8

It's been a long day in this waiting room. I look around and there are three more people passed out in the same orange, uncomfortable plastic chairs. It looks like a McDonalds without the tables in here. I always knew that beef was poison.

There's elevator music playing in the background but we're not in an elevator. We're not even off the first floor. We're down here on earth, waiting in the front entrance of emergency, waiting to here the bad news.

It's always bad news. If TV didn't teach me that much, TV didn't teach me anything at all.

There's a doctor in a green smock walking out of the operating room doors. Is that his doctor? I can't even remember what he looked like. Did he have a beard? Is he walking towards me???? Is that a look of disappointment?

He's getting closer and my hands are sweating. Sweating profusely. I think even my ass is sweating.

He's getting closer, closer, closer… What's that look? Did he just look at me? Is he avoiding eye contact?

He stops in front of me. He looks me in the eye. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Yes?" My ass is sweating.

"Can you move your feet?"

"Oh, sorry…" I move my feet. He walks past me. He sits down beside a woman sleeping with her head fully tilted over the back of her seat. She's breathing softly. Snoring loudly. The doctor sits down beside her and opens a 3 year old magazine.

I guess we're all waiting for something here.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Excuse me, sir?" It's the nurse from the front desk. "Are you the man who came in with the frostbite victim?"

"I think so."

"He's ready to take visitors now." I get up and look around me. I didn't bring anything and I look stupid.

The nurse sees that I look stupid. That's okay. She looks pretty stupid too.

She leads me through the stainless steel doors into a stainless hallway. For a hospital, this place sure is clean. Every time I've imagined what it looks like behind these doors I've seen blood splattered walls, screaming naked men and a doctor holding the knife.

These walls are purple, which is almost as bad.

He's in room 124. One room away from 123. That would have been a better room. Easier to remember.

She takes me in and he's sitting upright sipping from a can of protein shake. He's wearing a hospital gown that matches the color of the walls. Jesus, who thinks of these things?

"Hi." He's grinning.

"Hi." I'm trying not to grin. The nurse isn't.

"Here's the patient. Good as new."

"If not better." He starts to slurp up the last of the shake.

"You're one lucky man. Don't see too many cases of frostbite out here. Good thing your friend got to you in time."

"Well, I'm sure you don't have too many guys like this around here either."

"You've got that right." Did she just give me or him a wink? I hate general winks.

I can see his middle and index fingers on his left hand are bandaged a little as well as his right big toe.

"You lose anything major?"

"No, just the tip of the middle finger." He says, holding it up so I can see. For slightly longer than he really needs to.

"He'll lose a couple more fingernails and that big toenail as well, but other than that he's fine." The nurse gives him a stupid look and he winks. Change that, I hate winks in general.

"Can he go?"

"Well, we'd like him to stay just one more night for observation…"

"Ah, come on Daaareleeeene, you can let me go."

"I guess I can try to get the doctor to sign the release forms…"

"Good girl. And while you're at it, can you pack me up a few of your patented protein shakes that I've grown to love?" This guy has been inside these purple walls for less than 14 hours and already he's got this nurse wrapped around his little pinkie.

"You bet I can." She flips her hair as she turns around and wiggles her hips a little as she exits.

He's watching the whole time. And I'm watching him. I wait until she's fully out the door and clicking her heels down the hallway.

As soon as she's far enough away, I pounce. I leap on top of him and grab the edge of his hospital gown so he can't get away and I give him one good, solid punch in the stomach. A little poof of air comes out before he groans and curls into the fetal position.

"You stupid…"

"Ehhhh-Yeahhhh-Ehhhh-Oh---Kaaayyy…"

"Did you like that ride in the cop car here? Did you like that? Did you like losing part of your finger? Was that fun for you?" I'm shaking him a little too hard. His face is turning a little red.

"Ehhh-Sorrrry-Just having a little trouble---breathing…"

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't just leave you here right now? Just leave you here, take a cab back to that sorry excuse for a car and drive home right now?"

"Because…ehhhh…"

"Because-ehhh-what?"

"Because I have the keys." He uncurls, leans over to the side table and opens the drawer. He pulls out the keys and jingles them in front of me. Taunting.

"Give those to me." I lunge for them but I'm not as graceful as I think I am. I land right into his knee. Or his knee lands right into me, I'm not really sure which one. But now I can't breathe.

Out of breath I reach up for his neck and squeeze. He tries to grab hold of my shirt with his knubby fingers and ends up just pawing at my buttons. Some of them come loose and I straddle him and press down hard on his chest with my knee. I think I might just kill him this time.

The nurse walks in and laughs. "Hey boys, time to stop wrestling. The doctor said he'll be here in just a moment." She comes over and looks down to see her favourite patient's face a little blue around the edges.

"Hey, jerk-off. Let him go." I feel her needling me in the ribs with her fake nails. I bet that's not the only thing that's fake. I bet she's just a secretary in a nurse's costume. I bet she can't even spell her own name. I bet she's a mental patient that they let wander around and change bed pans…

"Hey asshole, I said GET OFF THE FU---" I feel a tight pressure on my shoulders and black out.

Next thing I know there's a loud clap in front of my face. I open my eyes.

"Gotcha." The doctor has just killed a rogue mosquito. He seems pleased with himself. I'm propped up in a chair beside the bed.

"You okay?" The doctor asks.

"Yeah, I'm--"

"I wasn't talking to you, jerk-off." He's not even looking in my direction. The nurse is standing on the other side of the bed, stroking the 'patient's hair and giving me a dirty look.

"What just happened?" I'm a little groggy and there's a pain in my shoulder. There's no answer from the room.

