement system for not being harder on all of us in the long run. Is that why I'm here, too? Maybe. But unlike these even sadder saps, I need this.

"Strength comes from within, people, but do not be afraid to reach out when you have to. Until next week."

I guess that means this thing is wrapped up. I don't really know what I get out of it, to be honest. Do I have a problem? Well, the first step is admitting that you do... So, maybe I do. Okay, I do. But coming down to this church basement every Tuesday night does more for me than any bar or companion could ever do. Call me shallow or hard up for optimism, but it's a little empowering coming down and seeing your future if you don't get a grip. I look around the room as the other sad saps gather up their few belongings and head for the door. I usually take my time on the way out, maybe I just feel the longer I stay closer to God he'll warm up to me more. I know, I'm silly, but what the hell, he works in mysterious ways, right?

I'm the last one out, just as I like to be, and I head out into the brisk cold that awaits me outside. It's November now, no snow yet, but it's still wet. I snuggle up in my hooded sweatshirt and begin marching to my next appointment.

That's all my life seems to be now... Appointments. I always seem to have some place to be. No matter what time of night or day it is, no matter what day of the month, I'm always booked somewhere. I do it to myself. My plates only so full and it seems like a lot of the times I'm overbearing it to the point where I'm scrambling to even know what the heck I'm doing. The say idle hands are the devil's workshop, so I keep my hands and mind occupied, I suppose.

It's not just the meetings in the church basement every Tuesday that are empowering, it's what comes every Tuesday and Friday. I'm on my way there now. Another basement, but far from the sancity of a church. A few short blocks away is a small hole in the wall where some of the devil's finest work is put out on display for everyone to see.

Outside I can smell the stale smoke lingering to the outside even through the heavy metal door securing the inside. The neon lights hum in the window, advertising some of the popular flavor's of the Devil's drink. I pull the door and enter the hazy atmosphere to be met by nearly every eye in the place. I walk up to the bar and rest my arms against it.

"Hey, Butch. How was the meetin'?"

I shrug and tap the bar with my forefinger.

"Coming right up."

Luke's a pretty cool dude. I've been coming here for years and always have a barstool empty, waiting for me. The place is a little dank, but it's been a better home for me than a lot of places. It works.

"Here you go, pal. One 7-Up on the rocks."

"Thanks."

He always jokes with me about my 7-Up with ice. The running gag of the sober guy coming into the bar to drink soda pop. I have bigger things to worry about than the old guy's stupid jokes about my problems.

"You feeling ready tonight?"

He asks me as he wipes up the bar beside me. I take a quick sip from the soda and look up at him.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"I sure hope so. I've got a lot riding on you tonight, big guy."

"Bet the house on me again?"

"Well, not the house, but let's just say I'll be in the dog 'house' if you don't walk away from this thing."

"I think you have a problem, man."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just get it done, capiche?"

The guy is everything but Italian, but I appreciate the lingo. I smile and nod to give him enough satisfaction to walk away from me. I wasn't in the mood for a pep-talk, especially if it come down to someone's house payment or whatever. I do what I do for me and my own satisfaction, not for a buck or two.

I sip at my 7-Up as the bar clears out around me, the few stragglers, as always, hang out in their own designated areas and wait out the night. Eventually, Luke does his last look around and begins shutting off the lights.

"Last call?"

"I'm good."

I sip down the rest of my soda pop and stand up from the stool.

"You're ready then?"

"Born ready."

"Great."

We make our way towards the back along with the other stragglers from the bar to an old wooden door. Luke pulls a key from his pocket and picks the lock on the hinge and pushes it open to darknes. Reaching over, he flicks on a light switch, which provides us with just enough light to make it down the old wooden stairs.

A thousand thoughts run through my head as my old, worn out boots make contact with the cold concrete floor at the bottom. Luke hits a series of switches at the bottom which illuminate the rest of the basement. In the center, is a chess board, complete with all of the pieces set-up and ready for a game, with two stools set up on each side of it.

"Alright, alright! Who's first?"

Glory.

Pompous. Over exaggerated. Pathetic.... Glory.

Who wants some?

Anyone?

That's why we're all here isn't it?

A trip to the big time.

A ride on Millionaire Highway.

At the very least a TASTE of glory.

I've chased some dreams before. I'm pretty slow though and dreams are really fast. Just when you think that sprint you did gained you some ground, you trip and fall in the mud. You look up and see your dreams cutting that corner and heading out of sight again. What do you do? Well, you get up and start running again and soon enough those dreams are in sight again. Just watch out for those pot holes. And mud puddles. And dog shit.

Set backs are great, actually. Keeps me in check, ya know? So with every speed-bump I hit and every jam I'm caught up in, I keep truckin' along like it never happened. It's not like those dreams are going anywhere. I can dream all I want and there ain't shit on a truck bed that anyone can do about it. If I say somethin's gonna happen, it's gonna happen. It may not be right now or tomorrow. Hell, it may not even be next week, but you can bet your bottom damn dollar that it'll happen.

I can't imagine anyone really caring that Butch Holliday is opening up Wednesday Warfare, but I'll say it is not for glory. I'm not here to feel good about anything. Win or lose, I'm still walking out the same monster. Win or lose I'm still going home.

Jamie Shapiro... I was like you once. Flamboyant. Fashionable. Fabulous. Let me give you some advice, champ, it all goes away. If you think your hips are going to hold out getting slammed around by Butch Holliday all night then you have another thing coming. If you think you can compete concussed after Butch Holliday plants you down with the Holliday Express, or two, than you also have another thing coming! We have doctors in the staff now and your ass will be benched for the season if they say so! We ain't out to hurt ya, no, no, no. But my move drops you on your head so it's going to hurt okay?!

My name is Butch Holliday and I am not an evil man. I do not belong in a cage. I will not hurt you. Tell me the glory you seek and I will step aside. With my bummed hip and these hands I am here to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I do.

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