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Archway Publishing - Kevin L Trachsel

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86 pages

English

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Description

This novel shares the coming-of-age story of a teen in the Midwest, narrating how the actions of others can change the trajectory of one’s life.

Based on true events
At thirteen, Tracy has mastered escaping from his bedroom on the family farm south of Chicago in the mid-to-late-night hours. His only transportation is his dirt bike. He blends in at the parties by drinking from a beer keg.

Tracy lives on a farm with his parents, plays football, and has few friends. His world changes, though, when his parents divorce, his mom moves to town, and his dad sells the livestock. Tracy must decide where to live. He discovers how things can go from good to bad and bad to good and learns how right and wrong decisions from family, friends, and others can change the trajectory of one’s life.

Based on true events, Risky Demeanor shares one young man’s coming-of-age story. It identifies how one’s life can be led and influenced directly from the results of someone else’s actions, to alter another’s path.

Sujets

Fiction

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Publié par	Archway Publishing
Date de parution	14 février 2023
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781665737685
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

RISKY DEMEANOR

KEVIN L TRACHSEL

Copyright © 2023 Kevin L Trachsel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Photographer Credit: Ariel Lightle

ISBN: 978-1-6657-3769-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3767-8 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-3768-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023902425

Archway Publishing rev. date: 2/10/2023
CONTENTS
Introduction
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9

