The first thing to go in a fight is your watch. I sat down at the table with the others, Tyler and Linda and a couple other girls I didn't recognize. Tyler was telling some story about a demonstration he had been at a few weeks ago and had lost his watch. I wanted to ask what the demonstration was for, but I was thinking about the watch and trying to see whether he was wearing one at the time. He was wearing a nice long sleeved shirt, which covered up his wrist. I considered asking him to roll up his sleeves, but couldn't think of a way to do it politely.
Linda elbowed me in the ribs lightly, and I looked at her. She was smiling, looking at me as though I was some sort of idiot. I wanted to slap her, but decided Tyler would get mad at me if I did that. I think Tyler was on the football team, but I'm not entirely sure if we have a football team anymore. Linda said something to me again, something about whether I had ever been in a fight or lost a watch or something like that. I turned my head down to my plate of food and muttered something about a fight I had once been in. One of the two girls I didn't recognize laughed, and I looked up at her. She was fairly cute, in a Midwestern sort of way. Kind of large, but I don't really mind that in a woman. She smiled at me, then looked down, pretending to be shy.
I really don't like all that coy sort of behavior, so I got up from the table and grabbed my tray. Tyler asked me if I was coming over to his room later. I told him I would, then made my way out of the dining hall.
On the way back to my room, I ran into Kelley, who I slept with a couple times sophomore year. We still talked now and then, but I didn't really like her and tried to avoid her as much as possible. I have a really hard time talking to people I have slept with, as I always think about having sex with them whenever they say anything. She told me about her new boyfriend, and I said I was happy for her. She hugged me, but I didn't feel like hugging her back.
I really like my room. Merritt has a really great system for deciding room draw, so I've been able to get the same room for the past three years. It's not very big, but the walls are thicker than any other dorm room on campus. One night, Madison shot his pistol into the wall, and none of the neighbors heard it. The hole is still in the wall, but I covered it up with a Phish poster.
There was a message on my answering machine from my father. He said that my mother's cancer had come back. It had been in remission for the last four months. She was in the hospital and wanted me to call her.
I picked up the phone and called the number my father had given me, and talked to my mother for a while. She asked me about classes and whether I had a girlfriend and when I was coming home. I didn't say much. Neither of us said anything about the cancer.
I lay on my bed for a while, listening to a God Street Wine CD I had bought that morning. After a while, the music began to annoy me, so I decided to leave my room to go buy some wine for that evening. Even though Tyler would probably have drinks in his room, I kind of wanted to start drinking early. I didn't have much else to do.
The nearest liquor store to Merritt is about two miles away, so I had to drive there. The store is kind of in a bad neighborhood, almost over in San Jorge. I felt a little unsafe leaving my car parked on the street, but it was still light out, so I didn't worry about it too much.
Inside the store, I found a few men with masks on pointing shotguns at the clerk. I stopped in the doorway, hoping they wouldn't notice me, but one of the men pointed the shotgun at me and screamed in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish, but I assumed that he wanted me to get down, which I did. I lay with the cold linoleum pressed against my cheek for a while, while the men shouted in Spanish and ran around. Eventually, they walked over to me and took my wallet and my watch.
After they ran out of the store, I stood up and looked around for a bottle of wine. Most of the people were still on the floor. One woman was crying and mumbling something in Spanish. I found the wine I was looking for and took it. I would have paid for it, but they men had taken my wallet.
One of the headlights of my car had been smashed in, which made me angry, so I opened the glove compartment and found my pillbox. I took a few valiums, which I washed down with some of my wine.
I spent a while driving around, drinking wine and watching the sun set. I usually listen to the college radio station, but they were playing rap, so I drove out of town listening only to the hum of the car engine.
It was getting dark, so I thought I should probably turn around and get back. Earlier that day, Jim had told me how to turn really sharp corners by dropping into second as you turn the wheel, so I decided to try it. The car jerked sharply as I shifted into second, then began to skid as I pulled on the wheel. I slammed hard against the door, the wine bottle dropping from my hands.
