Jericho

    Sitting on the roundabout, I raised the quarter-empty bottle of Grey Goose to my lips and let the cold liquid slide down my throat.  I wiped the splashed particles off my numb face and passed the liquor to my right.  Kevin grasped the top of the bottle with yearning and took a large imbibe of the vodka himself. 

    I was so sick of this town, this world.  Mostly, though, I was sick of my family.  That was why I was in the park with my friend, getting drunk.  Earlier that day Mom and I had gotten in a huge argument over her sanity.  I said she was insane and she said I was grounded.  That wasn’t nothing my bedroom window couldn’t fix, though.  Wink, wink.

    “You know, man,” I found myself saying aloud while scratching my blonde hair, “she really is a psycho.  She has all those fucking dolls.  Hundreds of ‘em, man.  She brushes their hair and holds them and pretends to feed them … as if they’re her real children.  Kind of creepy, dude.”  Kevin handed me the Grey Goose and I took another drink of it.  “And that stupid fucking lottery!” I exclaimed.  “Every goddamn week it’s always the same fucking numbers.  One, two, three, four, five.  What’s with that?  Who the hell in their right mind plays the most illogical order of numbers?  I mean, she’s insane, right?  Yeah, of course she is.  I don’t need you to tell me.  Just talkin’ to myself I guess.”

    “Dude,” Kevin said.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

    “I’m talking about the world, man!  The land, the water.  Where are we?”

    “We’re in a fucking park, Johnny, drinking vodka.  You okay, man?”

    “No, I’m not okay!  My mom hates me, Kevin.  I called her a fucking psycho.”

    “But she is, isn’t she?”

    “Yeah,” I said, “but I still shouldn’t have said it to her face.  I just snapped.”

    “What happened this time?” Kevin sighed.

    “A freaking rat fell from the ceiling in my bedroom and landed on my face.”

    “What?  Hahaha.”

    “It ain’t funny, man.  It scared the shit out of me.  Guess what, though?  Kylie ate the motherfucker.  Ate it whole.”

    “The rat?”

    “Yeah, man.”

    “Holy shit, that’s awesome.”

    “Yeah … I don’t know.  I’m just so sick of this whole toxic dump.”

    I finished off the Grey Goose and tossed the bottle up in the air.  It shattered against the pavement of the communal basketball court.  I let out a mighty burp and Kevin announced that he had to be heading home.

    “Why?” I asked.

    “Cause if I stay out any longer my mom’s gonna call the cops.  You know how she worries.”

    “Lucky,” I said.

    He looked at me and shrugged.  “I’ll catch you later, man.”

    “See ya.”

    I reached in my green army jacket and pulled out a box of Mud Creek: my favorite brand of cigarettes.  Mainly because they were cheap as hell.  I lit up a cig (or as the folks in the United Kingdom called them: fags) and inhaled a gust of nicotine.  My great relief. 

    I stood up with my hands rested in my jacket pockets and began walking towards home.  Just a small white bungalow in another same ole boring suburban town in a shit-hole piece of America.  I had a little trouble walking in a straight line, so it might have been a bad idea to walk along the busy highway.  I guess I could have cut through the forest, but I just did not feel like walking around the mosquito invested river.  The highway was a much faster shortcut to my street.

    I had almost reached the end of the route when a voice yelled from behind me, “Heads up, fucko!” and a foreign object smashed against the back of my head.  The empty, plastic Gatorade bottle bounced off my skull and rattled along the concrete ground and I watched as the pickup truck sped off.  I quickly picked up a rather large rock and pegged it at the back head light, smashing it to pieces.

    “Fuck you, ya fuckin’ hicks!” I shouted back at them.

    God, I hated that place.

    I jogged up the porch steps and entered my dim lightened house.  Dad was in the corner, sitting in the lazy boy.  His laptop was placed on his (can you guess it?) lap.  The tobacco pipe hung out of his mouth: his supreme beloved.  Dad was always the quiet type.  He was always caught up in his strange world of mysterious thoughts, so it was almost impossible to get his attention.  He was more or less a shadow.

    Mom stood in the kitchen over the stove.  “Hey, Johnny,” she said, acknowledging my appearance.  “Glad you decided to come back home.”

    I had sort of left a note in my bedroom stating I was running away forever.  I guess that didn’t turn out too good, did it?  “Hi, Mom,” I said.  I met her in the kitchen and looked her in the eyes.  “I’m sorry,” I said.  “I didn’t mean what I said before.  I was just … I don’t know.  Will you forgive me?”

    She smiled and hugged me.  She hugged me?  That was weird.  “You been drinkin’ or something’, Mom?”

    “No, silly,” she said.  She turned back to the stove (where she had pots full of some kind of noodles boiling) and said, “But by the smell of your breath I’d say you have.”

