More Unsecret Dialogues of S and J – SURPRISES.

The creaking doors swished open and a silence permeated the waiting area as two figures seemed to eerily materialize from nowhere behind the frosted glass doors.
S’ eyes met with those of her partner in crime for the first time in days; this was the first time they’d met since the “incident” took place. As S’ newly deemed co-defendant, J knew she should not be there for the release of her friend from custody, but could not help herself. And, upon the swishing sound, J walked directly toward the figures of a cranky, uptight police officer and her best friend.

“Are you good?”

J whispered as she fumbled with the tangle of keys she nervously clung to. A jingling sound resounded in the vault-like building.

“I’m fucking lovely.”

The monotoned statement was followed by a tight shutting of S’ jaw. Then, S hastily added,

“I’m hungry.”

The officer irritatedly shuffled through a closely guarded stack of documents and handed S some paperwork before saying rather pompously:

“Here’s your court date and miscellaneous information regarding your bail bond, etcetera… don’t screw it up.”
S snatched the pages from the policeman with a sniff of disgust and rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.


And with that, the noisily chatting women exited the building into the dusky evening outside.

“Maybe we should have thought that through a lil’ better, huh?”

J shuffled through the paperwork as S sped the beat up old truck through the city towards the comfort of the outskirts.

“Give me a light.”

S muttered through the cigarette hanging between her lips. J sparked her lighter and S puffed and inhaled deeply, rolling down the crank window with her free hand.

“It was very well thought out.”

The shorter woman calmly lowered her voice as she inhaled and exhaled the cigarette smoke in her slow, calculated way.

“It’s just that someone went and ran his mouth about it.”

J whipped her head to the left in an attempt to glimpse a look at her friend’s face in the darkened cab. She saw immediately that S wasn’t in a joking mood, and, that she meant what she had just said with deadly seriousness.

“Someone?”

The taller woman’s voice held a tone of disbelief in it’s query. She held her gaze steadily across the front seat at the driver’s frowning profile.

“Yes, someone who wasn’t arrested, but who also, knew enough to sing on us like a canary.”

S tossed her cigarette butt out the window as the truck eased onto the freeway. The cab was silent for long moments as they headed for the reservoir.

“Where are we going?”

J had true curiosity in her voice as she lit her own cigarette and toyed with the lighter, sparking it unnecessarily in the darkness.

“Don’t you want to know who that someone is?”

Now, it was S’ voice that carried tones of leery disbelief in her question. The last two words of her sentence, the: “someone” and the “is”, seemed to echo in the truck cab for a long time after she re-focused on the road after speaking.

J quietly bit her lip and thought about the query for several moments before turning her face sharply toward S in the dark truck cab and saying finally,

“I really don’t know S…”

The truck speedily swerved up the misty, foggy mountain road, whipping its hefty bed around hairpin turns and bouncing over deep cracks and dips that littered the length of it. They eventually turned off onto a road known as Cannibal Creek that run adjacent to one of the many creeks running down into the reservoir.

“Why the hell are we turning here?” J’s voice was flat as she asked.

“We’re here because we need to be here.” S’ voice was flatter.

As they wound up even higher into the cloudy sky toward the summit of Razor Back Mountain, it began to drizzle lightly; suddenly, water drops were audible all over the forested areas surrounding them outside the truck. It became very quiet and cold as they reached the rickety shanty at the top of the road.

J shivered.
“Who’s in there, S?”

There was no answer. The truck rolled on slowly, pitching and rolling over the bumpy drive until coming to a barreling halt in front of the rain-slick shanty. S threw the truck into PARK and hurried out of the driver’s seat to go inside.

J was screaming after her when the door slammed closed with a loud ‘thwack’.

“Dude, you’ve been in jail for almost a week…how’d you pull this one off from behind bars?!”

She hesitantly pulled the handle that popped the passenger door open, exposing her arms to the cold raindrops that were now coming in a steady stream. Leading to the makeshift doorway of the dilapidated shack were rapidly spinning eddies of growing swirls of muddy foam; each mud puddle was full of pine needles and various sized pine cones awash within its pool. A large owl sat solemnly on a beam that ran across the ruins of what once had been a sun porch connected to the entrance of the tiny place. The bird of prey stared at the women hard; it watched S and J with grey/yellow speckled, quite dilated eyes that followed their’ positions as they approached without a sound.

J was obviously in the first stages of her quite notorious “frustration meltdowns”.

As S’ tiny tinkerbell hand wrapped around the rusty knob, she turned to J and said, almost in a whisper:
“Shhhhhhhh…it’s a surprise…”

J’s eyes rolled upwards with exasperation and her tongue clicked loudly in disgust. She practically growled at S in a low tone now,


“I fucking hate surprises, S…”

The door swung wide.

A Jewel Dealer.

The bellboy silently closed the heavy hotel door behind him as he left the cushy room. S swallowed hard and calmly shut her eyes. She let her head roll back against the wall and began to quietly count to herself in the dark closet. She heard J’s voice float to her in the darkness, boisterously speaking to the man who’s name was signed on the hotel paperwork scattered across the glass coffee table about 10 feet in front of the closet.

J was carrying on about pointless things, trifling topics that filled the empty space between herself and the jewel collector she was captivating with nonsense.

“75…76…77…”
S stealthily sat up on her haunches, readying herself to spring to her feet.
“85…86…87…”

“I hear it’s lovely there in the spring.”

She heard the sarcasm oozing from J’s low murmuring voice through the darkness.

