This contest called for entrants to "write about the worst fear that you've ever faced." As an unloved and irrecoverable twelve year old there were many I encountered at the tenderest age of my youth.

Each gravitational pull of these sidewinders wrenched more havoc upon me as this mudlark scavenged a meager existence out of whatever discarded bric-a-brac trickled down to Hermitage Hall from the hovel and squalor of the slum confines of Nashville.

For those who may not recall from my autobiography Unwanted Dog, previously posted here on FanStory, Hermitage Hall supposedly held an esteemed reputation for boys with no place else to go. At least, that was their "immaculate" public facade. Perhaps this misguided supposition had been made on limited evidence and required further investigation?

Believe me, you would not get that same hypothesis from any of us miscreants who were unfortunate enough to be encased like sardines in a crumpled up tin can in the joint. However, being a mudlark was not my biggest fear.

That provocative incident transpired in a crowded Walmart parking lot one blustery afternoon.
Tempestuous gusts of wind appeared to emanate from whirling clouds overhead. Good thing I did not wear a hat. These winds brought to mind the volatile Euroclydon sailors vouch can hurl ships onto the shores of distant islands.

On the apocalyptic day I first encountered Dusty West, Walmart meant lots of hurried shoppers with plenty of cashola. When have you ever known the establishment not to? I held no doubts my emitted little boy charms would obtain me some green from any number of targets.

Most often faked, my sad puppy dog eyes and polite manners offered an irresistible persona. When flashed, the facial expressions displayed unsophisticated naivety and mysterious longing. My sad puppy dog eyes routine always made it near impossible for anyone they fell upon to resist their requests.

I observed several prospects kibitzing random conversations as they placed store-bought wares into a myriad of assorted vehicles. My concentration focused on the number of bags they removed from their buggies, the noticed conditions of their rides, and how nattily they were attired. I saw no reason to waste my efforts on quarry I deduced possessed nothing to offer.

A mid-twenties mother with two diapered twin terrorizers still seated in her cart? Nope. At least one of them required an immediate change in Huggies. An eighties-something looking little old lady with pink curlers in her hair shuffled along in meticulous granny steps. She tugged a shawl tight around her shoulders. I must confess, for a mere instant the thought entered my mind. Then, I designated my bullseye.

The recipient I selected had an overflowing cart full of groceries he separated and placed in wooden crates in the eight-foot bed of his powder blue F150 pickup truck with its three-piece forged drag racing wheels. In all reality, the SuperCab caught my attention first, as I recall.

I sized him up and down to form an opinion of the fashionable social climber. Fortunate for me, as it turned out, my original slanted sentiment was wrong about him. I contemplated what to say to this gentleman. Daunted whiskers hung down to the middle of his chest and tended to intimidate. I wondered should I have snuggled beneath his beard if the monstrous growth would keep me warmer than the sheer duvet Hermitage Hall provided for my bed?

Somehow "Good morning, sir," did not appeal to my thought processes. I decided I needed a more enchanted icebreaker to drop on him. I stood behind the tailgate of his truck and rested my dirty elbow on it. Mud remained behind. Afterwards, I made my effort as best I could with a simple, "Nice ride!"

Straightforward and unpretentious, he replied, "It'll do."

Deliberate in my response, I stressed the significance of the last word for effect when I stated, "Bet it rides smoothhhhhh!"

He cut to the chase, "You're playing me kid, and I don't like when people do. I'm busy here, so what do you want?"

"Spare a couple bucks?"

He folded his grocery receipt in half, and stuffed the piece of paper inside his wallet, but did not utter a single syllable.

Discouraged, I felt I lost the game. "Hey, a boy's gotta eat you know."

"Go hustle somebody else, Squirt. I won't give you one red cent!" He paused, and like an angry parent wondered, "By the way, where's your folks? Do they know you're out here in this parking lot panhandling from strangers and need to have your tail end worn out good and proper for your inappropriate misbehavior, young man?"

Somewhere deep inside me an emotional vibe stirred I had never felt before. I turned my face away from him. That was not my nature. Back in those days, far from how I would have reacted in such a situation. Stern in my silence, I chided myself, "What's gotten into you all of a sudden? You get your act together right now! You don't even know this dude. He don't do no water walking. No one does."

He must have noticed my distressed composure because his tempered crescendo modulated, "Listen, if you're hungry, I'll take you across the street to McDonald's and buy you a burger. But, that is all you are going to weasel out of me. After that, we go our separate ways. Capiche?" He fished a key out of the right front pocket of his designer Levi's, smiled, and told me, "Climb in already. I'm not walking."

By far, the biggest fear I ever faced was after our fortunate stroke of serendipity Dusty West would vanish into thin air like an apparition, in all its shining manifestations, haunted a creaky house and forget I ever existed.

I summoned up all my intestinal fortitude. You know, the courage to achieve one of the most unbearable excursions I've ever made. Displeasure the constant of my life, the negative consequences of doing so fueled my anxiety. I felt the dreadful challenge with each cantankerous motion.

Somehow, I managed to force myself to place one hesitant and reluctant foot in front of the other as I sauntered a broken-hearted boy out of that fast food joint. I have never entered a Mickie D's since.

Like red-hot cattle brands, tears scorched my eyes as my momentum proceeded. I could not persuade myself to look back at him. I wanted to remember the sole first moment of happiness I ever experienced in my entire life.

Was the loss of Dusty my biggest fear? I've never borne anything worse. It required every shred of begrudgement I was made of to make that walk. Where was I headed? A big fat NOWHERE with the rest of my life to get there. In my mind some journeys just were not worth the bother. Even worse, I saw the ramifications of no future, at least not one I wanted any part of. I certainly had no acclaimed past to cling to.

A return trip back to Hermitage Hall did not enthuse me. Not in the least. I considered the realistic possibility to lay down in the middle of the construction work zone two blocks from the corner I crossed. I found myself battered around like the silver orb inside a pinball machine down the busy street full of pedestrians I meant nothing to.

The grumble and roar of a street paver meandered my direction. The sound indicated to me pancaked by the pneumatic roller would be much less painful than the imprisonment I found myself confined in. The pertinent question became did I wish to hear bones crunch...mine? The final tally grew eerie and close.

EPILOGUE:

Hallucinatory pipe dreams full of vain hope never come true in the real world...at least, not in my life they hadn't. I have spent the better part of my existence trying to be at least half the man Dusty West did not have to be. Should any questions remain why the thought of losing the man who adopted me after I begged money from him in a Walmart parking lot one auspicious day, would not have been my worst fear...ever?