"What just happened?" He's trying not to smile at me.

"Nurse Darlene was trained in a naval base just outside of town. She's a woman of many capabilities. We actually fired our security guard last year and just keep her on staff now."

A naval base in the middle of the desert. I knew she wasn't really a nurse. She's probably not even really a woman.

The doctor is now looking at me. "Excuse me, but now that you're conscience I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"No way!"

"Doctor, it's okay. We were just playing around and it went to far. We'll be good from now on."

No way does this doctor believe he didn't deserve that. No way does anybody believe that he should have even survived. They should be handing me a medal. That she-male should be breaking out the champagne and the doctor should be giving me a lap dance. That's what I deserve.

"Well, I guess you got what you deserved." The doctor pats me on the shoulder like we're friends. We're not friends, jerk-off. "We'll just need you to fill out your insurance forms before you leave the hospital."

"Insurance?" He looks confused. And for all I know he might be.

Insurance. Of course, this is a state hospital and he was unconscious when we got here. They'd treat him first, bill him later. He looks scared. I am too. There's nothing scarier than money.

"Sure thing. Just bring me the forms Darlene." He's trying to smile but just look at his eyes. We're in trouble.

"Coming right up sweetheart." She walks around the bed and leans next to my ear. "I'll be back in about 10 minutes. Don't get any more ideas."

She's gone, the doctor's gone and I look at him.

"I think it's time…"

"To run? Exactly what I was thinking too."

"Where are your clothes?"

"Not sure."

"Where are your shoes?"

"Stop asking questions you know the answers to."

"Open the window." He jumps out of bed and runs over to the window. It's open. And so is the back of his gown.

"You go first." He's standing next to the window, looking for the first time, desperate.

I've never hopped out of a window before, but for my first time I'm actually pretty good at it. I land on my feet on a perfectly manicured lawn. It's almost like the movies, the great escape from purple hospital, any moment the searchlights will start going.

I turn around and he's got his back to the window. I duck down below the sill. He's talking to someone. The nurse. He turns around and jumps out the window without looking. He lacks natural talent but at least he lands on his feet.

It's a chilly night and he's going to risk frostbite again, but this time on his ass.

"Piggyback me."

"Not a chance."

"Fine." He walks out in front of me and his backside is already turning a little blue in the moonlight.

The window shuts behind us and the curtains are drawn.

"What did you say to the nurse?"

"Goodbye."

"And she just let you go?"

"Let's just say that she's got a few troubles of her own."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"For starters, hitting on patients."

"That doesn't seem like it would be much of a problem for you."

"It would be if you've got a secret you need to share first."

"Like???"

"Like the fact that the naval base just outside the city has never had a female cadet…"

"She was the first?"

"No, she wasn't…"

"I KNEW IT!" A little too muscular for a woman of her stature.

"What tipped you off?"

"The five o'clock shadow. The adam's apple. The hair on her knuckles…"

"Yeah, well, I was a little hazy when I came in. It's hard to see all that when it's dark."

"Sure. Whatever you're in to. So what now?" We've reached the road and we're standing outside of the perfect hospital lawn in the streetlight.

"Catch a cab."

"And start driving home?"

"Not a chance."

I was hoping he would say that.

Currently listening : Meo Suo I Eyrum Vio Spilum End By Sigur Ros Release date: 2008-06-24

7:24 PM - 3 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

7

I wake up and I can see my breath. A fog fills my vision when I exhale and gives this whole morning a dream like state. I take a deep breath in and let it out as slowly as I can. There's a frost on the edge of my sleeping bag. I look through the fog and there's  frost everywhere.

His cell phone is frozen in the middle of the puddle where the tent leaked.

I try to claw it out but it's stuck for the time being. Frozen on the last message sent.

Sorry, baby.

I sit up, still in my sleeping bag, and wiggle over to the zipper. I open it a little and peek out. There's a light covering of snow everywhere and big frozen puddles in all the dips of the hard packed earth.

I unzip all the way and hop out, still fully wrapped in my sleeping bag. I look down and I'm standing in the freezing remains of my dinner last night. Better than the melting remains, I guess.

The car is completely covered in ice, little droplets stopped in time on the hood and frosty fingers all over the glass. He must be freezing in there. I shuffle over to the passengers side. I try the handle, it's locked.

I take my arm out and press the side of my fist against the glass. The ice melts a little, leaving a small footprint. I use my pinkie to make little toes. In a few minutes there's footprints starting from the back window all the way across to the front windshield. Like little elves with hot feet and a disregard for the laws of gravity.

I peer in through the tracks and he's in the driver's seat, head titled all the way back, frost covering his beard. Little clouds of smoke are coming from his mouth rhythmically. He's lucky he's alive.

I knock on the glass. Hard. Several, million times. Finally, he opens one eye.

"You're lucky you're alive." I yell.

He takes a deep breath and then coughs up a lung. When he's finished, he looks up at me, bedraggled and red in the eye. "Aren't we all?"

"It snowed last night."

"Tell me about it, I think every part of my being is frozen."

I look down and see his fingers are a bluish-white and the fingernails don't look too good either.

"Ummm… let me in."

He leans over and tries to unlock the door, but he can't move them. His face makes a grimace. He's stuck.

"Okay, put your hands under your shirt and I'll try to find a way in."

I start pacing around. Stupid fuck. You stupid, stupid fuck. He's going to lose all his fucking fingers and probably everything else while he's at it. I go to the trunk and try the latch. No luck. I walk around the car, all the doors are locked. WHY ARE ALL THE DOORS FUCKING LOCKED???? WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO GET IN EXCEPT… me?