    I blushed but covered it up by immediately turning away and making my way down the hallway.  My room was the last door on the right, but to get there meant I had to cross the room before it.  My brother’s room.

    “Hey!” Jimmy shouted as I walked by.
   
    I looked into his pigsty of a room and asked him what he wanted.

    “Go make me a sandwich.”

    “What?  No.  I think dinner’s almost ready.  Just wait till then.”

    “Did you tell me ‘no’?  Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?  Go make me a goddamn sandwich.”

    I gave him the bird and ran in my room, quickly locking the door behind me.  I cracked up as he shouted curses at me.  I slumped down on my bed and instantaneously my pit-bull, Kylie, leaped up along side me.  She began slobbering my face with her long anxious tongue and I had to gently push her brown furry head away to keep from drowning to death.

    The next thing I knew Kylie was licking me again, but something was different.  Sunlight escaped through the blinds and into my eyes.  It was morning.  I had passed out and slept through the whole night.  Nobody had even bothered waking me up for dinner.

    I sat up too fast and nearly vomited.  I looked around and debated whether to take a shower but decided not too.  Why?  Well, that’s simple.  I just did not feel up to it.

    I struggled my way into the living room and inspected the house.  Everybody was gone.  All at work.  I guess I couldn’t have gone to school if I didn’t want to, but it would had been boring as hell staying at home all day.  Therefore, I stepped out of the bungalow and locked the front door.  School was just a twenty-minute walk.




    I was in fourth period, which meant gym.  Which meant Mr. Jones.  My arch nemesis.

    I was just standing in the corner of the gymnasium, minding my own business, when Jones approached me.  He black shades and gray hair was a sign of horror.  I swear that man was nothing but an asshole.  “And what do you think you’re doing, Mr. Desperation?”

    “Uh … standing,” I replied.  As if that wasn’t obvious.

    “Do you see what everybody else is doing?”  He motioned towards the rest of the class.

    “Yeah.”

    “What are they doing?”

    “Jump roping.”

    “Exactly.  Now, where is your jump rope?”

    “I don’t have one.”

    “Thank you, Mr. Desperation, for pointing out the obvious.”

    “Hey, you asked it, man.”

    “If you don’t have your rope, then where is it?”

    “I never picked one up,” I answered.

    “And why not?”

    “Well, Mr. Jones … you see, jump roping isn’t exactly my bag.”

    “I don’t care if it’s your bag or not.  You are going to go grab a jump rope and follow the assignment.”

    “Hmm … no, I don’t think so.  Nothing against you, sir, I just don’t like to jump rope.  Always thought of it as a girl’s sport to be honest, but then again I’m not a big fan of sports altogether.  I’ll leave that macho stuff to the jocks, alright?  So … you can go back to your business now.  I’ll be over here with my thoughts if you need me.”  Mr. Jones stood there, staring at me.  I looked shocked and said, “Oh wow, back already?  What can I do for you?”

    “You can go to the office.”

    “Now that I can do!” I exclaimed, merrily.

    I came home from school with a suspension slip roughly stuffed into my jean pocket.  Everybody was in the living with their dinner, watching television.  And that meant it was a Friday: lottery day.  Mom said my supper was in the microwave.  I popped open the door to reveal a cup of Ramen noodles.  I was not surprised.  That was what we had on most nights, but I didn’t mind, though.  That stuff was good.  I thought more people should eat those delicious noodles.  It didn’t get enough recognition, you know?  Maybe one day I would start a Ramen Revolution.

    I sank down on the love seat beside Jimmy and dug into the noodles.  We ate in silence as the news came on.  About ten minutes later the famous Bob Pope was on the screen, announcing that week’s winning numbers.  Mom wasn’t eating, but combing the hairs of her ‘Marcy’ doll a hundred times each.  “Pretty girl … pretty girl …” she whispered to it.

    “Good evening, US of A!” Bob Pope exclaimed.  “Are you ready to win big?  Who wants some riches?  Huh?  The prize is up to eleven million buckoroonies today.  Shall we get started?  I think we should.  Alrighty then, folks, here we go!  First number is … one.  Second is … two.  Third number is … three?  Weird.  Oh well, fourth is … four.  And the last one is … five?  What?  No, that cannot be right, can it?  One, two, three, four, five?  Something funky is going on.  I can smell it.  I don’t know … I guess that’s the winning numbers for this week, folks.  It should be higher next week, though, since no one in their right mind would select those digits to play.  So, rub your rabbit’s feet, lick your shamrocks, and get ready for next week to become an almighty millionaire.

    “Till next time, I’m Bob Pope.  Stay rich, America.”

    The cup of noodles fell out of my grasp and burst upon the floor.  Kylie was there almost immediately to take part as the living vacuum cleaner. 

    Mom looked at me and smiled, “Now who’s the one insane?”  She turned her attention back to Marcy and brushed her hair for the 87th time.  “Pretty girl …"