Alligatorized Stories

The Alligator Humidifier

-- — Wed, 26 Jan 2011 23:57:12 +0000

“I swear to God, I just saw this large menacing-looking ball thing floating just above my head, glaring at me as telling me I’ve done bad things that I should regret and should try and fix, y’know. And it seemed like it was reading my mind, like it knew I was scared and knew what that bad thing was, but I wasn’t sure if that bad thing was exactly what this ball thing was thinking. I wasn’t even sure if that bad thing I was thinking was something I actually did or just something made up at that moment because I was scared shitless. Well, anyway, that’s when I woke up on Sofie’s couch. I got really excited and wrote it down immediately then started wondering why I got so God damn excited,” Peter said to Eddie. Peter took a sip of his coffee and continued, “And—don’t think I’m weird and all, but just before I met up with you – in my car – you know, I was just thinking about how I’d explain that dream then after take a moment to drink my coffee and say what I’m saying now about not thinking I’m weird, but how it would be weird to say what I’m saying right now, and it’s kind of processing in my head that—that this is weird. And what do you think? This is weird, right?”
Eddie ripped the corner of his sugar packet then said, “Yeah, it’s kind of weird. You alright, Peter?”
Peter nodded and smiled a little. “I’m glad you said that. I thought you were going to say, ‘no, man. It ain’t weird.’ So I’m glad you didn’t say that. Thanks, Eddie.”
“You sleeping well?” asked Eddie.
“I think so.”
“Sofie good?”
“I think so. She got a humidifier.”
“She’s not getting good air circulation in her house?”
“Is that what humidifiers for?” asked Peter.
“Something like that.”
“I’m not sure why she got it. She just got one. It’s shaped like an alligator. It’s kind of cute. Maybe that’s why she got it – maybe to tell people, ‘hey, look. Check out this alligator then boom! Fucking humidifier.” Peter drank the last of his coffee, looked at the empty cup for a moment then looked at Eddie. “Shit. What if she’s thinking about ending the relationship with me?”
“Don’t talk crazy.”
“I’m not. I’m talking very sensibly.”
“Why would you say such a thing? You sure you’re sleeping well?”
“Yes! I’m sleeping so fucking amazingly. I’m like the Phil Nicholson of sleeping.”
“You mean Phil Mickelson.”
“No, I meant Jack Nicholson. The golfer.”
“No, no. Jack Nicholson’s the actor.”
“Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. Brain fart. What were we talking about?”
Eddie leaned in and asked, “You stoned?”
“No, I’m not fucking stoned, man. I’m just—oh, right. Sofie. I think she might be thinking about ending the relationship because of the God damn humidifier.”
“Why the hell would she break up with you because of a humidifier?” asked Eddie looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.
“Well, exactly the reason why I said she got the alligator humidifier – to show new people her humidifier, which leads to the bedroom. You know, she wants to like be cute when it gets real awkward with this new guy while they’re watching TV, not really talking about anything, so she’ll be like, ‘hey. Want to see my alligator?’ The guy will give a big goofy smile and kind of chuckle then say something like, ‘what alligator?’ Then fucking boom! She says, ‘I’ll show you,” and lead the lucky bastard to her bedroom where that asshole humidifier is, and more awkwardness then they’ll fuck. God damn it,” Peter said as he slapped his forehead. “I can’t believe this shit. Why else would she buy an alligator humidifier?”
Eddie took a long look at Peter as if analyzing him then slapped his head.
“You’re talking nonsense, Peter. Absolute nonsense. Now, stop acting foolish. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”
Peter sighed and looked out the window. “Honestly, nothing. I just got a lot on my mind. You want to get stoned?”
Eddie slapped Peter’s head again then said, “No. No, I don’t want to get stoned. Do you want to break up with Sofie? Is that it?”
“No. I love the girl.”
“Wait a minute. Why’d you sleep on her couch?”
“I told her I had a virus.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Were you not listening? That God damn alligator. I tried sleeping there, but that alligator was looking at me, taunting me. I couldn’t take it any longer, so I told her that I forgot that I had a virus and slept on the couch.”
“You are such an idiot, Peter. Whose genes did you get?”
“I look more like Mom.”
“We both look more like Mom. Why don’t you just ask her why she got her humidifier?”
“I tried, but she got kind of nervous. In retrospect, it was probably because I kept asking her repeatedly like some sort of detective, but at the time, I thought it was because she was cheating on me, and she was using the humidifier to hide the guy’s scent.”
“You’re a paranoid fuck! Jesus, Peter!”
“Shh. You’re causing a scene.”
“I don’t give a shit. You’re talking absolute madness, and I can’t take it any longer.”
“Absolute madness. Interesting choice of words.”
Eddie got up, grabbed his jacket, and left without looking at Peter. Peter left a twenty-five percent tip on the table, and left the coffee shop before scowling at a little girl wearing a Lacoste collared shirt.
The little girl watched Peter leave then tugged at her father’s shirt. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Sweetheart?” answered her father.
“There was a man who looked at me a funny way,” said Sweetheart.
“What do you mean?”
“He looked angry at me. Why did he do it?”
“I… I’m not sure,” said Sweetheart’s father as he held his daughter close looking around, suspicious.

