Fire Down Below

by Debra Anastasia

  And he was. He was smiling at her despite her lousy job. He was smiling at her even though he knew she had vaginal problems.

  “Good. Because I may’ve had to beat the crap out of you if you weren’t.” She let him keep his hand in hers, enjoying the attention of a real, non-Twitter man.

  The two sat quietly on the park bench, and Dove liked it. If she sat perfectly still, neither could ruin the moment. He seemed to feel the change as well as they watched two squirrels bound about in front of them.

  The squirrels were adorable and brave, jumping close to Dove and Johnson—maybe because they were motionless.

  Dove wanted to comment on the Disneyesque scene in front of them but kept her words on the tip of her tongue, not wanting to spoil the quiet. The two squirrels sat side by side, each a mirror of the other, munching on acorns in their paws. With their fuzzy faces and sweet, black eyes, they reminded Dove of exactly why she loved the park. Next to her, Johnson sighed in contentment.

  The male squirrel dropped his nut and jumped quickly behind the female squirrel.

  Oh dear God! Don’t do it. You horny little bastard!

  The male squirrel refused to read Dove’s mind and started climbing on the female squirrel.

  Dove heard Johnson’s groan of disgust as the male began the motions of copulation. She shook her head.

  Fucking figures.

  The tender new feelings between Dove and this handsome man were now spoiled with the obscene visual of the hairy rodents humping.

  Johnson had to comment. “Wow. Squirrels usually engage in some style of MATING dance.” He looked around the park for other examples to prove his point. “Much like humans, they’re attracted to the smell of the GENITALS and fancy tail motions.”

  Dove tried to figure out where she belonged in this conversation that he apparently thought was acceptable small talk. The obscene, public intercourse ended with one final, furry pump. The female never even dropped her nut.

  “Well, I guess that was a dinner date.” Dove covered her mouth and shook her head. She prayed for a flock of hungry hawks to swoop in and eat the little Snow White porn stars so she and Mr. Gorgeouspants could just stop talking about nether regions for a minute.

  “This time of the year, NUTS are more important than anything else. To a squirrel, that is.” Johnson played with his tie in a way that told Dove he had hardly worn one before.

  He seemed to be deep in thought before an idea hit him. “Oh. Your lunch! You had to throw it out because of me! Can I buy you something?”

  Dove thought of throwing her cell phone at the Chip ’n’ Dale imposters in front of them. The boy was getting a twinkle in his eye again. His fat-assed girlfriend would never run when she was having a nut chow down. She would take it like the whore she was.

  “Um. I have to get back to the ride. My break’s like fifteen minutes.” Dove checked her phone out of habit.

  “No. Look, there’s a hot dog stand over there. I’ll be right back.” He was up and crossing the grass purposefully before Dove could tell him to stop. She slid her phone back into her pocket.

  Weiner Wonderland was wheeled into the park at ten thirty in the morning and wheeled out at nine thirty at night. Sal never changed his gloves once in all that time. He never left to use the bathroom, either. To the ladies who purchased his hot dogs, he would always hand them over with a sneer. He watched them eat and licked his lips as if they were latching onto his penis instead of processed meat.

  Dove never, ever ate a dog from his cart. If she did indulge in a tube steak, it was in her own apartment, on a hot dog bun with nothing on it. Plain, plain, plain. She hated to have any food on her plate touch one another. Soon enough, Johnson was headed back to her with a soda and Sal’s wiener with everything on it.

  Sal was wiggling his one, long unibrow, licking his lips in anticipation of her mouth coming in contact with his meat. Dove’s stomach rolled at the thought of even putting the oily hot dog in her hands.

  Johnson had a huge gait, like he was stepping over little towns of fairies and it brought him back to her with his prize quickly. Dove looked at the ominous dog. It was sloppy—piled high with relish, mustard, ketchup, and some brown chunks Sal insisted was chili.

  “I didn’t know what you like, so I got you everything.” Johnson extended the dog to her.

  “That’s a great policy when you’re shopping in a jewelry store. Not so much for Sal and his wieners.” Dove cringed but accepted the meat.