BASED ON TRUE EVENTS
INTRODUCTION
This book identifies how one`s life can be led and influenced directly from the results of someone else`s actions in life, to alter another`s path. This book is about a young man growing up discovering true life events from good to bad and bad to good. How right and wrong decisions from family, friends and other sources changed the outcome of this young boy`s life, you will see and understand the difference on how a child might possibly be raised. Thrilling and exciting tales, based on true life events. Please do not try anything in this book at home or anywhere in the world.
1
I FIND MYSELF STAGGERING around, still somewhat sober, inside this house miles from town, in the Midwest, on a summer night in 1974. There are more than a hundred teenagers taking advantage of a three-keg beer party with a few extra guests: Mary Jane and cocaine. At thirteen, I have mastered how to escape from my bedroom, only five miles away, in the mid- to late-night hours. My only transportation is my dirt bike. I blend in at this party by drinking from a beer keg.
I look for the bathroom in this old Victorian house with major drug dealers and teenagers. I make my way to the top of a staircase, where many guys wait in line for the restroom. I am buzzed and feeling like Superman, so I cut in line as they cuss at me along the way. I open the door to see a girl giving free BJs. I see no interest in that and quickly relieve myself, flush, and leave. I then find a second staircase to go back down. It is dark, and I can’t see the bottom. I step into the dark, slip, and fall, end over end, down the stairs. I bust the door at the bottom completely off the hinges. And it lands flat on top of a coffee table.
I am now standing, with amazement, on the door and table. How did I just roll fifteen feet, end over end, and make a perfect landing? I look and see a light mist of dust in the air, like a light fog. I look and see three people on the couch and two on a love seat; the table was between them. This group had been using the table to snort coke. Now the door and table were flat on the floor, with me standing on both. I guess about a couple of grand worth of cocaine powder is in the air. Even drunk, I think, in the back of my mind, they are going to kill me. But they have a look of amazement, and their reaction was like, “Wow, man, what just happened?”
An older friend of mine is there and sees this all from a distance. He comes over, with a cup of beer in his hand, while I am still standing on the door. He knows everyone there. His reaction is like many other witnesses that are viewing this sight, which makes me thankful. In those seconds before I see him, I feel like a child lost in a crowd.
The party is put on hold for five, maybe ten seconds. Then everyone cheers like this was a great entertainment act. My friend laughs, puts his arm around me, and says, “That was awesome, man. Wow! Let’s smoke a joint.”
He and many others are laughing their asses off as we leave. I notice the expressions on all the people sitting around the table. Now thinking back, that would be a big surprise.
We go outside and start laughing so hard that our bellies hurt. It is one of the best times in my life, until I wake up in the yard from the sunrise the next day, on a Sunday morning. The first thought in my mind is the old man is not going to be happy. He always said, “I don’t care how late you stay out, but at six in the morning, I own you.”
Being 100 percent a farm boy, I try to kick-start my dirt bike in desperation so I can get home. I have no idea what time it is.
The bike will not start. I look around and see people are passed out in the yard, and there is no movement as the birds just chirp for the new day.
My head is pounding; my body feels like my heart is pumping syrup in my veins. This feels like a funeral with no one in the casket.
I find my tools wrapped up under my seat, in a roll, placed in pockets of fabric. For some reason, I think, Damn, these are cheap Japanese tools , as I take the spark plug out, clean it, put it back, fire up the bike, and head home.
I ride fast on the country road, among the green crops and grass. It looks to be a beautiful day as the breeze brushes my hair. Now I can see our farm. The homestead is five acres and surrounded by acres of flat land, a most beautiful tile barn, machine sheds, and a beautiful big Victorian house. I see my father standing near a machine shed with two John Deere tractors and row cultivators attached to them. Both tractors are idling as I pull into the lane. He says, “Go in the house. Get your work clothes and boots on.”
I walk into the house and see my mother at the breakfast table. She gives me that long look—the one that puts the fear of God in you. Then she says with a soft voice, “When you get your work clothes on, I will fix you a quick breakfast before you go to the fields today.”
I go upstairs, feeling like I’m climbing Mount Everest.
I find my work clothes and boots and head back down to the kitchen. Waiting there is a bowl of oatmeal, toast, and a glass of milk.
I try and eat a little, grab the toast, and eat it on the way out. My mother says, “Be careful out there in the fields today. I will bring you lunch and pick you up for supper tonight.”
I say, “Thank you, Mom.” And out the door I go.
Outside, my father says, “Take that tractor to the north place, and start plowing corn in the south eighty acres.”
The north place is about five miles away. I can handle this when I am sober, having operated a tractor of this size since the age of ten. But I am still hurting from last night and in severe pain from that tumble down those stairs. I don’t dare show weakness though; a deal is a deal.
My father has a kind of grin on his face that I can’t let down, so I get on the tractor. It has a 100-hp engine with an old-style cab, no AC, and is seventeen feet wide with a six-row cultivator rear-mount attachment. It is a good size for the day. I put it in gear and head out. I notice a cooler full of ice and cold drinks on board. I am dying; I feel dead. It’s like everything I did last night has jumped on me all of a sudden.
I turn out of the lane and head to the north place, shifting the tractor up into road gear. The engine is loud, and the rear end whines in the rhythm of a novice drum player beating the sticks on my head. As I feel the heat coming back off the diesel engine, I think that this has to be the worst I have ever felt in my life. I feel a pain in my gut, like I could die today.
I finally make it to that eighty acres of corn. Corn is tall, and you can cultivate at a fast clip when it’s tall. But it is windy today, which makes it harder to drive because the corn leaves lean over the rows, and it’s difficult to see your marker.
I start out and plow the corn right away. It looks bad. I make it to the other end of the half-mile field and sleep for one hour over the steering wheel. Then I wake up and continue plowing corn until noon. Sure enough, my mother is waiting with lunch at the other end.
Being young, my body has almost fully recovered from last night. Yet I still feel like death warmed over. I stop at the end of the rows of corn, walk out of the field, and jump in the passenger seat of her car. She has meat/potato casserole and all the fixings dished up, hot and ready. I’m starving.
She doesn’t say much as I devour the meal, but she does tell me, “You kept us up all night last night, and we are going to keep you up all day today.”
I’m thinking, Man, I did get one hour of sleep, but I have learned my lesson. I tell her, “Thank you for the meal. I’ve learned my lesson.”
She’s really a sweetheart, as if she understands me somehow. I plow corn until dark and go to bed. I sleep the best ever that night.
The summer goes by fast. And when school starts, I’m a freshman and playing football. My dad had said I could play one sport. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m a damn good football player. Things are going well; my all-around grades are the best ever, and I’m hanging with good kids.
Then it is the late f