"Let me in. LET ME IN!!!" I start banging on the glass with my fists. Little, toeless footprints are left on the glass.

"I can't."

He's not looking good. He's got his hands shoved up his shirt and he's rocking back and forth. By this time, he's probably feeling the burn. If he's not hypothermic already.

I look around at the frozen ground. I start kicking at the frost, looking for something hard. I'm kicking and kicking all around and… oh….. My foot!

A rock. A big, frozen rock. That's hard to get out of the ground, but I'll claw my hands away before I let him lose his. I'll kick and kick and kick. There's white dust and foggy breath surrounding me in a bubble and I start to sweat a little.

Then it hits me like a rock to the head.

"Turn on the FUCKING CAR!!!" He's looking worse.

"I can't, you have the keys." He's right, I've felt them in my pocket the whole time.

Kick, kick, kick, kick. Shit. Everything's frozen to itself.

"Okay. Okay. Okay." Superhero time. I stand beside the glass. "Shut your eyes." I raise my elbow up and hit the glass as hard as I can. A sharp pain shoots up my bones and into my shoulder. "Ah…fuck." I raise my elbow up again and slam it into door. The glass shows no sign of a struggle but I know my elbow will.

He's sitting there, shivering. His teeth are chattering, chattering, chattering…

"Shit man. Just use your teeth." Oh fuck, how simple was that?

He looks like he's kicking himself as he leans over, bites the lock and pulls up. Click.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" He's crying and the tears are starting to freeze to his face. There's no time for this.

I crawl on top of him and shove his fingers up against my stomach. I've never felt such a shock in my life. They're like ice. They are ice.

His beard is icy but I hold his face close to mine and I start to unbutton his shirt.

"Wh-wh-what are you doing???"

"You're hypothermic and we've got to get you warm again." I take off his shirt and throw it in the backseat.  "Take off your jeans."

"I-I-I can't." His fingers are still frozen. "They hurt."

So I'll unbutton his jeans for him. I'll slide them off and throw them in the backseat. I'll take his fingers from under my shirt and put them down into my crotch while I drag the sleeping bag from just outside the door where I left it and toss it in the back.

I'll force him back there, inside the bag while I turn the engine on and the heat full blast. And I'll strip down to my boxers too. Climb in there with him. Hold him close until he stops shivering. Hold him until those tears turn back to water and dry on my cheek like they were mine. I'll do all that for him. I'll do anything for him.

He's cold against me and his toes are crawling up my leg, looking for the warmest place to rest. He keeps changing positions as my skin cools down where he puts his digits. He needs a warmer place. He starts to nod off a little.

"No, no, no… you can't fall asleep. You can't."

"I'm tired."

"Tell me something. Talk to me. Talk to me." I pulls his arms around me and his mouth close to mine.

"Do you remember when we first met?"

"Yeah, sure I do." I think about it everyday.

"I keep thinking that if I hadn't met you, my life would have been better."

"Funny, I always thought your life would have been better too."

"You're the one who talked me into stripping."

"You make more money than bartending that way. Everyone knows it."

"And if I remember correctly, you're the one who suggested the police costume."

"Well, you're the one who took it off."

He smiles a little. His beard is defrosted and dripping onto the sleeping bag, making a puddle beneath us.
I start to shiver a little. He starts to shiver a little less. Soon we're the same temperature and rising. He's coming out of this. He's going to be okay. I think.

"Do you feel okay?"

"You mean, being shoved up against my best friend, almost naked in a large embrace? No, I don't."

"Alright, so you're doing better."

"Who made you the doctor?"

"Who made you the idiot who thought it would be a great idea to go dancing in the rain in the middle of the fucking desert?"

"I didn't know it was going to turn to ice."

"Yeah, well, that's springtime in the desert for you."

"You can stop hugging me now, dude."

"No, actually, I can't until you get to be a regular temperature again. How are you fingers?"

"Not so good."

"They hurt? Are you feeling any burning or intense pain?"

"Yeah, an intense emotional pain."

"Uh…?"

"I think I'm going to be scarred for life. I'll never forget this feeling."

"That painful?"

"For a straight guy to have his hands in another guy's crotch? Yeah, it's painful."

"Whatever, you could move them if you wanted to."

"And I bet you'd like that."

"I'm no doctor,"

"You're right, you're not."

"But I think you'll be fine." I let him go and realize he's soaking wet. His clothes are lying beside us, still a little stiff and frosty. "You'll have to wait until your clothes dry at least."

"Well, you don't have to wait with me."

The car is fully heated now and my cheeks are burning it's so hot in here. The windows are melted and you can see that the sun is hanging a little above the horizon, leaving the ground half frozen but not for long. All the snow is gone.

I look over at our tent, sagging and barely hanging on to its poles. I sit up and look over through the other side of the car.

Oh…shit.

"Excuse me, boys." There's a highway patrol man with a big flashlight and a big grin on his face looking in.

We both look up at him and my friend has a look of horror on his face. He's ready to kill me right about now.

The patrolman motions for us to roll down the window. "You boys camping without a permit out…?" Then he notices the clothes on the floor of the car.

"Alright, can you two step out of the vehicle?"

We both get out of the wet sleeping bag and reach for our clothes.

"NOW!?"

We crawl out of the backseat and I stand up in my underwear. He tries to stand up but falls over.

"Had a little too much to drink?"

"No sir, he fell asleep in the car and I think he's got frostbite on his feet."

"Sure, and that's why you two were so cozy snuggling up in the sleeping bag back there with no clothes on?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, let me see." My friend shows the patrolman his fingers and there's a silent little gasp from the guy. His index and middle finger nails are black and both hands are frozen into little claws.

