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Crossing Paths With Charlie Nielson
A true story by Jamie Thompson
One
day in the spring of 1968, when I was nine years old and in the fourth
grade, I was hanging around in our garage working on my bicycle when
Charlie Nielson appeared from around the corner of our house. At
fourteen years old Charlie was a huge kid – probably in the
neighborhood of three hundred pounds with a stature of about five foot
ten. He had ear length reddish blond hair and very fair skin that was
covered with freckles. He had a big round face that always seemed to
have a bead of perspiration somewhere on it. I remember he had icy blue
eyes – cold and distant like the eyes of a shark. It was apparent that
he didn’t bathe very often because when he was nearby he exuded a
syrupy perfume - a mixture of fermenting sweat and urine caught inside
folds of flab. Charlie was my brother Jake's friend and,
for what it was worth, my parents didn't approve of him at all. He had a
reputation around the neighborhood for being a profoundly wicked kid. If
there was some incident of mischief or vandalism, everybody's first
thought was, ‘Charlie did it’ and they were usually right! Naively,
I had no fear of Charlie because he was Jake’s friend. I was, however,
reluctant to get too friendly with him for fear of what my parents might
say or do if they found out about it. "Hi
Jamie," he said as his eyes scanned the garage. "Hi Charlie," I said, glancing up
at his perspiring, pink face while I adjusted the cone bearings on my
bicycle’s front hub. "Where's Jake?" "I dunno," I said absently. "Whachya doin?" "Workin’ on my bike," I said
evenly while jiggling my front rim from side to side and then spinning
it around to check for play and the proper tension in the cone bearings.
Charlie glanced around the front of the
house and then his big blue eyes sparkled as he said in a hushed voice,
"Jamie, did you ever take acid?" The wheel stopped suddenly as I pushed the
brake lever on the inverted handlebar. "Acid?” The only acid I had ever
heard of was on TV in a boiling vat with Batman and Robin hanging upside
down over it by a rope. "LSD.
Did you ever take it?" He looked serious. "No," I said, wondering if I
should admit it. Charlie became very animated. "Aw, Jamie. Acid is amazing!" he
said, waving his hands." Just the other day Jake and I took some
acid and rode our bikes down to the shore tripping our brains out and
the whole time we played ‘Melt the Tree!’" "Melt the Tree? What the heck is
that?" "It's a contest to see who can melt
the tree first." "How d'ya melt a tree?" I asked
incredulously as I started working on my bike again. "With your mind, man! You see, when
you’re trippin’ you see and hear all kinds of amazing things. You
see colors and fantastic patterns and stuff melts." "Really? Man, that's weird!" "Yeah! You should try it. You'd really
like it.” I wasn't sure how to respond to that suggestion so I just
stared blankly at him. He continued. "Your brother and me were flyin’
down the road staring at trees until one of us saw it melt and that's
the game. It was so cool, man! You'd really like it. [silence] Sensing
that I was more mystified than curious he switched gears. “Let me tell
you what happened to me yesterday." I wasn't sure I wanted to know
but there was no stopping him now. "I took some acid in the morning, and
then I went out thumbin’ it. I'm standin’ there on the side of "I'm standin’ there with my mouth
hangin’ open when she says, 'Get in.'" Charlie said the 'get in'
part in a softer, higher-pitched, alluring feminine voice. My eyes grew
wide as I drew a quick, deep breath. "Whadya do?" "Are you nuts? I got in!” Charlie
then described the girl in full detail… I’ll leave that out of the
story. I was transfixed by the mental image. A
goddess! In my circle of nine-year-old friends, as I recall, to have any
kind of contact with even a partially naked girl was a feat worthy of
instant fame and glory. But to have been in the presence of a totally
naked girl was to have attained the unattainable! "Wow!!" I said with a tickle in
my belly and my eyes bugging out. "We drove all over the place, all day
long. We went to the mall, we went to the store… we just drove
around!" "Didn't anybody try and stop you,
like, the police or something?" I was trying to visualize standing
in a checkout line with a totally naked girl like nothing was going
on… it was hard to imagine… then again, it was the 1960’s and the
so called Sexual Revolution was in full swing. "Naw, but wait till I tell you what
happened." He looked
around the garage and the front of the house again. Then in an even
lower tone he told me the rest of the story of his encounter with his
Lady Godiva on 250 horses… I’ll leave that out of the story too. When he finished the warm, humid air
between Charlie and I was quiet and pulsing with energy. All I could
hear was the hum of a distant lawn mower and a light breeze sighing
through the willow tree just outside the garage door. Charlie stood up
with a look of ultimate triumph and then turned to leave. As he passed
through the garage doorway, though, he stopped. Then he turned and
whispered, "If you ever want some acid, Jamie, just lemme
know." I didn't know whether or not to believe
him. When I really thought about it, the whole story seemed patently
absurd! But, then, who could make up such a story and expect anyone to
believe it? I wanted to ask somebody about it, but I was too embarrassed
