Grace
by Eric Fahey
Published by Eric Fahey at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Eric Fahey
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Ten minutes left and I was done. But it would be less than ten minutes since I only had one question to go. I was ready for it. I was ready to solve for x using synthetic division. I was ready to find the vertical and horizontal asymptotes. I was ready to find the account with the better interest rate for the length of time my thousands of imaginary dollars were prepared to sit in and grow. But what is the question? True or False: 16-4=12. What the fuck? Was it a trick question? Or was it a trick question? You know, like could the professor be fucking with me by putting a simple question up to make me think that I was supposed to have this theory planted in my head that could make that 1st grade-level equation null and void and be false? What the fuck?! In fact, it was so ‘what the fuck?!’ that I heard my equally mind-blown classmates ‘what the fuck?!-ing themselves. Seriously, it came down to this. I took pre-calculus mathematics, a course I took in high school, in order to get some extra sleep while coming out with a B. Hard to believe, I shit you not, but True or False: 16-4=12 was the last straw for me, I put false, which is obviously wrong, so I failed. Not just the test. Not just the class, but out of school. Don’t ask me why I put false, I guess I’m just one of those idiots.
I told that same story to Grace’s brothers and for whatever reason they hated it. For whatever reason, they hated me. They never literally said, “Dickless, we hate you,” but I got the picture when they ran me over with their car.
I suppose I should back up a little. Grace was my girlfriend, in that ‘we never really gave it the title, but she dumped her fiancé for me’ kind of way. Don’t lie, you know what I mean. Apparently her old fiancé was one of those put-himself-through-college types, the kind of guy with work ethic, determination, and all the respectable qualities that makes parents talk about him at parties; those qualities that former bosses always told me I lacked right before they fired me. Don’t get me wrong, I was still talked about at parties, just not in the good way, more of that “sweet lord, what the hell happened to him?” kind of way. My school was paid for. I say ‘school’ instead of ‘education’ because education has nothing to do with going to school. Anyways, this guy, I thought his name was Steve, was also Kip and Karl’s best friend, Kip and Karl being Grace’s older twin brothers (two of the four who hit me with their car, but I’ll get back to that later). That could’ve had something to do with them hating me, but that can’t be the whole reason.
Can it?
They started calling me ‘Dickless’ when Grace announced to her family that I got her pregnant and kind of talked her out of it – so to speak. That is what they’ve called me ever since, even by Mrs. Grace (I’m not quite sure what she goes by since the divorce). I didn’t think it would stick, but that was two years ago. I still think it’s a shitty thing to do, I mean I have a name and it sure as hell isn’t ‘Dickless’. Most parents call their daughter’s boyfriend ‘Sport’ or ‘Son’. I get ‘Dickless’.
You could say I got off on the wrong foot with the Kramer’s and the fiancé she used to have (you know, that I called Steve). It was the night of their engagement party, which I was hired to serve drinks and smelly-ass cheeses at. Like 3 hours into the party, this Pixie-ish blond walks out of the bathroom and is giving me the “Fuck Me” stare from across the room. Ignoring every guest reaching out for a new glass of champagne from my full tray, I made a B-line through the middle of the room and walked directly up to her, bringing the tray down from above my head to her eye-line in one fluid motion. I impressed myself, as it was the first time I’d carried a full tray of anything.
“Champagne?” I asked, raising a single eyebrow. Some people find that look obnoxious and smug. These people are just jealous they can’t pull it off. When she reached out for a glass I made a quick withdrawal of the offer that caught her off guard.
“Say ‘Please’?” This adjusted her polite grin into a full-on smile.
“I would love some, thank you…Please.” She shook a little when she said that, revealing her nerves about the whole situation a little more than she thought. I thought it might’ve just been the room, or not knowing anyone there. But it was the whole fucked up situation we were about to blow the roof off of. I just didn’t know it yet.
After a slight pause in which she breathed deep and shook a little bit, she turned and actually looked me square in the eyes for the first time. Like full-on direct. “Stay here with me a little while. I don’t want it to look like I need more attention from these people than I’ve already gotten, so make it look like we’re making a little more than small talk,” she more-or-less commanded before downing the glass of champagne and switching in a full one for her empty in quick succession.