"I still can't move them."

"Alright, get in the back of the patrol car and we'll take you into town. It's a small fine for camping violations but we've got to get you to the doctor."

The patrolman and I help him into the back seat of the car and he starts to moan. Here comes the burn.

His partner puts on the lights and siren and we go speeding down the highway, this time inside of the car instead of in front of it. We head into town to see what can be done about one stupid night in the rain.

I hold his hands in my lap and he tries to keep his crying quiet as he writhes around a little and curls his feet under him. I would hold him but we're both still in our underwear and we're already under suspicion from the guy in the front seat.

I keep myself from crying too. It's hard but there are things that keep me warm:

The whole time we were in that sleeping bag, not once did he try to push me away.

Currently listening : Evil Urges By My Morning Jacket

11:00 AM - 3 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

6

He don't say nothing', just looks at me with them queer eyes of hisn that makes folks talk. I always say it aint never been what he done so much or said or anything so much as how he looks at you. It's like he had got into the inside of you, someway. Like somehow you was looking at yourself and your doings outen his eyes…

"What are you thinking about?"  He gets bored easily, just like a child.

I take my eyes off the road and turn to look at him, "a book."

"Which book?"

"Faulkner."

"Don't know it. What's it about?"

"Faulkner's not a book, he's an author. One of the most innovative and creative and difficult to read of the entire twentieth century."

"Isn't that how it always is?"

"How what always is?"

"To be creative, you gotta be difficult."

"But to be difficult, you don't have to be creative."

"Was that comment directed at me?" Of course it was. "Well, I guess I'm proof o' that puddin', cowboy."

"Well, yeeeee haaaawww." Cue the italics. And maybe that cowboy would be in bold.

" So, what brought up Faulker, professor?"

"A cowboy and a professor. I'm a man of many talents."

"Didn't you used to wear a cowboy uniform at the club?"

"Only on Wednesdays."

"Ah, that's right. 'Rodeo Night'. It's a shame how quickly we forget…"

"And even more shameful when we remember." I could banter like this forever. I hope Japan never comes. Or sleep. Or death.

"So, Faulkner…"

"I was just thinking about writing some of this down so I could use it later."

"Sometimes I think that in my mind there's just a giant notebook where everything is written down before I say it, edited and italicized and spell-checked before it comes out of my mouth."

"I think it's time you fired your editor."

"You never think about that? That maybe there's a tiny guy sitting in there," he taps my forehead with his finger, "A tiny guy right there writing down everything for you to say."

I swat his finger away. "And another tiny guy inside his head writing down what he says. And another, and another?"

"So you have thought about it!" Sure I have. Haven't we all?

"Poor shit isn't paid much."

"His work is his reward."

"Well, my tiny guy feels rewarded, yours on the other hand…"

"Feels like a genius, is what your tiny guy was about to write down."

"Good thing mine has an eraser." Maybe there is a tiny guy in there, writing every thought down, and checking off the ones that I can say.

And the ones that I better not. And crossing out the ones I can't.

"So, the book…?"

"I was just thinking you probably know me the best out of anyone  I know."

"Better than even Faulkner?"

"Faulkner knows people best out of anyone."

"Unless there's been a mistake, I'm pretty sure you and I are still very much people."

"And you know what Faulkner was best known for?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Getting inside people's heads. Writing down what they were really thinking."

"So maybe that little guy inside our heads, he's actually Faulkner."

"Or someone like him."

The light on the road is getting pretty dim and I try to switch on my headlights. No luck.

"Headlights are out."

"Well, see what hundred and fifty gets you these days? AN ENTIRE CAR!" He's grinning. He's grinning and we've got no light in the wasteland of a bare and desolate road.

"So… drive by moonlight?"

"If there was any…" The sky is overcast and the stars are hidden. It's time to stop and set up camp.

"Pull off over there." He's pointing to nowhere in particular.

We pull off the road and start making dust trails into nowhere. The moon is rising, just a fuzzy spot underneath a grey blanket. I don't think I saw a flashlight when we were packing up the trunk. I let the accelerator go and we just drift on forward on hard-packed dirt. The earth is cracking but there's still a bush or two clinging onto the dry ground, still trying to pretend it's green. The car eventually stops a few hundred feet from the road.

We get out and open up the trunk. Dust slides off the top and onto our stuff.

Shit.

"Do we have a flashlight?"

"Nope. But I have a cell phone." He opens it and holds it up to the trunk. A faint blue light dimly lets us know what the relative shape and size of the unknown objects are.

"It'll have to do." We rifle through the stuff and get out the tent and cooler. I take the tent and unfold it. There are no pegs to hold it down and only two poles. Again, it'll have to do.

He grabs the cooler out of the trunk and slaps it on the ground. I walk over and look while he opens it.

The contents of the cooler are as follows:

I)   beer
II)  a package of veggie dogs
III) ketchup
IV) instant coffee
V) a lot of melted ice; a.k.a. water

"What, no marshmallows?" I hope he can tell I'm angry.

"Didn't think we'd be camping in the middle of nowhere. Thought there'd be a few shops around."

"Well, crack open the veggie dogs, I'm hungry."

"Do you know how to start a fire?"

"…we'll eat them raw."

I turn to set up the tent. It takes a surprisingly long time to figure out how to set up a two person tent with only two poles. I manage. He hands me a cold hot dog and a beer when I'm finished. We sit on the cooler and down a six pack and the whole package of veggie dogs.

Suddenly, I don't feel so good. "Ah…. can veggie dogs go bad?"

"I don't think so. But they do go badly with beer." He belches.