  Johnson looked crestfallen. “Look at me—mistake after mistake. I can’t get it right.”

  Dove hated to see him dejected. “No, it’s great. I’m starving. Ejecting the contents of my stomach has really brought out the bear in me.”

  She lifted the hot dog to her mouth and tried not to smell it. In her peripheral vision, she saw Sal put his gloved hands down his pants. She snapped off a small bite and chewed as quickly as she could.

  Johnson popped the top of her soda and held it out to her like a gentleman. She guzzled the cold soda to wash away the traces of the meat down her hatch.

  “I’m glad you’re eating, I was afraid I had ruined your lunch.” Johnson rubbed his hands together, smiling at her.

  “This is so much better than nothing. No, really. I love penis-shaped meat.” Dove tried to gag down another bite but switched to more soda.

  Stop saying penis, you fart fruit.

  “You hate it. I’m a jerk. What time do you get off? I need to make this up to you.” He sat down next to her.

  Dove wondered if this was the pharmacist asking her on a date. @Lotsa_Vampersex would’ve started gyrating and popping buttons off her shirt.

  But Dove was reserved. “I get off around seven. I have to wipe down the horses.”

  Johnson looked over at the carousel. “You have to groom the fake horses?”

  Dove tried not to look at the oozing hot dog. Sal was dry-humping his hot dog cart. Again.

  “No, I have to antibacterial them. Children are filthy.” She bit her lip.

  Now she sounded like a child racist. Or an age racist. Or some withered-ovary shrew.

  “Children are germ carriers.” He seemed to be trying to continue her odd train of thought.

  Dove sought to ease the tension with another bite of the meat. Johnson grimaced as the toppings dripped down her chin. She wiped them off with her sleeve.

  Sal’s humping reached a fever pitch. Johnson looked over his shoulder to see what was causing the banging-on-metal noise.

  After witnessing the spectacle, he turned back to Dove. She had downed another huge gulp of her drink, hoping whatever corrosive acid in soda that rots teeth in minutes would also kill the festering germs Sal had added to her dog.

  “Do you think that vendor’ll be okay?” Johnson ran a hand through his perfect hair.

  Dove’s punishment for her turbo drinking was another epic burp. She refused to release it.

  Better to have it go out the back than out the mouth.

  Dove tried to find a solution. “Yeah, he’ll be all right. He has groinal seizures?”

  Did I just say that out loud?

  The medical nerd in Johnson perked up. “Really? I wonder if that’s a side effect of any medicines he’s taking.”

  He got lost in his contemplation. Marge was waving at Dove with her horrible romance novel. There was a crappy-looking little kid holding a red ticket.

  “Well, thanks for the lunch. I’ve got to go do my thing.” Dove thought it’d be rude to throw away the hot dog with only two bites taken out of it.

  She juggled her soda so she could hold out her hand.

  Johnson stood and gave her a forceful shake. “I’ll be back at seven. Thanks, Dove, for not pressing charges or anything about the whole yogurt incident.”

  “You, too. Okay. Later. Bye.” You, too? What the hell am I saying?

  Dove rushed back to her spot by the gate and set her gift hot dog from Johnson down on her little folding chair.

  The crappy child
held his ticket up to her while staring with his big, blue, blinky eyes. He had the chubby cheeks of good health. Dove hated the chubby cheeks; in her experience, those little bastards filled their diapers every third breath.

  Without fail, his mother took a shaky, unfocused cell phone picture of Cheeks and waved at him every single time he came around on the ride. Dove didn’t like how the hot dog kept repeating itself, battling with the soda for the dominance of her tongue.

  Little Chubs McShitty had indeed honked one off on the horse. Luckily, his pants held in his mess. He began the epic fling, fly, cry when Dove put his little feet by the exit. The mother thanked her and called the awful stench “stinky poopy poos,” which didn’t make it smell any less like a drunk trucker just took a man-sized dump in the direct vicinity. After the little bastard left with his mom, Dove spent the rest of her time tweeting and contemplating her date with Mr. Fitzwell.

  I mean, it had to be a date, right?

  She decided to tease her Twitter followers:

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  Don’t get jealous. I have a date tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll still be dreaming of u.

  The ride had very few customers. Dove eventually threw out her hot dog because the flies were starting to make the unappetizing thing look even worse. She tried to avoid looking at Sal because he’d take a limp dog and wiggle it in her direction when he caught her eye.

  Never again, Sal. Never again.

  Dove dipped into her purse and refreshed her lip gloss and fluffed her hair. It was now six forty-five and Johnson would be back soon. She wished she had time to go back and put her nice underwear on.

  Get real, Dove. You haven’t had a date that didn’t involve a keyboard in…

  She sighed when she realized she wasn’t exactly sure she was smart enough to do the math on that one.

  It’s better this way. No time to get all anal and second-guess myself.

  She got a horrible stomach cramp.

  Stupid Sal. That hot dog’s going through me like a freight train.

  Dove felt the traveling gas bubble that her soda addiction often gave her.

  Damn it. I better pop this one off before Johnson shows up. Don’t want it to still be lingering when he arrives.

  Another sharp cramp made her grab her stomach.

  Oh. No.

  She began feeling the feverish chills.

  If that fucker gave me food poisoning, I’ll drown him in that hot dog water.

  The gas bubble competed with the cramps for mastery of her anus.

  This isn’t going to be good.

  Dove gave a small push hoping for a tiny fart and was alarmed at the forceful boom from her bottom. She was about to tell Marge that she was going to have to cut out early when she unlocked her phone and Twitter came up on her screen. Out of habit, she checked her replies. The boys were sad she had a date. She loved toying with them.

  Johnson’s voice caused her to jump and fart at the same time. She was hoping her little scream of surprise drowned out the unladylike noise.

  He was in front of her, finishing his sentence, so she tried to tune in.

  “…you do the Twitter? So do I. What’s your handle? I’m new at it. I just picked my birthday and combined them with my favorite drug. I love numbers.”

  He was talking and laughing while holding the handle of a huge cooler on wheels.

  I sharted when he scared me. Oh my God. Kill me.

  Dove tried to pretend that she hadn’t just shit her pants. Johnson hadn’t noticed. He was still happy to have a Twitter connection to her.

  “My Twitter is @06201984M358. I know, right? Who can remember that?” He stood there shaking his head.

  Dove stood stock-still; she didn’t want to stir anything up. But it was only a matter of time before it was very, very obvious something foul was afoot.

  Or ashit.

  “Well, sorry I’m a little early. I have a problem with worrying whether or not my clock’s right. Sometimes when I wear these pants, my watch goes a bit slower.”

  He smiled to reveal glamorous teeth. When she didn’t respond, he shrugged.

  “Do you smell that? Oh God, it’s awful.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

  Dove gave him the first lie she could think of. “A crappy kid crapped his pants.” She tried to curl her shoulders around her face.

  “Well, that’s what crappy kids do. It’s still lingering. That’s one ripe kid.”

  Dove felt her panties squish. Another cramp reared its head, wanting to burst out seeing that her digestive system had gotten started.

  “He was disgusting. Children are the devil.”

  Go away beautiful man. Just walk away.

  He raised his eyebrow at her harsh statement. “You’re rough on the kids, huh? Well, anyway. I bought you a new cooler. Look, it has wheels. I noticed how big your last one was, so I upgraded you. You could fit the hugest lunch in here!”

  He dragged it around like a dog on a leash. The cooler was humongous. Dove tried not to move.

  “Man, that stench is just hanging here like a fiend, right?” Johnson waved his hand in front of his face.

  Dove nodded.

  “Okay. Well, just wanted to drop this off and apologize again. I better get going. Thanks a lot for being here. At your job. I’m going to run, ’cause honestly, that smell’s making me nauseous.”

  Dove nodded and waved. He waited for her to say more, but she just covered her face with her hand. Soon she heard his retreating steps. He didn’t want a date; he wanted to give her the biggest cooler in existence. She’d crapped her pants and acted like a baby-hating, nonverbal, ungrateful, stinky bitch.