“I hope you don’t give me that dumb-fucked look every time I do that, because I’m gunna drink this whole goddamn tray and you’re going to stand here and watch me.”
Can’t say I’d ever felt speechless, but that made me come close. The quick clip in which she spoke made it seem like her mouth had forced her to say them, her body controlled by some distant, outside force. I lowered the tray of champagne glasses and leaned forward to hide the erection I was getting.
“The customer is always right,” is all I could manage to say. By this time she was on her fourth glass and I hadn’t stopped staring at her, let alone closing my mouth. She would later say that I was drooling, but that was just her exaggerating.
Some Wilford Brimley looking dipshit and his much-younger wife came walking towards us with their eyes on my tray of bubbly. I was prepared for a fistfight to make sure this chick got everything she asked for. Before he could even make an attempt to grab one I backed away slightly and warned, “These are a taken.”
“Pardon?” he scoffed as his liver-spotted hand continued in the direction of my tray.
“Back off old man, these Quaker Oats are taken.” Saying this triggered a re-coil in his wife’s neck. Maybe she was just having a mild stroke? I immediately course corrected. “I mean, people have requested that I hold these for them. There must be some other server around here somewhere. I suggest you seek them out.”
“I don’t see any others. Where are these people you speak of?” Good question.
“Um. I know one is in the bathroom. I assume a few others were deaf. Gotta have free hands to talk?” I was stalling. Thank God the hot blond chimed in.
“One of them is mine, and another is my Mother’s. “ She politely told the couple, with a tone that was more appropriate for toddlers. Whatever, they’re both in diapers and equally gullible. “What is that, six?” she asked me with raised eyebrows.
“Yes, and the remaining four I coughed on,” I nodded. “Trust me, a man in your condition couldn’t handle what I have.” This comment marked the end of his patience. He walked a way shaking his head, muttering something about generations and manners. By the time I finished my own mutterings about old stiffs, the girl had already grabbed two more glasses and downed them in quick succession.
“Impressive” I said.
“Necessity is the mother of inebriation,” she said, her rapid monotone once again pushing the words from her mouth. She took another two glasses and I was in love.
“I’m -“
“I know who you are. You worked with my brother Kip,” she cut in adding a click-and-wink for punctuation.
“Ah. So, you’re -“
“Not as clever as you think I am.”
“Well, I doubt that. But you must be Grace,” I said before realizing that this was her party. She was engaged like a week ago and Kip had never shut up about how great of a guy her fiancé was. Forgot his name, but I thought it was Steve. I swallowed my damaged pride and offered her congratulations. She seemed more enthusiastic about killing the last drops of champagne I had in my possession than she did about being engaged.
“Well, I mean it. Kip says Steve is a great guy.”
“Who?”
“Your fiancé? Gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed. I thought you were a sure thing here.”
She dangled the last empty glass back onto my tray, took a curious look around and quickly, completely ungracefully, reached under her dress and took off her underwear.
“Who says I’m not?”
She shoved her panties into my jacket pocket, slurred as she gave me directions to the second-floor bathroom, and headed for the stairs.
I was told by my boss to stay on the first floor, but instead, I showed a little initiative and determination and ignored that rule. Losing the gig wasn’t going to stop me, and neither was the ring on her finger. What ended up stopping me was Mr. Kramer’s kidney stone.
Mr. Kramer looks like a guy who’s done hard time in prison. He’s got massive amounts of tension that is just built into his frame. I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone who looked [and just was] more stressed out about the littlest things. So, as I have been told, hardly anyone noticed anything unusual when he realized his kidney stone was about to pass.
While I wasn’t there to see it, I heard he just could not get away from people trying to talk to him, so instead of working his way through the rest of the guests, he made a break for the stairs. This supposedly faster route took more time than he thought. Apparently he took his time in excusing himself to guests completely unaware he had a massive mineral deposit pushing its way into his urethra. So when he kicked the door open and saw someone that certainly wasn’t his only daughter’s fiancé, in between said daughter’s legs, the thing shot out like a bullet.
