by Daniel Kraus
. Bottle a Scotchgard he must a bought back when he had a car. Tube a paste called Kwik Seal Plus that says
* * *
Also Lysol and Borax and Oxi Clean and D Con Rat Killer and Raid Max Concentrated Deep Reach Fogger. Do all adults collect poisonous stuff like a hobby? Once youre grown I guess you spend a lot a time thinking about junk in your life you oughta scrub away. But for a fat boy sitting on the can right now diarrheaing out his last meal its a impressive spread. He did his part. I got to give him that. Time I do mine.
* * *
Bowls. Whered they go? Dang. Theyre drowned in the foul ass sink. Being clean doesnt matter though so I set out each bowl on the table and fill each a them with chemical. It burns. Didnt expect so bad a burn. Eyes are burning and nostrils are burning and lungs are burning and the skin by my fingernails is burning too. The positive side is that the fumes clear my mind better than yoga breaths and now Im floating. Pouring and burning and floating and smiling too even though my teeth ache cold.
* * *
Midget helps unwrap candies cuz thats the sort a stuff is super enjoyable for a young ass child. Then we dip. Dip in, dip out. Doesnt take much thinking. Real simple. Our skin is irritating though so I fetch spoons from the sink to dip more safe. Just like doing easter eggs is what I tell Midge and that makes it funner. I instruct little sister how to do it perfect and she catches on good. She doesnt even fuss much when one a her flypaper flies falls in a chemical and croaks. I fetch us a fork too cuz it helps make holes in the candies so the chemicals soak better. We work it fast. Fast and simple.
* * *
Robbie comes in and has a brown towel around his fat belly and shaving cream on his fat face. He doesnt look our way. He takes a bottle a Mad Dog hes got hid above the fridge and takes a big old pull before he leaves. Hes not acting normal so I sneak a bathroom peek. Fat boys shaving close. Blood running wild and dots of toilet paper stuck all across his cheeks. Second time I peek hes got underwear on the bottom and on top a shirt Ive never seen thats got buttons and a collar. Third time I peek he has a tie and hes trying to tie it. Thats when the itch comes right back outta the fumes. A tie? I never expected to see Robbie in a tie till he was in a coffin.
* * *
Midget finishes chemicalling candies by herself cuz watching Robbie style himself has captivated my ass while the itch keeps growing. Robbies no good at elegant stuff. His tie knots a big loose fatty. Colognes spilled all across the counter grime. Belts too small cuz a his unbelievable fat. Whole time hes wheezing like hes nervous as hell so about once a minute he does a shot a Mad Dog and follows it up with a shot a mouthwash to hide it.
* * *
Puking and pooping uncontrollable isnt a good way for a man to go out. Robbie needs to zen out if events are gonna go better than they went with #69 Kyle Ketchum. So I hatch a idea and visit the garage bachelors den and bring inside the boombox and the Illustrated World Encyclopedia of Guns and fat boys all time favorite number one CD. I put the Illustrated World Encyclopedia of Guns on top a the CD lid but when I press play it just skips and skips and I get a ill stomach same as Robbie.
* * *
Guess who saves the day? Midget. She removes the Illustrated World Encyclopedia of Guns and picks up the CD with her chemical burn fingers and squints her red fume eyes at a bunch a brown spots on the bottom I think are Natural Light. Little sister yanks out a poof a her green sweaties between the flypapers like shes yanking out intestines and she uses the poof to wipe the CD real fastidious. Sister gives it back and this time when I press play it plays.
* * *
Must a heard this CD a million times back in the day. Hated it a million times too. I dont know, man, Barenaked Ladies just isnt my jam. But I play that junk to soothe out Robbie and Im straight up stunned how good it works. Robbie hears it and grips the bathroom sink and gives his styled ass a long hard look in the mirror and sighs out a big steady sigh. I bet hes thinking what Ive been thinking. Dont think too much. Do things simple. He closes the toilet cuz he wont be needing a toilet anymore.
* * *
He plops his fat ass on the lid and dresses himself in nice pants and nice socks and regular ass shoes and then sets to buttoning his buttons which he has a hard time with. I watch Robbie how I expect a child watches his pops when his pops is prepping for work. Something happens. Im not sure when exactly. But at some point I start feeling feelings. Robbie, his nice ass clothes, the Barenaked Ladies. Them fools are singing about growing up and how its scary and challenging and whatnot. But its like theyre singing about Robbie who didnt grow up good but was all right as a child till he woke up one day old and strange. Dang, yo. Look at that. Barenaked Ladies put real ass emotions to musical song.