to relate such a story. So, I just kept it to myself. That night I fell
asleep wondering about Charlie, the story, and... about acid. The next day I was hanging around the
garage with Jake and his friend Dave Winters. They were working on one
of their "chop-shop" bikes that they assembled from parts from
several bikes they had stolen from the LPRA pool bike rack. It was a
little joint business venture they ran out of our garage. I was pretty
nervous because Jake didn't always let me hang around when his friends
were there. At any moment he might have ordered me to leave or played
some cruel trick on me in order to get rid of me. So, I was sitting in
the corner being quiet and inconspicuous. Charlie showed up at the
garage door and was met with a round of greetings. He gave me a flash of
eyes and a sly grin. When they finished working on the bike, they took
it out to the driveway to give it a test run... and I found myself alone
with Charlie. Once they were out of earshot he turned to me and said in
a hoarse whisper, "Jamie, I got some acid for ya. Do you want
it?" At first I didn't know what to say. I
didn't want to hurt his feelings. Then I thought about that weird naked
girl story and the melting trees. It all seemed so strange, yet sort of
interesting. It also sounded dangerous but, then again, here was Charlie
alive and well and seeming none the worse for wear. I didn't know if I
wanted it or not. I sank into confusion as he riveted me with those cold
blue eyes and that chubby face when out of nowhere I heard myself say,
"No." I remember thinking to myself that I really didn't make
a decision, I just said it because I was on the spot and I needed to say
something. Charlie was clearly disappointed and was about to pour on the
persuasion when suddenly Jake and Dave Winters rolled the hot bike back
into the garage. Charlie immediately broke off our conversation and
acted as if nothing was going on. I took the opportunity to slink out of
the garage and into the house. I was relieved to be out of there.
Charlie was giving me the creeps! A couple of days later I was in the garage
working on my bike again (Jake and I were always tweaking out the
maximum performance from our bikes) when lo' and behold Charlie appeared
again. "Hi Jamie!" "Hi Charlie." I was sure that I
knew what was coming next. "Could you help me with
something?" "Whadya need?" I asked
hesitantly, eyeing the cloth sack he was carrying. "Follow me," he said as he
climbed the ladder that led up to the attic above our garage. I followed him up into the darkness like a
duckling following its mother. Once we both made the short hop from the
top of the ladder to the attic floor I groped around in the darkness for
the string that turned on the light. The dim yellow bulb illuminated
Charlie's face and threw jumbled shadows behind the stolen bicycle
junkyard that had accumulated as a result of Jake and Dave Winters'
criminal activity. Charlie was perspiring and his pupils were wide open
as he scanned the attic for a suitable spot. His hands trembled slightly
as he opened the sack. After pouring the contents onto the rough plywood
floor he arranged his inventory: a
dirty spoon, a small plastic bag filled with white powder, some matches,
a syringe, and a small glass jar of water. My mouth went dry and I
swallowed heavily. "Charlie, I, uh..." "Jamie you gotta help me with this.
Don't worry it's not for you, it's for me." Unable to say no I fell silent and watched
apprehensively as he went about his business. First he picked up the
spoon and poured some of the powder into the bowl. Then he added a
little water. He swished the
solution around to help the powder dissolve then he gave me the handle
of the spoon and struck a match. He retrieved the spoon and cooked the
concoction by holding the match underneath the bowl of the spoon. When
the milky white brew was ready he picked up the syringe. As he sucked
the juice into it I didn't know whether to cry or panic and I started
wondering what the heck he needed me up there for anyway. Then with a
rough voice he pointed to his upper arm and said, "Squeeze my
arm!" "What?" I asked, terrified. "Put your hands around my arm right
here and squeeze." So I did. "Harder!” He barked. I squeezed as hard as I could. Charlie had
big fat arms and the fingers of both my hands could barely reach the
whole way around them. "HARDER!!"
"I'm squeezing as hard as I can!"
I whined through gritting teeth, tears streaming down my face. I closed
my eyes and turned my head as Charlie positioned the needle over a
bulging vein at the inner crux of his elbow. The next moment he let out
a sigh. Then he slowly reclined against a box as his eyes glazed over
and closed about two-thirds of the way. I sat and watched him for a
minute or so. He was breathing regularly and he was sweating. He seemed
totally oblivious to his surroundings… like he was sleeping or
something. I felt awkward being there with him like that. I took stock
of his paraphernalia. "Yech," I said to myself as I hopped
onto the ladder and let myself back down into the garage. I went into
the house and hid in my room for a while, trying to sort out what I had
just experienced and wondering if Charlie would die up there… and what
I would do then. A couple of weeks later I was in school
when our class was taken to the cafeteria for a special program. A local
policeman had come to talk to us about drugs. He was very impressive
looking with his crisp blue uniform and shiny gun holstered to his side.
