The Golden Goat

He raised his Glock semi-automatic revolver, and pointed, almost touching my face. I felt the cold sweat running down my forehead. My heart wanted to escape but I clenched my teeth and pressed my lips. I was steering down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. 

 How did it come to this, he was taking it too far.  All I wanted was a kiss from his sixteen-year-old daughter.

His eyes are unmoving, his steer solid as steel. There is determination written all over his brow. I was sure I saw a horn growing there once, but could have been my mind, or, got to add a note to self:  unicorns do not exist.

It was winter and just one week before Christmas and I was completely broke. I mean, I had no money, no job, and no debts to collect. I even tried collecting honest cash on a public bus. It was full and I got up and told them the truth. I was not collecting for any lame-duck organizations. I would like to tell them that this money was for me, but it was for him. The owner of the corner store, who refused to give me more credit until I paid up.

They threw me off the bus, promising to call the cops if I ever came back. 

So, yes, I was stiff broke, not even an item of value that I could sell. I thought about visiting my only living relative, my Aunt Carmi. However, the last time she almost called the cops too. I only wanted to feel if her bosom was real or fake. I have overcome that weakness, I wrote a note to myself: Aunt Carmi is my Aunt.

I was pushed between the rock and a hard place.  So, I crafted an idea that would change my life forever. I visited my friend who lived across the road and asked him for a favor and he did. He warned me to be careful; if it failed I could lose my life.

I always admired my sixteen-year-old neighbor.  She was beautiful and never came over with a boyfriend, or he was afraid of the Glock-slinging, trigger-happy dad. Both worked in my favor. I was not the hottest hunk on the planet but I was between Lionel Ritchie and Denzel Washington, except for the skin color.

I stopped her one evening as she strolled, and danced her way home from school. She wove her hair in a single ponytail and her lips were naturally red. Were these modern teens so blind?

She was surprised but then I explained that I did not have a crush on her, so she had nothing to worry about.

‘Listen, I need your help, I have a golden goat and it is not completing its transformation.’

She smiled at me and raised her eyebrows.

‘Your goat is going to transform into a princess?’ she smiled out loud and then giggled. 

I gave thanks to the Lord. She had the fairytales.

‘No, it’s not like that. It is a magical goat, please do not tell this to anyone, or you may lose your commission.’ She giggled again, this time like a hyena.

‘What makes it so magical, or special?’ the smile stayed on her face.

‘All its fur will become gold. Now, I need this to happen before Christmas. In that way, you will have your commissions before the holidays.’

‘You want me to help you sell it, seeing it’s not growing gold yet?’ she only smiled this time.

‘No, my friend, I wouldn’t sell my goat for all the money in the world,” The truth is if it were mine, I would have sold it for just ten bucks. ‘I can show you the points where it’s already beginning to change to gold.’

She looked at me and then looked over to her house.  She was trying to decide if she should go see the goat. I needed to help.

‘Wait here, I’ll go fetch goaty. Will you wait?” she looked into my eyes for a moment trying to figure out if this was real or just an overture.  She nodded and I went back inside to get the goat.

The goat came out crying a few times but stopped when it saw my neighbor. The teenager came over and touched the soft fur of the animal. She ran her hands over its head.

‘See, the tip of the horn is already changing, and so is the fur under its stomach. Look!” I showed it to her and she mused to herself.  She touched the point of the golden horn.

‘So, what is my role and what do I get for doing it?” Step one was achieved. She was good for business; she would not rush in uninformed.

‘The commission is one percent of the fur.  That’s about enough gold to get your dad fired and retired.   So, what do you say?”  She kept looking at me for a while. Still doubtful of the golden fur.

‘What do I have to do, to get so much money?” she raised her hands to her hips and it showed how much more she resembled Barbie. I wish I was a few years younger. New note to self: Danger! Dad owns a Gluck.

‘Simple, just kiss it….” She cut me off immediately.

‘You are sick. Crazy to think I would kiss a goat, yuck!” she walked away calling me a few things more that I dare not mention here.  I was at another crossroads. Moreover, my life insurance was running out of policy.

Sunday is the day when everyone is at home.  That meant dad and daughter were at home.  It also meant higher risks and bigger stakes. But I had nothing to lose, death from a Glock, or death by unknown means. I chose the Gluck.

I went running over to my neighbor’s house, unable to retain my joy.  The teenager was outside sitting on a metal swing. She wore a pair of earphones and seemed to be listening to music. She was also singing along or talking with someone.

I called out to her, but she didn’t answer, or she did not hear me coming. I walked up behind her and touched her on her shoulders. She screamed out and jumped from the swing like a polo horse jumping the rails.

‘Hello,” I started but stopped short as the gunslinger came to the defense of his daughter.

‘Dad, please put down the gun.’ She smiled at me all covered with sweat. ‘He is the guy with the goat.’

He lowered the gun but kept it in his hand. I was happier anyway.

‘So, you are the goat guy. Where’s that goat?” I explained to him how the goat was a special animal from the mystic city of Salem in Massachusetts. He related to me that he had a friend who runs a bar in Salem. Just my luck.

He decided to call his friend, who to my surprise, offered to buy the goat! The friend assured him that the goat was one of the mystic animals who were able to defeat trolls.  I do remember reading about the three Billy Goats that killed a troll who lived beneath a bridge.

May endless blessings fall on this friend. Note to self: There are a lot of crazy folks out there!

The gunslinger guarded his gun in his waist. He called me apart a little distance so that his daughter wouldn’t hear.

‘Listen to me carefully, I am still young and would like to go to Hawaii this year, so if your little ram can produce gold, we will think about it. However, I do not want to see you near my daughter.  From today it will be between you and me.  Now, I want a part of this gold also, you hear me.”

I assured him that it would be fine with me.  We shook hands and went inside to do the kissing so that no one would see.  Once inside the teenager went over to the goat and placed a loud smack on its head.

I objected, explaining that it had to be on the mouth and for about five seconds. She started to object but her dad assured her it would be okay. She played the role better than Angelina. New note to self: Masquerading as a goat isn’t all that bad.

We sat down and talked for a while after the teenager left.  Gunslinger was now my newest friend. When he left, I placed a call to my friend. I told him that I had the video. He only asked ‘Did Marley really kiss my goat?’

Tomorrow would be another day; I had won my bet on long-shot bets.