Flat footed, ain't she? (998 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.5 on 38 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ghola (View user info) at 2007-11-19 19:19:18 EST
I was always second best to my brother. I don't know why. When I looked at him, all I saw was stocky guy, 6'3 and towering over me, with dragon tattoos on both arms. Now he's twenty-six, starting his third marriage, smothered in credit card debt and having trouble getting a job after a short stint in jail and rehab. He had dabbled in boys---young boys, and spent a few months in the county jail for statutory rape.
The kid's name was Dennis. I used to baby-sit for him, because he lived just across the street and his mother worked at the bank until 6:00 P.M. We'd watch Japanese cartoons and drink coke, eating semi-burnt popcorn that I could never cook the right amount of time.
When I moved away to go to school, the lady didn't have a babysitter, but figured Dennis was old enough to stay at home by himself.
Dennis and my brother, Clint, starting getting along pretty well after I left. Clint got off work from his route driving a dump truck at about the time Dennis climbed off the school bus. Clint gave Dennis his first cigarette, his first beer, and his first toke. It was still hot out, so they'd sit out in lawn chairs behind Dennis's house, overlooking his pool.
Dennis's mom came home and found them there one evening. They were both passed out with beer cans scattered at their feet and floating across the pool. She sent Clint home and dragged Dennis inside, screaming questions at him until she was red faced and Dennis was crying, admitting where Clint had touched him and what they'd done.
Clint still denies it. Says the lady was out to get him, nail something on him. I haven't seen Dennis in years. He went to live with his aunt, who lived a few hours out in the middle of the country.
Clint had a habit of getting his life together just so he could fuck it up again. He'd go to church for a while and my mother thought this was a very good sign. She was always happy, willing to buy him new clothes for whatever job he was interested in that week. He was a substitute teacher, a meat packer, a lawn care specialist, and a maintenance man at a nursing home. None of them lasted longer than a few months and most didn't break three weeks.
Anyway, he did all the things that made my mother happy. He sang in the church choir, mowed her lawn and came over for Sunday dinner. I never came for Sunday dinner. She expected church and dresses and yes ma'ams. I couldn't give her what she wanted.
Eventually, Clint would fuck things up. Miss church, come home coked up, get caught in bed with the youth pastor, the youngish one who'd just been hired a few months ago. Clint would pack his things all in one duffle bag, leaving behind most of what our mother had bought him.
Mom would call me, almost crying, to tell me she'd failed as a mother. I didn't tell her I already knew that and Clint's life was the model of failure. I didn't tell her I was still struggling to remove her influence from my sides, this sort of dead beast I kept dragging with me everywhere I went. The conversation inevitably turned to me, my life of sin, the boy I was living with, the same one I'd been dating for three and a half years, which was three years less than she'd dated my stepfather before marrying him.
Mom would beg at first, asking me to come to church. Then she'd yell, tell me I was worthless, always worthless, a disappointment to her, an embarrassment. She'd tell me I was on the prayer list at church and that my name was scrawled across the dry erase board in thick black letters.
I'd hang up on her, call my brother, and tell him he ought to go home. He'd tell me he was done with home, done with her, and that she was crazy.
"I know," I'd tell him, "I know, but you ought to go home or stay the fuck away. It screws her up too much, this back and forth thing." I'd hang up the phone and think about her.
When I was ten, still happy and laughing about things, I sat out in our car while she and my brother and his friend went swimming in my dad's company pool. I was in the care because I'd asked for something to drink.
"You know I didn't bring change for the drink machine," she'd tell me.
My brother's friend squirted pool water at me through his two front teeth and laughed, flipping over on his back and floating across the pool.
Another time my mother and father and I were in a department store, shopping for Easter church clothes. My mother said she was going to the bathroom and I told her I'd follow right after her. It took me a few minutes to find the bathroom, but after searching, walking through racks of women's coats and furry hats, I found it. I peed in the little green stall and went back to the front of the store to stand with my dad. We stood up at the front of the store, near the perfume counter, waiting on her. We waited and waited and waited. After longer than a kid can comfortably wait, we saw her walking towards us, briskly, her eyes wide. The eyeliner drawn all around her eyes made her stare deeper, angrier. Her hands were clinched and she was yelling before she got to us.
"Where were you?" she asked. "I've been looking everywhere for you."
"I went to the bathroom and came back," I said.
