Issue #11
In Transition
Cold. Eleven below zero. I sit in a hotel room in Waterloo, Iowa. I figure I have about a thirty-six-hour lead over my former friends. They woke yesterday morning and found me gone. And the money as well. Forty thousand five hundred dollars, to be exact. Minus ninety for the hotel room and a few dollars for snacks and gas along the way. We robbed a bank in northern Florida four days ago. Killed the manager and a security guard. Johnny did, I should say. But we'll all be blamed. Probably get the electric chair. Johnny has never been one to control himself. Always going off the deep end and doing something stupid. We are all over the news in northern Florida. Hasn't made it to Iowa yet. TV stations are broadcasting Johnny's picture everywhere. Seems he was stupid enough to take off his mask after he shot the manager. I knew I had to leave my buddies behind if I was going to come out of this thing alive. I came north because I knew they would never think to look for me up here. They probably think I'm heading for Mexico or one of the islands. They know how I would always complain about cold weather. Swearing I would never live in a place with snow. When I hit Nashville, I called the Jacksonville pigs and ratted out Johnny. I've always hated the way he treated Maggie. If she had been my girl, I would have treated her like a queen. Would have held her in my arms and kissed her sweet lips. I aim to make it to Edmonton, Alberta, and hide out until this whole robbery bit blows over. I once had an uncle who lived up there. Said it was cold enough in the wintertime to freeze the hair on your ass. I figure I will find me an ugly woman to shack up with. Live off her money and give her the love and attention she craves. Come spring, I'll head back south. Maybe California or New Mexico. Man, it is cold outside. Eleven below. And they say it's colder in Canada. I wish I was back in Florida drinking beer. And I would be if it wasn't for Johnny and his stupidity. I think I'll sleep a while longer before I hit the road.
Notes
I wrote this poem on January 31, 2004, during a business trip to Waterloo, Iowa. The temperature when I arrived at the hotel was minus eleven degrees.
I am what is known as a discovery writer. I start writing without an outline or plan. Plotters are writers who plot everything out before they start writing. There is no right or wrong way to write; it is just different. In this poem, I started with the temperature and the hotel room in Waterloo. Both of those facts were true. Everything else was the magic of creative storytelling. I discover what the story is by writing it.
Since yesterday was my 76th birthday, I wanted to share a poem I wrote on my birthday in 2018. These words are even more true today than when I wrote the poem.
Thanks for reading, and have a great week.