My stomach is turning. I crawl into the tent and yell something about a sleeping bag. I burp a little and taste all the hot dogs I just ate. I barely get my head out of the tent before my dinner comes back up. I roll in and lie on my back. I imagine what my tiny guy is writing now. I wonder if the censors will approve.

I feel a sleeping bag thrown on top of me and he's stripping himself down to get inside the sleeping bag.

There's only one.

"We can share." He says. I hardly hear him. All I hear is my tiny guy arguing with his chief editor about whether or not I can say what I'm thinking. The chief editor is losing the battle.

"Mother fu----" I can't get it out unless I want to taste what I had for dinner again. I pass out.

The next thing I remember I wake up and there's water leaking into the tent through the vent in the ceiling. Waterproof my ass.

There's a flash of light and the tent walls are see-through. I see him outside, stark naked with his arms out and then there's thunder.

"WOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!"

I can't get up and join him. I can barely hear myself think. I feel like there's something buzzing behind my head.

"Bzzzzz-bzzzzz-bzzzzz-WOOOOOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!-bzzzzz-bzzzzz"

It's his cell phone. I pick it up and there's seven or eight text messages and a bunch of missed calls. The last one reads 'I'm sorry baby, it'll be okay.' from someone named P. Deeridge.

I didn't know he was dating anyone.

Lightening lights up the tent three or four more times and I can see almost like a slow motion film, him in different positions, whirling around in the rain. I wish I was as stupid as he was.

The rain finally starts to lessen and he comes back into the tent. He sees I'm awake.

"You've got…"

"Wet, I know. I'm going to go sleep in the car, I won't try and share a sleeping bag with you." He winks.

"I saw you dancing out there."

"What was it that Faulkner said? To be creative you have to do difficult things?"
"Sure it was."

He leaves a wet slimy trail inside the tent and goes to the car to sleep. I crawl inside the sleeping bag and put the cell phone beside my head and watch it buzz again and again.

I think I'll just let him sleep.

Currently listening : Honeysuckle Weeks By Submarines Release date: 2008-05-13

12:47 PM - 5 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

5

It's been a long time since we've been alone together. A really long time. And this was his idea; that's the kicker. He suggested this to me.

He's leaning his head against the window and breathing heavily to fog the glass. That plaid shirt is god awful – I think I see little sparkles here and there – but damn.

Doesn't he look good in everything?

And that beard, kind of Matthew Fox-esque, who could have guessed when I met him all bright-eyed and baby-faced, all those years ago, that he could have pulled that off, something manly like that. Man, he's gorgeous. I just wanna…

"'Eat, shit, die.' That's a good philosophy, don't you think?"

"What?"

"That shed back there. Someone spray painted 'EAT, SHIT, DIE' on the side. In orange."

"Matches your shirt."

"You like it? I wore it special, just for you." He pulls at it and the sparkles catch the light here and there on his stomach.

"A rainbow colored shirt, just for me, whoop dee fucking dee…"

He puts his hand on my shoulder, "Lighten up."

Okay.

"I think it's 'Eat shit AND die', by the way."

"What?"

"I don't think it's a philosophy, compadre. It means eat my shit and then go fuck yourself."

"Huh…I like mine better."

So do I.

"And since when are you Spanish?"

"Since I wanna be."

He starts breathing all over the passenger seat window, fogging everything up. He's made the entire thing a blank slate and then writes backwards, EAT, SHIT, DIE.

We pass a minivan with 3 kinds in the backseat. He waves through the SHIT and I see the oldest one mouthing the words. In front the mom is fast asleep with her sunglasses on while the dad is quietly chuckling to himself.

Glad we can bring sunshine into the world.

My friend bends over to take off his boots and I see the bar code tattoo on the back of his neck. "You ever try to scan that thing?"

He touches the back of his neck lightly. "Yeah, in a grocery store once. Turned out I was a bag of Oreos on sale for $3.99."

"I hear Oreos are organic now."

"Isn't everything?"

Silence.

"I got fired from the club…"

"WHAT! Why?"

"I don't know, some bullshit about not needing 'mature' talent anymore."

"So… the beard?"

"Yeah, so the beard."

I see now. "And the trip."

"And the trip."

"I used to miss that place."

"I think I'll miss it too now that I don't have to take off all my clothes as soon as I enter the door."

"But I thought that was the part you loved…"

"No, that's the part you loved. I just did it for the money."

"Yeah, maybe it's not the club I miss, just the money."

"No, you miss the club."

He's right. I turn on the radio.

"Isn't this the song that woman was humming when you tapped on her window?"

He turns the radio down so low that all you can hear is a murmur. I hate that.

"I hate Coldplay."

"Well, it certainly sounds better on 'murmur', doesn't it?"

He starts singing. Somewhere, baby Jesus is crying. Mozart is rolling over. Morrison is just rolling. Kobain is thinking about killing himself again…

He sees me cringing. He sings louder. Coldplay is not any better out of tune. I leave one hand on the wheel and start shuffling around for something to plug my ears.

He's starting to sing in falsetto, where only a high-tech, pitch-sensitive radar can hear him. Some poor asshole on his first day of military training is transmitting Chris Martin lyrics to the Pentagon.

Caution: Code "Yellow".

He's pounding his chest, simulating vibrato and leans over to sing in my ear. I think I feel tongue. And wet whiskers.

"Ugh…it feels like I'm being licked by a terrier." I don't push him away…

"You like it." But now I do.

"Time to pick where we're going." I say, artfully changing the subject. "You bring the map?"

"No."

"No?"

"I brought something better."