A guy catches his daughter in the pisser with some stranger and the only he can do is grab his crotch, collapse into a puddle of bloody urine on the floor, and scream about how bad he needs a urologist. Sad.
Not to mention fucking expensive. High-end catering, waiters, top-shelf booze, and now an ambulance ride and dry cleaning. Fuck. I kind of knew how he felt later though. His little coitus interruptus gave me huge fucking blue balls for the rest of the night.
A few weeks later, after a bit of cooling off and some serious sweet-talking on Grace’s part, her father let me back into the house. The faint smell of urine was still there, even after what I’m told was a very expensive carpet cleaning. Not that it mattered to her dad or anything. The guy was loaded. He made a ton of money the easy way. What I overheard at the party was that his partner in something stole a bunch of money from him, so he sued him (successfully) and quintupled his bank roll on the settlement. Mr. Kramer then built his dream house and quickly moved his family into it. For some reason Mr. Kramer always wanted a circular house, with circular hallways. You could get on a bike and do laps around the house, without making a full turn or hitting the breaks. It was like something out of Deep Space Nine or some shit. And it all looked the same, so I had no idea where I was half the time.
So when I walked into the wrong room (which happened a lot) you’d think it was no big deal (especially if it’s the linen closet everyone has with the extra soap and towels and shit in it). Apparently it was, ‘cause, fuck, did Mrs. Grace flip her shit when I opened that door. Grace’s uncle had a heart attack, dropped dead on the spot. Mrs. Grace fell to the floor, broke her leg, fractured a hip, and cracked two ribs. All of it looked like one of those tapes of a building collapsing, except you know, with people. Naked people.
To nobody’s surprise, I wasn’t invited to the funeral. I heard it was nice and it was a nice day out. Can’t argue with that. Grace had me pick her up after the last of the guests left her house.
Anyway, I borrowed my buddy Rob’s car and one of his suits. I decided to look nice 1) in case I got invited in and 2) so Grace wouldn’t feel weird if she was in a nice little dress and I was in my sweatpants with the little brown bleach stains on them.
She stepped out the doorway and slightly jogged to the car, looking behind her in case anyone saw her. Not sure why she did that.
“Just drive,” she said before the door was even closed.
So I did. I drove for 10, 15 minutes and neither one of us had spoken. I didn’t hit a red light once and if we came to a stop sign, I didn’t stop because I wasn’t paying attention. If I wasn’t looking at Grace, trying to read her mood, I was trying to think of what to say.
Was she upset?
What about?
Her uncle? Or her Mom cheating on her Dad?
Did she think it was my fault like her Dad did?
I was finally able to tell that she was trying not to cry. I uttered a barely audible syllable before she cut in.
“Fuck!” She let it sit for second before she followed with a series of profanities I had never heard before. “Stink-Fucker-Ass?” Yeah, me either.
“How’d it go, babe? You ok?”
“No, I’m really not. D’you have any pot on you?”
“Yeah, the glove box.”
Before I could point, she had the bag out and was picking apart the buds and packing it into my little green and yellow pipe. I used to call it “Blarney,” until I dropped in and broke in half. I Duct Taped it back together and now it’s called “Dublin.” I always thought that was funny, but nobody else really did. It was always one of those stories I get a kick out of but nobody else seems to. And they don’t even entertain me and chuckle a little bit, just to appease me. Maybe they don’t get it? They should. And they should laugh whether or not they think it’s funny, but because it’s fucking polite. I laugh at other peoples’ fucking stupid jokes and dumb stories all the time.
Taking a hit and exhaling, all of the weight on Grace’s little shoulders seemed to fall off of her. She reached out and hit the button to open up the sunroof. Wasn’t sure why I didn’t think of that. Must’ve still been in my winter habits, I guess, whether or not it was almost June.
“They’re getting divorced,” she said before lighting up the bowl again.
“What? Really?”
“He told my mom and called his lawyer before he called the ambulance.”
“Fuck. What’s your mom gunna do?” She seemed to be amused by the thought.
