Strike One

               Although I am only a teenager, I have already lived a fantastically remarkable life. It has been so crazy that I am telling this story from jail. I want to share my story, so it won’t happen to you. 

               I already know what you’re thinking; me in jail, no way. Believe me, that’s exactly what I thought, so listen close, I’m going to start from the beginning. I was born on November twenty-seven two thousand and seven. My parents said it was a special day. It must have been because I was born with a certain sense about me, there was a “Voice” in my head that I heard loud and clear, a “Voice” no one else heard, a “Voice” that always had the answer. As a young boy, they would say, if you have a question, any question, whatever it is, ask Joey, he'll give you the answer. My legend started when I picked my first Super Bowl champion at eighteen months old. This “Voice” was telling me more than which team was going to win professional sporting events, this “Voice” told me right from wrong.

               The thing is, when it came to me, I never listened to the “Voice”. I heard the “Voice” but never listened, that was until one day, I said STOP! I guess it’s time to introduce myself. My name’s Joseph Johnson, but everyone knew me as Joey, and believe me everyone in my town knew me. By the age of five, I was three-for-three in picking Super Bowl champions, two of which were upsets. I was already a local celebrity so when I disappeared it made national news.

               I’m the middle child in a family of three and as you’ll see sometimes I get lost. Once a month, my Mom, my Dad, my older brother Michael and my younger sister Kate went to my Yaya’s (Grandma’s) and Papa’s (Grandpa’s) house for dinner. Their house is one of my favorite places, not because of the house but because of the strange contradiction of smells that bombarded my nostrils.

               You see, Yaya’s and Pap’s house is directly across the highway from a Krispy Krème donut factory. A factory that produces a smell better than anything in the world to me. I’ve even debated with my Sunday school teacher that heaven smells like Krispy Kreme donuts. My teacher, being a large woman, was easily swayed by my argument.

               On the fateful day, as we pull up, I don’t see anything but the Krispy Kreme donut factory. The car doors pop open, and I inhale deeply through my nose. ….Yes!  We’re downwind from the donut factory, the smell is heavenly indeed. I shut my eyes and breath deep only through my nose. I am eating donuts with my nose, probably like ten trillion atoms worth. I’m paralyzed by the smell. My Dad knew the routine; he unbuckles my safety belt, lifts me out of the car, and carries me up to the house. For as long as I could remember, one of my life’s goals was to find the source of that incredible smell.

               A great contradiction brewed inside me as my Father set me down on the porch. You see, I love my Grand Parents, but their house stinks! I don’t know what it could be, I looked for piles of dirty underwear; I ask them if they had a pet skunk. I never figured it out; it’s an unsolved mystery still on my books.

               The unpleasant odor of the house made the smell of those sweet, sweet, donuts even more alluring. I say hello, fulfill my grandparent hug quota, then as quickly as possible slip out the door and climbed onto, or more appropriately climb into the hammock. I love the hammock, the way it swallows up my body; I would have probably called it a cocoon. Once inside my cocoon, I close my eyes. By closing my eyes I’m able to concentrate all my senses on smell. After a few moments, it’s as if my body doesn’t exist. I am only NOSE. Then I slowly SNIFFFF.  I inhale deep through my nose; the wind is just right and my whole essence becomes donut.  I am donut; donut is me.

               I’m ripped from paradise by Yaya’s voice announcing she forgot to turn on the oven and dinner would be two hours late. My stomach was already growling; I am soooo hungry and my cocoon is filled with the sweet alluring scent of Krispy Kreme donuts. Being enveloped in the cocoon with the smell, and the hunger, the hunger, and the smell, back and forth, smell-hunger, hunger-smell, a transformation takes place – I become a donut ZOMBIE. I’m officially possessed by the smell of the donuts, I slide off the hammock, arms extended in front of me, then stagger Zombie style across the yard and lurched through the fence.

               I can’t even fathom how I managed to Zombie-stagger across eight lanes of busy highway traffic, but I was in a trance. Before I knew it, I crawl under a barbed-wire fence and shimmy my way into the Krispy Krème donut factory.

               I slide down a vent and found myself inside a gigantic donut machine, a machine that had the sole purpose of making donuts. I watch mesmerized by row after row of donuts that suddenly appear and move on, only to be replaced by another row, and another row, and another row. I imagined the machine was giving birth to them. I’m hungry, so I reach up and grab one. Yum, delicious. I grab another. It’s heaven. I grab another. Every time I take one, another appears. To me, there are infinity donuts. I grab another.

               It’s incredible. I want to sit down, but there isn’t any furniture under the donut machine. So, I decide to use the most abundant resource available - donuts. I snatch donuts off the conveyor and use them to construct a chair.  It doesn’t take me long; but when it’s done wow! Soft, super comfortable and I have to admit, rather stylish. By the time I finish my twin-size donut bed, I forgot all about dinner or my parents.

               The police arrive at Yaya’s and Papa’s probably about the time I had eaten my thirty-fifth donut and I was lying down on my most comfortable donut bed. The FBI arrived about the time I was drifting off to sleep.

               They question everyone in the neighborhood. I made the national news. It was a mystery, so they brought in a Psychic.  The Psychic went into a trance and when she emerged from it, she said, “I have a strong feeling he’s in heaven.” That made my parents faint.

I was in heaven living inside the donut machine. Every now and then one of the workers would get a glimpse of me through the machinery. I became like Bigfoot, an Alien, the Loch Ness Monster of the donut factory. Workers began talking about the mysterious Donut boy who would pop up, grab a donut, and disappear. I was also gaining three pounds a day.

If you’re wondering how they finally found me, I had gained so much weight from the donuts I could barely move. I would wake up on my donut bed, roll over, take a few bites of my donut pillow, and go back to sleep. One morning, I was awakened by a worker who had stopped the machine to see why donut production was down. Everyone was happy to see me, but I was still in trouble.