by Sam Pink
Something about how he’s banned everywhere.
The 7/11, the liquor store, fucking outerspace.
Man, Keith banned from the fuckin galaxy!
“Keith!” Spider-Man yelled again. “Ey Keith!”
Keith kept walking.
“He got his headphones on,” Spider-Man said.
He threw some rocks.
Nothing.
“I’ma go get him,” Spider-Man said, ran off.
I asked Janet about the stuffed animals in the back pouch of her wheelchair — a blue bear and a little orange cat staring at me.
Janet said, “Wuh, one is called Bluey, and um, the other, Ms. Meow Meow.”
She formally introduced me to both, speaking for them.
I said hello, waving to each as they waved to me.
We had a short, polite conversation during which we discovered that everyone was having a nice day.
Janet apologized for them both being dirty and said they were going to get baths before they left, along with everything else they were bringing.
“Yeah,” I said, looking into the all-white eyes of Ms. Meow Meow. “Yeah.”
Spider-Man and Keith came back.
Keith was drunk as fuck, sipping liquor from a small plastic orange-juice container and laughing like ‘guh guh guh.’
He had slicked-back gray hair and a boiled-looking face with deep wrinkles.
He wore a leather coat, sweater, dress pants and dress shoes.
He had very small, perfectly straight teeth, except for one front tooth that looked like a drop of spit coming out of his gumline.
I kept expecting it to fall out.
He started talking like, “Yeah no…no yeah, I mean, no because….”
Eventually he told us about some tents he’d seen in a nearby alley, said we should go grab them.
“Yeah no, I mean I got these tents,” he said. “They’re in this one yard. No but I, see there was, shit I gotta go to sleep. But no, there’s tents, I got tents. I woke up too early though, and I gotta, I gotta go to sleep now.”
“How long they been there?” Spider-Man said.
“I mean no,” Keith said. “Onissly, I think yeah, maybe two or three nights or somethin.”
“Oh, what?” Spider-Man said, relighting the cigarette in his mouth. “They ain gonna be there then. Hellllll to the motherfuckin nah.”
I stared idly at the cherry on his cigarette before turning to look at Keith.
Keith had put in plastic vampire teeth.
He bit at me, opening his eyes real big.
And for a second, it genuinely scared me.
Like my heart beat faster and I almost jumped at him.
But then the teeth fell out a little.
Keith, you silly bastard.
I can see why you’re banned in outerspace!
…the fucking galaxy!
“Let’s go get the tents,” I said.
“Nah, they won’t be there,” Spider-Man said, shaking his head. “Shit.”
Keith still had the vampire teeth in, kind of.
He made a serious expression. “Hey but no, who knows, man. But onissly though, I have to go to sleep, so, let’s va-moose.”
Spider-Man and I left to go get the tents.
Keith gave us vague instructions, following far behind, trying to keep up.
At one point, we lost him.
But then he came out from behind a parked car and made a scary face at us with the plastic vampire fangs in his mouth — both hands up high over his head, walking wide-legged for some reason.
“He always cross the street in the middle,” Spider-Man said, laughing. “I’on’t know, he likes them thrills I guess.”
We went down an alley.
Keith showed us the backyard.
“They’re in, um — they’re over there,” he said.
He was laughing, trying to keep the vampire teeth in his mouth.
He walked down the alley, yelling something about needing to go to sleep.
Spider-Man went into the backyard and grabbed a duffle bag and a rolled-up tarp.
On the walk back, we discussed how nice the tent would be if we could get it set up, especially since it was going to rain.
We both agreed: it would be really nice.
I asked him how many points this mission would be worth, because sometimes he referenced things in terms of points, like a videogame.
“Dah, gotta be nuts. Fuckin, 50 thousand easy, du.”
Back at the vacant lot, Janet was playing a game on her cellphone, music on loud.
“Yay,” she said. “I, luh, luff camping, beb. Shit. Dayum. Heh.”
Spider-Man and I tried to set up the tent and we almost completed it but then the last piece was broken.
Defeat.
Felt like I could’ve made the tent work somehow if I had like an hour to search the lot and nearby alleys.
But no.
