The Trials of Henry (part two)
“If the creek don’t rise, I’ll race you to the top.” Was all the note read, but Henry knew what it meant. When they were kids, he and Roger would play in the woods behind Aunt Millie’s house. They found this creepy tree down by the creek in the ravine. It had two thick trunks that ascended towards the heavens. The first to their respective perch would get bragging rites for the day. Roger would always win, except that time he had mono. Henry still reveled in that half-baked triumph. Thirty some odd years later, the tree was still menacing. He could see the baggy with a baby blue envelope flapping in the breeze. There were two issues, however. The first was the fact that it had been raining for several days and the creek was rushing rather furiously. Taking off his shoes and socks, he bit his lip and began to cross. The frigid water was nipple high in places and the rocks slick with slime. The current nearly swept him away quite a few times, but Henry hoisted himself back up and dredged on. Fighting his way across, he rested on a rock to reshoe. Looking up at his prize, the second issue arose.
Aging is a cruel mistress, dear reader, and Henry’s tree-climbing days were several years and a few thousand value meals past their prime. At this point, though, there was no turning back. With a sloppy two-foot vertical leap, he hugged the prickly trunk and sluggishly humped his way up the arbor giant. Luckily there were several branches on the way for him to rest and regroup. His dad bod was pushed to the limit as he huffed and puffed to the next resting spot, then the next, until finally the goal was within reach. His hands and legs rubbed raw and his arms began to shake from the exertion, but he grunted upward to his childhood thinking spot. Finally, success. He gasped in relief, grasping the envelope from Y in the branch. With a smile, He let out a primal howl to signify some unworthy return to the wilds of his youth. Henry slumped over to reflect upon his labors, that’s when he heard a faint crack. His eyes hardly had time to shoot open before the bow gave way and sent him barreling headlong into the water below.
Which brings us back to now. There’s a certain thing to be said about a man determined. One of those is a how admirably he approaches and accomplishes the obstacles in his way; be they almost having been flattened by a subway train or having to drive an hour out to the countryside in his dying automobile in order to fall out of a tree into an icy creek for piece of paper that’ll probably lead to a fresh turd in a Tiffany’s box. The other is a question of “How stupid are you to continue this?” Nevertheless, here Henry sat at the Snake Pit. Roger and he would frequent this seedy watering hole in the wall back in their early days of carousal. That was, of course, before Roger became a wealthy software mogul who would never be caught dead in a place like this and Henry had contracted salmonella from a handful of their bar peanuts. Now, after years, he had come back, looking like a sewer rat and drinking watered down top shelf booze while trying to decipher his vindictive friend’s dumb puzzle.
"Return to the den where serpents hang high." A neon cobra gleamed above his head. That was one box checked. What was puzzling was the next part. “Raise that little mangy cyclops to reveal the key to victory” What in the world could that possibly mean? His train of thought was constantly derailed by the crappy music somebody actually paid a jukebox to play and a loud group of bikers carrying on near the pool table, but he persisted in his concentration. “OOHH BROTHER!! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? HEEHEEHEE!! YOU LOOK LIKE HELL FROZE OVER AND THAWED OUT AGAIN.” Henry looked toward the source of the voice. All he saw was a very thick lady with a mullet and an overbite. It was a rather baffling scenario until the voice spoke again. “OUTTA THE WAY, SWEET CHEEKS! I’M TRYIN TO MAKE CONVERSATION.” The thick woman shuffled off with some “wooshes” of tortured denim to reveal a tiny man sitting at the bar drinking sake. His grin shone fiercely through his bearded face while he watched the boxing match on the television in front of him. " So did you go fishing, or did the fish go youing? Heheh! HEY EUGENE! GET SWAMP THING HERE A DRINK ON ME. Looks like you can use a few." The bartender nodded and poured another beverage. "Thank you" said Henry to the strange small fellow as he raised his glass in gratitude. "I'm Henry." he said cordially. The man smiled again. "I'm Bart, but everyone calls me Lefty." As he spun his bar stool to face him, Henry knew why. The little guy had a sweet leather studded eye patch.
It all became abundantly clear. What a piece of work Roger was. A scruffy, wee man with an eye patch? Really? I guess he found his mangy little Cyclops after all. But....What? Did He pay this guy to hang out and wait for Henry to venture in? Well, Lefty did engage the conversation. Plus, it's not like Roger didn't have the money to do so, and also he's insane so this all started to make way more sense than something like this ever should. Having had enough chicanery for the day, Henry bounced up out of his bar stool and sternly approached Lefty, or whatever his real name was. "Did Roger put you up to this? Listen, man! I almost died at least twice today and I really just want to get all this over with?" Lefty looked rather puzzled, but still quite calm. "Easy, Hoss! Nobody put me up to buyin you a drink and I don't know any Roger. I do know one thing, though. If you don't keep your cool, my buddies back there aint gonna be so nice either." Henry glanced around the bar. All eyes were on him, including about 9 angry-looking bikers (probably also on the payroll). He was bound and determined to call the bluff. "I believe you're sitting on something I need." Lefty began laughing hysterically, "WHOOOAH, IT AINT LIKE THAT, BROTHER!! Thanks and all, but I'm into chicks. HAHAHA!!" Unamused and out of patience, Henry quickly grabbed the little man and hoisted him high in the air, (something one should never do in any situation other than to rescue said little man from impending doom). His teeny legs kicked wildly in protest. "WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU, MAN!!? NO MEANS NO!! ASSHOLE!!" He looked on the stool where Lefty was sitting, nothing. He kicked the stool over. No clue there either. Henry then realized he had done something reeeeeally stupid just in time for a pool cue to smack the back of his skull and usher in the beating of a lifetime.
Broken, Soaking, and, chances are, internally bleeding, He emerged from the dumpster, climbed into his busted-ass pinto and hobbled home. As he approached the complex, he slammed on the brakes and looked onward with fury as he saw a red sports car in the headlights; parked in his reserved space. All too often this had occurred, but this time, he wasn't going to take it lying down. For a good five minutes, Henry vented today's aggression, carving up a masterpiece of rage with his pinto key before relieving himself in the gas tank. Satisfied, he went upstairs to lick his wounds. After a hot shower and a dozen aspirin, he walked into the spare bedroom, flipped on the light, and gasped as he looked up at the snake skin hanging high above the dresser: a fond memento of he and Roger's excursion to El Paso. Walking over, he then noticed his old, raggedy teddy bear with one eye. raising it up, Henry found his prize.
Inside the red envelope was a note and a set of keys. The note read, "Hey bud. I hope this Goose Chase didn't get the best of you. Sorry I made you go all the way out to Millie's, but I needed time to plant the coup de grâce . I figured I'd make the last clue a gimme, considering the day. Just know, Henry, you're my very best friend in this world and I hope you've had an awesome birthday adventure. Here's a little something special to make up for the years of prank prizes. Say goodbye to your shitty pinto, cuz now you're riding in style. Love ya, Bro. Yours, Rog."
Pressing the button on the key fob, he noticed the carved-up red sports car "Blip-Blip" as it flashed its lights. Henry laughed as hard as his broken ribs allowed, had a stiff drink, and hit the sack. Tomorrow was a new day with new puzzles to solve.