He bends over the seat to get to the back. He's not wearing any underwear. He never does. There's crinkling plastic and he takes a deep breath. I hear air filling up a balloon.

"What the fu…" I turn around and he's breathing life into a beach balloon with a map of the world printed on it.

"You sure that thing is accurate?"

"-uuuuuhhhh-pffffffff- yeah – uuuuuhhhhhh-ppppfffffff-"

When it's about the size of a soccer ball he plugs it. He closes his eyes and throws it up in the air. It hits me in the head. He catches it and points his finger aimlessly onto an island in the ocean. The ball deflates a little and Japan disappears underneath his index finger. Somewhere there's a miniature tsunami.

"You know any Japanese?" He's dead serious.

"No. Do you know how to swim?"

"Don't worry. We'll get there." So that's it. We're decided.

"Well, how about we get past the state line first before we start looking for a

pocket translator."

"You can get a translator to fit in your pocket? How does he breathe in there?"

"Let the bad jokes commence."

"Ko-nee-chee-wha…what does that mean?"

"I think that means 'hello'."

"Well then, HELLO JAPAN!!!" He rolls down his window and throws the ball out.

It hits the minivan behind us and they speed up to pass. The mom is turned around fully in her seat, sunglasses off, red in the face. Her big mouth is open, yelling something while she's pounding the back of her seat with her fists. The oldest kid has also got his big mouth open, saying something that keeps the other two kids in stitches.

The dad looks over at us while he passes. He looks tired. The best he can do is a half smile as he speeds up.

Probably trying to get home faster.

"Saaaammmmuraaaaiiiiii, CHOP!" I feel a hard hit to the back of my neck. This is probably going to continue until we get to Japan.

"You look tired…" he says. The best I can do is feign a smile as I speed up, trying to get there faster.

But here's the kicker: how can you get "there" faster if you don't know where it is.

7:39 AM - 3 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

4

Police sirens.

I see them in my rear view mirror, red and blue lights. I pull to the right and take my foot off the accelerator. The car slows down.

The cop car pulls up beside us and motions to pull over.

"Uh oh." My partner in crime says from the passengers seat.

Uh oh.

"I'll get out." So he gets out and starts jogging beside the car.

The cop car is cruising at a cool 5 miles an hour beside us and he's just jogging along holding onto the car door.

He slows and lets me get in front of him. Then he comes around back and up between the police and me. He's now jogging beside the cop in the passengers seat.

He taps on the tinted window. The window rolls down. There's two inside; two of them, two of us. The passenger in blue does not look happy.

"What can I do for you officer?"

"Pull over."

"Okay." He stops right in the middle of the road and walks to the side to sit on the curb.

The cop leans his head out the window and yells, "Not you, you little shit."

My friend looks surprised. Looks can be deceiving.

He gets up and brushes the curb of his backside and then walks up between the two of us again.

That's right, we're now at a walking speed.

He taps on my window. I roll it down a little. That's as far as it will go without a crowbar.

"He wants you to pull over."

"Tell him that we're going to need a little help in that department."

He tries to tap on the glass of the cop car window but there isn't any. He taps  the cop on the head instead.

"He's going to..."

"That's it. Pull the fuck over."

The cops speed up and pull over about half a block ahead. They're getting out as cars start to whizz past us. It seemed the whole time we were blocking two lanes we had created quite a following.

The cops are stepping out in front of us when a 4 door family sedan screeches out from behind, cuts in and barely misses the cop that was tapped on the head.

They both back up quickly onto the curb as our car cruises pass and slowly starts to pick up speed. I'm trying to decide whether to get out and try to stop it

or go down the hill we've been slowly coming toward for the past 5 minutes.

And that's when he pushes.

We start picking up speed as he jumps back in and I slam down the accelerator.

Is this a bad idea? Doesn't seem like it at the moment...

We're heading down the hill now at full steam and he's letting out a Native American-like battle cry and I'm trying to figure out if that's racist while weaving through suburban afterschool traffic.

We finally catch up to the 4 door sedan and I swerve around from behind. It's light blue in colour, not a common palette choice. We both look in as we're passing and notice a woman driving with a cat buckled into a child's safety seat beside her.

"Huh, people..." he says, pointing in her direction. Does he really need to point?

We hear police sirens behind us but they're still pretty far away so I slow down a little to get a better look at the situation in the sky-coloured car.

The cat does not look happy.

We match her speed and my friend rolls down his window again. He leans out to tap on her window.

"Speed bump."

We soar over what should have been a small bump. It turns into a big bang and he's winded, still hanging half way out the car window. Good thing he's still buckled up. Kind of.

He stretches out again after a few seconds of catching his breath and knocks a little too loudly.

She appears to be singing. He has to knock several times to get her attention. She rolls down her window, still humming a little. Sounds like Coldplay.

"He's not happy in a cage and I can't have him wandering around the car unattended. Last time he put his tail under the brake and I ran a red. Almost had an accident."

"Okay, just wondering." He climbs back in and rolls up his window. He is now fully tangled in his seatbelt. I wonder how he's going to get out of those double knots.

"Nice lady."

The red and blue are in our rear view mirror again. I speed up and keep my eye on the mirror.

The Cat Lady suddenly cuts in behind us, winks and slams on her brakes in front of the police car. The cat in the car seat flies forward a little, it's tongue hanging out and then gets jerked back suddenly by the safety harness. A little bit of the saliva from it's tongue lands on the Cat Lady's face. They both look stunned.

"Nice, lady." He's sitting backwards, with the seatbelt around his calves and ankles, watching the action.

Of course I don't see all of this, he tells me later when we're heading out of the city at about 100 miles per hour, and a little faster over the speed bumps.