“Not really sure. Probably focusing on learning to walk again. Her leg is pretty fucked up.”
“Yeesh.”
“Yeah. She’s never really been on her own, so this should be interesting.”
“Never?”
“Nope. Even in college, her parents were pretty overbearing. She used to tell me how they’d show up almost every weekend.”
“Whaaaaat?”
“I know. They’d think of all kinds of excuses to be around. Football games. Basketball games. Women’s soccer. St. Patrick’s Day. Laundry. Didn’t matter.”
I threw her a look of pure disbelief. It must’ve been pretty clever because she laughed.
“I know,” she said, nodding enthusiastically and exhaling stale pot smoke. “She was an only child.”
Like that’s got anything to do with it.
“So was this something that was a long time coming? I mean, your dad cuts it off just like that?”
“My dad is the most traditional, stick-up-the-ass, too-proud-to-be-wrong, selfish dick. You know that.”
“I was giving him the benefit of the doubt that that’s just how he acted towards me.”
“Nope, that’s pretty much him all the time. He boycotted Jewel-Osco and never even let us, or my mom, ever shop there ever again. He even told his friends not to shop there, simply because they forgot to put a gallon of milk in his cart one time. He still mutes their commercials when they come on TV.”
We both had a laugh over this. And I was now pretty sure Grace wasn’t gunna hold it against me.
Her face lit up with an idea. “What do you say we go to Jewel-Osco, eh? Let’s get some little airplane bottles of booze and sneak ‘em into a movie? How does that sound?”
“Sounds like a fuckin’ plan to me. What do you feel like seeing?”
“Something funny. I’ve been around too much crying and bullshit today.”
And with that we had our plan. It still stands at the top of my favorite things about her. She surprises you with little plans that are just outside of the realm of possibility. One second you’re ready to spend the afternoon pretending to feel sorry for her and make her feel better, and the next your half-cocked in a movie theater watching some shitty Eddie Murphy kids movie, laughing your ass off at 3 in the afternoon. And when that was done, we snuck into some horror movie to fool around in the back row.
Around that same time Mr. Kramer got rapped up in all sorts of legal battles with his wife, and of course the medical bills that mounted up. The poor guy’s insurance lapsed like 2 weeks before the accident with his now-ex-wife. And since he was married to her when she broke all those bones, it was put on him to pay all of her bills. Turns out, that shit adds up.
2 ambulance rides.
A funeral, which by all accounts was supposed to have been a real classy one.
1 tour through the ER.
15 X-rays.
3 specialists.
4 surgeries.
3 weeks in a hospital bed.
4 months of rehab.
7 different types of pain medication [4 of which Grace and I were able to sample on visits].
1 full-time, live-in nurse to help Grace’s mom while she settled into a new condo.
Oh, a new condo.
4 movers for 6 hours.
A moving truck.
New furniture.
A cleaning lady.
1 divorce.
2 lawyers, because it was…
1 HUGE settlement.
Not to mention his usual living expenses and those three previously mentioned parties all within 2 years of conceiving and building your dream house from the ground up. Fuck. I felt bad for the guy. What can I say?
I would’ve consoled Grace, but she didn’t seem to mind all that much. For some reason, her brother’s did. A lot. As if it was somehow my fault. Every time they saw me it was the same thing: “Hey Dickless! What did I tell you the last time I saw you?”
“I dunno Kip.” (Or Karl, it depended on the time. They must’ve planned to switch off being an asshole or something. I’ve always pictured them playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who gets to fuck with me each time they see me.) “What did you tell me?”
“I said, ‘Dickless, stay the fuck away from Grace, or I will hit you with my car’ remember?”
“Threats almost as empty as your dad’s bank account,” I’d say. (Boy, was I wrong about that!)
They would just laugh and walk away. Their laughs were so heavy and evil, the bellows sounded like Barry White would, if he sang for Metallica. And since that sorta shit would happen so often, the less and less I believed it, y’ know? Anyway, so I think that brings us up to date. So, blah, blah, blah Kip (or Karl, again it depends) just ran me over, and I’m lying in a puddle (two parts rain, one part blood) on Park Place, two blocks off Green Bay Road. Wait, I forgot to tell you where this part started. Shit, sorry.