  This is really where a meteor could fall on my head, and I’d be okay with that. They could even use this cooler as my coffin.

  Dove waddled through her locking-up-the-carousel procedures with a wiggle and a squish. She mentally reviewed her options and realized she had very few. She couldn’t drive home sitting in her own mess.

  Luckily, she remembered that she had a manatee-patterned beach towel in the trunk of her car. She rolled her new cooler to her car and spent an ungodly time trying to fit it somewhere in her small interior.

  I’m going to have to tie this bitch to the roof!

  She hefted the huge monster on top of her car and popped the trunk to get the new piece of her outfit.

  The cement bathroom at the park was a chilly, drafty, spidery place. The old gentlemen who cleaned it twice a week was not known for getting into all the cracks and crevices. Dove cleaned herself up as best she could and realized quickly there was no salvaging the bottom half of her ensemble. She didn’t want to flush her panties and pants down the toilet. It was one thing to toss a tampon or two down the hatch, but a whole other story to ask the drain to handle a grown woman’s pants.

  After quickly running out of options, Dove turned her pants and underwear into the most disgusting sushi roll in the world and tucked it into the little maxi-pad mailbox in the stall.

  More like crammed that fucker in.

  She wrapped her naked ass in the towel and put her sneakers back on. Dove wrung her hands and shook her head at the thought of the kindly old janitor pulling that nonsense out next time he cleaned the crappers.

  She caught herself in the scratched up piece of tin that sufficed as a mirror. Black socks and tennis shoes really completed the I-just-escaped-from-a-mental-hospital chic Dove knew she had nailed. She was glad, at the very least, that her stomach seemed to have settled.

  She tried to make her bright, blue beach towel and herself blend into her surroundings.

  Be the trees. Be the trees.

  A loud, slow wolf whistle rang through the air like a siren. Dove looked around wildly for its source, hoping she was being paranoid and it wasn’t meant for her. But she wasn’t. Sal the Weiner Wonderman was in a frenzy over her towel. Black socks and sneakers were apparently his favorite foot fetish. The humping of the cart began again. But this time with every push
of his crazed hips, he moved his cart closer to her.

  Hump, push. Hump, push.

  She was being pursued by Sal, his unibrow, and his cart. Dove gripped her towel tighter, feeling more naked now than she did when she was actually naked.

  She knew she should have tried to secure the cooler while still in her shitty pants because now she had to drive with her hand out the driver’s side window, holding onto the cooler for dear life.

  I’m going to get pulled over. I just fucking know it.

  Dove drove as slowly as she could and took stops with the gentlest touch of her break. Still, she had to concentrate hard on keeping the cooler from toppling off and becoming a huge road hazard. And she was hungry and it sucked because she knew she was supposed to get food at the store tonight. There was not a damn thing to eat in her cabinets. She had a great idea and rolled into the local McDonald’s.

  Their drive-thru sits low; no one will notice me.

  Of course, it was a poor plan. She ordered her meal and pulled up to the server’s window. The teenage boy took in the whole scene she presented. He said nothing as he accepted her credit card, but she figured out he had an opinion when he handed her the sack of food.

  “Miss, do you want me to put this straight into your cooler, or are you going to take it right to the beach?”

  Dove rolled her eyes and tossed the food on her passenger seat. The stupid boy-bitch had a good idea, and when she parked in front of her building, she put the McDonald’s in the cooler and slapped the lid closed. If she could just get up to her apartment without anyone seeing her and without dropping her manatee towel, she’d be golden.

  Well, as golden as you can be when you shit your pants.

  She managed to get the cooler off the car and drag it into the foyer, manatee towel firmly secure. Dove’s entire social group was contained within the building. The first and last person she had to deal with was Duke. He lived on the ground floor and left his door open. Always.

  He didn’t like closing the bathroom door, either, so Dove always made sure she knocked before she went into his apartment to talk to him. She wanted to sneak upstairs quietly, but she found the cooler was too big for her stairwell.