A Dying Man’s Request

-- — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 09:27:21 +0000

Jerome asked his girlfriend, Tiffany, out on a date to the movies. They watched a film about a dying woman and her relationship with a misguided young man. The couple felt the film was mediocre at best. The story was neither compelling nor believable. It didn’t help that the dying woman was played by Sophia Loren and the misguided teenager was played by Tony Soprano’s son from The Sopranos, but the movie did provide something interesting in the couple’s night together after the movie.
After the movie, they went to a coffee shop for tea. After talking about the movie’s flaws, Tiffany said, “Oh, yeah. I forgot. The wife of that man I was taking care of wrote me a letter of recommendation for that scholarship.”
“What man?” asked Jerome.
“You know, Richard. The man who had pancreatic cancer.”
“You never told me about him.”
“I didn’t? I got that job last summer as a caretaker.”
“Well, I had that job in Toronto during the summer. Maybe that’s why you didn’t tell me. Is that why you wanted to watch that awful movie?” asked Jerome.
“No. I didn’t know it was going to be about a dying person. I wanted to see what that kid from The Sopranos was up to.”
“He’s a really bad actor. So you took care of a dying man with cancer?”
“Yes. He was bed-ridden.”
“Wow. I didn’t know you did that. Can I see the letter of recommendation?”
“Sure,” said Tiffany as she sipped her tea, took out a copy of the letter of recommendation from her bag, and handed it to Jerome. After reading the letter, he said, “Wow. I can’t believe you did that. I’m honored to be your boyfriend.” Tiffany smiled then put her hand over Jerome’s hand on the table.
“So the guy had multiple caretakers, and he fired them all except for you?” asked Jerome.
“Yeah, I was surprised by that too. Seven caretakers is a lot. I wonder why he liked me so much.”
“Because you’re a great gal who’s pretty, witty, sexy, and…” Jerome reading the letter said, “stimulating according to Mrs. Wales.” Tiffany started blushing. Jerome continued, “And you’ve got such lovely hands,” as he caressed her hand. But as he did, her hand grew stiff. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“You seem like–”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Okay, okay.”
They drank their teas in silence for a minute then Jerome asked, “I wonder why she chose stimulating to describe you. That’s—I don’t know, seems like a strange choice for an adjective.”
“Yeah. That is strange.”
“Well, why did she use it?”
“How am I supposed to know? I didn’t write the letter.”
“I just don’t understand why she would say something like that.”
“Are you going to inquire about the word choice for the rest of the night?” asked Tiffany.
“It’s bothering me.”
Tiffany put her mug to her mouth, but there was no more tea. She set it down then said, “All right. Do you really want to know why she said that?”
“Yes,” replied Jerome.
“Okay. During my job as Mr. Wale’s caretaker– No, I can’t say.”
“Come on. Now, I’m intrigued. Just tell me.” She crossed her arms. “Tiffany, come on. I’m going to keep bothering you. What did you do? Dance for him? Tickle him? Massage–”
“I gave him hand jobs,” interrupted Tiffany.
Jerome sat there for a long moment of silence. “You… uh, you… what?”
“I touched him – shall I go on?”
“But… we… we were going out, Tiffany.”
“I know, but he was a dying man. It was his dying man’s request.”
“But we were going out.”
“He was dying. What was I supposed to say? No? That’s rude.”
“Rude?! You cheated on me!”
“No, I didn’t. He was at the end of the line. No one cared about him. He had no visitors. I gave him some pleasure before he died. What’s wrong with that?”
“You don’t do that if you’re in a relationship.”
“I didn’t know you were so selfish.”
“How am I being selfish?”
“He was in pain, Jerome. Serious pain. I alleviated it, but you feel it’s wrong since we’re dating? What if you were dying of cancer, and you had the opportunity to have your member sucked off by a young pretty witty girl?”
“You gave him a blowjob?!”
“…”
“Jesus, Tiffany. I thought– I– Tiffany, Jesus.”
“All right. Maybe I took it a little too far with the blowjob, but–”
“A little too far?”
“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but it was only once, and I didn’t think it was that bad because Mrs. Wales encouraged it. She even applauded me.”
“Did he finish in your…” Jerome took a moment, struggling to finish his question, so Tiffany finished it for him. “Mouth?”
Jerome slammed his forehead against the table, and let it stay there. He started weeping quietly then asked, “Did you– did you like it at all?”
“It felt dirty.”
“What does that mean?”
“It just felt dirty.”
“Oh, God. Someone told me relationships were difficult, but I never imagined this. I always thought it would be trivial things like hair on soap or leaving the toilet seat up. I mean, that’s what my parents argued about. Not giving blow jobs to old guys with their wives cheering them on. Why couldn’t Mrs. Wales just give him sexual pleasures? Why you? Why did you have to do that?” said Jerome with his head still on the table.
“You would do the same thing if you were in my position. I regretted the blowjob, but… you only have one life to live.”
“Don’t be sappy.”
“Let me finish. If I can help someone approaching death then I should do it. You should do it. I believe everyone should be happy when they pass as sappy as that sounds. I’m a humanist. I’m emphatic. I’m–”
“A whore,” said Jerome as he got up and walked away leaving the coffee shop. Tiffany stayed there at the table and looked at her hands.
“Tiffany? Is that you?”
Tiffany turned around and saw Mrs. Wales standing there. She was wearing an eyepatch.
“Mrs. Wales, your eye. What happened?”
Mrs. Wales looked down for a moment then at Tiffany again. “I have uveal melanoma. Eye cancer.”
“Oh my God,” said Tiffany.
“Tiffany. I need a caretaker… of the most stimulating nature,” said Mrs. Wales either winking or blinking.

James Franco

-- — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 03:35:35 +0000

After witnessing a bear disembowel my stepfather after he tried to tickle the bear for a photo op that he could use in a Christmas card, I decided to dedicate myself to acting as a profession. This was not my first thought after the son-of-a-bitch bear killed my dad, but that image of my father flailing his arms around, screaming for some assistance as the bear clawed his chest was always with me, and I couldn’t get rid of it, so I just kept on thinking about it, and it always made me look forlorn. That forlornness got me a lot of action in high school.

“You’re always pouting, James. What you pouting about?” asked a freshman brunette with sexy lips. I would’ve loved her if it weren’t for that slight unibrow she had. I’m quite shallow sometimes, but I told her, “You wouldn’t understand, Jenny,” then started unzipping my jeans. It was the first time I done it, and it made me feel like a man – all strong, confident, and like an important leader. The ladies loved Titanic James – that’s what they called me because I was a Titanic of a man.

I started kind of liking how my stepfather was killed by a bear, but I felt guilty for having such thoughts, which made me look even more forlorn, and that of course, got me even more action. Mrs. Walsh, my attractive-for-a-teacher Spanish teacher, gave me some real good action behind her desk during lunch. She said, “Stay, James. I want to go over your exam.”

I immediately understood what was going on. I gazed at her momentarily with my forlorn eyes then closed the door, brushed my hair back, and proceeded to sit on her desk. “They call me Titanic James around here. I think you should do the same, Mrs. Walsh.” That’s when the good action happened. After the sex, she actually went over the exam I failed. I only answered one question. I wrote: forget this god damn exam. What’s the point? let’s just have sex, Mrs. Walsh. I’m James Franco. Mrs. Walsh wanted me to retake the test, but I told her I couldn’t. I was going off to Los Angeles where I intended to capture the hearts of dreamers.

Shit. Please forgive me for not explaining why I actually decided to become an actor. Basically, I grew up exceedingly handsome largely due to my forlornness, and an old friend wanted to use me in a short movie he was making. I witnessed myself on his television after he finished the film, and I was so impressed by the sheer misery in my face. I thought to myself, this – what you are witnessing is profound. Only a man who experienced the horror of watching his stepfather being gutted alive by a bear could have such strong masculine facial expressions. I watched the film the day before meeting Mrs. Walsh. The next morning, Titanic James was in Hollywood, and it was tough.

I took the bus from Tarzana to the city where I was going to my first audition. It was a commercial for skin care. I went inside, and I saw the dreamers. They looked handsome, but they looked artificial, lacking the appearance of someone with a truly profound personality; they had no substance faces. I was sure to get the part.

“Can you be less… expressive?” asked the casting director.

I look less expressive.

“Um, how about– Uh, you’re not supposed to pout. This is for skin care.”

I decided that their product did not suit me properly, so I kicked their casting table, and said, “You made the wrong man sad today.”

I went to a nearby park, sat there, and thought about my future in acting. They didn’t like me. But then again, they didn’t understand me – what I had to go through as a four year old boy. I started looking at some pigeons eating pieces of bread on the ground, and wondered if there was a pigeon out there wanting to take a chance and be an actor, but then I thought that was kind of ridiculous to think about since all pigeons have the same moronic expression. They could never be actors.

“Why do you look so sad?” asked the young attractive man feeding the pigeons.

“Why don’t you go on feeding them birds, big fella?” I told him.

The man stopped, lowered his sunglasses, and said, “Do you know who you’re talking to, buddy?”

“Some real wise guy who doesn’t know any better. Now, why don’t you buzz off?”

The man laughed and continued to feed the birds. “You look like a real actor, you ever hear that?”

“I’m not looking to get any action from a male. James Franco is strictly for the ladies.”

“I know that. You got some balls, kid.”

“I don’t want any action from a fella! Now, buzz off before I get upset.”

“Jesus, man. You need to relax.”

“I’m just trying to sit here, wonder if pigeons act, and you go on bothering me!”

The man stood up and walked away. I looked at him sign some girls’ napkins, and I wondered if he was a celebrity. On the bus ride back home, I thought some more about my father, and all the action I received. There are people who receive all that action and still have stepfathers. There are people who don’t have any parents and don’t receive action at all. I personally think they should be actors, but they’re probably ugly since they get no action. How can actors who get action and have parents act so well? Practice? Luck? Maybe I should watch more movies. Or maybe people should just start watching me.

Religious Distractions

-- — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 00:12:25 +0000

Bill dropped the phone on his foot after Melinda told him she was pregnant, but didn’t believe it was his child or anyone else’s child.
“You cheated on me?” asked Bill.

“No. I didn’t have sex with anyone in over a month,” replied Melinda.

“Bull shit.”

“No. Not bull shit. I didn’t.”

“Then what? Having symptoms of the Virgin Mary?”

Melinda didn’t answer because she thought maybe she was having as Bill said symptoms of the Virgin Mary.

“God damn it. Mel, why do you show this other side of yourself now? All of a sudden-like?”

“I don’t know. What am I supposed to say? I missed my period for a week now.”

“So you’re not even sure you’re pregnant?”

“I am.”

