Brain Wreck

Here is a more-or-less true story about some people that I, quite fortunately, am no longer in touch with for obvious reasons. My old friends, and I use the term loosely, were a couple who lived in Tuba City, Arizona, about 15-20 years ago. I don’t remember the exact years for the same reason that I don’t remember a lot of things, but that is an entirely different story.

The guy in this relationship was named, and I am not making this up, Royray Ray. No kidding. I think his parents were just aggravated about having another kid, so they gave him the name to punish him for their stupidity. Royray was their 13th, and completely unexpected, child. You’d think that after going through this so many times they would have figured out what was causing events like this. Anyway, by this time they were probably out of names, definitely out of money, and most likely out of any kind of patience for a new squalling brat. That’s how Royray got started, and he, not surprisingly, grew up to be kind of a weird person.

When I first met him, Royray was working as a motorcycle cop in Tuba City. He was a motorcycle cop because he had already wrecked both of Tuba City’s patrol cars. How I met him is yet another story, but I will only admit to the part where I gave him a generous contribution for the Policemen’s Benevolent Society, and he, in return, agreed to look the other way for certain, shall we say, indiscretions. We later shared some of the indiscretions, but that’s also another story.

On one bright, sunny, disgustingly hot Arizona day, something completely out of the norm, Royray met his bride-to-be. On this particular fine afternoon, Royray, as usual, was napping on his motorcycle in the shade of a billboard when a car whizzed by so fast it woke him up. Needless to say, this angered Royray. He fired up his bike and began to give chase, and, as he flew down the highway in pursuit, he noticed that the car was weaving in a very erratic fashion. When the driver finally noticed the flashing lights, the car pulled over to the side of the road. When Royray walked up to the car, he discovered that the driver was a young lady who reeked of alcohol. She quickly explained to Royray that she was only trying to open an uncooperative bottle of beer while talking to her AA sponsor to explain why she was late for their appointment while steering her car with her knees. This whole episode is presented here just as Royray described it to me. Royray, following normal procedure, asked to see her license and registration. He was absolutely amazed when he looked at the name on the license which was Joyray Ray, and even though they both knew there was a chance that they were probably related, it was love at first sight. Joyray was an intoxicated hottie, and Royray knew he’d found his perfect mate.

They had a whirlwind romance, got married by Elvis in Vegas, and decided that their ultimate goal was to own a goat farm in northern Minnesota, where they could live out their days without ever sweating again. To this end, they immediately began to plan for ways to finance their dream. Royray made a fair salary as a cop, and Joyray made a bit of money as a part-time softball umpire and a full-time drunken Uber driver. After a while Royray and Joyray realized that they were never going to achieve their financial goals at their present rate, especially since they still maintained all their expensive bad habits. So, with Royray’s cop connection know-how, during their spare time they began to rob convenience stores around their general area.

Things were going great for quite some time. The goat farm money was piling up, and everything was looking rosy. Then one fateful Saturday night, ironically while robbing the Horny Goat, Arizona, U-Totem, Joyray attempted to jump over the counter in order to clean out the cash register. Unfortunately, in mid-leap her 9mm pistol slipped out of the waistband of her sweatpants, hit the floor, and discharged a round that, also unfortunately, hit Royray right between the legs.

After a long hospital stay for Royray, followed by a long jail stay, I finally raised enough money to bail Royray out of the Horny Goat, Arizona, lockup. I still don’t know why. Anyway, after having so much time to think about it, a still very angry Royray filed for divorce from Joyray. The judge who later granted the divorce decree said, “Well, looks like we now have two ex-Rays, or is it four?”

After prison, Royray, with his accidental gunshot voice, became a classic country-western singer named Loretta Ray. He appeared mostly at drag shows, now called trans performances I am told, around the Southwest.

Joyray bought three trained goats with her crime money, and she was last known to be traveling throughout the south with a small circus.

I have lost touch with both of them. Poor me.