Wild Days, Away from Home.
Saturdays, for me, are always dreary and boring and lifeless. Last Saturday,
I was in a particularly ampathetic mood: I was stuck in a place I didn't
want to be stuck in--Amarillo, Texas. My cousin, William, was getting married and
he (along with my parents and siblings) practicially implored me to come
along. I told them no. I had enough trouble going on in my life, and the last
thing I wanted to do was go to Texas--a state that has always made my stomach
turn--to watch a relative, whom I was close to at one point in time in my life,
but now drifted away from, get married. His wife (or soon to be wife, at the time,
Jill) was anything but an ideal mate. She had an okay face and ass and was well
endowed in the breast area, but her hips were unacceptably bulky and I couldn't
help but wonder what she'd look like in a few more years....
Will also had his doubts. He approached me before he walked down the
aisle; at the time, I was half-drunk and stoned on booze and mostly legal medication--
provided by my shrink.
"I'm nervous, Jack," my cousin said. "She's a terrific gal, but
I can't help feeling a little uncertain...You know. My life's really
going to change now and dad told me it's completely natural to feel this
way...and not pay any attention to it, because, you know... it
happens to everybody.... Do you like her?" he asked me behind the chapel
as I was exhaling my smoke.
I thought quick, and tried my best not to discourage him with my own
personal thoughts.
"That's your problem, Will," I said. "You care too much about what others
think. It doesn't matter if I like her or not...what matters,
ultimately, is you being happy. This is your life--not mine...."
"Ok. Forget I even mentioned it. Sorry. How's things going with
you and Cindy?" he asked.
"I'm not sure. She plays these games and I'm sick and tired of fucking
around with her. She's been pretty different ever since that Christmas incid-
ent at her parent's--"
"Is her brother still in Iraq?" William asked.
"Yes. As far as I know. He must be having the Time of his life," I said with a sarcastic
sneer. "Her problem, is her damn father. He's always hated me. And last Christmas, I made
it absolutely clear to him that the feeling is mutual.
My girlfriend's, (or erstwhile girlfriend) Cindy's brother enlisted for the
military and is still, as far as I knew/know, stuck in Iraq. Cindy hates the war,
but unfortunately her parents don't. The President was doing good. And anybody
who voiced even the slightest morsel of dissent was either "treasonous" or plain "stark"
ignorant, they implied on numerous occasions in my presence. I decided that Cindy had a good body
and was better looking than most of the girls I hooked up with, so, I thought, it would
be wise to bite my lip.
But on the Christmas of 2005 they crossed The Line by saying in a prayer over a
turkey diner with peas and carrorts and potatoes: (Cindy's mom made) "God bless
our dearest son Michael and the valiant work he is doing in Iraq to protect us from the
Enemy. We are all greatful for his efforts," Mr. Henderickson said, and before he could
conclude with a daunting "Amen" I screamed; "Bullshit!"
The whole room went silent and Howard's (Cindy's dad's) fat Irish cheeks
began to turn ruddy. I brazenly went for a carrot on the table with my fork--
"Get the hell out of my house!" the old man barked. "Get the fuck out!"
I had never heard him swear before, and as he was screeching I grabbed my
leather jacket off their couch and began to bundle up for the cold weather.
"Terrific talk for a Born Again Christian!" I screamed before I slammed the
door. You fucking fat hypocritical pig! Fuck you and your God Damned hypocritical
religion!"
I slammed their door harshly and Cindy ran out crying. "You have to get out of here!" she
yelled. "He's going to get his gun! Get out of here! Now! He'll kill you!"
I thanked her and gave her a kiss and then jumped inside my dilapidated Mustang.
I gazed up toward their pourch to find out that Cindy was not lying. There the old asshole
was with a shotgun clenched firmly inside his paws. "Get the hell outta here you son of a bitch!" he yelled
as I was fumbling my key inside the ignition. "God damn you! God damn you! You don't know
what work is!" David Bowie flooded my ears as my car came alive and then for an instant, his
voice was unintelligable. I heard a large boom and then pressed my foot on the accelerator
and, like Lot and his daughters in Soddom, never looked back. I was a mere memory to her rural mountain
roads.
This all hit me like a brick in Amarillo, Texas, standing next to my cousin, a man
I was no longer close to but to whom I wished all the happiness in the world.
"She wrote me once," I told William. "But she was so distant. Almost, as if, she
didn't know who I was. Howard was, obviously, trying to intimidate me and make me feel
small with his malicious, little prayer...You want some of this?" I tried handing him
a joint.
"No thanks," he refused.
I went inside and endured the entire ceremony. It was only a few minutes long,
but seemed like a lifetime. When it was over, the sheep gathered outside to catch
the death-flowers. My cousin's new wife's 12-year-old sister caught them.
After the wedding, the bride or groom announced that everybody was invited to
the Olive Garden. At the time, I was feeling pretty good--too good to drive, so
I hitched a ride with my brother, Mike, to the expensive "Italian" restaurant.
The restaurant was filled with friends and family of the bride and
groom. I was by no means attracted to
Jill, but her mother, Tina, on the other hand was a fucking knockout. She had to
be 50--but took good care of herself. She had an ample bosom, long brown hair,
long sexy legs, and a quaint face. She was still married--but her husband was a
business man, and unfortunately, she said, couldn't make the wedding. He wasn't
Jill's biological father. I drank 4 shots of vodka on the way and was growing hornier
and hornier as time slowly passed by. I sat directly across from her and was determined
to get inside her pants and give her the ride of her life.
"I like your hair," I told her as I slipped my leg against her's under the
table and commenced to wink. She was now vaguely blushing. "That's very sweet
of you," she said, fully confident that the others gabbing couldn't hear.
I knew, at that instant, that she was mine. All mine. She excused herself to
the girls room, and a few seconds later, I followed. I read her mind. She lunged
toward my face and began kissing it savagely when we were near the entrance of the
restaurant. "I want you so badly," she said. "My husband, no longer satisfies me.
He has no interest in me. He no longer loves me and when he's home, all he wants
to do is sit on his fat rump and watch sports!"
She came by my hotel room at 11:30 p.m. that night...sporting sunglasses and a cheap
brown wig to conceal herself--she knew that her daughter and my cousion were spending
their honeymoon at the same hotel, and in a perverse way, I couldn't help but take relish
in the thought of having dirty, carnal intercourse with my cousion's new married mother-in
law. It made me feel proud. Really proud. She ripped off my shirt and caressed my manly bice-
ps with some cheap hand-lotion her husband had bought her for their anniversary the previous
month.
I was through with her in 3 minutes and pushed her body away--because I had no
use for her for at least another 10 minutes. She reached for her glass of White
Zinfandel wine and I rummaged through my suitecase for my polaroid to keep a few
photographic souvenirs; maybe I could show the pictures to my friends, or Will, when
he's really drunk and far out of Texas, in case he decides to leak.
At first, she was reluctant and didn't want me to take pictures. But I explained
(kindly) that I wasn't interested in her face--only her superb body. As soon as I chugged
down another shot of vodka I jumped on top of her and started kissing her ears.
She was giggling: "What if Will or his new wife (heh heh) my daughter sees us?"
"Well, Jill would probably kill me," I said after I kissed her on the forehead.
"And what about Will?"
"I'm not sure," I said. "He'd probably be jealous."
"Why's that?" she asked warily.
"Because your daughter's ugly."
THE END.
