We immediately recognized the sound of
Jon’s old Chevy laboring up onto the swale out front while Carla and I were
having lunch on the back patio. Both Jon and his car shared a hacking cough
that announced their arrival. He often stopped by unannounced, as I did with
him.
Anticipating the click of the gate as
he came through the side yard, I knew there was just enough time to take one
last big mouthful of the warm chicken and cheese enchiladas with sour cream that
we had reheated, leftovers from last
night’s dinner at Ned’s Southside.
Chewing quickly as Jon approached, I
got up from the lawn chair to greet him, and partially stumbled forward with my
head down, feigning an odd but unmistakable urgency. He had already begun to
continue our conversation from earlier in the day: “That eyeglass place fixed
me right up. The girl who adjusted my glasses…”
He didn’t finish his sentence before I
blew out my lunch all over the grass at his feet, successfully splattering his
shoes. Jumping back as I lurched forward falling into him sloppily and getting
a bit more enchilada sauce on his right sleeve, he bravely tried to support me.
As I was bending deeper and retching a few more times for dramatic effect, Jon
started to recover his senses and say something when I stood straight up,
grinning. “Care for some chicken enchiladas? They’re great!” He could only come
up with “You bastard!” as I smiled and called Rufus over and pointed to the
mess on the ground. “Here you go boy, lunch!”
Jon is so gullible, I'm always getting him with something and he goes for it every time, hook, line, and sinker. Like when we were squirrel hunting in the woods back in Virginia. Walking along an old path together, Jon hung back to water a tree. I saw my opportunity to scurry up ahead, and pulled a warm Tootsie Roll from my jeans pocket, popping it into my mouth, being sure to tuck the wrapper back out of sight into the same pocket. A few quick chews and I spit the glistening mess out onto a rock in the middle of the path. Dropping back again, and walking in tandem, the two of us came up on the rock. I pointed, “Oh look, animal droppings!” Jon stopped to contemplate the shape and size of the droppings, mulling over the unstated question of what kind of animal had left them there and when. I knelt down, “they’re fresh” I observed as I slowly pushed a finger into the largest piece. “and warm!” Jon started to squirm, “that’s gross, I hope you get some kind of animal disease” I just smiled as I lifted a large dripping chunk up for close inspection as I told him: “You can tell a lot about what kind of animal it is from the smell…and taste” Jon looked down at me with horror as I quickly popped a chunk into my mouth and started smacking my lips and using my tongue to mop a sloppy brown shit circle around my lips. “Tastes like Fox” I said. “Probably a Red fox but could be Grey. Definitely female though, and she‘s got kits!” Jon started stammering.
Jon is so gullible, I'm always getting him with something and he goes for it every time, hook, line, and sinker. Like when we were squirrel hunting in the woods back in Virginia. Walking along an old path together, Jon hung back to water a tree. I saw my opportunity to scurry up ahead, and pulled a warm Tootsie Roll from my jeans pocket, popping it into my mouth, being sure to tuck the wrapper back out of sight into the same pocket. A few quick chews and I spit the glistening mess out onto a rock in the middle of the path. Dropping back again, and walking in tandem, the two of us came up on the rock. I pointed, “Oh look, animal droppings!” Jon stopped to contemplate the shape and size of the droppings, mulling over the unstated question of what kind of animal had left them there and when. I knelt down, “they’re fresh” I observed as I slowly pushed a finger into the largest piece. “and warm!” Jon started to squirm, “that’s gross, I hope you get some kind of animal disease” I just smiled as I lifted a large dripping chunk up for close inspection as I told him: “You can tell a lot about what kind of animal it is from the smell…and taste” Jon looked down at me with horror as I quickly popped a chunk into my mouth and started smacking my lips and using my tongue to mop a sloppy brown shit circle around my lips. “Tastes like Fox” I said. “Probably a Red fox but could be Grey. Definitely female though, and she‘s got kits!” Jon started stammering.
Grinning like a fool, I took another big glob and was pushing it toward Jon as he stumbled backward. “Here, you taste it and see what you think.” He couldn’t scramble backward fast enough.
Later, even after I had cleaned-up in
a nearby stream, Jon kept his distance, convinced that I had shit for breath
and brains. He thought I had totally gone over the edge. It wasn’t until I
pulled out another Tootsie Roll and offered him one that the truth dawned on
him. I smiled a large chocolate grin as he turned red and lashed out: “You
bastard”!
I’ve been doing the same stupid stuff to Jon since we were kids in the fourth grade. Why he thinks that just because we’re old now I wouldn’t pull such juvenile stunts anymore, I have no clue, He goes for it every time, getting red and very angry, spitting oaths at me about never again this and that. But he loves to tell the stories over and over throughout the years, and I love to hear them too. I’ve already got some great plans for his wheelchair, his toothbrush and a hidden camera in his bathroom when we’re eventually relegated to end our days in some nursing home. I love the guy and he loves me, and when I get him all worked up by pretending to be dead, I look forward to hearing him blurt out: “you bastard!”. That will be like the sweet sound of angels calling me home.
I’ve been doing the same stupid stuff to Jon since we were kids in the fourth grade. Why he thinks that just because we’re old now I wouldn’t pull such juvenile stunts anymore, I have no clue, He goes for it every time, getting red and very angry, spitting oaths at me about never again this and that. But he loves to tell the stories over and over throughout the years, and I love to hear them too. I’ve already got some great plans for his wheelchair, his toothbrush and a hidden camera in his bathroom when we’re eventually relegated to end our days in some nursing home. I love the guy and he loves me, and when I get him all worked up by pretending to be dead, I look forward to hearing him blurt out: “you bastard!”. That will be like the sweet sound of angels calling me home.
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