One stormy Oklahoma night, in the back of a wood paneled station wagon on the side of a dusty road, a legend was born. Her name was Venus EnVie.
Some say she was born to a roller queen mother and a gypsy father. Others claim that she just popped into existence in the back seat of the station wagon when lightning struck out of the wide open Oklahoma sky. Only one thing's for certain: Venus EnVie could skate like nobody's business.
Folks say she took her first step at six months old, taught herself how to drive the station wagon at six, and that by the time she was eight years old, she could skate so hard and so fast that she left burn marks in the pavement and a trail of smoke in her wake.
From that point on, there was no stopping her. Maybe it was her fateful birth, or the gypsy blood in her veins. She had to keep moving.
On her tenth birthday, the station wagon broke down on the side of Route 66, forty miles outside of Flagstaff, and couldn't be repaired. It had been a good station wagon--not only a mode of transportation, but her home and shelter, her only friend. Venus thanked it for sticking by her through thick and thin, and for never running out of gas. Then she waved a tearful goodbye, and, continuing her journey on skates, became the first minor in the United States to roller skate cross-country.
It was a strangely satisfying life- sleeping in old barns and abandoned warehouses, relying on the kindness of rollerskating enthusiasts for her meals, racing against souped up Fords and Chevys for pocket money. Times oscillated from flush to rough and back again, but Venus persevered. Thrived. Flourished.
There was only one problem. After so many years out there on the road with only loneliness for company, Venus knew she needed a change, and, on the cusp of her fourteenth year, it became her mission to find a traveling companion.
One lonely Arkansas night, when the moon hung, harvest yellow and close to the earth, Venus heard a sound full of longing and portent--something between a warble and a closed-mouth throat roar. Something deep inside her vagabond heart told her to investigate. Following the noise to its source, she found herself nose to chest feathers with the meanest, orneriest ostrich east of Texas: a 14 foot tall beast of a bird named Bernie. This was the one. This magnificent avian was destined to be her traveling companion. You wouldn't have thought so at the time, what with the way he spit and stomped and flapped at her, but Venus could just tell that Bernie was special, and that the two of them were meant to wander together down countless empty highways.
But first, an alliance must be made. Venus declared her intention to travel with Bernie. She complimented his strong wings and fierce beak; his dapper scarf and bowler hat. She even offered him a gift: a rattlesnake she'd caught and skinned herself for his noontime meal. Bernie was not taken with her supplications at first, but after many hours of back and forth negotiations, Venus finally impressed him with her rollerskating prowess and he conceded to join her in her travels.
And so the two set out on their adventures. Years passed. Their friendship blossomed and the miles flew by in a cloud of downy feathers. By age 19, Venus had crisscrossed the North American continent on her rollerskates, with Bernie running at her side.
Sometimes, when the weather was bad or when a wheel needed replacing on her skates, Bernie would allow her to climb up on his back and ride off into the sunset.
Somewhere in the wilds of Alaska, the pair met their match in the form of a fierce and hungry polar bear. This vicious beast apparently hadn't been informed that polar bears aren't supposed to live in Alaska; he'd moved right in and settled down.
The bear wrangled the stately bird by his long, graceful neck and crunched. Venus, who sat straddled atop Bernie’s back at the time, due to the difficulties of rollerskating on snow and ice, managed to get two hands in the polar bear’s mouth and pried his jaws apart, slashing her arms to the shoulder in the process. She almost didn't make it out alive. Poor Bernie fully didn't. His once tall, graceful body lay crumpled and bloodied in the snow.
Needless to say, the polar bear was madder than spitfire about Venus’s meddling around in his mouth. He pursued her in an explosion of snow and fury, and she led him on quite a chase, even without the benefit of skates. But the bear overcame her at the precipice of a deep, icy gorge. For a split second, it looked like that might be the end of Venus EnVie, but in one swift (some might say godly) motion, she extracted the sharpest tooth in the bear's mouth and stabbed him in the jugular with it. The bear tumbled to his death down in the icy gorge, along with Venus's rollerskates, which could not be recovered.