“What?” Bill asked as he picked the phone up.

“I went to the doctor’s. I’m definitely pregnant.”

“Oh, Christ. I need a drink.”

Bill opened the cabinet with all the liquors, but all the bottles were empty. “Was it really that long since we’ve last drank?” asked Bill.

“You said you wouldn’t freak out,” said Melinda.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to, you know, have an immaculate conception.”

“Don’t get so angry. I don’t know what to do.”

“Just tell me, God damn it. Who’d you sleep with? Who? I don’t want to start naming names.”

“You won’t have to. It was nobody.”

“Jesus, Mel! Were you raped?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t.”

“Fucking A. We’ll discuss this when I get back. Bye,” said Bill as he slammed the door. Melinda closed the liquor cabinet and started re-washing the fruit in the fruit bowl because she wasn’t sure what else to do. She wondered why this was happening to her. She started asking questions. Was I raped? Did Bill somehow make love to me accidentally without us knowing? Maybe it was a sleep fuck. Or perhaps gee I don’t know. What could have happened?

At that moment, Melinda decided to phone her best friend, Sara. It rang and rang and rang and finally Sara picked up. Sara sounded tired.

“Yes? This is Sara,” said Sara.

“It’s Mel. Did I wake you?”

“Yes. I slept at ten.”

“But it’s almost five.”

“Ten in the morning. My mother came over last night unexpectedly.”

“Oh. What happened?”

Sara sat up in bed, massaged her head, and looked at the pile of used tissue at the foot of her bed.

“She came over at like eight or nine. With cheesecake.”

“Cheesecake?”

“Yeah. Raspberries, chocolate, delicious.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“My father came back.”

“Are you… Really?”

“Yeah,” said Sara as she started eating a half-eaten cheesecake on her nightstand. “Didn’t he leave you guys when you were thirteen?”

“I was fourteen. Ten years ago. Yeah. God damn. This cheesecake is really incredible. I have to ask my mom where she got it.”

“So what happened after?”

“My mom said my dad went to the flower shop with a box of chocolates, and he was wearing a suit with a bowler hat. My mom said he looked handsome, but it still hurt to see him like that after he walked out on us.” Sara finished the cake and set it down on the floor. She continued, “He was rather charming. That’s what my mom said.”

“Is this a bad time? Should I call you back?”

“Of course not. I have nothing to do today. It’s one of those days. Those nothing days. When I am completely worried about nothing. I’d say a perfect time to die,” Sara said before lifting her blankets so the crumpled tissue papers fell off the bed.

“What does that mean? You’re not going to… suicide…?”

“No, no, no. I’m just saying… well, what if a man just stormed into my room and shot me. I don’t think I would mind that so much. I just feel nothing. Not in a bad way. It’s a fantastic nothing, like being so sick that you’re not worrying about anything but getting better, except this is better because I’m not worrying about getting better. I’m just in the zone of nothingness, and I feel absolutely comfortable.”

“You didn’t go to work?”

“Not really. They like me enough. I’ll tell them I was too sick to work. Hell, I could tell them the truth. They’ll understand. Hopefully.”

Melinda laid on the dining table with her hands on her stomach and the telephone beside her ear.

“So why’d you call me, Mel?” asked Sara.

“Tell me more about what happened with your dad.”

“Okay. You want to just meet up and talk?”

“No. I mean, you said you wanted to do nothing.”

“Yeah, but I just woke up. I don’t feel like doing nothing.”

“It seemed like you were enjoying it.”

“Yeah, I was, but… I’m not sure exactly.”

“Just lay there and do nothing.”

“Okay.” Sara laid back down, putting her blanket over her head. “Should I tell you what happened?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Well, my mom… Only if I want to? Now if I tell you, I feel like I’ll be a jerk because I’m telling it for my own pleasure.”

“No, no. I’m interested. Please do tell, but I meant only if it doesn’t interfere with your nothingness.”

“Fuck, Mel. What do we do?”

“I’m pregnant.”

“What? Get the hell out of here. Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations!”

“I don’t know about that. I don’t know who the father is.”

Sara quickly removed the blankets again. “You cheated on Bill?”

“No, but we haven’t had sex in a long time because I wanted us to wait until our anniversary. But it happened, Sara. I’m pregnant without a father.”

“You serious?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you had an idea.”

“Okay, okay. Let me think about it.” Sara got out of bed, walked to the bathroom, and sat on the toilet.

“What are you doing?” asked Melinda.

“I’m sitting on the toilet. I think it helps me think better,” responded Sara.

“Okay, great.”

Sara sat there and couldn’t think of anything. She only thought about the previous night with her mother. Her mother said her father apologized and asked her mother if she wanted to go bowling. Sara’s mother declined the invitation and instead, suggested dinner, immediately regretting the invitation because of all the terrible times Sara’s mother spent crying and drinking so much that she almost developed a drinking problem.

Sara’s father cried after Sara’s mother invited him for dinner. He said he hated himself for the whole twelve years that he left his wife and daughter. Sara’s father became the owner of a very successful restaurant but despised his success. Sara’s father couldn’t deal with being in the presence of his former wife, so he left her again without saying anything. He left her while Sara’s mother looked at herself in the mirror in the bathroom wondering what the hell she was going to make for dinner. But this time he left a note. It said, “I’m terribly sorry, but if I stayed any longer, I would have just, well, I don’t know what exactly, but it would have been messy. I’m ashamed of myself. I hope you and Sara the best. I’ll give you my number if you ever want to talk. It’s my real number.” The number was listed below, but there were only six numbers. Sara’s mother told Sara all this. For a second, Sara wondered if her mother lied about the whole thing or made some parts up. Sara never saw the note.

“Sara? You okay?” asked Melinda.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I was thinking. I’m not sure what to say. Maybe see a priest?”

“What’s that going to do?”

“I don’t know, Mel. I don’t have the answers. I’m sorry.”

“What if it’s like Rosemary’s Baby? And I was raped by a demon?”

Sara laughed accidentally. “Sorry,” she said immediately after. “I… I’m sorry. I just imagined Satan from that Tenacious D music video fucking you, and it was really funny. I’m sorry though.”

Melinda hung up the phone. She started looking for the number of a church in her address book, but stopped when she began to realize what would happen. The priest might not believe her. The priest might think she just wants attention. Melinda has been accused of making lies for attention previously in her life. She once told a boyfriend she didn’t want to date anymore that she was raped by an uncle with the intentions of the boyfriend breaking up with her because he thought the incident was too traumatic and serious, but instead, he just loved her more and more until she finally had to admit that she was lying about the rape. The boyfriend was torn. His trust in people shattered. Melinda learned this from mutual friends. She felt terrible and hopeless.

Melinda felt her stomach, wondering how the baby would turn out. She really hoped the little boy or girl wouldn’t be a liar like she was. She felt very hopeful for the baby – saw the baby growing into a very important figure because she would tell the baby all about the lies she told and how it hurt people.

The phone rang. Melinda picked it up. “You are immature,” said the voice on the phone.

“Sara?” asked Melinda.

There was no reply. Melinda started to cry, still remaining on the phone.

Sara sat on the toilet, snickering quietly.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” asked Melinda.

“Yeah. You know you’re not actually pregnant.”

“But I am.”

“Well, you know it’s not an immaculate conception. There’s a father.”

“Sara, there isn’t.”

“I really – I’m sorry about this, but I just don’t believe you, Mel.”

“Then you can go fuck yourself,” Melinda said before hanging up.

“Ooh, you’re so bad ass,” said Sara to herself before realizing Melinda hung up on her. Sara put the phone down and thought about a time when she woke up in the middle of the night as a child and saw a floating green chain float across her bedroom. She knew she wasn’t sleeping because she woke her mother up after and told her about it. Her mother told her that it was her imagination running wild because her father left her, but Sara refused to believe that was the case.

Sara got off the toilet and thought it was pointless wondering whether or not things actually happened, so she went back to bed and tried to do nothing and think about nothing because it was comforting to do so.

