Something About Sammy. Blaine Sims
to get home,” he said.
“How will you without a car?” I asked.
A look of bewilderment and consternation emerged on his face.
“You mean we didn’t find it last night?” he said shocked.
“No, Cody, we didn’t,” I said.
He collapsed onto his bed.
We hit a brick wall and realized we needed help to solve the mystery. I informed him it best I call the Sheriff’s Department and he agreed.
Judgment told me not to have them come straight to the motel. I drove three-quarters of a mile to a 24-hour grocery store.
This place of business had a familiarity as it adjoined the highway across from the entrance to the hotel resort I used to work at. Cody gave me his driver’s license, and I headed out.
I entered the store and recognized the employee at the register. We remembered each other’s names. I explained the need to call the sheriff’s department and provided a synopsis. He appreciated the information and wished me luck.
I walked outside and made the call to the non-emergency number. Imagine if you will, the exchange as I attempted to explain the predicament.
“Am I to understand you want to report a stolen vehicle?” the deputy who answered asked.
“Well, no, sir,” I replied. “I can’t state with confidence someone stole the vehicle.”
“Okay, you’re not reporting a stolen vehicle,” he continued. “What’s the problem?”
I was exasperated.
“I don’t want to insinuate someone didn’t steal it,” I said. “I consider it a remote likelihood. We can’t locate it.”
“Where did you last see the car?” he asked.
I kept my composure.
“I haven’t,” I said. “My son can’t remember when he last saw it, but he walked back to his motel room from wherever he left it.”
I deliberated telling him I last saw the car in Bluewater Springs but realized it wouldn’t help. I struggled to provide insight into Cody’s current state-of-mind and a bit of the background leading to the moment.
“I’ll send a deputy to meet with you,” he said.
Within ten minutes, two sheriff’s cars pulled into the lot. They initiated contact, and I explained the dilemma.
I mentioned my employment with the Georgia Department of Corrections and assignment to Little Oak Isle Work Camp. The deputies listened with intent and compassion, if not initial confusion.
I provided them with Cody’s driver’s license and asked if they wanted mine. They answered in the affirmative. I reached into my left side trouser pocket, withdrew my wallet, and flung it open. I retrieved my license and handed it to the lead deputy while closing my billfold.
Underneath the driver’s license lay my State of Georgia Weapon Carry License. The deputies’ observation skills became evident.
“Is that a concealed weapon carry license?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“Do you have any weapons on you?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I said.
Both deputies returned to their respective vehicles. After a brief amount of time, they reemerged.
The lead one asked questions, and I provided answers and explanations the best I could. They reached the point where they wanted to speak with Cody and forewarned me if they determined a need for commitment, they’d transport him for assessment. We departed en route to the motel.
With the three of us at the door, I knocked, inserted the key, and opened it. Cody had wrapped himself under the covers.
“Are there weapons in the room?” the deputy shouted. “Let me see your hands!”
My son raised them in the air as he bolted upright on the bed.
The deputies questioned Cody, in effect rehashing what they asked me. At their suggestion, I telephoned the customer service number on the reverse side of Cody’s credit card to determine where the last several transactions took place.
A great idea, except the information was not available at the hour of the morning. The second deputy announced his intent to search for the car. After twenty minutes, he returned and informed us he located it in the rear parking lot of a restaurant to the north.
I drove through the front lot the night before, but not the rear. Cody and I thanked the deputies. They were professional in their interaction, and their patience, persistence, and empathy appreciated. We shook hands.
Cody and I made the drive, and he reunited with his car. Returning to the motel, he loaded it and departed for Bluewater Springs. Relieved at the resolution, I nonetheless became wiped out from the ordeal. Because of work, I needed to get sleep but acquired a desperate urge to indulge in beer. I stopped at the Bison Lodge. The time allowed for the mandatory eight hours of passage from consuming alcohol and reporting for a shift.
I continued to plan on moving to Bluewater Springs after retirement, set for October 31, 2017. I prayed for him to get better and tried to help. In the spring of 2016, the relationship again turned sour. After a full year, it regressed to square one!
The inevitable reared its head. We started having bitter and nasty exchanges. One night, a series of illogical and undecipherable texts arrived.
I responded the best I could in light of what he wrote. The gist of it read as if he didn’t care anymore. Envision my horror when the words, Glock 17 popped on the screen. I called, and it switched to voice mail. I left a message to call. After a five-minute wait, I phoned.
Once more, I received his voice mail. I told him if I didn’t receive a reply within 10 minutes, I’d call the Bluewater Police Department. He didn’t respond.
I contacted the police, and they sent officers to check on him. I re-established communication with them after the passage of three hours. The dispatcher advised me Cody checked out okay, but they transported him to a treatment center for evaluation.
Eight days later, my phone blew up with messages. Angry, he blamed me for his commitment. I tried to reason with him. After one brutal text, I put an end to it for the final time.
I entered an emotional period but continued taking care of business. It didn’t seem difficult. I found it a piece of cake since this was the fourth time he burned me. I retained my work, the lodge, and close friends.
In the year Heather left him, I dealt with a decade’s long friend who informed me over the phone she possessed a passionate love traversing the closeness of the platonic friendship between us.
Aware of what transpired with Cody since the beginning, she stuck with me. A new development proved stressful for her. I surmised it a fantasy release and nothing more. She denied it and claimed her passion developed years prior.
In amongst the phone calls and texts from Cody, I dealt with texts and hours-long phone calls from her. There were not so pleasant exchanges, and it took a toll on our friendship.
I’ve known this beautiful, loving lady for over thirty years. It turned out an emotional drain. Nonetheless, I handled the loss of companionship. I knew what transpired wrought difficulty on her but didn’t comprehend how difficult. I will go into detail later.
For the most part, I remained content and focused, continuing with a sense of purpose. However, happiness eluded me with the loss of Cody.
My true happiness, aside from Cody, pertained to the lady who became my wife, Cody’s mother.
I loved her, although we maintained different personalities. Sociable, her family members drank substantial amounts of alcoholic beverages, and she kept with the best of them.