Shrimp by Rachel Cohn Page A

picturing Nancy having a knee-slappin' hysterical laughing fit at my so much as suggesting that I could miss the first three weeks of school to hang out in Papua New Guinea and surf and build stuff and whatnot. I asked Shrimp, "Was Papua New Guinea awesome?"
    "Yeah, except for the dysentery the first week. How was New York?"
    There was only so much, too much, to say about that!
    Concertgoers had filed out from their seats and were milling around the lobby. The chatter level had picked up considerably, so it was surprising we could distinguish the female voice that screeched, "Shrimp! Why did you run off so fast?" The voice was just that loud.
    Shrimp's eyes closed for a minute and I think he let out a small shudder.
    A heavyset--not fat, just big-boned--late-middle-aged woman with long hair that was equal parts gray and brown and down to her waist came to Shrimp's side. She was Shrimp's height, wearing jeans and an embroidered Central American blouse, and Teva sandals on bare feet that were in emergency need of a pedicure. She was the type of granola lady that Nancy and her committees would like to see sworn in blood to a dress code before being allowed to enter Symphony Hall.
    Shrimp looked like he was about to introduce me when the lady scanned me with her brown eyes and then said, "It's Cyd Charisse, of course!" She wrapped her arms
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    around me in a hug so tight she could have squeezed body parts out of me. "I've seen the artwork!"
    Shrimp mumbled, "Mom, Cyd. Cyd, Mom."
    A short guy, shorter even than pre-Jumbo Shrimp, stood behind Shrimp's mom. He looked like an exact copy of Shrimp, just smaller, quieter, maybe sadder.
    He extended his hand to mine and introduced himself as Shrimp's dad. His mumbling was more indistinguishable than Shrimp's.
    Shrimp-- with parents] This had to be the kinkiest thing ever! Shrimp and Java were like lone cowboy brothers who answered to no one but each other.
    I started to say, "Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. but his mom bellowed, "Please! We're Iris and Billy."
    Shrimp could be a retired Supreme Court judge and he'd still better call Sid and Nancy "Mr." and "Mrs."
    Iris jumped in to give me another hug, she was almost bouncing me up and down. When she let go, I told her, "Congratulations on Wallace's engagement. I know he and Delia will be very happy." Jesus H. Christ, I'm starting to sound like Nancy. I need to go smoke some weed or shoplift some Hershey bars, fast.
    Iris said, "Can you believe that? It just makes me so sad. It's bad enough they feel the need to become part of the system like that, but a fancy hotel on Nob Hill? A caterer? Wedding registries? I told them, 'Goddamn, if you need to do this so bad, Billy and I know a spiritual guru who performs ceremonies. Let him do it. We'll have a potluck in the backyard, Billy can play guitar, and we'll throw some Motown on the stereo when folks are ready to dance. Don't waste money like that!' Do you realize how many Third
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    World families could be fed for a year at the same cost of their wedding?"
    Uh, no, Iris, I didn't realize that. I just thought Java and Delia were kinda boring for choosing the cotillion wedding with ten groomsmen and bridesmaids. But Motown! Gimme the expensive swing band any day.
    Shrimp was like, "Mom...," but she interrupted again. "Billy and I didn't feel the need to marry! We know our commitment to one another."
    "MOM!" Shrimp said. I've never heard him yell before. His low voice usually sounds like a deep, sexy whisper. I didn't know a mellow dude like Shrimp was capable of yelling, much less that he was capable of being irritable, like a normal person, the kind of person who lives in my family. "Enough already."
    The lights flickered, signaling the end of intermission. Iris said, "Cyd Charisse, I've heard so much about you. I need you to come over, soon, this week, absolutely, we'll throw a party. I can see your aura even through all that black you're wearing. Billy, this girl's aura, can you see it?