The car, with its trunk now packed to capacity by sloshing, black trash bags, was hosed down and shammed dry, engine running and brake lights blazing red through the darkness. J gunned the gas pedal a few times to affect her growing impatience with her best friend (who she loved fiercely, obviously).
J: Let’s roll, Short stack! It’s getting metallic in here!
J: Mmmmm hmmmm As the two roll on, deaf farmer’s farm-bound, S leans over and turns up the music to blast Nina loudly.
S: I LOVE this song!
J: Me too!
J: You know, Bear?…You didn’t have to murder four people just to get me over for coffee and a play date…?
S: I honestly didn’t intend to murder four people, J, I promise…
J: I know, I know…we really gotta work on your inner-vigilante some more, babe…this is what Henry was talking about when he was telling us about collateral damages…you won’t be able to call me prison cell to prison cell…
S: Don’t start with me…you’ve got some blood in your eyebrow…it’s about to get in your eye…
J: I know what you’re doing, S…it’s not gonna work… J wipes her brow with a quick swipe, and turns down the volume of the radio.
J: I’m no murderer…
S: No… but your best friend can be one…
S: And, you are a really good housekeeper…just saying… J lightly chops S in her throat as a gesture of love and acceptance before saying: “You sawed-off, scary lil’ Fucker….you know I’ll come clean your house any day of the week…”
Despite the “unapproachability” that I so openly tease the Orphan about on a regular basis, he continues to be socially accosted by some of the most pond-scummiest of creatures imaginable so far, in his evolutionary adventures as a born-again Red Triangle Surfer God.
The Orphan is a strange combination of “Foreign” = the Orphan interacts socially in a different manner than that which Americans (especially West Coast Surfer Boys/OGSC’s) are at all prepared for, much less have any clue how to respond to, in most cases.
It’s actually pretty fuckin’ funny to watch from a safe distance most of the time…shame on me.
The Orphan does Him, and tends not to worry about what anyone is doing until whatever they’re doing starts to impede on his own gig = he’s 9 times out of 10 NOT the one to initiate conversation with a stranger (I imagine he was this way always, even in his most familiar of environments). He keeps to himself unless a nerve gets pinched.
The Orphan is, just like Yours Truly, allergic to BULLSHIT = don’t talk in front of him if you’re full of shit because he will sniff you out in an nano-second and expose you until you disappear.
A BELOVEDLY TRUE STORY:
He is sitting out past the breakers in the solitude of a favorite beach break of his, enjoying the peace and quiet away from the trendy tourist beaches that have become UN-FUN due to so many idiot vacationers. Suddenly, he is startled by a raspy voice behind him somewhere close by and he whips his head around to see a washed-up, rode hard, dirty Surf Bum paddling up to his position in the lineup.
His eye rolling doesn’t deter the man from sliding in next to him as he waits for a good ride and begins to talk to the Orphan openly about his problems.
“I feel like shit, Man…haven’t had a drink in over 48 hours…trying to quit, ya know?…
The Orphan just stares straight ahead but gives a nod of acknowledgment because he is, unfortunately for him at this very moment in the story, a Human Being.
“Just gotta stop drinking, Man…” no waves to ride in come, so the Orphan listens on, somehow intrigued by the train wreck of a surfer.
The older guy is obviously distraught and in a state of disarray as he tells the Orphan about a “fight” with his “Ol’ Lady” a few nights prior, and having had to leave the house afterward so as not to be arrested when the police arrived.
“It’s all because women ya know?…they are so fragile …you can’t hit ‘em like you could, a man, ya know…? …so much frailer, so easy to really fuck up in fight…so I gotta stop that drinkin’, Man…”
After several minutes of collecting enough verbal information that the Orphan felt certain of his quickly forming opinion regarding a somewhat “touchy” subject, he responded to this miserably clueless, self-admitted woman beater in the way that ONLY the Orphan could.
He turned and made intentionally piercing eye-contact with the man on the board just 2 feet away from him and simply stated:
“Hey…Dude…. I mean, I think it has certainly occurred to you by now that maybe…..you don’t need to stop fighting with your lady because “she is fragile and frail”…”, his fingers are up to do the accompanying gesture of quotation marks, “maybe it’s just because you’re an alcoholic idiot who can’t control himself when he’s drunk – which sounds like it’s ALWAYS….”
The Orphans posture is straight and self-assured as he sits like statue waiting for a response of any kind that takes a while to come, surprisingly.
My mom has ALWAYS struggled with technology – more so than the average well, whatever she is – she once literally screamed out loud after having the desktop appear upon start-up; she’s a technological train wreck, may the Gods bless her soul…
This is going to be new thing of mine in my blog: Text Convos with My Mother, I think you will see why…
(In reference to my niece Kay Kay, who just turned two and got a new bike from my Mom)
“We’re gonna take her to the dick park by the house to let her try it out. If you pick me up, I’ll buy gas!”
(She meant “Duck park”, but of course she doesn’t proof read)
“Does Nate know about this?”
(I’m referencing my brother, Kay Kay’s father, and trying to get my Mom to see what she wrote by accident, but it’s lost on her completely…)
“of course! He’s the one who told me when her birthday was, I forgot all about it!…”
At this point, all I could do was shake my head and send back the following message:
“Okay, I’ll be there at 8:30 to pick you up. See you tomorrow!”…