"Writing is merely the dregs of experience."-- Franz Kafka
Page 3 of 6
Yes it came in the mail and as you know Granfather is the one who grabs the mail first, and so the old bastord READ it. It was an envellope fowarded by the publication that printed my personol ad. The mean sadistic coot taunted me by reading it alloud in a mocking voice. I am used to it so my feelings were not hurt alot. Well mabye a little. Here is what it said:
To the gentleman at Box XXXX: I would be pleased to make your aquaintance. I am 23, I live in XXXXXX and we share many of the same interests. Friday, Feb 6 is good for me, shall we say 7:30, at XXXXXX? Well, of course you may want to speak to me on the phone first, so call XXX-XXXX...
OH CRAP!!! This was great. Granfather even said to me, "ASK IF SHE GOT A NASTY OLE GRANMAW FER ME, AN' WE KIN DOUBLE DATE" but i think he was kidding. (Mabye not).
I was so ecxited i bolted for the phone to call her. As I sped past his wheelchair, the old coot tripped me and I fell on my ass.
"LISSEN UP BOY!" he growled. "YOU GO POUNCE ON THIS WOMON ALL DESPERATE LIKE YOU DID THE LAST ONE, AN' YOU WONT NEVER GIT NO NOOKIE."
Granfather told me to sit down on the couch in this low serroius voice that i only heard him use just once in my life. It was his "Granfathorly advice voice". I knew what was coming.
Sudenly the hot briliant sun streamming in the open door behind us which lit the floor of the murky shed darkened with the looming elongaited freakish shadow of the freakish evil beast. We turned arround and there was Granfather. We thoght wed get a whupping but insted he said in this pedantic phony voice "WELL WALTER IN FACT SHE SURE DO GOT A WINKY YESIREE."
This in itself frihgtened us both to death, because Granfather NEVER called us by our given names. It was alwayes, "YOU LITTLE BASTORD" or "YOU DUMB SUMBITCH VARMINT."
We walked back to the trailor while me and my brother stood on the rickety wood steps and Granfather went inside & we heard him get on the phone with our Dad on the West coast. He told dad that "THE BOYS DONE FOUND JUNIOR'S PLAYBOYS," blaming it on our family freind and neighbor, Junior. But me and my brothar saw Granfather's name and adress on the mailing bags they were still in. Lying bastord. Aneyway he told dad that it was time to set us boys straite on the birds and bees.
So, the bastord came back outside with some cans of pop for us to drink and for the next 2 hours we stood there on the steps while he muttered off in a ghastley monotone what he knew abuot love and proppogation. You must undorstand that having no girls in the family I knew nothing of femailes, and despite being around farm animals, well, I was a thick headed child and just assummed that they were eithor playing piggy back or fighting.
I will never forget the blaizing sun right in Granfather's face, ilumminating his sallow hotdog brown complexion in all its golden revulsion, and reducing his snakelike, diamond-shaped pupils down to a pinpoint size so that he stared at us with blank hockey-mask disks of canary yellow eyes. We were all three drinking a product that day called Pepsy Light which they dont make aneymore and it came in a blue can and had lemon flavvoring in it.
And at the very instant folowing the bucolic thwapp! of the screen door as the bastord went in, my brothor and I bolth wheeled arround, gripped the splintory porch railing with our small trembling hands, leant ovor the edge facing the dusty earth and barfed, barfed and barfed till our sides ached and nothin came up no more.
Pepsy Cola is a fine product, and it is not there fualt, but to this day, even though we were drinkin out of these cheap garish watormelon-design plastic tumblers we had arround the house, I cannot eat or drink nothin that ever came out of a blue can or containor in remembrence of that horoble day.
And he said to me SHUT UP BOY, and also that alls he was gonna tell me was a reminder of the "Adams Apple Rule" --and to be sure to check my danm date's neck before i buy supper for her, and perhaps also do OTHOR THINGS once we were alone.