Spider-Man said fuck it, he just wanted the tarps, to wrap him and Janet up at night…“human taco style.”
He demonstrated with his hands, slapping them down over each other.
“Human taco,” I said.
Janet turned over a little with her bare ass hanging out of the sleeping bag. “I wanna be a, a taco, beb. Shit. Heh.”
Spider-Man had both palms up, slapping one down then the other on top.
“Shwoop shwoop,” he said, laughing. “Wrapped up like a motherfucker!”
I said, “Oh, I met Ms. Meow Meow and uh, Bluey.”
“Bloo-AY!” Spider-Man yelled. “Hayo yeah. Those her babies.”
Janet reminded him he’d promised to get her a real dog when they settled in Vegas.
“You said, beb,” she said.
Spider-Man nodded, looking at the ground.
“An a kitty,” she said.
“Shit, I ain buyin no farm!” Spider-Man said, looking up. “Fuckatta here! What?!” He shook his head. “That’s bananas.”
Janet was laughing. “An a — a ham-ther peez.”
Spider-Man made a face at me.
“A dog, a kitty, and a hamster,” I said.
Janet laughed.
Spider-Man told me about a hamster he bought his oldest daughter when she was very young (she was now my age).
“Mr. Wiggles,” Spider-Man said, smiling. He reached down and picked up a bottle cap. “Shit, he’s no bigger than this when we got him. What!? Are you high?!”
I was smiling.
I already liked Mr. Wiggles.
Wanted to know everything about him: from basic history on through the entire lineage of his thoughts.
“Shit, I did everything for his happy lil ass,” Spider-Man said. “I built him a mansion, fuckin everything.” He described the layout of the hamster mansion. “That shit was like, this tall”—hand by his waist, “and this wide”—hands maybe three feet apart. “There were two places to eat, four places to sleep, shit, three bathrooms, motherfuckin tubes, slides, whistles, a hot tub an a motherfuckin tennis court. Wha’s really going on?”
I adjusted my ass on the rocks and glass, picked up a hooked piece of glass and threw it.
The sky was gray, air smelled like rain.
“Mr. Wiggles, man we loved that little guy,” Spider-Man said. “He was like a dog, bro. Shit, we’d put him out in his plastic ball and he’d follow my daughter around. He’d go by the door when she left for school and just stay by the door for a long time, bro. Fuckatta here. Shit, Mr. Wiggles lived that life, man. He lived seven years! Seven years!” He looked up and pointed at the sky. “We miss you, Wiggles!” Then he looked at me and slapped his thigh, mimed like he was holding a videogame controller. “I’d take him out of his ball and set him right here in my lap, play my videogames. He’d sit on my lap for hours. Man, he had it all. Best life a hamster could have. Fuckin bananas! But nah then my daughter, Josalie, she wake me up all cryin one day. I said, ‘Oh boy.’” He whistled a note. “Mr. Wiggles had passed. So I call up my friends and like, seven peop
le or so came over. Everyone had on suits and everything, what?! We took turns in the backyard diggin with this little garden shovel, haha, then everyone threw some dirt on him. I said the sermon bro! I said, ‘Lord, we thank you for Mr. Wiggles and we know you’ll take care of him now.’ Maaaan, everybody was crying they eyes out. Nang! We put stones around his grave, everything. Everything for his happy lil ass. It was beautiful. Just beautiful, man. Shit man, he had everything. I even bought him a girlfriend.” He made double ok signs with his hands. “‘Mrs. Frederickson.’ My daughter named her. I’on’t know where she get these names from. But nah, her and Wiggles hated each other, du. She was cold, man! She was cold to Mr. Wiggles! She died after like, a year though, so whatever. And we ain do no big funeral for her I just put her in a cigar box, wrapped it in tape, and threw her ass in the garbage.”
I laughed, looking at the rocks and glass.
“She’a cold bitch, man,” he said again, opening his eyes wide and turning his head sideways a little. “I just tossed her.”
It was getting windy.
I felt a few raindrops.
Janet showed Spider-Man her score on the cellphone videogame.
It was her highest score yet.