Petting Grass

-- — Mon, 31 May 2010 13:35:52 +0000

Patty sat on the bench at the park that she went to on those random days when she just felt like it would be a good idea to go sit on a bench and just think. She looked at squirrels on the ground and wondered if they felt uncomfortable around people. She saw some kids holding hands and wondered if any of them would become politicians when they grew up. She remembered that she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up because she liked the idea of telling people that she was a ballerina. Patty liked the way it sounded. “Hi. I’m a ballerina. That’s what I do for a living.” Patty couldn’t help, but smile at the thought of saying that at her age now.
“Patty?” asked a young man with a beanie. Patty looked at him and then recognized him.
“Joshua,” said Patty.
The young man frowned and said, “No. My name is Isaiah.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“I used to date your sister.”
“Sorry… When did you date her?”
“Like two years ago.” The young man continued, “We were engaged.”
Patty still looked unsure. “You were engaged to my sister or to me?”
The young man laughed then saw that Patty was serious. “I was engaged to Annabelle. We dated since high school. You caught us making out in your bed twice.”
Patty stared at him. “Are you fucking with me?” she asked.
“Why would I be fucking with you? Are you fucking with me?” asked the young man.
“Oh! Isaiah! Isaiah Lee, right?”
The young man smiled and said, “Yes.”
“You were class president in my sister’s year.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“What are you doing at the park? Let’s walk and talk.” Patty got up and walked up to Isaiah.
“I’m just walking.” The two started walking together.
“What are you doing here if you don’t mind me asking?” asked Isaiah.
“I was just sitting on the bench because sometimes I just feel like it would be a good idea to just go and sit on a bench and think.”
“Oh… Um, okay. So, how’s Annabelle?”
“She’s fine. Real fine. So fine that she was noticed at a mall and is modeling for cars now.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah.” Patty stopped for a moment to brush some dirt off her shoes. “Sorry about that. My shoes get dirty sometimes,” she said as she started jogging. Isaiah observed her curiously before jogging after her. When he caught up to her jogging pace, he asked, “Why are we jogging?”
“I don’t know why you are, but I felt like it.”
“I see.”
“You used to be in that band, right? Native Americans?”
“Yeah.”
“You weren’t that good at the drums.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I was better than you, and I don’t consider myself to be a good drummer.” Isaiah laughed uncomfortably unsure of how to take Patty’s responses.
“How’s your life? Can we stop a moment? I haven’t jogged in ages.”
“Pretty good. I just celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday with my friends who I’ve known since college. We had a lot of fun. We used to wear animal masks and run around campus in our panties only, and scream. I had a wolf mask. My friend, Susan, was a dog — I think a golden retriever.”
“That sounds–” Isaiah stopped jogging and had a coughing fit. Patty stopped and rushed to Isaiah’s side holding his arm with concern.
“Should I call an ambulance? My cousin’s a doctor. I could call him.”
“No. I’m okay.” Isaiah said after coughing his ninth cough. “I should quit smoking,” Isaiah said while smiling. Patty backed away from Isaiah, concerned. Isaiah looked concerned himself. “What’s wrong, Patty?” She looked upset now.
“Why do smokers have to always let everyone know that they’re smokers?”
“They… don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Joshua. I have to go. I’m late for my meeting where I won’t be smoking,” Patty said as she started walking away. Isaiah watched her walk over a hill where he could no longer see her. He sat on a bench near by, and sat down to think about what just occurred with his ex-fiancée’s older sister.
After his inability to figure out what just happened with Patty, Isaiah decided that he was done with his walk in the park. He walked over the hill, but stopped and almost tripped when he saw Patty kneeling on the side of the hill, petting the grass.
Isaiah approached to her and hesitated before asking, “Patty?” She looked up at Isaiah with sad eyes.
“What’s up, Isaiah?”
“Not much. Are you okay?”
“Sure I am. Why do you ask?’
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sitting down.”
“Why?”
“What’s with all the questions? It’s making me… something.”
Isaiah crouched beside her and said, “Your eyes are red.”
“Yeah? Whatever. Red happens.”
“That’s true,” said Isaiah, not sure what else to say. He continued, “You should get out of the sun. You’ll get a sunburn.”
“Ooh! That sounds appetizing!”
Isaiah smirked, told Patty that he would be right back, and walked away from her by a tree where he got out his cell phone and dialed a number.
“Hey, Annabelle. It’s Isaiah.”
“Isaiah? What’s wrong?” asked Annabelle on the other end.
“I’m at the park right now, and your sister’s acting strange.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you come over? See for yourself.”
“I can’t. I’m in Miami. What’s she doing? I heard she had some sort of mental breakdown, but I didn’t think it was very serious.”
“It looks pretty serious. She’s petting grass.” Isaiah turned around to see how Patty was doing, but Patty was right behind him. Her eyes were even redder. Isaiah dropped his phone upon finding Patty right behind him.
“Are you talking to my sister?” asked Patty.
“No.”
Patty picked up the phone and said, “Hello. Who is this?”
“Patty? It’s Annabelle. Are you okay?”
Isaiah looked down guiltily.
“I think we all need to get together and just say whatever the hell is on our mind,” said Patty. She hung up the phone, dropped it, and stomped on it with her shoe.
“What the fuck, Patty? That’s my phone!”
Patty slapped Isaiah.
“You slapped me.”
Patty slapped him again. Isaiah’s face was red. Tears started falling down Patty’s cheeks. She stuck her hand out. Isaiah looked at it. “What is this?”
“It’s a hand. You shake it,” Patty said.
Isaiah shook it.
“I’m aware that I need help, and I’m sorry that you had to see me like this. I understand that it was most likely very confusing,” said Patty. She walked away to the spot where she was petting the grass. She started petting the grass. Isaiah stood there, wondering if he should do anything, but felt that maybe he shouldn’t. He thought that maybe he was helping Patty because he still had feelings for Annabelle. Isaiah decided to walk over to Patty, sit beside her, and started petting the grass. Patty looked at him, confused.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m… petting the grass.”
“Why?”
“Why are you?”
“Because I want to. Do you want to pet the grass?”
Isaiah stopped petting it, and looked at his hand. “I don’t… I’m not sure.”
“Then why are you petting it?” she asked.
“I…” Isaiah looked around and saw two kids holding hands watching them. One of the kids called out to someone. The adults — one male and one female walked beside them. Both kids pointed at Isaiah and Patty. The adults looked.
Isaiah turned to Patty and said, “We should go.”
“I don’t want to go,” said Patty.
The father took out his phone and started dialing.
“Patty, there’s a family watching us. I think they’re going to call the police.”
“I’m not doing anything wrong though, and if I am, then why don’t you just go? I barely know you. You made out on my bed.”
Isaiah tried to take Patty’s arm, but she resisted. Isaiah gave up, and said, “Fine. I’m leaving.”
“Okay.”
Isaiah got up and started walking away, but kept looking back at Patty. He felt terrible and hated how he felt terrible. It’s true, I barely know her, he thought. She was always so reserved. Isaiah continued walking away, out of the park, but stopped once more to try and convince Patty to leave.
He walked back to the hill, but she was gone. The family was also gone. Isaiah decided to just leave the park. He exited the park, and saw Patty waiting for the walk sign to flash. Isaiah started walking towards her, but felt that it was pointless.
Isaiah entered his apartment and immediately went to look at old pictures of him and Annabelle on his computer. He browsed through them and this time studied pictures that also featured Patty. He wondered what she was thinking in the pictures. She was smiling. She looked happy, but was she really? He looked at himself and tried to remember how he was actually feeling when the picture was taken. After an hour of studying the pictures, he realized how absurd it was. There was no point. Isaiah turned his computer off and decided to put an old demo CD of his high school band, the Native Americans.

