Don Bruns: Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

“Is this Eugene?”

“It is.”

“Eugene,” the voice was soft and sexy, “I was a — ” she paused, “a friend of Daron Styles.”

“Yeah.”

“You may receive a phone call regarding him in the next several weeks.”

“I was there when — ”

“I know. There are going to be more questions. They’re going to ask you about his contacts. Please, you and your friends, simply say that you were casual friends and there’s absolutely nothing else you can add.”

“Casual friends?”

“That’s right. Eugene, it’s very important.”

“If you were his friend, I need to tell you that I misjudged him. What happened to him should never happen to anyone.”

“Eugene. Please. You were casual friends. Nothing more. That’s all you should say.”

“I’ll do it.”

In the movies, on TV, in books, the ending always ties up the loose ends. It doesn’t seem to be that way in real life. At least for me. I’m still waiting to see if I’ll be charged for shooting LeRoy. I’m still waiting to see if Bruce Crayer surfaces. I’m still waiting to see if Cashdollar gets away with murder, and I’m still waiting to see if Em and I will survive. I keep remembering my uncle Buzz, saying we’re all waiting for the next revival. I wish that was the only thing I was concerned with. Actually, I don’t think I could ever visit another revival meeting. And I mean ever.

I saw Cashdollar on TV that night. I think it was Fox News that interviewed him. His ministry was skyrocketing. They showed him in front of a large gathering. The banner was behind him.

YOU WILL BE MADE RICH IN EVERY WAY SO THAT YOU CAN BE GENEROUS ON EVERY OCCASION.

I’d donated to that cause. I’d bought into the concept, just a little bit, and I still didn’t have more than five bucks in my pocket and four beers in the fridge. Cashdollar’s ministry. The stuff dreams are made of.