All I see now is the open road in front of us, the red and blue lights fading in my rear view mirror.

9:33 AM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

3

"DOGG!!!!"

I look to the right and swerve around nothing. That's the second time he's done that today. He thinks he's an entertainer.

In fact, he was an entertainer. Past tense. That's how we met.

"TREEEE!!!"

This is getting old. I think about letting him drive.

"Wanna switch?"

"Soon… RIGHT!!!"

We come to a corner and I slam it down into first, pretend to yield and turn right slowly in front a minivan. She honks her horn. It's pathetic.

The plan is if we have to stop, put it down into first and turn right. We've just spent 15 minutes going around a block eight times before the light turned green. Looks like this'll be another quarter of an hour wasted. The next plan is to get out of the city and stay out of the city.

"You fill up with gas before you get down here?"

I look at the tank. It says full. I didn't fill it up though and I just drove 45 miles out to his cul-de-sac'ed yellow house.

"Sure I did."

He leans over and taps the overhead glass. The needle shivers and then falls off. I look for the laugh in his eyes; it's not there.

"Sure you did."

I turn right, and then right, and then right and then let the car idle towards the red light. Someone walks up past us towards the crosswalk.

"Don't you fuckin…." He's talking under his breath staring straight at the pedestrian. He rolls down his window and sticks his head out. "Don't do it man, don't do it! We're crrrraazzzyyy!!!!" He's got his tongue out, wagging, spit flying off of the tip.

The pedestrian stops to watch. The light turns green and I rev the engine up out of first and into second. We speed by as the poor person wonders why I haven't locked him up yet. We match blank stares as I go whizzing by. "Believe me," mine says, "I've tried."

His said, "I know."

"There's a gas station just up ahead." He takes his head out of the window and rolls up his sleeves.

I see it. It's Shell.

"And how do you propose we…?"

"Circles, it's the golden rule man. Always use the circles."

I put it down into first and gently coast the car up into the lot. It's going too fast still to stop at the pump so we circle around back close to the car wash. I think twice about going through.

"Should we get it washed?" His head is turning, watching the brushes work on an SUV inside with their soapy fingers.

"What for? Just going to get dirty again." That's why I love him.

We past slowly as the bubbles turn into prisms in the sun. Green, yellow, red, orange…

"KID WITH A SLURPEE!!!"

I don't turn around. The bubbles are dripping off of the black, panther-like exterior.

"KID WITH A FUCKIN!!!…" He reaches across the seat and jerks the wheel to the left.

The kid with the slurpee  is about 3 years old. He looks up and starts to cry, but more importantly, starts to toddle off towards his mom on the left. My friend's plaid shirt is a blur of red and yellow and green lightening as he jumps out of the car and starts pushing it backwards, his Chucks slipping on the dirty pavement.

You know how this ends.

He's a fucking saviour and the mom is crying "Thank you! Oh, thank you so much!" and I look like a villain sitting in my beat-down car about 30 feet away from the scene. Kid would have gotten out of the way in no time.

Like I said, he's an entertainer.

He kisses the mom on the cheek and says something in her ear. Probably his phone number. He's almost skipping back towards the car.

"Hot mom." He says, slamming the door shut.

"Uh-uh. You gotta get out and push."

So he takes off his shirt again. How is he so tanned? And gets out behind the bumper. He shouts something like "Watch out!" to the mom with those twinkling, laughing eyes. She notices those eyes, you can tell.

Nothing but dirty looks for me.

He gets the car moving around to the front and sits on the front bumper while I fill up.

"You could put your shirt back on you know."

"You could take yours off." I wish I looked that good.

Fifty dollars of gas and we're in the kiosk grabbing whatever salty treats look good. The cashier is looking at him. I think she should be asking him to leave. No shirt, no service.

She doesn't. "I'll pay for these." He says. I take the chips and peanuts back out to the car and look behind me. He's still inside. He's smiling. She's smiling…

He's skipping back to the car again.

"She saw me out back, just giving her a run down of how things happened." He's got the receipt in his hand.

"Let me have the receipt."

"Nah, I think I'll keep it." I see there's writing in pen ink on it. I think it says Sarah.

"Well, you're not getting laid for awhile, so give me the receipt."

"That's what you think." He's right. That's what I think.

I left the car in neutral and it has slowly been shifting forward. While we're wrestling over the receipt the car makes it's way out of the lot and half way on to the road. A minivan is passing in the other lane and swerves out of the way. She honks her horn.

It's pathetic. 

10:19 AM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

2

My phone is vibrating. I like it.

(mmmm)...(mmmm)..."aaaa...hello?"

"Did you just call me?"

"No, you called me."

"Yeah, I know. Before just now."

"Why?"

"Doesn't matter why."

"Okay."

"…"

"…"

"So did you phone me?"

"What do you think?"

"Fuck it. You get the car?"

"Yeah I got the car, why are you so uptight. Who did you think called?"

"Doesn't matter who."

"The guy who sold me the car was shifty."

"He'd have to be shifty to sell you a car without brakes."

"Yeah, he didn't."

"Didn't look shifty?"

"Didn't sell me a car without brakes."

"That wasn't part of the deal. You're supposed to get one without brakes. This fucks things up. This fucks things up big time."

"We can always cut 'em when we get out of state."

"Fuck out of state, I'll cut 'em when you get here."

"Can't, I promised the guy we wouldn't do it until we crossed the line."

"You promised the guy, I didn't."

"Yeah, I see your logic there."


I pull into a cul-de-sac -that's hard to spell, cul-de-sac. Couldn't've  found an English word for that one, huh?- and he's there in front of a yellow house wearing a plaid shirt. He's holding wire cutters.