Ugly Face

-- — Fri, 21 May 2010 13:08:35 +0000

“Throw me the ball, will ya?” asked the balding man who wasn’t wearing a shirt to Alan the precocious eleven year old who recently lost his father in a car accident. Alan picked up the baseball and tosses it to the balding man. “Thanks, kid,” said the balding man. Alan watched the balding man playing toss with a fatter gentleman. After a moment, the fatter gentleman noticed Alan watching them toss the ball around.
“You wanna play, kid?” asked the fatter gentleman.
“I’m just watching,” said Alan.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, kid. You can play if you’d like,” said the balding man.
Alan scratched his chin and then said, “What’s it like being bald?”
The balding man looked down momentarily, then tossed the ball to his friend. “You sure you want to ask me that?” asked the balding man.
“Of course I do. I don’t ask things that I don’t want to ask,” Alan answered.
The balding man told the fatter gentleman to hold the ball as he walked towards Alan. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at Alan. “Where are your folks, kid?”
“My mother is making sandwiches with her friends at the picnic tables.”
“And your daddy?”
“I don’t know. I lost him in a car accident.”
“Oh…”
“We were walking and then we saw the car accident, and he just ran away. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Oh…?”
“You never answered my question. You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable. Although, I feel sometimes it’s a good thing to answer questions that make you uncomfortable because it will make it less uncomfortable to answer the next time you’re asked that question that made you uncomfortable in the first place.”
“…”
“Sorry.”
“It’s… It’s okay. You’re the first person who asked me what it’s like to be bald.”
“Truth is, people have probably wondered about it — your baldness. They most likely didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“What… What’s your name, kid?”
“Alan. What’s your name, baldy?”
“You want to say that again.”
“Alan. What’s your name, baldy?”
The balding man shook his head at Alan then turned around and looked at the picnic tables wondering which one Alan’s mother was.
“You got some kinda attitude, Alan.”
“I know.”
“How would you like it if I called you… ugly face?”
“I’d be curious to know why you think my face is ugly.”
“Be… Because you got a really long nose and your eyes are too close to each other.”
Alan stared into the balding man’s eyes for three long seconds. The balding man looked away then looked at Alan again. This time, Alan was looking at his shoes. The balding man reached a hand towards Alan to comfort him, but decided against it.
“Come on, kid. Alan, I’m… I didn’t mean it.”
“…”
“Alan… I’m really sorry now, okay? My name’s Roger, alright? Roger the big bald fellah.”
“You… You think my eyes are too close to each other? What do you know?” Alan strained to ask behind his weakened throat.
“No, no. What do I know?”
“Obviously nothing.”
“Hey. Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“That’s… mean, Alan. You shouldn’t tell people that they don’t know things.”
“You don’t know anything. You think my eyes are too close to each other. That was a really mean thing to say. Dip shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Why?”
“You… I’m going to have a talk with your mother.”
Roger began to walk away towards the picnic benches, but stopped after Alan asked, “You got the hots for her?”
“You little…”
“You little what? Are you going to make fun of my physical traits again? I can’t do anything about them, Roger! I can’t fix my nose. I can’t make it shorter to please you, Roger. Go play with your fatter gentleman friend.”
“Don’t call my friend fat.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Boy, you got some kind of mouth on you, kid.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. You have some kind of mouth on you as well. Good observation, Roger.”
The fatter gentleman walked up to Roger and Alan. “What’s going on here? I’m sick of just holding this ball,” said the fatter gentleman.
“We’re having a discussion, Sully. Just wait a little longer,” said Roger.
“No. Let me join in on the conversation,” said Sully. Sully bent down to be on the same level as Alan.
“What’s your name, kid?”
“Alan.”
“My name is Sully. It’s short for Sullivan.”
“I know. I heard Roger call you Sully.”
“Why, aren’t you the smart one?” asked Sully while smiling. Roger shook his head, embarrassed.
“What? What’s wrong, Roger?” asked Alan.
“Excuse me?” replied Roger.
“You shook your head. Are you embarrassed by Sully’s comment?”
Sully turned around to look at Roger. “You shook your head? Why?”
“Yeah, Roger. Why?” asked Alan.
“I… What is this?”
“We’re just trying to figure out what you’re doing, Roger. Why do people shake their heads?” said Alan.
“I don’t know. I thought you were going to make fun of him,” answered Roger.
“Why would you think that?” asked Sully.
“He seems like the kid that would.”
“But at what? Why would he make fun of me?”
“Because… Because you said aren’t you the smart one and…”
“And what, Roger?”
“You smiled.”
“People smile, Roger.”
“But you…”
“But me what, Roger?”
“God damn it. You gave one of those corny smiles you give to kids.”
“You asshole, Roger. You’re a real big asshole, Roger. I didn’t know that about you.” Sully took out some coins out of his pockets and tossed them on the grass beside Roger.
“Go buy yourself some books on how to not be an asshole. Maybe one of those Dummy guidebooks, and put a shirt on. You’re not impressing anyone,” Sully said before walking off with the ball.
“That was my baseball,” said Roger.
“Where did you meet, Sully?” asked Alan.
“Kid, you just… my friend called me an asshole because of you.”
“What did I do?”
“You… You said I should my head.”
“You did.”
“I know, but… Never mind. He threw change at me. What the hell was that?”
“He told you. He wanted you to buy self-help books.”
“You’re real annoying. I’m not afraid to say it. You’re really God damn annoying.”
Alan stared into Roger’s eyes again. Roger tried to hold the gaze, but quit after six and a half seconds.
“Alan, please don’t cry. Boys shouldn’t cry,” said Roger.
“Wh… Why?” Alan struggled to ask.
“They just shouldn’t. Boys are supposed to stay strong and support their families and stuff.”
“What does crying have to with staying strong and supporting families and stuff?”
“It… Why am I still talking to you?”
“I think you’re lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” said Roger before picking up some of the coins on the grass. “Why do you think I’m lonely?”
“Because you asked why I think you’re lonely.”
“What does that even mean!?”
“Roger, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
“It’s hot.”
“A lot of people here are hot. You don’t see them without their shirts off.”
Roger looked around. “What about that guy?” he asked, referring to a young man playing basketball. Alan looked at him.
“He’s very fit. He has very well-maintained abs. He probably works out at least two hours everyday. He wants to show it off because it gives him attention. I believe that’s why he works out — to get the attention. People really enjoy attention.”
“I don’t like attention.”
“Stop lying to yourself, Roger.”
“It gets really hot here so I thought why not, I’ll just take my shirt off, and…I don’t really need to talk to you, Alan.”
“Giving up so early?”
“No. I have better things to do than argue with a child.”
“I’m not a child.”
“Yeah, you are. In my opinion. All right, kid?”
“Why are you bald, Roger?”
“Because I just am. I’m leaving. Have a good day, Alan. You already ruined mine,” said Roger while walking away.
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose your father!” shouted Alan before walking away himself. Roger turned around and watched Alan walking away.
“Hey! I’m sorry, Alan!”
Alan flicked him off, turned around, and said, “Why? Just because my dad is lost, you start caring now?”
“It just sucks, kid. Not having a father.”
“What do you know what it’s like? You don’t know anything.”
“You… Kid, why are you doing this to me? What’s the point to all this? Why are we having this discussion? Amusement? Is it amusement?”
“Stop trying to sound like this is deeper than it actually seems, Roger.”
“I’m not. I’m sincerely asking you. What’s this all about?”
“You’re asking me? I’m eleven.”
Roger examined Alan for a few seconds before saying, “Alan. I’m your daddy.”
“…”
“Alan, I’m back.”
“Roger, stop trying to find purpose in the conversation by claiming that you are my father. It’s not entertaining. It’s just absurd.”
“I love you, Alan.”
“Roger, you’re annoying me.”
Roger covered his face, dropped down to his knees, and started crying. Alan just watched him for a moment, then said, “Roger, this is very childish of you. I think you need a shrink.”
Roger got up and smiled. “Alan. I came here to play catch. I missed the ball Sully threw, and it landed beside you. You decided to watch us. Why?” Before Alan had a chance to answer, Roger started walking away. Alan was about to shout something at Roger, but decided against it, seeing kids playing tag nearby where they might be able to hear Alan.