“95…96…97…”

The footsteps were growing louder, getting nearer, the floor beneath S shook lightly as they approached the closet she was hidden it, lying in wait.

As the closet door opened, S registered the surprise in the face of the jewel dealer; he knew he had been gotten. The jacket he had intended to hang up in the closet was already wrapped tightly around his torso from behind, and J’s maniacal grin peeked at S through the darkness from over his left shoulder.

“Don’t make a sound.”

S was deftly binding his legs already and, rather gracefully, switching her position in the closet with the jewel dealer’s next to J. THUD. The man fell full on his weight like a sack of potatoes into a heap on the closet floor. Two wide eyes staring up at the calmly poised women from the floor of the closet.

“Give us the keys.” J thrust out her hand towards the panicked face in the inky darkness.

“I…I…”

The jewel dealers words stuttered pathetically through gasps and quiet sobs.

“You will be a ghost full of regrets if you don’t stop talking and hand me those keys.”

S was wearing her serious face as she said this. Nervous pocket shuffling in the closet; keys jingling, coins rattling, until finally a small ring with two tiny nondescript keys on it was tossed through the space between them. A groan of miserable defeat followed from the closet.

The Unsecret Dialogue of Testicle Injuries.

PART 1

 

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Fast forward about twenty(ish) years from the day on the wharf when J was labeled a “sexual deviant” for the simple and innocent act of trying to keep the inattentive and tom-boyishly uncouth S’ dress from blow up during a wind gust. In hindsight, the deep shade and electrocuted expression on the poor bastard’s face has become one of J’s most treasured memories; and the mere thought of that specific moment in time is the source of multiple stomach muscle injuries as a result of hardy laughter. But as all things are between S and J, the circumstance was rather damning and getting more difficult by the second for J to navigate a way for it to end peacefully (not that any chance of a peaceful resolution hadn’t been thrown out the window the instant S made the dude’s junk into a necktie, but hey – she had to try).

J pushed the milkshake back over to S and maneuvered the straw into her mouth, seeing as how she was rather “tied up” just then; S took a big drink and let out the proverbial “post-Kool-Aid Ahhhhhhh” but remained like a statue otherwise. The girls both fell to staring at the man next to S at the bar – the man who’s nuts she’d mistakenly manacled as Darth Trump’s;

“You know what, S?”

J suddenly shrieked over the bar;

“I totally see it…”

“Yeah…you do?”

S’ eyes shot like darts up at her friend’s endeared face as J examined the man’s visage with the intensity of scientist;

“You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”

J leaned closer to them;

“Tut Tut; I could’ve easily made the same mistake from behind, I mean look at that rodent carcass on his fat head!”

The man let out a short yelping sound as S and J broke out into maniacal laughter at the expression on his miserable face; and J gave him a exaggerated wink.

“What’s your poison, El Jeffe?”

She asked the question with a blatantly overdone Hispanic accent, juggling a few bottles in front of her cockily.

drank

The Un-Secret (Childhood) Dialogue of S and J.

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The paper airplane landed gracefully into a patch of bare skin just above the collarbone of the whiny redhead named Tasha, who sat one desk to the left of J, who sat dead center – in the very back row of the classroom; she jumped and started to cry immediately, rubbing her skin and looking around like a hunted animal. J stifled a laugh best she could and shot a look at S, sitting in the far right hand desk about a meter away from the teacher’s desk. S was turned completely around in her seat, staring at J with those searing green eyes, intensely willing something.

Typically, the two young trouble-makers could communicate almost totally through expression and mannerisms, but J was at a loss as to what S was trying to tell her this time. The teacher, Ms. Melody (whose name only cruelly misled any student going into her kindergarten class), spun on her cane in front of the chalkboard, accidentally flinging the stick of chalk that she had been using across the room and hitting the aid in the rear who silently graded papers. The aid wore his earphones and paid little attention to the classroom happenings while he was there, so he was caught completely off guard by the sudden smack of a stick of chalk against his brow, and nearly started enough to flip his chair over backwards – papers flying up over his head and landing like snowflakes on his lap and around his surprised form as they settled. The class exploded in laughter then, a cacophony of high-pitched voices, snickering in glee at the impromptu spectacle; Ms. Melody washed over with that reddened look of shocked outrage that was so familiar o the children, S and J especially, and barked an order that was snuffed out by the collective noise.

 

Pick up the airplane!!!

The thought finally struck J as if a mallet had from behind, and she scrambled to grab the small folded note that S had (poorly) thrown only nano-seconds before the aid was shot by the teacher with a piece of rogue chalk.

“Nice pitch…”

J mumbled to herself as she swiped up the note with an extended lean over her desk, almost flipping headfirst onto the carpet, herself, in the process.

In a single motion that both S and J had come to interpret as Doom, Ms. Melody snapped her left handed fingers and pointed at S in the front of the classroom, all while locking eyes with J in the very back at the same time, and for a very long and drawn out moment.

“Give me the note right now, J.”

the teacher said calmly.

“May I read it first?”

asked J, sincerely.

The click of Ms. Melody’s tongue gave J her answer, and she stood, looked down at the piece of paper in her hand, looked over to S (who sat with a condemned look of guilt on her puckered face), and nonchalantly put the paper in her mouth, chewing it briefly before swallowing. The class exploded again with unruly hysterics that only 5 year old children can produce; and J noticed the aid nearby drop his jaw open and let it hang. S began to clap loudly from the front row, and soon enough the rest of the class joined in the applause. Spittle flew from Ms. Melody’s mouth as she seemed to combust verbally in an outburst of all things Teacher; she was pissed.

gurls