Creepers.

Some youth in the area introduced me to a new word recently: creeper. In the old days, I think we called them just ‘creeps’ or ‘creepos’, as in “That guys a real creepo.” (At first, when I heard their word, I thought they’d said ‘keeper’ instead of ‘creeper’!) BIG difference. BIG.

Not many creepers have shown their faces lately—or else I’ve been indoors too much to notice. Hippy Bill quit working at my local coffee/gas station, so it seems rather sad—no one I can really talk to if I need to run over for a cup of ice: I’m lacking in area gossip and his episodes dealing w/ local characters.

I probably shouldn’t go looking for trouble anyway, now that I’m a grandmomma and all! Sorta changes your way of thinking. Previously—well, before Christmas-- I’d sort of run my mouth with just one sentence, thus exposing myself to an individual in one of my previous stories….someone who has been referred to as “Charles Manson Man”.
This guy (I will call him ‘Holiday’) was someone I’d seen occasionally since I was roughly 16 years old. Puppy-dog deep brown eyes--quite nice. Quite. Of course, I ‘d always kept this tidbit of info to myself as I’d no idea who the guy was—just that he always seemed a bit ‘dangerous’. He exuded an “I’m not an approachable person unless you wanted to end up in jail with me tonight…and it will probably be a felony” aura. Chills and Thrills! Cute! With long hair….mmm. But even other guys at parties avoided him except for a specific group…

Last summer I’d asked “Who exactly is that guy?—and when I displayed shock about his ‘Manson’ nickname, I was told “You’ve never seen him angry—when his eyes look like Manson—it’s scary!”….

What made me speak out after so many years of subdued interest—was the hair thing. (NO! I would never of gone anywhere with ‘suspect in missing woman case and she’s probably in a well or the river’ man.) I was standing around talking to Hippy Bill and I noticed a person getting gas that looked vaguely familiar. Since I was on drugs that month—that lovely pain-killer, lower-back medicine—vague being a key word… all of a sudden the door opened and beautiful brown-eyed guy stepped inside. I looked back and gasped with dismay: “YOU CUT OFF ALL YOUR HAIR!” That’s it. No big deal. Just that sentence. But I’d never spoke to him before (based on hearsay and the advice/tales of many). When I told cop-friend about Holiday later, he told me I was out of my mind and that I’d find him on my doorstep within a few days.

Holiday looked over with a raised eyebrow and blurted a few near-suggestive comments before he left—Hippy Bill was very curt with him …and I reassured cop-friend that someone with such a limited amount of damaged brain cells squandered in their skull would never remember the incident 2 minutes later--as their mind only retains crucial relevant information, like: ‘alibis’ and ‘bondsmen’ and ‘who dealt what with whom’ and ‘how much’ and ‘how many grams’.

Still, I would not consider this person a ‘creeper’. I’ll have to think of another category!