A couple of weeks ago, I surprised Grace with a new car –an old, new car. I bought it off my buddy Rob’s uncle, who was super cool and gave me a good deal. Grace was extremely happy; she loved it. Like, two days later, her dad’s cars get repossessed. Something happened with his bankruptcy papers, like they got misplaced or something like that, and he lost a ton of shit, including his three cars. So she gave her dad and brothers MY car to cheer them up. I remember I was over there the week before and Grace’s dad wouldn’t shut up about filing the papers.
“Dickless if you ever have to do something as humiliating and shameful as file for Chapter 11, I hope to God my daughter is long gone, or is the one taking all your money,” he said.
“Well, I don’t know how to take that sir, but thank you.” I had no idea why this dude was telling me this.
“I have four sons. I have one daughter. You can understand why I’m telling you this, can’t you?”
(Of course not.)
“Sure can.” I must say, I was proud of how confident and convincing my response was.
He used to talk about how great that guy Steve was and how he liked a guy who could exude confidence “It shows character to be confident with an answer” he would say.
“Ok then, Why? Why do I dislike you so much?” (I can’t believe the nerve of this guy!”
“Um, because I’m not that guy Steve?” I went with the obvious, but he had a puzzled look on his face, like he just sat on a pizza or something.
“Fuck, son, are you retarded? I haven’t the slightest clue in God’s name what you are talking about.”
I guess that either wasn’t right, or it really was and he didn’t want to be reminded of I did to his daughter in the bathroom, or the horrible pain of the kidney stone, or the urine smell his tux still has. I explained as frantically as possible.
“Well, sir, that guy Steve was real good friends with Kip and Karl, and everyone liked him. He was going places and was graduating and had a job and everything, like you used to say when I tried to come over to see Grace and you wouldn’t let her see me. Your family really liked him, and since I kind of took his place, I figured you liked him so much, that since I am not him, and I’m a little different than him, that you just, you know, like Steve more and want him to marry Grace and not me.”
That response got that same look as the one before, you know, like he just sat in pizza. Only this time it looked a little more like he didn’t know it was pizza. He leaned forward just a bit, as if he was going to say something and then he stopped quickly. Then his face shifted, as if I answered him in Dutch.
“Son…Who the hell is Steve?” he said, rather puzzled.
“Um, that guy that Grace was going to marry. Remember, big party, we met in the bathroom, your tux got ruined?” Maybe he had one of those freak moments where everything went so bad at once that he just blocked it from his memory.
“I remember, goddammit, how could I not?! His name is Chris you idiot…Don’t ever ask me again why I call you ‘Dickless’ because that is the kind of shit that just ruins my day.”
“Oh, ok, sir, sorry. Well, I’m really sorry. Again, I said I would pay for the dry cleaning.”
“Well, then you might as well cover the hospital bills, a funeral, more hospital bills, a divorce, and everything else of mine you’ve fucked up. So why don’t we just leave it alone?”
“Ok, sir, if there’s anything you need me to do, just ask,” I said hoping to ease his anger a bit.
I needed to do something to cover my tracks there. So he asked me to just shove this envelope in the mailbox on the way out, and I was more than glad to do it, so I stuck it in my math book and finished watching Ren and Stimpy before class. When he left I had that awkward feeling you get when traffic breaks, you know? It was freeing, yet strangely uncomfortable, unsure of what to do next.
Anyways, a couple of days ago, after I failed my math test, I was selling my books back and it ended up being Grace’s oldest brother Kenny at the register. Her other brother’s are ok (even if they ran me over, I don’t hold it against them), but Kenny sucks. He’s just that guy that everyone knows sucks, but for some reason they put up with him. The kind of gut that would fuck your ex-girlfriend and brag about it, yet for some reason you can’t try and kick his ass because even though he’s a dueshbag, people won’t help you and they’ll stand up for him. I would know. It happened to me. I got my ass kicked. Well, I brought my books up there and put them on the desk and right off the bat he’s giving me shit.