I Am a Passenger

-- — Wed, 12 May 2010 09:00:02 +0000

Sara tossed her keys on the coffee table with her coffee table book about volcanoes, and walked into her room and sighed as she Michael laying prone on the floor beside the nightstand. ”What the fuck, Michael?”
“I…” replied Michael.
“What is… that?”
“I… I swear. I won’t do it again. This is the last time. Swear to God,” Michael struggled to say.
“Oh my God!” Sara shouted. She ran to his side and patted his back.
“Why are you patting my back?”
“Why the hell did you do it this time?”
“Can you help me?”
“Well, shit, how? When did you do this?”
“Like ten… I don’t really know.”
Michael slit his wrists approximately seven minutes before Sara arrived to her apartment. He woke up in Sara’s apartment after drinking several shots and discussing his problems with a sober Sara. He remembered all the things that he told Sara and felt like killing himself, so he tried. But what do I know? I’m not a mind reader. I’m just really good at interpreting things. I have keen perception. Well, Sara found Michael sitting at her door last night, trying to untie the very tight knot on his left shoe.
“What are you doing?” she asked him when she came back from a date after work. I think.
“Hey. You want to smoke a cigarette with me?” he asked.
“Not really,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“What? So you’re just going to make me smoke by myself?”
“Why are you here?”
“Everyone thinks they got the right answers. Oh, this book is definitely better than this book by the same author.”
“…”
“Stop being so pretentious, Sara.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Are you drunk?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Don’t mock me.”
“You’re pathetic. Can you get away from my door and let me get in?”
“Come on. Just one cigarette.”
“Fine, but you better leave right after.”
Michael took his time getting up, but they made their way outside to smoke cigarettes. I smoked my first cigarette with my uncle, Anton. He was an avid fan of baseball. His favorite team was the Texas Rangers. I think it was because he was born and raised in Texas or maybe he just really liked their uniforms. Sorry.
“Do you think I’ve gained weight?” asked Michael outside in front of Sara’s apartment.
“No,” she said while taking her first puff.
“I’m not self-conscious, am I?”
“No.”
“It’s so stupid how we’re smoking cigarettes. It’s not cool because we kind of think it’s cool.”
“You’re insane.”
“It’s been suggested. See. That was really a not cool thing to say because I probably said that because I thought it would’ve sounded kind of cool in a weird way.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Sorry. I’m all out of sorts. I feel really isolated, you know? And like everyone’s kind of watching me, but not caring. They’re just observing me like with really stony eyes – not really giving a shit. They’re just looking at me to look at me.”
Sara probably really wanted to go back inside and think about how her date went while taking a bath. She wasn’t sure how she used to be in love with the guy she was smoking with. I remember when she used to play with my toes just as were falling asleep. It was weird how loved I felt when she did that. Something so gross, but intimate.
“Okay. I got to go back inside,” said Sara.
“Why?” asked Michael.
“I’m tired. I have work tomorrow.”
“You write your little articles so people can read them or so people can read them then appreciate them and give you praises for them?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m sorry. I just caught my girlfriend dancing with some other girl. They were both naked and smiling.”
“What?”
“Yeah. It was highly unexpected. I think she’s going through this thing where she’s trying to be cool.”
“Stop with your trying-to-be-cool bull shit. It’s God damn annoying.”
“Using the lord’s name in vain. Sounds like you’re trying to be–”
Sara slapped Michael, and was about to go back inside when Michael threw up on the pavement and burst into tears. I really wish he didn’t do that. That’s something people do that they will regret later on.
In Sara’s apartment, Michael and Sara sat on the couch. Sara turned on the TV. Jurassic Park was on. She changed it immediately remembering that time she and Michael made fun of it one night before having sex. She felt awkward when she finally settled on a baseball game so she went to grab some beers.
“You hear the new Arcade Fire album?” asked Michael when Sara handed him a beer.
“No.”
“It’s quite good. I especially like the song, Intervention.”
“Okay. I’ll look out for it.”
Michael opened his beer. Sara put hers down.
“You know, actually, I’m not going to drink this. I’m very tired. Feel free to stay here. Night, Michael.” She left to go to bed.
Michael felt very isolated once again. He wanted to want Sara, but he just couldn’t. He went to her kitchen. There, he found a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. He downed quite a few. I don’t remember exactly how many, but he got really drunk. I mean, real drunk. He went to her room – Sara’s room, and just laid beside her. She was still sleeping, I think, but he started rambling on.
“It’s really such bull shit. Everything. Why do people have to try and figure people out? Why is everyone such a God damn narcissist – wanting everyone else to know what exactly they like and what they hate? I don’t think a lot of people give a shit about whether or not you like David Bowie’s earlier work and that you’re musically diverse because you like shoegazer bands like My Bloody Valentine while at the same time, liking Nas and Debussy. Oh, but they say they actually do. I don’t care. Let me learn it. Don’t just tell me. You don’t see me introducing myself by saying, ‘Hey. I’m Michael. I like Spoon, and I really like French New Wave films.’ It’s stupid. I don’t know. Maybe I’m stupid. I really wish I wasn’t like this. I hope I’m not waking you up, but then why am I still talking then? I’m drunk. I’m sorry. It’s my bad. I really saw my… well, to be honest, it wasn’t my girlfriend who was dancing naked with another girl while smiling. It was just this girl who I thought maybe I had a crush on because I thought it would be nice to fuck her. That sounded wrong. I’m sorry again. Are you awake, Sara?”
Sara was awake, but too afraid to say anything. Well, I think anyway. Michael continued. “I just… Remember that time I tried eating a lot of pills to kill myself? I really didn’t want to die. I tried to force myself to feel like I wanted to die, but I just didn’t. I could’ve just slit my wrists or something to make it more likely to be successful, but no, I really didn’t want to die. I just wanted attention. Make my life meaningful by realizing the importance of life after failing to kill myself, but I realized what I was actually trying to do, and it just made me more upset. Well, I think anyway. I don’t think anyone really knows why they do what they do. I must be so God damn annoying. I apologize. I’m not self-conscious. I shouldn’t be, you know? Do you maybe want to have sex with me? Shit. I’m sorry. Cigarettes are lame. I think you’re lame. I really like you, Sara. I even like your name. Jurassic Park‘s great. I saw it the other night. Shit. I’m sorry again. I’m so lame. I’m going to pass out now.” I don’t know why he said what he said. I know he was drunk, but I’m not exactly sure why he had to say the exact things he said to Sara. I don’t even know why I’m telling you that. I just know that Michael woke up after Sara left for work, and slit his wrist with one of Sara’s razors. Michael remembered the last time he tried offing himself. It was after Sara said she didn’t want to be friends with him anymore because it just hurt too much. He felt… well, he just felt downright depressed.
Michael regained consciousness in the hospital room. He was alive. He saw his uncle. Apparently, he left a Texas Rangers game to visit his nephew. Michael’s uncle’s eyes were teary and Michael couldn’t help but cry. Sara sat at the other side of the room by the door, trying her best to keep her composure. Michael held out his hand for his uncle, and it was the warmest touch that he’s ever felt. Michael hated himself. He felt he wasn’t a guy that people should really care about, but here was his uncle crying his eyes out and embracing his nephew.
“God damn you, Michael. You made my cheeks soggy as hell,” said Michael’s uncle as tears spilled down his face. Michael couldn’t speak. It hurt too much. He was glad in retrospect. He felt he should keep his mouth shut more often.
Sara sat in the chair beside Michael’s uncle. Michael grew nervous, but Sara started playing with Michael’s toes, and he started feeling more comfortable. He wanted to smile, but he was still overwhelmed with the experience that he just couldn’t. He also knew that this time he probably should stop being friends with Sara. It seemed right, he felt. He put her through too much for selfish reason.
“I’m going to be here with you, Michael. For as long as you need me. I don’t want you to do anything foolish like this again.”
Michael shook his head. He felt it was a bit too dramatic, but felt it was appropriate.
“I need professional help,” he said trying his best not to feel something about it. Sara patted his leg, and I liked it. It felt really comforting and safe in a strange way.

