around in her purse.”
“ Do I strike you as being average?”
“ Hardly.”
“ Glad to hear it. I happened to have that item because–”
At that moment something large sailed out of the night and splattered against the back of my head, drenching me in an icy, sticky liquid. Another large balloon wobbled down out of the sky and slammed into Uma’s chest.
“ What the fuck!” she screamed.
We stood there dripping in stunned surprise. In the distance: the sound of fast-retreated footsteps and laughter.
“ Did you see who it was?” I exclaimed.
“ I saw, all right. It was your fucking friend Stoney Holt. And some black guy.”
Stabbed in the back by my own gang brothers!
Uma did not let me help dry her off. She hurried up the walk to her door, muttered a fast “Good night!” and abandoned me kiss-less, forlorn, and sticky on the stoop.
I tasted a moist finger. Dr. Pepper: Carlyle’s longtime beverage of choice. At least it wasn’t pig’s blood or cat piss.
Now is the time for the terrible reprisals to begin.
MONDAY, July 11 – I pleaded with Grandma to give Stoney nothing but rotten haircuts from now on, but she refused, citing “professional ethics.” She advised me to “get over it” as “boys will be boys.” She must have forgotten that she was dealing with a Twisp. As my mother demonstrated, our minimum level of retribution is castration by bullet. So I email Tyler that Stoney was cheating on him with Cody Wangston, northern Nevada’s answer to Bob Dylan. Then I used my spray-paint stash to scrawl “sucks” over all the Upt gang graffiti I could find. That’s called hurting a guy where he lives.
I’ve left four messages on Uma’s phone with no reply so far. How can she blame me for the depravity of my former friends? That is so unfair.
4:27 p.m. Toby was on his way to the Silver Sluice with a bouquet of very expensive roses, when he was detoured by a marital summons from Mr. Dugan. The stupid bride assumed they were for her! I handed them over because she looked to be in her 87 th week of pregnancy and how could you say “no” to a person that distended? At least she was landing a husband before the Big Event, although the groom (a tattooed redneck–or is that redundant?) made a point of noting that he wasn’t to blame for the “peckerwood in the oven.” Standing next to that perfumed blimp, I decided that any children Uma and I have will be through adoption only. Motherhood is just too gross to experience firsthand. Hell, I’d get a vasectomy right now if I could get Grandma to sign the consent form.
After the ceremony Mrs. Dugan thanked Toby for his “beautiful and generous” gesture. Wiping her eyes, she said it reaffirmed her faith in “you young people.” Damn. There goes any hope of getting reimbursed by my employers for my pricey flowers. Now empty-handed, I strolled over to the Silver Sluice, where I was immediately intercepted by fat Marvin.
“ Hey, that wasn’t my dad! They didn’t have no medical emergency up’ the Senior Center!”
“ Does your father drive an old red pickup with the spare tire mounted on the side?”
“ Yeah, it’s a Chevy. A ’53.”
“ Well, a truck like that just careered off the I-95 overpass!”
“ Shit!” bellowed Marvin, hurrying toward the door. “I’m third in line to inherit that truck!”
Uma eyed me coolly as Toby approached her kiosk.
“ You’re such a liar, Noel Wescott.”
Well at least she was speaking to me.
“ And you don’t return people’s phone calls,” Toby pointed out.
“ I don’t recall ever giving you my phone number. And it’s not in the book either.”
“ No, but luckily it’s programmed into Mary Glasgow’s speed-dialer.”
“ So, you’re a sneak too. I might have expected as much.”
“ I’m very sorry about what happened, Uma. I have terminated my friendship with those responsible. I even bought you a very nice mixed bouquet of roses.”
“ Which is where
“ Do I strike you as being average?”
“ Hardly.”
“ Glad to hear it. I happened to have that item because–”
At that moment something large sailed out of the night and splattered against the back of my head, drenching me in an icy, sticky liquid. Another large balloon wobbled down out of the sky and slammed into Uma’s chest.
“ What the fuck!” she screamed.
We stood there dripping in stunned surprise. In the distance: the sound of fast-retreated footsteps and laughter.
“ Did you see who it was?” I exclaimed.
“ I saw, all right. It was your fucking friend Stoney Holt. And some black guy.”
Stabbed in the back by my own gang brothers!
Uma did not let me help dry her off. She hurried up the walk to her door, muttered a fast “Good night!” and abandoned me kiss-less, forlorn, and sticky on the stoop.
I tasted a moist finger. Dr. Pepper: Carlyle’s longtime beverage of choice. At least it wasn’t pig’s blood or cat piss.
Now is the time for the terrible reprisals to begin.
MONDAY, July 11 – I pleaded with Grandma to give Stoney nothing but rotten haircuts from now on, but she refused, citing “professional ethics.” She advised me to “get over it” as “boys will be boys.” She must have forgotten that she was dealing with a Twisp. As my mother demonstrated, our minimum level of retribution is castration by bullet. So I email Tyler that Stoney was cheating on him with Cody Wangston, northern Nevada’s answer to Bob Dylan. Then I used my spray-paint stash to scrawl “sucks” over all the Upt gang graffiti I could find. That’s called hurting a guy where he lives.
I’ve left four messages on Uma’s phone with no reply so far. How can she blame me for the depravity of my former friends? That is so unfair.
4:27 p.m. Toby was on his way to the Silver Sluice with a bouquet of very expensive roses, when he was detoured by a marital summons from Mr. Dugan. The stupid bride assumed they were for her! I handed them over because she looked to be in her 87 th week of pregnancy and how could you say “no” to a person that distended? At least she was landing a husband before the Big Event, although the groom (a tattooed redneck–or is that redundant?) made a point of noting that he wasn’t to blame for the “peckerwood in the oven.” Standing next to that perfumed blimp, I decided that any children Uma and I have will be through adoption only. Motherhood is just too gross to experience firsthand. Hell, I’d get a vasectomy right now if I could get Grandma to sign the consent form.
After the ceremony Mrs. Dugan thanked Toby for his “beautiful and generous” gesture. Wiping her eyes, she said it reaffirmed her faith in “you young people.” Damn. There goes any hope of getting reimbursed by my employers for my pricey flowers. Now empty-handed, I strolled over to the Silver Sluice, where I was immediately intercepted by fat Marvin.
“ Hey, that wasn’t my dad! They didn’t have no medical emergency up’ the Senior Center!”
“ Does your father drive an old red pickup with the spare tire mounted on the side?”
“ Yeah, it’s a Chevy. A ’53.”
“ Well, a truck like that just careered off the I-95 overpass!”
“ Shit!” bellowed Marvin, hurrying toward the door. “I’m third in line to inherit that truck!”
Uma eyed me coolly as Toby approached her kiosk.
“ You’re such a liar, Noel Wescott.”
Well at least she was speaking to me.
“ And you don’t return people’s phone calls,” Toby pointed out.
“ I don’t recall ever giving you my phone number. And it’s not in the book either.”
“ No, but luckily it’s programmed into Mary Glasgow’s speed-dialer.”
“ So, you’re a sneak too. I might have expected as much.”
“ I’m very sorry about what happened, Uma. I have terminated my friendship with those responsible. I even bought you a very nice mixed bouquet of roses.”
“ Which is where
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