“Dickless, what the fuck are you here for?” he cam close to shouting.
“What everyone else is, wise ass, just trying to sell these back,” I said as I put the books down right next to the register, in a neat little pile. You guessed it, he pushed them right off the counter onto the floor, holding up the line and everything. God, Kenny sucks.
“I’m just fucking with you, give ‘em here, I’ll hook you up,” he said, still laughing at me, like he was my friend or something.
I saw right through his greasy little wink and was in no mood to take shit from him. He picked up each book one by one, skimming through them and making a new pile right next to mine, we’ve all been there. Then he totaled it all up, smiled at me, and pushed the pile he made back onto the floor. That fucking laugh really pushed me over the edge. He was laughing almost uncontrollably, that is, until his dad’s Chapter 11 papers, in that nice little envelope, slid out. Then it was my turn. That was the happiest I had been all week, and I made sure he knew it. I pointed at him, then at the envelope, then back at him. His face turned an odd reddish, purplish sort of green.
“Aaaaaand boom goes the dynamite!” I shouted in front of everyone in line, each person had the same expression as Kenny. Fuck them, I was having a blast. Apparently, the scene wasn’t as entertaining as I had thought. But whatever, Kenny sucks, and I wasn’t going to take anymore of his shit, because he really sucks.
“Dickless! You’ve fucked my whole family!” He was about to cry, I was sure of it.
“Nope, just your sister” I shouted. I couldn’t help myself, I had the chance. As he pulled off his extremely effeminate apron to come after me, I shouted in a bit of a panic, fully aware of what he could do to me (from past experience, of course). “Sir, please, I just want my cash and I’ll be on my way!”
Surprisingly, he listened, tearing the cash from the register. He pulled me in really close, in a way that I should’ve expected a passionate kiss, and whispered in a sort of way that everyone in the store could hear, “Dickless…You are a cancer.”
Before I knew it, his awkwardly large hand was in my mouth, coated by exactly $217.00 in odd bills. He still owed me 23 cents. I kept my mouth shut, well, I smiled rather slyly, which got me a free trip to the floor. When he hit me square in the nose, I remembered what I thought when I was waiting in line watching him, hoping I didn’t get his register: Kenny sucks. Grace wouldn’t fuck me that night because every time she kissed me tasted blood. It blows dating a girl with standards.
I don’t know why I just told you that.
So yeah, I was going to have Kenny pay for the medical bills since I had to get my nose reset three different times, but then Grace told me he lost his job because the security cameras saw him hit me, and there are rules about assaulting customers and what not. I’m sure he should’ve been fired long before that, the asshole thought he was so cool because he kept stealing extra aprons from the storage closet. I’m not sure what makes that pathetic, the fact that he actually stole them, or that he bragged about it and gave them to his friends. What the fuck was I going to do with a purple apron? Plus, I didn’t want to have to admit to my real friends that my girlfriend’s brother steals purple aprons from his place of business. That kind of shit is just embarrassing.
So I think that is up to date, well, its up to a few hours ago, which is when all her brothers got serious about running me over. I went over to Grace’s dad’s house after finishing up at the hospital, ya know, for third time, getting my nose reset, which hurts like a mother. I was put on some really cool meds that I wasn’t supposed to drink, and had to eat a full meal before I took.
Back to what I was saying, I like to think that I’m an honorable guy, and it was about time I asked Grace to marry me, so I went to Mr. Kramer first, you know, to make sure it was cool. I’m at her dad’s house, about to tell him that I planned on marrying Grace. It couldn’t hurt. At least it couldn’t hurt as much as my face. I walked into the house, and just by the look I got, Mr. Kramer had already heard about where the envelope ended up, I guess Kenny thought it was super important or something.; it’d been like 2 days. Kenny doesn’t even live at home. God, Kenny sucks. Anyways, I got into Mr. Kramer’s office where Kip, Karl, and her brother Kirk, who’s only like 15, so fuck him, are all in there with him. My internal alarm should have gone off then, but for some reason I always like to think I have balls, hence the broken nose. I tried to pretend like it was cool though. They saw right through me, and it clearly wasn’t.