A Vague Spot

-- — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 16:50:06 +0000

Margarette sat in a chair on the balcony. She gazed at the yellow spot on her tan pants and could not figure out where and when she got it from. Franklin the albino walked behind her and tickled her arms. Margarette did not laugh. She just looked at him and sighed. “Why would you even do that?” she asked.
“I love you, Marge,” he responded.
“Don’t call me that. It’s offensive.”
“How?”
“I don’t like being called Marge. That’s why.”
“But lovers always have nicknames for their lovers.”
“We’re not lovers, God damn it.”
“Then why are you naked on my balcony?”
“I’m wearing God damn pants.”
“I can see your breasts.”
“I know, Franklin. Jesus. Where’s my God damn Sunday underwear?”
Franklin took out his handkerchief to dry his tears. He walked back into his living room and laid on the couch with his head buried in the armrest.
Margarette took out her pair of binoculars and looked at the apartment building across from her at a man wearing a purple hat looking at her with his pair of binoculars. The man looked away out of shyness, but Margarette continued to observe him. Franklin walked back out the balcony. He brought his own chair.
“Is it because of my albinoism?” he asked.
“What if I said, yes?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t know unless you actually said it and meant it.”
“Fine. Understood.”
She followed the man with the purple hat walk into his apartment, trying to casually watch television, but she could tell he was very nervous.
“Are you not going to answer me? Franklin asked.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Can you put a shirt on? I don’t want people looking at your nice-looking succulent breasts?”
She set aside her binoculars and looked at Franklin.
“Now, why the hell would you describe my breasts like that? You could have simply said breasts.”
“What’s wrong with the way I describe your body?”
“A lot of things.”
“Like?”
“This is pointless,” she said after grabbing her binoculars again to watch to the man in his purple hat. Franklin sat there, waiting for her answer. He went on, “I should have brought a book or something. I hate just sitting.”
“What would be the something?”
“I don’t know. A magazine?”
“Do you know where I got this yellow stain from?”
Franklin looked at the stain on her pants and tried rubbing it off. Margarette slapped his hand away.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked.
“I was seeing if I could rub it off, but I couldn’t.”
“No shit, dumb dumb. It’s a God damn stain. You find my Sunday underwear? You should search for it.”
“What Sunday underwear?”
“You really don’t know me, do you?”
“I know I love you.”
“I wish I wasn’t so attractive. Life would be so much easier if I weren’t so God damn attractive.”
“You lie. I’m albino. I’m ugly.”
“I just hate how people stare at me and fall in love with me because of how I look. It sickens me,” she said after watching the purple hatted man enter his restroom.
“Just shave your head then, bitch.”
She dropped her binoculars. “Excuse me?”
“Shave your head, bitch. Eat some fried chicken, whore.”
“Why?”
“If being so attractive is such a problem for you then eat some fried food and get fat. People think fat people are gross.”
“Fuck off, Franklin.”
“No, I don’t want to. Especially not you!”
She slapped him. He slapped her.
“You just slapped me,” she said.
“You slapped me.”
“I’m a woman.”
“I’m albino.”
“So?”
“I still love you.”
She picked up the chair she was sitting on and threw it over the balcony.
“What are you – crazy?”
She ignored him and walked inside. Franklin followed a few seconds later. He found her in the kitchen with scissors in her hands.
“What are you doing with those scissors?” asked Franklin.
“You know.”
She brought the scissors closer to her head. Franklin shouted, “No!”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because… I love you.”
“Stop saying that!”
She cut her large portions of her hair. Franklin started tearing up. She was too.
“You know, I liked my hair. It contributed to my attractiveness, but I liked it God damn it! It felt nice when I touched it, and I enjoy the little moments I have with it when I just twirl it around. I like when people play with it. It brings me closer to them.”
Franklin broke down on the floor, clutching his head in his small hands, and started rolling around while crying. Margarette stopped cutting her hair and just looked at Franklin.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?! You just cut your hair!”
“God damn it.”
“God damn what?”
She didn’t respond.
“God damn what, Marge? God damn what? God damn WHAT?!”
“You’re right! We’re all so dramatic. And you’re really annoying.”
She put the scissors back, got a broom out, and started sweeping her fallen hair. Franklin just laid on the floor.
“We’ll never be, okay, Franklin?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I label my underwears. I have seven. An underwear for a day of the week.”
“Oh.”
She caught a reflection of herself in the dishwasher door. She started tearing up again.
“I’m so ugly.”
“It’ll do you good.”
“I highly… I highly doubt that.”

