This one may seem a bit odd to some but nevertheless, a true story from my past.
(except, I changed the names)
Clear Conscience by August Hunicke
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"Crazy days and oh, what toil
Then burned at night the midnight oil
The sea she tried, to take us down
But worse than she, were girls in town
They smile sweet, and vow won't tell
But take your feet, straight down to hell"
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I have always relished the serenity of a clear conscience, the peace that comes from being faced with right and wrong, and choosing to do right. It is a battle that has raged since the dawn of man, and is precisely the sort of battle I found myself in, one drunken night in 1991.
I lived in Kodiak, Alaska, at the time with my girlfriend, Stormy, and our two-year-old boy, Austin. I was a commercial fisherman who worked the cold merciless waters that surrounded Kodiak Island. It was a job fraught with danger at every turn, and the men who worked on the boats of this rock studded sea, often rivaled the peril of the sea itself, for the night life that awaited the mooring of our boats was a pitching sea of drunken choices.
There were more bars than churches, and churches were everywhere. One such bar was "The Beachcombers", a strip club, located just outside city limits. I, like most men who had "earned" the right to intoxicate themselves by braving the sea, was permitted (by Stormy) to stagger into any bar in town, except, of course, "The Beachcombers". Like God told Adam..."of that tree, ye shall not eat".
My main drinking buddy in those days was a notorious carouser and all-around scoundrel named Hans Gunnel. Hans' girlfriend, Sarah, was a close friend of Stormy's. The two of them spent much time together, as Hans and I were always out at sea. We were an unlikely pair in many respects. Hans would do anything if he thought he could get away with it. He once drove off the street and through a fence to take a joyride around the city park. From the comfort of his home, he denied any wrong doing to the policemen who showed up. His comfort was short-lived, however, when the cops brandished his license plate, found at the scene, dangling conspicuously from the remains of the fence.
Hans was cruel to his marrow. He put bowls of antifreeze outside around his house for the neighborhood pets to drink during the winter months. Antifreeze is sweet to the taste, but fatal to the downtrodden stray cats and dogs searching for water. His cruelty knew no bounds in matters of the heart as well. He spent the night with a prostitute on the eve of his wedding (which was to come only months after the night I speak of now).
I, on the other hand, though consorting with this vagabond, didn't have it in me to be cruel to animals, much less betray the sweetness of a woman whose heart was placed so trustingly in my hands. The thought of Stormy's sweet delicate face being twisted by pain was nothing less than nightmarish, and I would sooner die than by some freakish polar-opposite reality be the ghoul responsible for it.
I should also note that it was me who tipped off Hans' neighbor, Larry, to the green death being served up nightly next door. Larry, who quite the opposite, put food and water out for the strays, wasted no time in sneaking over there each night to empty the bowls of their potion. Hans was ecstatic at the turnout for his poison, and Larry was content to be the local pet messiah.
As to why I kept company with Hans, and without going in to a psychological examination of myself, I would have to say that, quite simply, when it came to drinking we were often the last two men left standing. This led to a sort of mutual respect for one anothers alcoholic prowess.
We left the girls to their girlish chatter and drove off on this cold clear night to make our rounds. Knowing how Hans' mind worked, I told him early on not to take me anywhere near "The Beachcombers". Hans was eerily silent on the subject, and I somehow knew that a showdown was brewing. I was in a somewhat compromised position with him at the helm, controlling our various destinations. A feeling of unease overshadowed the events of the night, as I waited for the inevitable.
Aside from the unease, we had a typical night of bar-hopping, and an equally typical night of drinking. We began making our way home. Our route would take us right by the neon tar pit that was "The Beachcombers". It waited like Hans' green death, promising immediate gratification, but poisoning the future of it's victims, for lies and alibis would soon replace money and serenity.
As the neon death pulled at the wheels of his car, the showdown began. Hans knew my position, and I his, so recognizing the futility of further argument, I went with him. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I went with him to the yawning entrance, which guaranteed the capture of those now caught in it's spiraling whirlpool.
My mind was clamoring for an escape. I was at the turning point. Hans had the keys, but it was only a mile to my beloved Stormy. Hans needed me, for if I showed up at home without him, he knew my face would betray his whereabouts. Though pleading the fifth, I would be an open book to Sarah's interrogation, "the license plate found at the scene".
My mind was reeling. Wouldn't it be easier to just go with him? Wouldn't Stormy understand that Hans made me go? Wouldn't she know that I didn't want to be there? that I was Hans' prisoner, possessing no keys, on a cold night.
No! I would not be subject to defending these points. I would not be responsible for creating an arena of conflict. My actions would clearly state my case.
I bolted. As we neared the entrance our paths mingled with the swirling sea of strays caught up in the flush. In the confusion I ran, my feet crunching on the hard mixture of snow and gravel. The smell of cigarette smoke and stale beer gave way to the freedom of clean, crisp salt air. I knew I had only moments, for Hans would soon discover my mutiny, and come angrily seeking me.
I was nearly free of the lights that betrayed my retreat, when I became clarvoyantly aware that I was out of time. I ducked behind the only thing available, a telephone pole. Sadly my body was wider than the pole, but I hoped it would conceal me, since I was on the fringe of darkness.
"HEY!!" I heard his gravely voice shouting from across the parking lot. I turned sideways and cursed the diameter of the pole, as I heard... "I SEE YOU!!" I tried not to breath, knowing my exhale would give me away in the cold night air. Was he bluffing?... "I SEE YOU!!"...does he?..."I SEE YOU BEHIND THAT POLE!!" I exhaled. The life's breath that was usually my ally, joined forces with the cursed pole, and together, they forced me once again into the duel.
The same questions raced through my brain... I tried... Wouldn't it be easier to go with him? Surely Stormy would understand now. Wouldn't it be obvious, after all this, that I hadn't wanted to go with him? That I was made to go, after a valiant show of opposition.
No! I realized these arguments, though true, would mean nothing. Only my actions would demonstrate my innocence. I would not be responsible for polluting Stormy's lovely countenance.
I welcomed my traitorous breath back as my ally and raced off into the night . The salt air filled my lungs with the sweetness of truth, and the gravely insults and curses of Hans gave way to the rhythmic sound of my footfalls, crisp and clear, in the still night air. The sound of a clear conscience.
