S.O.L. & S.O.S. from the 80’s

“On rare occasions, I was allowed to walk freely on the grounds. I can’t remember how many times I had tried to escape (it’s all so hazy now). But now there are too many tattooed guards with guns to think about it, even if I could still think clearly. Some of my fleeting thoughts are really only faint recollections of desires to get outdoors. To stretch. To breathe fresh air, and not this re-circulating oxygen that blends with the strawberry reek of crack cocaine buildup on the walls.
This was my home until something happened. Something else. I “lived” in a bathroom, sitting, days on end, on a pink rococo vanity chair, with hardly enough concentration to digest page one of yesterday’s newspaper. Maybe it’s Wednesdays‘?
Possibly soon, Big-Don, my host and the owner of this house, might return. Then I’ll pilfer a hit off his crack bong and cut his hair with my shaky hands. I’ll pretend to listen to his bragging deliriums of how he made the company millions and I’ll laugh at his gay jokes. I’ll pretend to care about his grand delusions of his immense indispensability to the company while I trim the fifty-four hairs on his head and the abundant crop growing out of his nose. He likes his hair “just so” and I‘m a good listener when there is coke are crack are around.
I really just want to sleep. But I hardly did that anymore and I didn’t seem to need to. It’s the crack.
Even though I was docile and numb from being a “kept boy,” somehow I knew that Brie and Kelly were on their way to rescue me. The girls would karate chop their way through the tattooed guards and then they’d cut through the chain around my ankle that connected me to the toilet. Then the three of us would kick Big-Don’s big ass. After some quick repartee (and a stint in re-hab for me), the Angels and myself will meet at the office, the place where we got our assignments from a voice from a speaker phone and Lee Majors who would, hopefully, replace ugly Bosley. Then Lee Majors will announce that he is gay and getting a divorce from that skank, Jill, who quit being a team-playing Angel before I got there.
But my Angels were not here yet. And my real friends, my lover, nor my family knew where I was. I’d done such a good job at hiding my “other life” from them, my secret life as an undercover dude-Angel, that they wouldn’t have had a clue. Literally and figuratively I was in the crapper.”

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