Burst by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 5

One time I found particularly amusing was with the three of us sitting by the kitchen counter overhang viewing the laptop, which as usual, was on YouTube. And as also usual we were all excitedly trying to put on something which the others would like or at least make a reaction to. Eventually we adopted a rule; with each taking turns. But at that time the one who was quickest to the keyboard ruled. Rikki got there first and started typing, but I was really, really eager to show them something. It was so important, that I can’t remember what it was. I removed her from the keyboard finger by finger. She didn’t resist, but said; “If you ever do that again I’ll break your arm.” I found that funny coming from a female; and double funny because she could.

Because of that I realized that when I was worried about her nose I risked a broken arm. I pried her cupped fingers away from her nose. I was happy to see no blood whatsoever and a straight beak. I told her that, adding that it’s okay. Hint of tears, she insisted that there could be a hairline fracture. I didn’t know anything about that, but said something like; “Even if, it’s all right. Hairlines reset themselves. And you’ll look just as pretty as ever.”

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It wasn’t immediate, but she took her hands away from her nose and started fiddling with her embroidered, woven purse. Mal was circling around the back yard and garage. Things seemed calm. He came back and said to me; “Gotcha, sucker. You fell for it.” At that moment, I thought he was the most evil man in the world. At his craziest did even Mike Tyson punch Robin Givens square in the face? I think not.

We stopped back inside for another quick drink. Rather than sitting in their chairs, they seemed antsy, and were uneasily milling about. It was dusk by then and time to go. As always I walked to the garage with them and lit a cigarette. Instead of getting into her car which he drove for a few reasons, they started to do something which I can only liken to an insect mating ritual. They circled each other, peering out of the corners of their eyes. Then they started to kick at the other’s legs.

I was disturbed and tried to break it up to no avail. I don’t like to see couples fighting. I also did not want to give any of my nosy neighbors an excuse to call the police. The local cops are not all that thrilled with me; most recently as the result of an unfortunate incident not the primary subject of this book. Suffice to say that just because two months prior I called a pushy, stupid cop a cocksucker among other things, I wound up spending twenty four hours in County. Since the stupid

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cop couldn’t even get the date right, never mind the charge, I paid an attorney $1,000 who not only got the case dropped, but filed charges for police misconduct, false arrest, yadda, yadda.

She told me to stay out of trouble in the interim, and there was potential trouble right there now in my goddam driveway.

I gave up and sat on a cinder block in the garage and lit another cigarette. I mean what else could I do? Either of them could easily kick my ass. Sometimes, it seems that the concept of pre-destination is a valid one. I intermittently stared at the floor and at them kicking at each other’s lower extremities.

I perked up as I knew that if we all got arrested, his mother would come bail us all out, and that they weren’t putting on their lethal moves. They were playing, like two practicing scorpions.

The whole thing ended when he grabbed her, turned her upside down, and was threatening to bounce her head off the gravel. She gave in before anyone could dial nine one one, and they were again on their merry way.

I never said so, but I think she let him win.

The next day they impressed me with their proud displays of blacks and blues.

Back to Mal, I guess. After he kept directly and indirectly pestering me about what he saw as my preference for Rikki, I

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found a way of avoiding the general issue by confronting the specific event. I truthfully told him that I had a wealth of experience with broken noses; though my dental skills were virtually zero. He either half bought it or didn’t yet have a suitable comeback. I was certain that he was not convinced.

That’s one of the funny things about guy-guy relationships that I’ll never figure out. You know, like they bring around their current love. They’re happy, indirectly braggy, and all in all they’re still kind of seeking other male approval through compliments about their chick. Yes, I know that word is objectionable in certain quarters; but as long as one literary genre is called ChickLit I’m not the biggest offender. In fact, I’m not even significant. Jeez. Where was I? Where were you?

..... Big issues aside, let me try to return to this guy thing.

Okay, he wants other guys to compliment this chick he’s parading around, not quite indirectly complimenting him.

Hmmmnnnnnnn. What to say? “Pretty girl, glad to meet you. Mal’s been my pal a long time ................?” Too perfunctory for my pal Mal. Okay, try this. “Hey, wow. Where did you find this gem?” Getting there, but I’m talking to Mal, where at least ostensibly, I should be talking to the chick; liberated feminism and all that. Hmmnnnn again. So try; “I’m pleased to meet one so attractive. I know you have enhanced my friend’s life. I am envious.” Sounds like a limp college professor going through the

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routine. In exasperation; “Omigod. Hooters, in their limited focus, is not adequate to touch the lick-demanding curve below.

Hey, girl, if Mal don’t treat you right; let me be the next in line.” When I ran off this nonsense, Mal frankly seemed a bit confused at this point. It’s really what he wanted to hear in his imagination, but not necessarily what he wanted to hear in this dimension. Worse, the longer Mal thinks about it, the more irate he will become.

So at this point, all hypothetical mind you, I’m thinkin’

this Rikki chick sure looks like somebody I’d like to spend some time talkin’ to, getting to know. Mal picks up the vibe, and re-thinks his need for approval. Yeah, yeah, I think I understand, but don’t really care where his little brain is at.

The chick restores whatever random “normality” there ever was, by saying to me; “He’s got a nine incher.”

I’m unimpressed, saying; “While flaccid?” but get the gist and don’t want to get into the numbers game anyway. I’m tempted to add; “Measured from where; his wide asshole?” but don’t as we’re at a convenient ending for me, her, and maybe him.

Besides, I’m married and love my wife. Besides, I have learned that one can get hurt from many directions if one steps into a love affair. Besides, I don’t want to pull it out for no reason when she’s interested in him and I don’t know where the tape measure is. That would do everyone present no good whatsoever.

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Any possible further replies are a long, old, irrelevant story. If Mal needs approval, it’s not my job to provide it. If it was 1972 people would immediately understand. If 2016 dummies require explanations they can go google Wikipedia. If I was a paid history professor I might have adequate time to chronicle the boring parts. ...................

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