A Funeral for Fayetteville

“”Happy birthday Mr. President, happy birthday…to…you

~Marilyn Monroe~

I have been listening to a lot of CD’s from when I was a teenager lately. Yesterday I was cranking out Mellow Gold, by Beck, when one of my both most favorite and self-damning memories came flooding in.

As with so many of these events I was with my best friend of 20 years now, Mandi. Her brother and his girlfriend were going to Fayetteville to play Putt-Putt. So we rolled some joints and begged Brandon, her brother, to let us tag along. After much bribing and promises of cleaning a bedroom (which would never happen) we were allowed to come along–if we paid our own way.

Geographically speaking, Fayett-Nam is only about a 45 min. drive from Carthage. We had to pass through two of the other small towns that made up our school system, Farm Life and Vass, and then spend a short time on the military’s reservation before getting to the ‘big city.’ I don’t know if you’re fans of the best damn cartoon ever, The Simpsons, or not but do you remember the episode when Homer and Ned marry the hookers in Vegas? When they finally kicked them out–the ladies held up signs on the edge of Springfield that read, “Fayetteville or bust.” There are more strip clubs per capita there than anywhere else in the Country. ~Mama, will you teach me how to ride that-there pool as good as you?~ Is a conversation I have heard when I lived there for a time.

But back to Putt-Putt. Brandon and his now wife Heather did not smoke weed so we had to hide down in the back seats so as not to get busted by The Man. We had way too much fun playing Putt-Putt together. Mandi was very lucky to have 5 older brothers who loved her and would just about do anything for her–I got to reap those benefits on many, many occasions. We went to Burger King afterwards, funny how you can remember those little details, before we left the parking lot we decided to smoke-out so that we wouldn’t have to hide while driving down the road.

We got stoned. Not that kind-bud stoned where you can’t tell whether or not you’re still alive. No, this was the dirty-brown, Mexican brick-weed that was popular in the boondocks. The kind of weed that you got a case of the chronic giggles not to be confused with actually getting to smoke The Chronic. And giggling is what happened. We were cruising down the road laughing so hard at our own stupid selves when we saw it.

Back-up, this was Clinton’s reelection year and if there’s one thing we know Clinton loves it’s whores. Oh, yeah, that and he was in town to talk to the 82 Airborne about what a bang up job they did blowing up all those brown folks over there *enter sarcastic sounding voice now.*

So we saw it–Clinton’s cavalcade! I have mentioned how those God-like rays that help me and my friends make our brilliant decisions–well, you guessed it, we saw them at that moment. We began screaming at Brandon to speed-up, get next to the black limousine with it’s flags fluttering in the wind!!! This is were the story changes from best to worst idea ever.

Mandi and I rolled down my window, leaned out, and began bagging on the widow screaming at the limo, “MR. PRESIDENT!!!” Much to our chagrin not only did the limo’s windows not come down–but those little fluttering flags came into better focus now that the God-rays had dissipated. They were’t Presidential flags, shit they weren’t even American flags, no they were something far worse.

Funeral flags.

The limo that we had just been banging on was that of a family of a fallen soldier. Mandi and I just melted into the floorboards of the car. Brandon fell back quickly and took some side roads for fear of getting arrested for disrupting a federal funeral. We were no longer stoned.

That happened in the Spring of 1995 it is now 2012 and I still feel like the biggest asshole whenever I think about this.

Mandi went on to join the Air Force. She has fought for this Country so I think she has earned her pass on this mistake. I on the other hand still feel a level of guilt that can only be described as something much like that of “White Guilt.” Every once and a while I think about writing into the Fayetteville Observer and give an

apology to that family. Not only did their son/daughter die in the line of duty but this dumb bitch had the audacity to ‘prank’ them.

My version of: Shock And Awe.