Radio Flyer Read online

  Radio Flyer

  By James Hold

  Copyright 2015 James Roy Hold

  Smashwords Edition

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  RADIO FLYER

  The mysterious disappearance of Rick Enbacker held the public's interest for about five minutes, if that long. Rick was not a terribly important person in the eyes of the world and if anyone did miss him, they did not make a big show of it.

  That was forty years ago, and why I feel a need to talk about it now is hard to say, other than I heard a song on the oldies station and it all came back to me. Anyway, without naming names, this is my contribution to the matter.

  It would be news to no one to say that college kids do stupid things at times. My dorm room buddies and I were no exception. We stayed up late, indulged in things we should not have, and, when necessary, did just enough studying to get by.

  It was the early 70s when I attended North Texas State University. I was neither an exceptionally good nor an exceptionally bad student. I was just marking time, waiting for whatever was to come. It was Wednesday night. Finals were upon us, and I had taken two exams that day. My next one was not until Friday, which meant I had that night and the next day off. So I decided to celebrate with my buddies and some Boone's Farm Apple Wine. You can fill in the details for yourself of how that went.

  It was around midnight when Rick Enbacker popped in. Now Rick was a strange character, even by that day's standards. He was the scrawniest guy we'd ever seen and he had the longest hair on campus. He was friendly enough, and mostly harmless, but he seemed to have the kind of sources no one else had and was pretty much on a perpetual acid trip.

  What prompted him to drop in was anybody's guess, but there he was and so we decided to have a little fun with him.

  "Hey, Rick. What's up?"

  "I am," he answered, typical of the time, and we all laughed along.

  The FM station was playing Grateful Dead's "Dark Star," and for all I know the record might have been stuck as it sounded like the same riff had been going on for ten minutes. Then someone said, "You know, Rick, you really shouldn't spend all your bread on illegal substances. You should cultivate a natural high."

  "That's right," said another. "I read in Rolling Stone that the Dead have given up drugs and are now getting high through meditation and stuff."

  This was, of course, utter nonsense, but Rick appeared to buy into it for a moment.

  "Really?" he asked. "Well, like, uh, how do they do that?"

  "It's like I said, meditation and hypnosis and stuff. In fact..." he looked over at me and winked; "Roger here" [not my real name] "is a psychology major and knows all about hypnosis. I'll bet he could do it."

  This too was utter nonsense. I was not majoring in anything at the time. Still Rick fell for it.

  "Is that true Roger?" he asked me. [Again, not my real name.] "Can you hypnotize me?"

  "Oh, sure," I lied, the apple wine doing its work. "I can hypnotize you to be anything you want."

  So we formed a circle, with Rick and me in the middle, facing one another.

  "Now," I began, adopting the attitude of a professor we were all familiar with, "hypnosis will not work unless you are willing to cooperate. By which I mean total, complete cooperation. Do you understand?"

  Rick beamed back at me. "Sure, dude. Whatever."

  I stalled for time, giving Rick a few commands such as sit up, turn around, sit down, and so on while I tried to think of what to do next. Honestly, I had no idea where I was going with this. Then the FM station played the Byrds "Eight Miles High" and inspiration struck.

  "Rick," I said, "the only reason you get high is to fly, right?" I did not give him time to answer. "So, from now on, you are a bird."

  That was as much of a straight face I could keep. I burst out laughing, as did the others.

  All but Rick.

  "Yeah. You're right, man. I'm a bird." He got up and began bouncing on the bed, repeating, "I'm a bird. I'm a bird. I'm a bird."

  I honestly do not recall much after that. I was pretty drunk and passed out soon after. Some of the other guys made it to their own rooms, but the rest stayed where they were, curled up on the floor. Someone though, [again, I'm not naming names] realizing it wouldn't be good to let Rick go wandering about in his condition, had the foresight to sleep in front of the door, so if Rick did try to get out, he would have to step over him to do so.

  That is about all there is to it. We woke up the next morning, looked at one another, and had a good laugh. Then someone said, "Hey, where's Rick?"

  That was when we saw the open window.

  Expecting the worst, we ran over and looked down at the ground, three floors below. But we saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. For which we thanked God, Buddha, Krishna, and all the other deities.

  Still I was curious how Rick managed to get past my buddy whose body blocked the door leading out. But clearly he had, somehow, and we forgot all about it. Besides, we still had finals to take and we trusted Rick could take care of himself.

  It was not until a few days later, after somebody reported Rick missing and the cops asked questions, that I got to wondering. You see, there was never a trace of him after that night. There was no body anywhere outside the dorm. His things were still in his room. He simply stopped showing up and was never seen again.

  Now it is conceivable that Rick got past the door after we had passed out. We were all pretty plastered at the time and nothing, short of a cannon, could have roused us. Maybe he somehow managed to descend the window safely. Possibly, in his stoned condition, he wandered off and fell into a culvert or something. Or he might have hitchhiked to California for all I know.

  All I know is this: the last time I saw Rick Enbacker he was convinced he was a bird—a bird that could fly. And who is there to say he didn't?

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  James Hold

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  James Hold, Radio Flyer

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