"I'm here."

"I know, I can see you."

He hangs up first. I hang up second. I let the accelerator go and the car slowly moves towards him. Well, not slowly. Fast enough for him to have to jump out of the way as I cruise up onto his lawn and hit the fire hydrant a little. Well, not a little…

"What the…!!!!"

"Just getting you ready."

"Put that fucker in park and let me get under."

I pop the hood. I don't know anything about cars.

"What's the hood for? You want me to get the washer fluid while I'm at it?" Laughs with his eyes, is what he does.

He gets under and I hear a snip. That's done. My stomach starts to get nervous.

"Done." His stomach looks nervous to. More nervous in plaid, I would say. Bright colours always exaggerate.

"You sure you snip the right part there? We're not going to be leaking gasoline until Japan, are we?"

"Who's going to Japan?"

I look around. What am I looking around at?

"What are you looking around at?"

"Where's the stuff?"

I see. It's right there on his front lawn. Two folding chairs, a cooler, a tent, a sleeping bag…

"You blind?"

"One sleeping bag?" Am I a little hopeful?

"Yeah, you can sleep without one, can't you?" Those eyes, laughing eyes. "I've got another one in the garage. You kind of interrupted me when you called."

I am not disappointed. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Nope. Never.

"I didn't call. You got caller ID, you'd know if I called."

"Unlisted number." His eyes are thinking a little now.

"Wrong number, you mean."

"Yeah, maybe…" Thinking, thinking, thinking. He throws the wire cutters aside.

We both start to load up and I pop the trunk. No comment about washer fluid, at least I know what a trunk's for. Loaded and ready, he opens a beer and stands in front of clunker and taps the top of the can.

"Needs a name."

"How 'bout Betty?"

"Fine, Betty's fine."

Betty it is. We both take one more look at the yellow house. I have a feeling it's going to be awhile and I only packed two pairs of underwear.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

I hop in and put it in neutral. He's in front and tells me to get behind the car when I get out. He pushes and I ease. Slowly we get off the curb. I jump back into the front seat and steer while we do a three point turn without the engine on.

He pushing and pulling the whole time. The plaid shirt comes off. Pushing and pulling. Our car pirouettes in the middle of the cul-de-sac. Let the neighbours look, get an eyeful. Who cares if this is crazy? He lets go and wipes his forehead with the shirt. I'm looking at him, looking into the sun behind him while…

"Whoa, whoa whoa!!!"

I'm going backwards up into a driveway with a parked car. We both hear a little thump. He runs up and jumps in the passenger side. I start the engine.

"Go."

And we're heading out of the cul-de-sac while I swear to god I hear a man screaming, and you don't often hear men scream, "B-M-W".

"Nice damage." His eyes again.

"Front or back?"

"Back, he was on his knees."

"Doesn't his dog usually shit on your lawn?"

"I'm not complaining."

And we're gone.

4:26 PM - 11 Comments - 17 Kudos - Add Comment

1

"How much?", I said picking a fly out of the wiper and looking at the poor bugger up close and personal.

"Without the brakes?" He says wiping his hands on his blue coveralls. The name tag says George but I think I heard someone call him Julien earlier.

"...without the brakes, George." Can you speak in italics?

"Can't do it. Just one more thing to feel guilty about."

"Okay, how much with the brakes?" I think you can speak in italics, it just takes practice.

"Can't do it."

"What you don't know can't hurt you." If I were writing, that whole sentence would be in italics.

"You're wrong," he said sucking in on his cigarette hard and blowing out harder, "Those are the things that can hurt you the most."

I stop writing my name in the dirt on the hood. "You a mechanic or fucking philosopher?"

"Why do you need this car? Just steal one, you look like you'd probably know how." I think I could probably write my name on the top of his oily, greasy head.

"How much or I'm walking."

"...two hundred."

"I'll give you 150 and promise I won't cut the brakes until I'm out of state."

"Out of state, not out of mind."

"I've got cash." I take out a wad of twenties and lick my finger. Then I remember where I just wrote my name. George doesn't notice.

"And I've got a pink slip."

We exchange on the side of a road and I get in. Slam the door and I swear to god ten inches of desert comes sliding off the windshield. Jiggle the keys, the engine coughs awake and I pull into the shoulder without looking.

At 10 miles an hour I start to merge and four inches to my right a semi misses my side mirror by a hair. Jesus what the fuck am I doing?!!! I don't want to fucking die! I hit the brakes, the car stalls and it takes me a minute to compute. I remember to breathe in and check my blind spot. Nothing's coming.

I shift into first again, pull onto the highway, this time faster, look into my rearview mirror just in time to see George flash a wad of my hard earned cash to his co-workers.

Fuck him. All I need to think about now is where I can buy some wirecutters, out of state.

8:12 PM - 3 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

New Short Story: The Working World

Currently listening : People Press Play By People Press Play Release date: 17 July, 2007

8:00 PM - 6 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

there’s always one waiting in the wings

Currently reading : Wuthering Heights (Bantam Classics) By Emily Brontë Release date: 01 October, 1983

1:34 PM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

new poem: The Scary Truth Of It All

Currently listening : Our Love to Admire By Interpol Release date: 10 July, 2007

1:27 PM - 9 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

there’s always an end

Often have I felt the end is coming

and been right.

jenn

5:08 PM - 5 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

maybe we’re the same after all

Is the opposite of man

boy or woman?

jenn

5:07 PM - 9 Comments - 15 Kudos - Add Comment

calm THE FUCK down

10:59 PM - 9 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

And: Am I in fashion?

10:58 PM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment