IN YOUR OWN WORDS HEY, JEFF BEZOS! BY STEVE ANSON, VOICE VENDOR TODAY, 22 JANUARY 2024, is the 51st anniversary of the case known as Roe v. Wade. In 1957, five years before my birth, my mom was raped, impregnated as a consequence, and forced by the State of Colorado to carry the pregnancy to term. In 1961, my mom was told by her doctor that carrying the pregnancy that produced, well, me, would kill her and me. My mom assented, asking for an abortion, and was denied by the State once again. I want to be clear: my dad , who raised, or sired me — to use a horseman’s phrase — was a good man. I know, firsthand, how much of a financial burden was placed on my parents due to my birth. Speaking from my own ethics, I say the State of Colorado was wrong. To my dear parents’ credit, they did a hell of a good job in raising me. I did not become a good and decent man until about February 2012, when I finally quit drinking, after I lost their house, and after I had lost nearly $400,000 in insurance proceeds, due to my not paying my property tax. Throw in a second DUI, and there you have it. What it took for me to find my decency was not having that house to which I could return. Prior to 2012, I was consciously trying to drink myself to death. I was trying to avoid a future I am now living. In 1999, my dad died. At that time, I decided what I had to do. In 1997, I decided how to deal with the fact that my mom was transitioning from COPD to emphysema, which would, eventually end her physical life. I began to drink cheap-ass bourbon. Lots of it. I knew it pissed off my now ex-wife. I didn’t care. I had seen the future. The way I figured it since I was witnessing my own eventual death — and the life leading to it — why not just speed up the process, avoiding a messy, painful ride? Along the way, I learned that my maternal grandmother died of emphysema. She never smoked a cigarette. My lung condition is genetic. By the time I quit drinking, I was consuming five liters of that poison per week. Much worse than all that damage was the psychological damage — how I hurt my former wife. (Amy, I am sorry for being the drunken jerk I was. I got what I deserved. I’m not a drunk now. Whether I’m a jerk or not, that is for the dozens of folks I deal with every day to decide.) The past informs the present and the future. Who’s to OR LIVING, MINUS FREEDOM OF CHOICE, EQUALS HOPELESSNESS say how time works? I have personally experienced precognitive dreams. I sure would like it if I could use precognitive dreams to choose lottery numbers. Life don’t work that way, blast it. Pretty much everyone knows I am mobility challenged, well, I’ll just say it this way: someone said to me, “This is what I do. I’m a transit cop.” My response was, “And this is what I do. I carry around a chair.” Bouncing back to when I was married. Amy approached me after taking a home pregnancy test. She was quite direct with me, “We need to make an appointment with Planned Parenthood.” I didn’t bother responding in any way. Two weeks later, Amy and I were being harassed before our appointment. Now that I’ve smoked a cigarette, I’ll get back to explaining my other skill… Scribbling. It ticks. It creaks. It breathes. It’s this odd little nightmare called Life. (All apologies to Dr. Who, there.) My dream that I live includes me rolling around in a wheelchair. This means I order lots of stuff from Jeff Bezos’ baby, Amazon. My most recent package was delivered to my neighborhood Whole Foods — also owned but not sired by Mr. Bezos. They opened at 9 a.m. No one was at that desk until 10:45 a.m. Why complain to Amazon? They really don’t give a shit. They just want your money. Listen up, Bezos: When I get to hell, you will know who’s in charge. You will be answering to me. You wasted my time, Asshole. I hold the cards in this game. Read ‘em and weep all you want. When we meet, the only teeth being gnashed shall be yours. I had intended this article to be published in April. That was before I realized that it made more sense to publish this piece and a second one I submitted to the VOICE at the same time. Now that I realize both are to be published in May, I have this to say: Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. ■ A LITTLE OLD ELECTRIC TORTOISE THE ARC BY STEVE ANSON, VOICE VENDOR poked his head out of my blue tennis shoe And looked both ways. Jasper, I inquired, “why do you always look both ways when you rise from your slumber?” “Who’s been sleepin’,” Jasper slyly replied. “Didn’t your mama teach you? Back when you were just a boy she told you you never know what’s to come and to keep your eyes wide. Opportunity is often in the same window you just walked from but walked away so quick that you could not see that the shadow hides the other sources of light and truths denied by those who could not keep more than they could earn and because they could not learn the lesson could not stick. By the way, I’m a tortoise,” Jasper added; ILLUSTRATION BY STEVE ANSON “and justice moves so slow that sometimes we do not see where the sunlight went when it had to go.” ■ May 2024 DENVER VOICE 5
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