The Select Board Meeting - Some Flash Fiction

Ezra Roberts stood up and ambled toward the short line of local citizens waiting to speak. Heads turned and tongues wagged in low murmurs. No one in attendance that evening had ever seen Ezra Roberts near the town hall, let alone standing in line so he could file a grievance of some kind at that evening's Board of Selectmen meeting. Shoot, the only time he ever came to the Town Hall was to register another motorized public nuisance or pay his taxes.

Now Ezra was a big man. .........  No, big does not come close to describing the chiseled immensity that was six foot, eight inch Ezra Roberts. Depending on who was talking, Ez was either around 340 pounds or over 400 as many people in town insisted. He was huge and intimidating. 

The murmurs stopped when Ezra sidled up to the podium to speak. Every eye in the room focused on him. He bent over the mic and stuttered,

"Uh, uh, ...... I have a com, com, complaint." 

Ezra shifted from one foot to the other and leaned on the lectern so hard, select board chairwoman, Mahthah Dillard became concerned for its structural integrity.  

Ezra was nervous.  He always stuttered when he was nervous. He never outgrew it. He never had to. Once he hit six foot at age twelve, no one ever mentioned it to his face again. 

Mahthah spoke into her mic. 

"Ez, you have to state your full name before you can speak."

Ezra looked startled. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and then,

"Shoot, Mahthah, you know who I am. You babysat for me and my brothers back in the day."

Mahthah looked at Ezra over her glasses.

"Don't matter a bit Ez. Those the rules. We have to have rules or these meetings might get uglier than they sometimes already do. .......... Now please, your name for the record and then speak your piece. You got two minutes."

Mahthah was having none of it. This was her select board and even a giant such as Ezra had to play by the rules.

Ezra glared at the podium and then looked up to face the select board sitting at the front of the room. These were sober good citizens watching and waiting for him to make a fool of himself. These people were not the good ole boys he yucked it up with down to the VFW in Sanford every Friday night. No sir. Not by a long shot. He knew he had to keep his temper in check.

"I have a complaint dammit, uh, oh yeah. ...... Uh, I am Ezra Roberts from over near Jackson Pond and I have had it with the county cops here 'bouts."

Alfred Bibber, the newest member of the select board, moved the shared mic on the table closer and in a snarky voice spoke up:

" Well Now Ezra, just what's your complaint? You been arrested for drunk and disorderly again?

Ezra looked down at the podium again and set his jaw. The look he shot Alfred Bibber made Alfred wilt like three day old cut flowers left in the Sun. Alfred swallowed hard. 

" Uh, no Bibber, I haven't been arrested in years. But I seem to remember the Sheriff was up to your place a few weeks ago." Ezra continued to glare at Selectman Bibber; then he continued:

"While I would just love to continue this conversation with you Al, I'll wait until we are both outside later,..... Ok Al?"

Al Bibber's face went pale. He gently slid the shared mic back to the center of the table, sat back in his seat and did not open his mouth the rest of the evening except when his vote was needed.

Ezra continued:

"The sheriffs are damn quick to pull me over and shove their decibel meter up my ..... , uh, yeah, they are quick to come after me, but when I have a second motorcycle torched in my dooryard in as many months, the useless pricks take an hour to get to my place to write up a report."

Ezra stopped and looked around the room.

"You folks know what I mean. ...... What are we paying the county for? The county sheriffs are useless........... "

Angus Wender, the selectman who never spoke, interrupted Ezra's tirade. He was not intimidated by Ezra. They grew up together and Angus knew Ezra was all mouth and no trousers. He piped up:

"Jeezum Ezra, You had another one of your motorcycles burn up? Damn, that's some hard luck, son......... I wonder if torching your bikes has anything to do with the god awful racket you spread around town as you roll hither and yon on those damn motorcycles you own. ..... You think that might be the cause Ez? .... Seems I remember you waking me and Mother up the other day at dark thirty in the morning when you drove by coming from wherever it was you were coming from. There weren't no need of it, but that did not matter to you, did it?"

Angus paused to let Ezra take in what he had said, then continued:

"Maybe you should put real mufflers on the next bike, whatta ya think? That seem like it makes sense? Well, does it Ezra?"

Ezra Roberts could feel himself losing it. He dropped his huge hands to his side and straightened up to his full height of six foot, eight inches. He stood silent for a time looking at his childhood friend who had just dressed him down in public. Clinching his fists several times, Ezra finally relaxed some. The tension drained and he once again bent over the podium mic to speak.

"I can see that no one here is the least bit interested in the thousands of dollars in damage to my property."

A voice from the audience behind him chirped:

"Yeah well, no one likes your damn motorcycle but you. Put a muffler on the next one."

Ezra and everyone turned around. Unbeknownst to him, his brother and next door neighbor, Jacob Roberts, had popped into the meeting while Ezra was whining at the podium. 

His brother Jacob continued:

"It was me Ez, I torched your bikes. I told you years ago I couldn't stand the noise. Jenny and I had finally had enough, so I torched em, both of them. Figured you might take the hint when the first one went up in flames. But no, you go ahead and build up a second bike that was even louder than the first one."

Jacob hesitated and then opened his mouth as if to speak again. He thought better of it and stopped there. Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the building. Inside the meeting room, silence; not a sound from anyone. Ezra stood with his mouth open, yet no words came. Somebody coughed nervously. 

Mahthah Dillard adjusted her glasses and said:

"So Ezra, are we done here? I think you and your brother have some things to work out. ...... Now please, if you are finished, leave or sit down. There's a couple of folks waiting to speak.

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This story came to me in the wee hours yesterday as I sipped on my first cup coffee of the day. I was outside sitting on my two bucket bench and watching Maggie go through her morning routine. Off in the distance on the H Road over a mile away, I heard the outrageous sound of an un-muffled motorcycle heading towards 109. I looked at the time. It was 5:20 AM. My first thought was:

"I sure am glad I don't live on the H Road."

The above tale is the result of that one thought.

This is a total fabricated made up story. No one locally or abroad were used as characters. So please, don't let any panties get twisted.

_____________________

Music........ Hmm.... 

I guess the first song I ever heard that made me want a motorcycle back in the day was "Ballad of Easy Rider", by Roger McQuinn of the band The Byrds. He wrote it for the movie "Easy Rider". Combine that with a Teen Club standard, "Born to be Wild", by Steppenwolf and Hell, what pubescent boy wouldn't want a two wheeled motor between his legs.

I would eventually own that motorcycle. I drove it all over the Northeast and camped on the sides of roads and behind feed stores. Then, my driving over the road career started and I turned the motorcycle in for a big rig. 

While I was looking for inspiration for a song to go with this post, I ran across a song Merle Haggard released back in 2000. It is called "Motorcycle Cowboy". That may have been his last album. It's a dynamite tune.

So today, it's a "Three Fer". 

Please enjoy "Ballad of Easy Rider", "Born to Be Wild", and Merle's, "Motorcycle Cowboy".