By David Simmons
NORCROSS, Ga. | In fall of 1988 I ended up in Washington, D.C., living in a nine-story apartment building across from the Department of Transportation. I walked to my work.
Simmons
It was a snowy winter in our Nation’s Capitol, and to fit in I bought a gray trench coat to go along with my Bear Bryant/Archie Bunker hat, (Brim curled up for Archie, brim turned down for Bear). On my walk to and from work, there were six or eight traffic lights along the way, and just for fun, I took to walking up and standing back to back to people. Then in my most covert whisper I would say, “The Yellow Canary flies at midnight,” and then walk away. I must have done it 200-300 times over the course of that winter. People play spies on television, why not me?
Fifteen years later, I was at a barbecue/cookout with my girl friend Linda at Joe, the plumber’s, house. Joe is a big storyteller, and for entertainment he suggested and started a game where each person would tell their most unusual true story, or conversely totally fabricate a tall tale. At the end of the story all the others at the cookout would vote whether they thought the story was true or false.
When it came my turn, I told the beginning of the story that I have told many times and that you just read. I told the rest of the story for the very first time that night, and I have never, ever told it again until now. I told of the snow, and the traffic lights, the trench coat and hat. And “The Yellow Canary flies at midnight.”
The part of the story that I have always kept secret is that one Friday night, at the end of the work week, I stopped off at a local pub for a couple of beers on the way home. Afterward about 10 p.m., I was walking towards the Metro station, when a white cargo van, a Ford Econoline, I think, swerved over close to the sidewalk, and the sliding cargo door slid open. Just as it came to a stop, I was slammed from behind and knocked forward into the van. As I landed in the van, I felt a pricking sensation on the back of my neck. That is the last thing I remember. I went out like a light.
I came to, groggy, disoriented, on a bus stop bench on Constitution Avenue, Saturday morning, about 9 a.m. Not knowing what to do, I just sat for a while, thinking. Finally, I walked to the Metro station to head home. When I got home, I found everything normal, except I had a bruise on both shins, just below my knees, and there was a pinprick and bruise on the big vein on my left elbow like when you get an IV.
Truth serum? Who knows? I was pretty scared for a while there. But finally, I decided that whoever it was, got what they were after, and that it was over. So I never went to the police, never told anyone,
Those at the party were split. Nobody could be really sure either way. Joe just kept saying, “Nahhhhh, David, come on?”
As a group, they couldn’t decide if it was a true story or not. They did decide that it was the best story of the night. What do you think? Truth or fiction?
- Have a comment? Send to: elliott@brack.net
Follow Us