Girls with Blue Eyes Are Always Troubled

-- — Sun, 28 Mar 2010 16:41:42 +0000

“You’re a real neat eater, Tom,” said Lana after taking a bite of her fried chicken leg. Tom nibbled on his carrot sheepishly before responding. “Oh. Okay.” Tom continued to eat his dish, but then looked up at Lana again. “Why did you mention that – that I’m a neat eater?”
“Because I just realized it. You eat very… properly.”
“Is that a compliment or are you just fucking with me?”
“How would I be fucking with you?”
“You know about how my father was eaten by his two best friends. The woman who saw him described his corpse as ‘very neatfully eaten.’ Why would you say that, Lana?”
Lana looked down at her food. The chicken thigh on her plate reminded her of Tom’s father. She couldn’t eat it.
“What’s wrong?” Tom asked. “You look distracted.”
“I… I am. My mom just got fired from her job, and now, she wants to start a company with me, but I know I’m not ready for that. I’m only twenty-two, for Christ’s sakes.”
“I understand. You have blue eyes. Girls with blue eyes are always troubled.”
“I never heard that one before. Who said that?”
“I said it obviously. You just saw me say it. Wait. Did you mean where did I hear it from?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry. I’m embarrassed now. I heard it from my… father.”
Tom looked down at his plate of mixed vegetables and recalled a time when he and his father ate mixed vegetables after playing a game of catch. The waiter came by and asked the couple if they wanted refills. Lana got a refill of orange juice.
“So, what are you going to do?” asked Tom.
“What do you mean? With the company?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure exactly. She wants to sell guns. She was always fascinated with guns.”
“That’s strange.”
“I know nothing about guns. My mother’s crazy about guns, but I know nothing about them. I don’t know how this is going to work.”
“Does anyone ever know how something is going to work?”
“Yeah, I’d say so. I knew immediately when I met you that we would be friends.”
“I see, but are we?”
Lana dropped her fork and looked at Tom. “Of course, we are.”
“What is a friend?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Tom.”
“I’m not bullshitting you. I’m asking you a question that I would like you to answer.”
“A friend is someone who you know you won’t hate. A friend is someone you can talk to, and not worry if they’re going to kill you.”
“Are you being serious right now?”
“Kind of.”
“My father had two best friends, and they ate him.”
“Maybe for good reason. Maybe because they were trapped in the middle of nowhere in the freezing cold without food. They needed to eat or they would die, Tom. They would die! I wasn’t there, but I’m sure they didn’t decide to eat your father. I knew him. He probably sacrificed himself to save the others. That’s what a true friend is.”
“Well, why didn’t one of my father’s best friends sacrifice themselves?”
“Because they wanted to live, but your father was the best man.”
“The other two didn’t even have families.”
“Maybe your father felt they could have families eventually. Your father had a good amount of experience with a family. He understood the love a family shares, but the other two haven’t experienced it. He sacrificed himself so they could.”
“I feel my father should have not been eaten because he has a family. The two might not even get married. They’re fucked up. They ate another human being.”
“For survival.”
“I can’t stand the thought of my father always being remembered for the guy who was eaten by his best friends. He was hell of a lot more than that.”
“He was a dentist. What’s so spectacular about that?”
“He led his high school football team to a championship game.”
“So?”
“What do you mean so? That’s rare. He was atheltic and smart. A terrific, rare combination.”
“God damn it.” Lana looked at her right index finger. There was a cut on it.
“What’s wrong?” asked Tom.
“I accidentally cut my finger when I was massaging my finger on the knife.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just something I do to do something.”
“Should we call the hospital?”
“No. It’s just a small cut.”
“What if it’s infected?”
“It’s not. Relax, Tom. You’re making me nervous.” She started clutching her knife again. Tom didn’t notice.
“I’m just concerned. You said you were worried about the new gun business and now, you cut yourself. I’m pretty sure it’s all related.”
“Shut up.”
“Excuse me? That was the first time you said, ‘shut up,’ to me. I’m offended.”
She rolled her eyes and began to tap her feet.
“I’m sorry, Lana. I’m a little tipsy. Maybe I should have ordered orange juice too.”
“I no longer consider you a friend. I consider you an adversary. I like to kill my adversaries.”
Tom took the last bite of his vegetables and studied Lana’s contentious face. “What?” he asked. He noticed that her eyes went from blue to black, and also that her mouth was frothing. “Are you okay, Lana?”
“Dios cada rapadoochai ta ta moon di poo,” she responded.
Tom looked around nervously. He made eye contact with the waiter. The waiter pulled out a gun and started shooting at Lana, but he missed all twelve rounds even though he was a few feet from her.
“Did she cut herself with that knife? Because if she did – well, I should have mentioned this earlier, but it’s an infected knife. God. I’m such an idiot. I apologize. Please don’t not tip me for not warning you ahead of time. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you the infected knife. Once again, I’m sorry.”
Lana started growing horns and wings. That’s when Tom decided to tell her something that he’s always wanted to tell her ever since they grew to be friends who were comfortable with each other.
“Lana. I love you.” Lana was about to kill Tom, but after he said what he said, she stopped, and for a moment, looked touched. “Do you love me?” he continued. Lana sat back in her seat after levitating momentarily.
“What is love? How does one define love?” she asked in her demonic raspy voice.
“To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s a very subjective term. I feel love for someone when I have no inhibitions about saying whatever’s on mind with that special person. I also have to want to have sex with the person I love.”
“I see, but in this form I’m in right now, I’m assuming you don’t want to have sex with me because I have horns and wings.”
“That’s when I knew I really loved you. I’ve always had this fascination with demons and demon sex. I would like to participate in demon sex with you, Lana. If only you’ll take me.”
“I’ll think about it. I just wonder if I’ll be a demon forever.” She twisted her head 180 degrees to look at the waiter. “Is this going to last forever?”
The waiter said, “I don’t know. Honestly, I think so. Sorry.”
Tom walked over to Lana and kissed her perpetually bleeding, scabbed lips. He said, “It’s rougher than I thought. So how about it, Lana? Will you take me?”
“Only if you call me by my real name. It’s Xialongiodudeos,” said the formerly known Lana.
“Okay. It’ll take me some time to remember and pronounce that name, but I’ll try my hardest because you’re the girl I have the best conversations with.”
Xialongiodudeos picked up Tom in her arms and flew off to God knows where.

Accidentally Taking a Glance at a Goat

-- — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 19:58:06 +0000

“I hate goats, Marshall.” Marshall looked down at the little gray goat he purchased for Susan and petted its head.
“I’m sorry, Susan. I don’t know why I got this goat for you. It was pretty stupid of me,” Marshall replied.
“Oh. It’s all right. We all make mistakes some time.”
“Susan. Do you… never mind.”
“What is it, Marshall?” Susan asked while accidentally taking a glance at the goat in the eyes.
“Forget it. It’s not important.”
“Maybe it is, but whatever. If you don’t want to tell me.”
Marshall bent down to his knees and grabbed the goat with both his hands. The goat looked like it smiled.
“Well… No, it’s really nothing,” Marshall said.
Susan dropped her purse by mistake. It was by the goat, and Susan looked terrified and disgusted. She said, “Oh! Don’t let the goat touch my purse. It probably has diseases.”
Marshall said, “It? What do you mean by it? The purse has diseases or… idiot! I’m sorry. Of course, you meant the goat. I apologize, Susan.”
While Marshall was speaking, the goat smelled the leather purse and licked it. Susan quickly grabbed the purse and embraced it before realizing that the goat germs were on the purse, and proceeded to quickly throw it on the ground.
“God damn it! That’s a special purse. Matt gave it to me on my birthday.”
Marshall asked, “Who’s Matt?”
“He’s…” Susan looked down at the goat then at the purse sheepishly. She picked up the purse again and tried to brush off the germs.
“Susan? Who’s Matt?”
“A friend.”
“Okay.”
“Yeah.”
“All right.”
“Um.”
“Okay.”
“What did you want to tell me, Marshall?”
“I have such a stupid name. I wish I had a more pleasant-sounding name.”
“That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
“No. I mean, yeah.”
“You’re lying.”
The goat started walking away. Marshall watched it for a moment then turned towards Susan. “Should I go after it?” he asked.
“If you want to. I really don’t want it. What would I even feed it?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a zoologist. Who’s Matt?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because. Because you said it’s a special purse, and he gave it to you. I want to know why it’s so special. You’re my girl, after all.”
“Don’t call me your girl. That sounds so… unattractive.”
“Sorry.” Marshall watched the goat smell a can from a far distance.
“It’s special because it means a lot to me.”
“But why?”
“Because it carries my things, and it looks really good with all my clothes.”
“God damn it. Why did I buy you a goat? What the hell was I thinking?” He knew what he was thinking. He just did not want to tell her.
She looked at her pink shoes and wondered why she was wearing pink shoes. “I’m sick of hating people.” She sat down, took her shoes off, and looked up at Marshall. “I’m real God damn sick of hating people, and real God damn sick of people liking me and making me feel bad because I’m doing things.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t even know anymore.”
“Do you hate me?”
“No, I don’t really hate anyone.”
“You just said—“
“I know what I just said. It’s just… I don’t know what I mean.”
Marshall couldn’t see the goat anymore. It was too far away, and he started worrying about it. He sat down beside Susan.
“I feel like we’re entering a bad stage in our relationship.”
“Why do you say that? Well, yeah, probably.”
“So what’s the point of me telling you what I was going to say?”
“Why not? Maybe it’ll save this.”
“It probably won’t. I mean, I got you a goat. My decision to buy you a goat spelled doom.”
She started laughing. “Yeah. What were you thinking?”
“I thought it would be funny.”
“Yeah, well, it ruined my purse.”
They both looked down after she said that.
“Is there a reason behind this? I wonder,” Marshall said.
“Behind what?”
“This. This moment.”
“You’re starting to sound real corny.”
“What’s wrong with corniness, Susan? People invented it. Who cares?”
“It’s unintelligent.”
“Why?”
“It just is.”
“That was unintelligent.”
She looked at him, considered him for a moment, and then punched him in the face.
“Ah! Why’d you hit me?”
“You’re being an asshole, Marsh. Fuck.”
“God damn it. How would you like it if I punched you?”
“I wouldn’t know until it happened.”
“Well, you’re lucky you’re a girl.”
“Why?”
“So… don’t ask me why. What the hell.”
“Punch me, Marshall.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a girl.”
“So?”
“You’re weaker than I am. It’s biological.”
“Fuck you.” She punched him again. His face.
“It actually hurts! Please stop. It’s very childish.”
“That’s very subjective. I think being childish is being ridiculed by your father.”
“Who’s Matt?”
“Shut up.”
Marshall pushed Susan not too hard, but hard enough that she fell. It didn’t hurt her. It just made her really annoyed. Marshall got up and ran away towards the goat.
Susan lay on the ground and cried. She hated Marshall, but felt it wasn’t a rational hate. She hated her purse and hated the goat. After a few minutes on the ground, she got up, picked up her purse, and walked the other way where the goat wasn’t walking.