S’MORES
I saw Spider-Man and Janet out front of the library this afternoon.
Spider-Man was wearing big pajama pants, a winter vest, and a large plush tophat with the Superman logo on it.
He yelled, “Well lookie lookie”—dancing over with his fist out.
I bumped my fist against his.
Janet called me over for a hug. “Wuh, whay’s my huggy? I, nuh, need my huggy!”
She was parked against the wall charging her wheelchair and playing blackjack on her phone.
She wore a giant knit winter hat that went over her eyes a little.
There were shit stains on the inner thigh area of her jeans and she smelled like s’mores.
I hugged her and stood next to her with my back against the wall.
Spider-Man was really drunk, walking around the front walkway.
He took out a small, thin-bladed knife and danced, tophat waving.
He came up to Janet and mimed cutting her legs off, humming to himself.
She laughed, saying, “Stop, stop”—trying to play her game.
“Why?” he said, making slicing motions just above her legs. “You don’t need em.”
He kept doing the slicing motion, humming to himself.
“They’re still hers,” I said.
Janet said, “Yeah, they still mine, beb.”
Spider-Man smiled, raising his eyebrows up and down as he made cutting motions around her legs.
He put the knife in his vest pocket and walked around the front walkway of the library.
He came up to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
He said, “All I’m sayin is, man, take a motherfucker, take away his weapons, his clothes, everything, and drop his ass off in the Amazon, see what happens. Go ahead. Stick him in there at the fuckin Nile. Dahhhh. That’s bananas. That’s nuts. Are you high!? Fuckin 25 foot crocodile eat that happy-ass in a heartbeat.” He snapped his mouth closed and went, “Hahnnnnnnnn.” He made a jaw motion with both his arms closing together. “25 feet bro! Come on! Are you high!?” He measured a 25 foot crocodile out on the sidewalk — using paces — then did the snapping motion with his arms. “Fuckin nuts, fucking bananas, woo.”
It was cold out but very sunny, and sometimes I could only see Spider-Man as a negative, dancing around in the brightness.
“An there’s a fuckin herd of em, bro!” he said. “A herd of fuckin giant-ass crocodiles layered underneath the water, just waitin man! You fuckin gotta be kiddin me!” He walked away a little bit and came back shaking his head, holding the brim of his tophat. “You ever see a motherfuckin wildebeest around them things? Shit. That shit’s fuckin bananas.”
He acted like a wildebeest.
He trotted up to an imaginary body of water and stopped, looking side to side and blinking his eyes a lot.
“They come up to the water — sip sip — hmmmm that’s good. Look around, make sure no lions around and shit — sip sip — hmm, that’s good. Hey guys, let’s go!”
He waved the other wildebeests forward over his shoulder.
He walked around the front entrance area of the library, saying, “Ohhh-wowo. Ohhhhh-wowo. That’s what they say, bro. Ohh-wowo.”
Janet kept trying to show him her score in the videogame but he ignored her.
“Trivia,” he said, clasping his hands together with both his forefingers to his lips. “Lobsters, crab, shrimp and krill: what are they?”
“Crustaceans?” I said.
“No, insects. Six legs. Fuckin exoskeleton. And they lay eggs.”
Spider-Man did an egg-laying motion.
He squatted down and put his hands on his hips, saying, “Pip pip pip.”
I was laughing.
He continued to do it, looking side to side.
He grabbed his 40 and drank the last of it in a few pulls.
Then he licked his lips, blinking his eyes. “Hmm, spicy!”
Janet laughed, slouching forward in her chair.
Spider-Man did the egg-laying motion again, extending his ass with his hands on his hips.
“Pip pip pip.” He stood up. “Shit bro, that’s like the motherfuckin tarantula hawk. You heard about this bitch?”
“Have I heard about the tarantula hawk?” I said.
He told me about the tarantula hawk.