"No you didn't," she said. "Quit lying to me girl. I would have seen you in there."
"I'm not lying," I told her. "You must have been in the boy's bathroom. The girls' is on the other side of the store."
She never believed me and slapped me around until my face was blustery and my eyes were watering.
The next weekend when I went to put on my Easter dress, she grabbed me by the collar. "Remember," she said, "Don't make up stories. That's why I'm taking you to church."
Another time, I'd just had my ears pierced and my mother had bought me little gold studs with emeralds in them. We were standing in the kitchen, fixing our plates for dinner. It was cube steak, rice and gravy, green beans and a roll. I didn't put any gravy on my rice and my mother asked, "Where's your gravy?"
"I don't like gravy," I told her.
"I worked hard to make that gravy," she said. "I know you like gravy. You're just skipping it to slight me."
She grabbed me by the skin of my neck, pinching it between her fingers, digging her nails in. She slapped me across one side of the face and then the other. My head swiveled so hard, I could feel her nails clutching at my skin and ripping through it. When she was done, we were both crying.
I didn't notice until later that my earrings were gone. I found both fronts and one of the backs on the kitchen floor. I threw it all in the trash and let the holes in my ears grow up.
Clint finally moved away---far away. He drove his jalopy out west, all the way to Nevada and moved in with a prostitute named Sophie. Sophie pawned Clint's truck and threw his clothes out in the street where they got run over and wet from all the muck. After that, he was stuck out there, no way to get back to Georgia. He got a job working security at a casino and drank so much he forgot where he came from. He didn't call home and didn't answer my calls or our mother's calls.
When Clint didn't answer her calls, Mom quit calling me. She didn't call on Thanksgiving or Christmas and I sure didn't call her. That summer, my step-dad called to see how I was getting on.
"I'm good," I told him. "Same job, still in school."
He told me my mother was going to counseling and that she was doing really well. He said she really missed me and my brother. It was good to hear from him.
And then, Clint came home. He hitched across country in semi trucks and paid for buses when he could find the money. He came back plumper than when he left, pot belly rolling over his jeans and a thick face, probably from all the beer. He showed up at my mother's house and she hugged him, brought him inside and put him in his old room for the night.
He was the model son.
She called me a few weeks later to tell me he was home.
"Oh," I said.
"You don't sound happy," she said.
"Well, you knew he'd come back eventually," I told her.
"You're never happy for your brother," she said.
I asked her why she called and she told me they were having a "Welcome Home," dinner for Clint with fried chicken, potato salad, baked beans and strawberry cake with strawberry frosting.
I told her I couldn't afford the drive and she said she'd pay for my gas.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I told her.
I drove down the next day and parked my car out by the road so I could leave easy without worrying that someone had blocked me in.
My brother hugged me. I didn't lift my arms to put them around his neck. I just stood there, like a toothpick, wishing it was over.
"Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked.
"Sure," I said. It didn't sound convincing. It sounded like shit. I never sound bubbly or excited about anything.
Inside the house they were all watching some sitcom that looked like every other sitcom where the fat man is married to the beautiful woman. I sat at the kitchen table slicing cucumbers and tomatoes. I salted and peppered them all and left them there, in the center of the table.
My mom told me thanks and I went outside to find the cats. I saw one of them creeping along the edge of the woods, away from the house, so I ran at it, bent real low so I wouldn't look intimidating.
My brother and mom were smoking a cigarette on the back porch.
"Flat footed, ain't she?" my mom asked.
User Reviews
Submitted by MudWhistle (user info) at 2007-11-21 14:05:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
the only post besides sac's that i read today
thank you for it
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-11-21 02:00:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Never mind.
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-11-21 01:54:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I can't believe how "controversial" this post was.
Submitted by darkwulffe (user info) at 2007-11-21 01:25:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
auto ghola kick ass story+2
Submitted by haikumikoo (user info) at 2007-11-20 23:58:19 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-11-20 20:50:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Flat footed and free.
Submitted by TheDoctor (user info) at 2007-11-20 17:31:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Poor misguided Yozz.Thank him for this -2
Submitted by Yozz (user info) at 2007-11-20 17:23:47 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Dick
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v
Submitted by TheDoctor (user info) at 2007-11-20 17:08:21 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
No Comment
Submitted by triangle_man (user info) at 2007-11-20 13:17:43 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Merry Men
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-11-20 12:49:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sometimes I think that I'm a better writer than you.
