Living together like spokes inside a wheel the entire population of Astatula consisted of 308 residents. Among them were wackos and weirdos, and dingbats, and do-dos, and athletes. Leather and lace and some of the minority race. And, of course, we can't forget about the paupers, and punks, and the farmers, too. After all, sodbusters are the backbone of this country.

This population explosion did not include the family of skunks that lived in Gwendolyn Hollow three miles south of Astatula on Highway 62.

"Let me tell you, a tomato juice bath doesn't help much with the odiferous scent that lingers after a skunk unleashes its primary weapon," Sheriff Daniels once explained to me as he steered his cruiser past the skunk's home.

Trying to see the black critters with white stripes down their backs, I looked out the window of the car but did not observe them.

"The combination of sulfur and hydrogen is the main deterrent to a skunk's enemies," the Sheriff continued.

Then, he told me about the Sheriff Department's K-9, Jasper. The dog had learned that lesson the hard way before I arrived in Astatula. I was glad I wasn't around to find out how. Phew!

Some of the locals alleged I possessed a charismatic smile. At least, those who thought they knew me did. Others contended I presented a boy next door personality. To them, I was a little charmer. However, wholesome and shy are not adjectives I would ever have used to describe myself.

Granted, after what I'd survived at the hands of Earl Anthony Schroder in Palo Pinto, I thought I was ten feet tall and bulletproof. But, there never was a yellow "S" on my red cape. And, try as hard as I may, I never could leap tall buildings in a single bound. So, I guess I left something to be desired in the Superboy department.

Isn't it incredible how life brings you back to reality and turns cold on you? In the grand scheme of things, creation becomes impervious to your feelings. The wind growls. And, life doesn't always go your way.

It was the celebrity trichologist Philip Kingsley who famously coined the phrase, "Bad hair day."

All I can is, "At times like that, break out the Suave shampoo. I prefer the Wild Cherry Blossom fragrance myself."

Okay, I admit that was a weak attempt at humor. The problem remained there was nothing funny about the situation I was in. I do not know what came over me or why I started a fight with Matt. Perhaps, I hated to lose the race, or maybe it was a weak moment caused by my upbringing in Palo Pinto? Either way, I couldn't undo the wrong I committed. I really was trying to turn my life around in Astatula. The melee made me realize I had a long row to hoe to get there.

As I approached the house, a red-tailed hawk circled overhead. I caught sight of the bird out of the corner of my eye. Its wingspan must have measured a good three feet across. The hawk probably searched for a ground squirrel, a field mouse, or maybe even a horned lizard. They weren't hard to find in Astatula. The bird of prey cawed loudly and flew away.

A cluster of white, fluffy, cumulous clouds hung low in the sky. Their defined edges indicated, weather-wise, the afternoon would be fair. This was a welcome improvement over the oppressive heat the Texas Panhandle had recently endured. As long as they didn't darken up we didn't have to worry about rain pelting the ground or the possibility of a tornado.

In a rage, I stormed through the front door of the house and trudged up the frieze-carpeted circular stairway leading to my bedroom. Sheriff Daniels had specifically chosen this type of resilient, soft, and springy carpeting for the stairs. It was oatmeal-colored with black and brown specks. I made sure I stomped hard on each step as I went along my way. The notion "life wasn't fair!" ran through my mind.

Shortly after I moved in with the Sheriff, I'd asked him, "Why did you carpet the stairs when you built your house?"

He told me, "Because the carpeting hides the footprints of a certain blond munchkin who constantly runs up and down the stairs all day long with no shoes on his bare feet dragging a trail of dirt behind him."

At the top of the landing, I flung open my bedroom door. The force with which I did so banged the brass doorknob on the back side of the door loudly against the wall behind it. A sonic boom resounded throughout the room. I did not care if the Sheriff heard the noise I made, and could not see how that was avoidable. Nor did I care if I got in more trouble for doing so. My meltdown had just begun.

Brusquely, I snatched a white bath towel off the wolf-imprinted spread that covered my bed. I told you I liked wolves. With a basketball shot, I tossed the towel into the rectangular-shaped laundry basket in the far corner of my bedroom.

I threw my hands high in the air and said, "Score!"

I'd left the towel laying on my bed that morning after taking a shower, and before I blew out of the house almost late for school again. No big fan of the classroom, this became an all-too-familiar habit for me. I flung my schoolbag beside the laundry basket.

My bedroom was my private sanctuary. It sure beat the pallet I spread I on the floor to sleep on in Palo Pinto. Soon, my haven would also be the place Sheriff Daniels meted out the consequences for my inappropriate behaviors. This was the first time in the month I'd been with him this event came to be. Enduring a paddling was nothing new to me. I had been. Ever since I could remember. Except they weren't exactly paddlings. They were a whole lot worse! Let me take you back to another little piece of my life in Palo Pinto and give you a small taste of where I came from. I'll warn you though, it's not a pretty picture.

As I spoke these words, the friends I talked to who sat with me on the rooftop deck of the Blind Pig Pub in Austin, became all ears. I knew they were curious because they didn't know any of what I was about to divulge.

You see, I never knew my mother. Evelyn Margaret Madison did not take Earl Anthony Schroder's last name upon their sham of a marriage. They were united in a "Wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am!" short-lived wedlock of convenience. The matrimony occurred only because I'd come on the scene completely unexpected, and my mother wanted to save face. All she ever cared about were the popular Spring Break parties the Gulf Coast was world famous for.

Earl Anthony Schroder once described those festive occasions to me as nothing more than, "Everybody getting high as a kite and soaring through the stratosphere wherever the wonder weed carried them."

His comment never made me stop asking why my mother abandoned me.

"Alcohol flowed freely at these events as well," or so Earl Anthony Schroder also mentioned.

I never believed most of what he claimed, with very good reason.

Perhaps what I least understood about the whole situation was when Earl Anthony Schroder told me, "All that mattered to your mother was the psychedelic world of the hard drugs she found including her four best friends: meth, crack, heroin, and cocaine."

To re-emphasize his point more precisely Earl Anthony Schroder warned me in no uncertain terms, "It is what it is, so leave it alone or I'll beat the living Hell out of you!"

I was careful never to bring the subject up to him again after that because he would have carried out his threat. He did, on many instances, for the littlest mistakes I made. Although it did very little to prevent beatings, I walked gingerly on eggshells around him. Too often they cracked, and like a bull in a china shop, a battering followed.

I noticed the flabbergasted looks on my friends faces. They had no idea what to say. So, I continued detailing this portion of my life. I told them I knew my mother was completely absorbed in the druggie lifestyle she chose shortly after August 12, 2000. That was the day Pediatrician Doctor Robert Lamfort swatted my newborn behind in the parking lot of the Palo Pinto Bowling Alley on Blake Street and declared me alive. I reflected a moment.

"Alive?" I asked myself.

Then, I answered me with, "If that is what you could call life with Earl Anthony Schroder."

Yes, things went dramatically from bad to worse in that department. Before I relived that nightmare, I needed and ordered another drink. My third one of the night. Talking about these things had never been easy for me to do.

Matt reached out his hand and placed it on my shoulder. "You okay?" he asked me.

I looked back at him with an expression that told him I was. The honest truth remained, was I? Looking down, I watched heavy traffic pass on the busy street below our perch. When I glanced back up, a shooting star appeared from out of nowhere. As it flew by, the streak of light illuminated the deep purple Texas sky.