Venus cleaned the shredded skin of her arms with her own copious tears and bound the wounds in moss and lichen. Then she walked, making her slow, plodding way through Canada and down into Montana, stopping only to eat scraps of the bear meat she’d salvaged from the battle. She mourned for forty days and nights over the loss of her best friend, and swore never to take on another traveling companion.
Some folks say it was the rollerskates that gave her those bountiful reserves of strength and courage. Without them, she was lost. She just didn't know who she was any longer. She wondered if perhaps the Gods of the Road were telling her something. Was it time to settle down? She had a little money from performing feats of daring at urban intersections with Bernie. Maybe it was time to put her nest egg to good use.
She wandered into a Greyhound station in Belgrade, Montana one morning along about 4:00 and bought a ticket on the next bus leaving.
About four days later, she found herself in the moist and flamboyant city of New Orleans. She walked along the muggy sidewalk, bitter and exhausted, until she found a room for rent in the French Quarter. It was the first room Venus had ever lived in, and though it felt mighty unnatural at first, sleeping in a bed and showering every morning, she soon grew accustomed to the settled life.
But the legend of the Vagabond Roller Queen had followed Venus to New Orleans. Before long, folks were approaching her, asking her for autographs and trying to recruit her into roadside attractions. Venus didn't take kindly to these strangers who rudely insisted on reminding her of her past, and it was especially painful whenever anyone asked her whether she had truly traveled and performed with an ostrich in a bowling hat.
But time heals all wounds at the same time as it drains all wallets. It had been over a year since she stumbled into New Orleans, and Venus was finally out of money. Knowing she only had one marketable skill, she determined to lace up her feet once more and roll her way to financial solvency.
Only problem was, she had no skates.
So she hit the pavement in worn-out sneakers, stopping to inquire at every roller rink, drive-in restaurant, and rollerskate sales floor in New Orleans and parts beyond. But everywhere she went, she got the same answer: Not Hiring.
She was tired and famished. She had nowhere to sleep and nothing to eat, and she came a hair's breadth away from taking a job as a vacuum cleaner saleswoman. But at the very moment when she was about to give up, she spied a placard that said “ROLLER DEATH MATCH - APPLICANTS WANTED”, and inquired within. Five minutes later, she had a new pair of rollerskates. And a job.
"Roller Death Match" was a misleading name. The weekly gladiator-style championship wasn't truly a fight to the death, although a few accidental deaths may have occurred during its fifty years of operation. It was more about maiming the opponent. The roller gladiators of New Orleans may have been accomplished warriors, but none of them had ever fought a polar bear with their bare hands and lived to tell the tale. With the fearsome bear’s tooth as her only weapon, Venus made quick work of them. After they'd faced Venus, none of the gladiators wanted to reenter the rink. The Roller Death Match eventually had to shut down due to an unexpected lack of contestants, and Venus was let go. Or, perhaps it's more accurate to say she was set free.
She may have been the wildest, fiercest gypsy-blooded vagabond-warrior in Louisiana, but in her heart, Venus longed for peace and the feel of asphalt beneath her wheels. When the Roller Death Match closed its doors, Venus took one last look upon the city of New Orleans and skated off into the sunset.
She still coasts up and down the dusty back roads of North America to this day, in no hurry at all.
THE END
This story is what I call a "Totally Fabricated Bio".
I've written several of them over the years. Basically, I write a fictitious life story about a real person, weaving in biographical truths. The bios are always funny and frequently fantastical or downright outlandish, and usually the person who requests the piece will ask for it to be done in a particular genre or even in the style of a favorite author. For the story of Venus EnVie, a traditional American tall tale was requested, and the biographical themes were travel and rollerskating.
Here's another example, a bio I wrote for my friend Nathan Freeman in the style of fantasy author Terry Pratchett.
I love, love, love crafting these tales for people.
Do you want me to write YOU a Totally Fabricated Bio?
Let's talk.
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Hi! My name is Leslie Starr O'Hara, but my friends call me Starr. I live in the mountains of North Carolina and I write humor, fiction, musings, and essays here on Steemit.
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