He talked about all the different kinds of drugs that were proliferating
our neighborhood and then showed us some real paraphernalia that had
been confiscated from drug addicts. There were pipes, bongs, joints,
pills of every variety, zip guns, a baggie full of marijuana and an
assortment of powders, various feculent looking contraptions, and a set
of “works” – a junkie kit. I recognized the inventory right away,
except for the tourniquet. The officer gave us a description of how each
item was used by the drug addict. When he finished describing the use of
the kit, I casually turned to the kid next to me and said, "I
helped a kid do that one time." His reaction was totally
unexpected. He gasped and gazed at me in wild astonishment. He didn't
respond. He just stared at me like I had just stepped off of a space
ship. I felt a sense of doom pour over me as I realized that my little
rendezvous with Charlie must not have been a typical experience for a
nine-year-old in Charlie's evildoings were innumerable. I
think that if I've ever known anyone who was truly possessed by the
devil, it was Charlie Nielson. His life was like an enigma wrapped up in
a riddle. He was a black hole of warped, twisted malevolence… a truly
evil person who was always lying to everyone about everything and who
always had a one-eyed jack up one sleeve and a killer king up the other.
Among his exploits in our neighborhood that
I can remember were the times that he supposedly burned a cross on the
front lawn of the only black family that lived in our section of town.
On another occasion he allegedly lit one of our neighbor's cars on fire,
completely destroying it in the middle of the night. But the worst
atrocity of Charlie’s that I can remember was when he got my brother
Jake addicted to heroine and then sold him a bag of baking soda. Charlie
told a friend of his who lived down the street from us what he had done
and she managed to call Jake on the phone and warn him just minutes
before he injected himself with that stuff… she saved Jake’s life! I
remember the night Jake went through withdrawal… it was ugly. He
thrashed, grunted and groaned in his room for hours. At one point he got
violent and rammed a hard shell guitar case through the wall while
trashing his room! The next day his room looked like a tornado had gone
through it! I couldn’t help thinking how blessed I was to have been
the one who said “no” to Charlie’s solicitations to try drugs. In the early 1970’s Charlie bought a
bright yellow 1969 Plymouth GTX with a 440 cubic inch engine, a
six-barrel carburetor, and big fat slick tires on the back. That thing
was a monster muscle car and a very dangerous weapon in the hands of a
psycho sociopath like Charlie. At any given time you could tell if he
was driving anywhere within a five mile radius of where you were because
you could hear that car revving, roaring, skidding, and peeling out.
Charlie and that car were a menace to the community! One sunny summer afternoon I was sitting on
the curb of Suddenly I heard a roar, squealing tires,
another roar, a skid, and then a flash of yellow from around the bend to
my right. Charlie was cruising the drive in his GTX going about 90 miles
per hour! I gaped in astonishment at the oncoming vehicle as it took the
bends in the road. At the speed he was going Charlie could barely
negotiate the curves. In order to stay on the road he repeatedly cut
across the opposite lane and scraped the curb with the sides of his big
wheels. In that crucial moment of time I realized that I was sitting on
the protruding edge of a curve and that there was no way Charlie could
slow down. I can still see his crazed face behind the wheel of that car.
Animal grin and wild shining eyes, he looked like one of those
mutant-monster-driving-a-dragster models come to life! At the last
instant I did a reverse somersault off of the curb and back onto the
relative safety of the greenbelt just as Charlie’s tires scraped
through the very spot where I was just sitting! He didn’t even try to
slow down!! As I regained my senses I saw the yellow flash of the GTX as
it rounded another curve about 200 yards down the road and vanished. I
fell on my face and cried, hyperventilating. Charlie had almost run me
down! Furthermore, he had no more regard for my current status than if I
was a dog or a raccoon or something. I was just another worthless road
kill left to rot on the side of the road! As I regained my composure I
could still hear the roaring and skidding of that car in the distance. I
was lucky to be alive! In the early 1970’s Charlie’s family,
the Nielsons, moved to Charlie's life ended in a suicide in the
late 80's when, as the story goes, he was being pursued by both the FBI
and the Mafia at he same time. He had allegedly stolen a quantity of
cocaine from the Mafia and was wanted by the FBI for drug trafficking.
At a certain point in the chase, he became certain that one or the other
would apprehend him. Being caught by the Mafia meant immediate execution
and being caught by the FBI meant certain death at the hands of the
Mafia in jail. So, he opted to do the job himself. He shot himself in
the chest with a rifle. Being a huge person, though, he didn’t die
right away. So, he reloaded the rifle and shot himself in the chest
again! He died. How does one wrap up the story of the life
of Charlie Nielson? God have mercy on his soul and thank God so many
people survived - crossing paths with Charlie Nielson!! The End
Click
here to download a free e-book of "Crossing Paths With Charlie
Nielson"
Click "Back" or "Next" to scroll sequentially through Jamie's short stories. The Rocklore Files My Links Meditations Photo Gallery My Guitars Dedications The It's Been So Long CD |