This is not one of those times.
Dammit.
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2007-11-20 12:23:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by OscarZAcosta (user info) at 2007-11-20 11:48:09 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Man, this broad is freaking me out
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2007-11-20 09:36:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2007-11-20 09:31:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2007-11-20 09:23:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-11-20 09:01:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
peach
Submitted by Circe (user info) at 2007-11-20 07:01:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
She'd tell me I was on the prayer list at church and that my name was scrawled across the dry erase board in thick black letters.
_____________
That is an awesome line.
(It's my new rating system - if a 'serious' post doesn't have at least one line that blows me away, it can get fucked.)
Submitted by Zeglamancer (user info) at 2007-11-20 06:43:29 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2007-11-19 21:25:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I saw one of them creeping along the edge of the woods, away from the house, so I ran at it, bent real low so I wouldn't look intimidating.
they always run away when you do this though
Submitted by shandythedog (user info) at 2007-11-20 06:02:55 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
"I worked hard to make that gravy," she said. "I know you like gravy. You're just skipping it to slight me."
i agree - no one would refuse gravy for any other reason
unless of course your mum made bad gravy
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2007-11-20 05:07:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2007-11-20 04:41:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You remind me of a peanut covered in chocolate, a chocolate peanut one could say.
Submitted by rob_berg (user info) at 2007-11-20 04:28:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very nice.
Bickerstaff's comment is prosetastic.
I give this post a +2. Well done you two.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2007-11-20 02:30:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
yeah
Submitted by lechuza (user info) at 2007-11-20 01:40:36 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Flack (user info) at 2007-11-19 23:18:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh man, that sucks Bob.
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2007-11-19 22:43:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I just accidentally swallowed like half of a can of Copenhagen with my beer. I think Im gonna puke.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-11-19 22:16:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
She didn't say anything about your nice ass?
THAT BITCH.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2007-11-19 21:29:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Sounds like you and my wife could compare notes on sucky family lives. Her mother spouts the sort of faux pas that might actually be funny if they were delivered by John Lithgow's character from Third Rock. Here's a car ride from her childhood:
Mom-in-law: You know, Lindy, your grandma used to really drive me crazy as a kid.
Belinda: ...
MIL: REAL crazy. She used to tell me to clean my room, wash the dishes, do this, do that. You know I'd never do that to you, sweetie.
Belinda: Yeah.
MIL: When I was a teenager, she made me so upset I wanted to kill myself.
Belinda: ...
MIL: But, I suppose all teenagers want to kill themselves at one point or another. I'm sure you'll want to kill yourself when you get old enough.
Belinda: !!!
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2007-11-19 21:25:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I saw one of them creeping along the edge of the woods, away from the house, so I ran at it, bent real low so I wouldn't look intimidating.
they always run away when you do this though
Submitted by indoninja (user info) at 2007-11-19 21:21:04 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
druggy fag brother with comment I don;t get at the end...
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2007-11-19 21:02:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:59:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was really good. Perhaps I liked the more because I write like that too, kinda. Well done.
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:56:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
gholatime!
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:38:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
How can I give less than a +2 after Bickerstaff left one?
Ghola, this type of writing completely blows away your "flash fiction," IMHO.
That type of ending often works, and in this case it sort of does. Good writing, good imagery.
Keep on truckin'.
Submitted by Bickerstaff (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:31:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I can see you, you know, the way you hold your pen and sit with your back unnaturally straight.
I got rid of the mirror you left, the crack had gotten larger and threatened to scar the image completely; but mostly I didn't like holding the tarnished silver: it always felt too smooth
against my calloused paws. I heard it break to pieces when I dropped it in the bin, and was
suddenly sad that I'd dropped it so unceremoneously. More regrets, I guess, scrawled across
an endless litany.
The lines are deepening under your eyes lately. They look like a maze now, one designed to test the intelligence of tears. I wonder sometimes how often you run that experiment; but I'm not
sure what I'd do if I knew that answer.
I'll visit again soon, I expect. Don't be fooled, though, I fully intend to chicken out at the
last minute and get right back on the train without even leaving the station; like last time; like the last two times.
You'll wait for me though, won't you?
Submitted by beeltea (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:15:13 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2007-11-19 20:14:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
You lost me there at the end. Was the flatfooted comment meant to be a slight toward you, specifically in the presence of your brother, or am I missing something?