“Can I help you?” Kevin asked like he didn’t know who I was, whatever, fuck him.
“Yeah, I’d like to talk to you alone sir,” purposely directed at Mr. Kramer.
“Listen, Dickless, my family keeps nothing from one another, so you can speak with me in front of my sons.” He paused until I noticed that he’d stopped talking and then continued, “Um, are you listening to me?”
“Ah, yeah, sorry, it’s just that I can think of a lot of things Grace probably hasn’t told you about,” I laughed, trying to break the ice”…or has she?”
He was all pissed now, and it was the wrong time to be beating around the bush. So I got straight to the point, as he was always saying how Steve – I mean, Chris – was ‘a direct kind of guy, no bullshit, that’s important’ as he would say loud enough for me to hear, all the time.
“Sir, I came here to let you know that I plan on asking Grace to marry me tonight. I think it’s time I straightened up and…” before I could finish they were all laughing that death metal Barry White laugh, but not in that ‘ha ha funny’ kind of way. I guess I didn’t see the humor in it all.
“Goddammit son, you are one first-class piece of shit,” he said a little to bluntly for my taste. But hey, at least I was a first-class something. “I take that back, you are just a big piece of shit. Are you even going to graduate?”
“Well, funny story. I needed to take this last math requirement. Anyway, the last question on the final exam was True or False: 16-4=12, can you believe that shit?!” I shouted, as I was the only person laughing.
“Son, I could believe a dickless piece of shit like you would put False.”
“You know me too well Mr. Kramer,” I chuckled. It was obvious I was trying to kiss his ass, “that’s exactly what I put!” I stated the obvious.
“It’s a fucking shame isn’t it?” I got the feeling from the way he said that, I wasn’t supposed to answer.
“Well, I should go, but I’ll come by tomorrow to let you know what Grace says,” I said as I got up and headed for the door.
“What she says about what, son?” He got that face again, like he just sat in pizza, even though he knew that it was there and had just changed his pants but did it again.
“When I ask her to marry me, sir” I said. I had to make it clear that I meant it, because I really wanted him to like me.
I don’t know if they were helping Kenny get back at me our what, but those 3 brothers of hers chased me out the door with a speed and deter and determination I hadn’t seen since the last Olympics. I thought I lost them when I turned the corner of their street, but they had all jumped into a car and peeled out after me. I cut through yards and yards, hopping fences; it had been like 5 years since the last time I ran, and I was fucking tired after like two blocks.
I finally lost them in town. So I decided to call my friend Rob, the guy whose uncle sold me the exact car they were chasing me in, to pick me up and take me to the hospital because my nose started bleeding again, really badly. At the hospital they said the only thing they could give me was more drugs, but if I took them I’d probably die. SO what they were really saying is that they couldn’t do shit other than stuff these tampon-looking things up my nose to stop the bleeding. It was just uncomfortable shit that hurt and made me swallow tons of blood. Catch-22. I hate when they do that kind of shit, it sucks and it’s totally worthless. You don’t even get to see a real doctor unless you’ve been shot or something and they have to cut you open. Whatever, hospitals suck, so fuck them.
The last thing I expected when I walked out of the emergency room a few miles south of my apartment was the goddamn Honda I had gotten for Grace. I’m pretty sure it was the pain killers but at that moment all I could think about was her. She is great. She’s everything I ever wanted. It sure is hard to believe that I could fall in love with a girl who I got with in a bathroom, but it happened, and it has been awesome. I think the point I knew that love was possible…Well it’s because of her sense of humor. She has the best sense of humor, in any situation. I think I realized this when Mr. Kramer kicked open the door, shouted in both horror and pain, not sure which was more prominent, “bloody fuck hell!” I have no idea what that meant, but Grace turned and watched him collapse on the ground, grabbing his crotch, and laughed as she squeaked, “Oh, hi daddy!” If there hadn’t been a medical situation, hands down, that would’ve been the funniest moment of my life.