“This some fuckin alien shit,” he said. “Gah be kiddin me! It’s a fucking wasp that attacks tarantulas man! Oohwee!” He made a face like he’d stubbed his toe. “That shit’s like four inches long bro”—gesturing with his fingers out, thumbs end-to-end. “You kiddin me?!” He started pacing a little, shaking his head. “Are you high!? Fucking tarantula hawk swoop down”—he motioned with his one hand like he was dive bombing, made the other hand into a crawling spider, “stings — shish, shish. Meanwhile this guy’s biting — narsh narsh — sting, bite, sting, bite, fuuuucckkk!! It’s bananas. That’s totally bananas, man. Tony bananas. After a few stings, that spider’s done, man. Fuckatta here. Then the tranchula hawk carries the motherfucker back to the nest, where there’s already a hole and drops that motherfucker in.” He chopped one hand into the other hand. “LAYS EGGS ON THE MOTHERFUCKER”—pauses, staring at me—“pip pip pip, then covers em back up and leaves. So when the eggs hatch they got something to eat before they climb out the ground and fly away.” He made a ‘twinkling’ motion with his fingers going up to the sky. “What!?” He paced away, pointing at me. “That’s nuts man. That’s some alien shit.” He turned around. “You wanna tell me we came here from a man and woman!? Hahhhh, nah du. Nah, that’s some outerspace shit. Some alien shit. Fuck that.”
Janet said, “Fock dat. Heh. Dayum.”
The front of her vest was dark with drool.
She took some lipstick out of her pocket, told me she stole it from a pharmacy.
“I, um, I only take, luh, little things.”
“She a klepto, man!” Spider-Man said. “She see something, she take it. She have to take it. Shit. That’s what a klepto is man!”
Janet applied some lipstick.
Spider-Man told her to rub her lips together, demonstrating himself with his hands on his hips.
Janet was looking at me, pushing her lips out with her eyes closed.
“Do — do it look, good?” she said.
“Yeah, it looks nice,” I said.
She laughed, opening her eyes.
Then she hiccupped, front teeth biting down over her bottom lip.
“Wait, why you puttin lipstick on?” Spider-Man said, folding his arms. “Who you tryna kiss?”
“Yuh, you beb!” she said. “Shit.”
Spider-Man danced up to her and they kissed.
He told me more about Janet’s crimes.
She was laughing the whole time.
He told m
e about how he and Janet and his friend Tony used to steal DVDs from video rental places.
Tony was also in a wheelchair.
Spider-Man would go into a videostore pushing him, acting like they didn’t know Janet, who’d go in a few minutes later.
Then Tony would knock over a display case and Spider-Man would apologize to the employees and help them clean it up while Janet put stacks of DVDs in her wheelchair and left — Spider-Man and Tony following soon after.
All in all they stole about 300 DVDs at different places.
I was laughing.
Spider-Man said, “Nah, but man, Tony, he was my best friend, man. I loved him. He just died like — shit — three days ago.”
His eyes got a little more red and watery.
When I asked what happened, Spider-Man just said Tony had gotten really sick, had sores on his legs all the way into the bone, couldn’t breathe.
“His body just didn’t wanna do it anymore,” he said. “But nah, he ok now.”
He explained how Tony was in a wheelchair since the age of 10, when he got shot in the head by a stray bullet.
Spider-Man looked at Janet. “He knew what it was like to walk, see? He remembers. You don’t. You couldn’t even dream about it because you never knew. See?”
Janet ignored him, playing blackjack on her phone again, the music loud.
I smelled s’mores.
She looked up and said, “Oh, shuh, shit. Fock dat.” She looked at me. “No, doe worry. Iss, muh, my problem. Shit.”
She backed into the wall a few times, made a few wrong turns, then used the automatic door and went inside the library.
Spider-Man sat in the woodchips and plugged in his phone, started playing a game.
The music was funny.
Quest music.
Made my heart beat harder.
Made me want to quest so bad.
Fuck yeah.
Any quest.
Me and whoever.
Me by myself.
I don’t care if I die.
If I go on a quest and it kills me, oh well, that’s how I want it.
I sat down in the woodchips next to Spider-Man.
“Love this game,” he said, sniffing a few times. “Called Blood Brothers. You gotta run through valleys and shit, fuckin fight monsters and snakes. Scrazy man. Fuckin bananas. I got this fuckin sword, you gotta be kiddin me! Fuckin crystal sword, dahhhh.”