Forever Freaky by Tom Upton Page B

said with disdain.
    “Boy, did she do a number on you! I feel like
strangling her myself. She actually said you reminded her of her
father? That is so cold!”
    “But all in all, it’s not so bad, is it?” he
asked.
    “Wait. Wait. Your grandfather died—that’s
getting pretty bad. You were very sad. You were close to your
grandfather. He took you fishing. He took you to the Cubs game… a
lot. And—Oh My God!” I cried, feeling a sick surge of adrenaline.
My head buzzed. I could barely breathe, the panic I felt was so
extreme. I jerked my hand out of his.
    “What? What is it?” he asked.
    “You saw your dog get hit by a car?”
    “Yeah, but he was okay.”
    “But you didn’t think he was okay when it
happened.”
    “No, but the vet operated on him, and--”
    “-- cut off his leg!” I finished for him.
    “He’s alive,” Jack offered. “He hops around
pretty good, too.”
    “You don’t get the point, do you? You think
your memories aren’t so bad, but still you have a dead grandfather
and a three-legged dog. That’s enough to make my skin crawl.”
    He fell quiet for a moment, and then asked
carefully, “You see anything else?”
    “I don’t know what you mean.”
    “You know.”
    “Yeah, I know,” I said mildly. “I’m causing
you a lot of angst. Right now, my hands are shaking because of your
angst. I know you’re not making it up or exaggerating, but I still
find it hard to believe.”
    “I think maybe it was one of those
love-at-first-sight things,” he mumbled. It sounded like an
apology.
    “I don’t believe in love-at-first-sight. I
think you just have terrible taste in girls, or some kind of
unusual mental condition. Just try to put it out of your mind. If
it persists maybe your doctor can give you some kind of medication.
It’s never going to be possible,” I said, and the added, as sort of
an offering, “After we find this tree-hugger, we can be friends.
I’m down with that. We can have lunch together, and hang out.”
    “What if I can’t be your friend?” he
asked.
    “Then we have a problem. It’s either friend
or enemy. I’ve told you way too much. That’s my fault, not yours,
and I’m sorry for being so—weak.”
    “You just need somebody to talk to,” he
said.
    “I don’t need anybody,” I said. “I just made
a mistake by blabbing everything to you.”
    Just then the gym door creaked open, and the
lights came on. Light filtered through the bleachers and cast
stripes of shadows across us.
    Jack appeared puzzled and panicky. He looked
over at me, and I shrugged my shoulders.
    I got on my knees, and peered over a thick
length of wood. What I saw was grosser than most of the things that
flashed through my mind. Carl, the janitor, was plodding across the
basketball court. The guy weighed a good 350 pounds, and all he
wore were white boxer shorts and a pair of flip-flops. His huge
stomach hanged over the waistband of his shorts, and white curly
hair covered the expanse of his chest. He waddled over to the
sideline, and grabbed a basketball off the rack, and started
dribbling it out onto the court.
    I sat back down next to Jack.
    “Marvelous,” I said in a vicious whisper.
    We both listened to the lonely thud-thud-thud
of Carl dribbling.
    “You got to be kidding,” Jack whispered.
    The basketball thunked as it bounced off the
rim.
    “Can’t you do something?”
    “Like what?” I asked.
    “I don’t know—like plant a suggestion in his
mind to go home.”
    “I can’t do that. I can only read what’s
already there. I’m not Obi Wan Kenobi, you know.”
    “Well, can you tell how long he’s planning on
staying?”
    I concentrated for a few seconds, and then
snorted softly. “The dude thinks in German.”
    “Figures.”
    “Well, he won’t be too long. Did you ever
take a good look at him? He’ll get tired, right?”
    “I sure hope so,” Jack said.
    We waited, and then mercifully, after about
fifteen minutes, Carl called it quits. He returned the