Shit, it was the pain killers, because the Kramer brothers, now all four of them, were coming at me, and I stood in a heavily medicated state, and watched them pour out of the little silver Honda, walking directly at me. Rob went out to get cigarettes like an hour ago. What a dick, I knew he would ditch me.
They were actually pretty smart about the stupid shit they were about to do to me. They realized that if they kicked my ass outside a hospital that I would just walk back in and get help, some one would just call the cops. So they threw me into the back seat, surrounded me in the seats and said they were taking me to some weird park. I bet it was the same park they all used to run off into to smoke pot, like, every day during high school. I would know I was the one who sold them the pot.
I wish I knew they had such a cool sister then too, and that way she would have never met that Chris guy (I could’ve sworn it was Steve) and I wouldn’t be in so much pain right now. As we’re driving, I realized that the car that they are using to take me to a place where they can kick the shit out of me was the one I bought Grace. They were borrowing my fucking car to kick my ass!
“This rides pretty smoothly, doesn’t it?” I said, trying to break the silence. Of course, that didn’t work; they ignored me. “You know Grace is great isn’t she?” Again, no response. I don’t know why those guys hate me so much, I was just trying to be nice and make conversation.
The car suddenly stopped. I couldn’t really see, being on all those drugs and my nose being all swollen and shit. They pushed me to the ground, right in front of the car’s headlights. I couldn’t see a damn thing. I sure did feel a lot though. The only thing I am actually sure of is that I was punched, kicked, smacked, pummeled, and hit by four guys, all of whose names start with the letter K. This whole time, I was off in Neverland, lying on my bed with Grace, listening to ’32 flavors’ by Ani DiFranco over and over again, a favorite memory of mine.
I woke up cloaked in dirt and blood, being able to see a bit more that before, surprisingly. They didn’t get my face at all, except Kenny, who made my face hurt like hell for days, but that was nothing new. Since it was the park everyone used to get stoned in, I had a good idea of where I was. Three blocks south, four blocks west, and one street over, and then I would’ve been at my apartment. I made it three blocks south, and two blocks west, before my fucking car showed up again.
I can’t believe those assholes had the nerve to go out scoping for in the car I bought! And it wasn’t even for them! I bet it was Kenny’s idea. He sucks so much! So I started running, from my own car, trying to make it to my building before they had a chance to get out and get another shot at me. I made it a block. I was a block away. I thought they were fucking with me. It must have been a hundred times, “I’m gunna hit you with my car,” they would always say. But they laughed! I thought it was a joke.
I tried doing all sorts of running patterns to get out of the way, but the steering on those Hondas are so nice, the car could do all the patterns too. They even ran me up on the sidewalk, cam way too close to my feet and then backed off a little. They shouted all sorts of shit about how I should leave Grace alone. I shouted, not know they could hear me at all, past the laughter and shouting, and the car too, “I love her man!”
Almost within an instant, the car accelerated and knocked me right back, on the hood, cracking the windshield, hitting the roof, and then over the back, stop.
Here I am, lying against the pavement, with a nice little slip of rain and a whole lot of blood, the tail lights from the car I paid for which just ran me over, are now gone. Call it a miracle, but I am outside my building (in the middle of the road, but right outside nonetheless). It’s a sign, I know it is. Do it man, just do it! Unlock the door, 3 flights of stairs, and a right turn. There she is.
There is no saliva in my mouth, just blood, and a few teeth are missing. They can wait, they are probably right outside in the street, I’ll get them later. The fluid in my eye stings, which sucks, because I have to keep it open, as my left one is swollen shut. The little bit of her I can see is good enough; she looks beautiful. The black coat brings out the white in her eyes, and he bright smile. I love her. Just do it! Say something!
“Hi Grace” I say, swallowing hard.
“Hi” she says, with a surprising hint of annoyance in her voice. Maybe it’s because I’m a few hours late. Whatever, surprise her, she has no idea it’s coming. She’ll love it!
“Grace, I love you. Will you marry me?” I’m on my knees, I’m smiling baby, please say yes, you know you love me!
“No, I can’t. Please leave.”
Oh…..fuck.