I think I passed out then, because I don't remember hearing the noise from when my car hit the kid. I didn't even realize I had hit anything until I pulled back onto the road and realized my alignment was off. I pulled over again, and saw the body of the child lying by the side of the road. I walked over to him and looked at him.
He couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old. I think he was Mexican, but I can't be sure. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and some tennis shoes. His neck looked like it had been broken. I guessed that must have happened when I hit him. I picked up his wrist to see if I could find a pulse, but I couldn't find one. I tried his other wrist, but had to take off his watch to get at it. I still couldn't find one.
I looked at the watch in my hand, then tried it on. It sort of fit at the largest setting, so I decided to keep it. I got back in my car and headed back to town.
By the time I got to Tyler's room, everyone had already moved on to doing lines, and a few people had passed out. Tyler got up and put his arm around me. He asked me where I'd been, and I lied and said I had fallen asleep after dinner. He told me that he had tried calling, but had only gotten my machine. I shrugged, so he handed me a beer.
I sat down on Tyler's bed, next to Stacy, a girl I had met once or twice and wouldn't mind sleeping with. She looked like she had taken a few too many Quaaludes, so I put my hand on her thigh. She didn't move.
Tyler came and sat down next to me. He had a plate that he had stolen from the dining hall that he was using to display his pills. He handed it to me and I took a few more valiums. I was worried that if I stopped taking the valiums, I might get scared about the kid.
Tyler asked me about the watch, which was on the hand I had on Stacy's leg. I said that I had gotten it as a joke at Walmart. I took it off and offered it to him and told him not to lose it. He laughed and took it. I reached for the plate and grabbed a few more valiums.
The women of Sweden
Learn to pole Vault
when they reach maturity
That way
They can escape
From me and my
Army of fire trucks
Once upon a once there was a young corporate executive boy with very short hair. He had saved up gold pieces for all of his life to buy a house, but instead bought a magic bracelet that would tie his shoelaces.
One day, his boss told him to fetch water from the corporate well. On his way to the well, he heard a roaring above, and looked up to see an airplane flying overhead. He arrived at the well, but fell in because he was looking up.
At the bottom of the well was a frog. The boy picked up the frog and said, "Hello, frog."
The frog said, "Ribbit."
The boy smiled at the frog. "Can you help me out of the well?"
"Ribbit."
The boy didn't understand the frog, so he kissed him. The frog said, "Ribbit."
The boy still didn't understand the frog, and his lips were chafed from kissing the frog. Maybe, the boy thought, if I help the frog out of the well, he will help me out the well. The boy threw the frog into the air. It sailed twelve feet up the well and splattered against the wall of the well.
The boy dropped to the ground and began to cry. He cried for several years, until he was very damp. He was so damp, he stopped crying and simply sat on the ground of the well.
At long last, a wicked little gnome visited him at the bottom of the well.
"I will get you out of this well in exchange for your magical bracelet," said the gnome. The boy agreed and gave his bracelet to the gnome, whereupon the gnome grabbed the boy by the hair and began to fly him out of the well.
The boy had been sitting down in the well, and so had not seen his feet for quite some time. As he was being pulled out of the well, he saw that his shoes were untied. Since he had never learned to tie his shoes, he demanded his bracelet back. The gnome laughed a wicked little laugh, dropped the boy back in the well, and flew off with the bracelet.
The boy didn't know what to do. He was tired of crying, so he did not cry. Instead, he sat on the floor of the well and let his hair grow.
After many years, his hair was very long and reached up to the top of the well. The boy stopped sitting on the floor of the well and climbed up his hair and out of the well.
He went back to his boss. His boss said, "Where is my water?"
The boy cried. The boss held out a cup and collected the tears. After filling the cup, the boss said, "Thank you. You are a fine corporate boy. I will make you my chief assistant."
The boy jumped for joy and hugged his boss. He spent the rest of his assisting days happily ever after.
As I pulled my motorscooter through the estuary of my driveway, I was stopped fast by the steely coldness of not just any lawnmower, but a lawnmower well-familiar to me. It regarded me askance as it rolled across the asphalt in my path. Dumbstruck, I watched it continue on its course apace until halted by the curbside with a gentle bump. I approached with a skulking trepidation. As I pulled abreast, it acknowledged me only with a sidelong glance, implacable. Oh, I tell you this, I could see it all immediately! If there was any mowing to be done today, it was not to be done by yours truly. But faith!, dear reader: there are always lawns to cut, and always those willing to be implemented for the cuttings. One only needs to push.
I was sitting in the cafe, reading and killing time. At the table to my right sat two girls, their frenetic conversation/meal punctuated with exuberant bursts of laughter. At one point, I turned my head just in time to see a piece of food leap from one of the girl's mouths as she excitedly tried to explain some meaningless event to her more-attractive friend seated across the table from her.
It was only a small piece of food; but still. . . .
I was talking to God the other day, and God said, "How is it that anyone becomes a butcher?"
Perplexed, I answered, "Well, God, I dunno. I would've thought you would've known."
"No, no," God said, "it seems that whenever someone decides to become a butcher, or starts moving in that direction, I lose track of them."
"Isn't that odd," I said. "Well, I would assume they go to butcher school or something; but how and when they decide to get into butchering. . . ."
"Yes," God said thoughtfully. "Hmmm."
"Do you not keep track of them for a reason? Like, is it wrong to eat meat or something?" I asked.
"Oh, don't be silly!" God said. "Who gives a shit?"
I was walking in the frozen foods section, past the upright glass cases that lined the outside of the aisle.
"Hellooooo! Helloooo there!" I said to the frozen foods. "Hellooooo in there! I love you! You're all so sweet and frozen! Hellooooo!"
And such. . . .
At the back of the store, I saw this FEMALE butcher. She was tall -- much taller than me -- and was kind of cute. She had this kind of plain, odd face -- not a beautiful face (it wasn't that odd, either, really) -- but she was very pretty. Very tall, and thin. It was hard to see her body for both her regular store uniform and her butcher regalia. She was talking to a short man that I don't think she really loved across a glass container that had nothing but ice in it. I think there were usually lobsters or something there (I'm not sure).
"God," I said, "how is it that SHE'S a butcher? A FEMALE butcher?"
"I don't know, I told you!" God said. "If I don't know about butchers in general, how would I know about a FEMALE butcher, or ANY particular butcher?!"
"I'm sorry, God," I said.
"Helloooo! Hellooooo!" God said. He was using a high voice very much like the one I use when I say hello to the frozen foods.
"What is it, God?"
"She has very nice legs," God said. "Buy her flowers."
"But God," I said, blushing, "I don't even KNOW her!"
"Don't be so shy! You need to get out of the house more. I should know: I'm God."
"But God, you don't even know about butchers," I said.
"Tough shit. Neither do you."
"That's true," I said. I mean, I really had to agree.
"You love the butch-er," God sang.
"Gahhh-ahhhd," I said, "you're embarrassing me!"
"Tough shit," he said. "I'm God."
"I love you, God," I said.
"I love you, too."
"God," I asked, "do you love butchers?"
"Love 'em?" God said. "I don't even KNOW 'em!"
Fried Bert was a small egg who lived in the forest. He was called Fried Bert because his house had once caught fire and he had narrowly escaped being horribly burned, although a part of him had been irreversibly scarred.
One day when Fried Bert was out walking, he stumbled over a tree root.
"Ah," he thought to himself, "a tree root has tripped me up. I shall have to burn the tree to the ground and tear up all of the earth in the vicinity to be sure that such a travesty does not twice occur," because he was a bad egg. So home he went.
In the twinkling of an eye he was back, carrying a vat of nitric acid. He poured it all over the base of the tree, and then returned home. As the tree sizzled and smoked, he returned once again, this time with a large tub of glycerine, which he threw over the acid from a distance. As the two liquids met, the acid began to heat up, and then mixed with the glycerine, forming a well-known explosive, which, true to form, blew up.
Viewing the smoking crater with considerable satisfaction, Fried Bert turned and headed home.
When he got there, he could not believe his eyes. A large tree, with no roots and smoke issuing from one charred, splintered end, had fallen from the sky and utterly destroyed his house!
Fried Bert exploded.
Moral of the story:
Don't use explosives to play out your anger with inanimate objects.