* * *
One things for sure. Midgets not gonna see her brother crying anymore like a pussy. I take the whole table a candies, not including the apples cuz Dag was right that idea was idiotical, and pour them in a bag thats clean except how I just pulled Robbies dirty laundry out, and once the candies are mixed even I cant tell whats razor bladed or sharp glassed or drugged or chemicaled or what. I give the bag to Midge for holding and I go out the front door and take a long breath that goes down cold as supermilk.
* * *
Only instead of things going nice and chill things focus up sharp. Theres no fumes out here. No steam from Robbies shower either. I count five or six or seven trick or treaters carrying bags down the way. Ones a Batman, ones a Transformer, and ones a Little Pony. One I notice special cuz shes hauling ass for Robbies place like shes got a magical hunch weve got the goods.
* * *
If that girls our first treater, I dont want to see her face, all right? Not yet, okay? Id prefer about anything else to look at so I check my sneaks and sitting right there is that shriveled ass jackolantern nobody had the decency to chuck. Its how Midget left it with duck tape over the holes to keep her pumpkin bug friends locked inside. But the air out here has me thinking clear. What the hells little sister doing? If youve got friends, you cant be sealing them up. You got to let them escape your sorry ass pumpkin world.
* * *
I lift my snowboot and smash. Orange guts go blasting. I stomp till its flat and bugs are scrambling off like theyre lifted. Theyre free now to live their stupid bug lives and it was the right thing to do but that doesnt mean Im not sad. Moms bought this pumpkin for me and now that its squashed it reminds me a Moms worse than ever. Am I even gonna see Moms and her bedsore ass after tonight? No, Jody, dont think on that. You think on that too long and you end up in a room without any color except the beautiful papers your best bitch mails you.
* * *
The trick or treat girls clopping up the walk now. Theres no dodge to be had. This is my thing now. I own it. I whisper to myself the best bull I can and it comes out like a prayer, like Dick Trickle got his God stuff stuffed inside my brain. Prayer goes something like how each a the children thatll be swallowing our candies has a soul, right? Maybe I can catch them souls to plug up the holes I have inside me that normal kids dont have. And maybe thats some selfish ass behavior. But who knows whats right or wrong when it come to souls. No way it can be good letting them go to waste.
* * *
Doesnt matter much in the end cuz when I get brave enough to look I see the girl isnt no trick or treater anyhow. This shorty here I recognize easy as pie even though shes sporting a costume that cant hardly even be believed.
The Fly
It happens all the time in movies. Some boys tuxedoed up and waiting to take his ho to prom and all of a sudden she shows up at the top a the stairs so banging the camera has to slow way down so we can appreciate the dress and the shoes and the hair and the face and the tits and the booty and everything. Its a super magical
moment.
* * *
Thats how it goes with Dag. No fooling. She stops right in front a Robbies door and even though her face is painted up silver I can tell shes going slow motion to see if I think shes beautiful. Theres no fronting required on that. My fool heads nodding. Just nodding and nodding cuz I never saw anything so beautiful in my whole life. She smiles and my heads about to pop clean off cuz it reminds me how Dags the whole package, beautiful for sure, Id hit that no doubt, but also full a intellect and imaginative and helpful and talented. Shes a clever bitch too cuz her secret ass costume is nothing like I guessed. No princess, no fairy, none a that predictable boring ass business.
* * *
Shes done herself up like a fly. Fly arms and fly wings and fly eyes and the whole thing so sparkly it hurts to look. But think on it. Thats how flies are. They sparkle in the sun same as ticks sparkle on a dog with the main difference that flies dont suck blood, theyre flying free. This outft isnt something Dags folks bought at no store. Girlfriend invented this all by her dang self.
* * *
Shortys got six arms. Two real arms plus four skinny fly arms. When I look close I spot the tiny yellow numbers that inform me its pipe insulation. The reason I know about pipe insulation is one time Robbie purchased a bunch. I dont know why. To insulate some pipes, I guess? Fat boy never insulated nothing though so me and Midget devised famous swords from Middle Earth. Pipe insulation makes sweet ass swords but let me promise you a fact. It makes fly arms even better.
* * *
On Dags head shes sporting big fly eyes built out a what looks like styrofoam plus ten tons a red glitter. Glitter all over her outfit too and her shoes as well and also the ground. For real, theres a whole trail of glitter from where she came from and thats the most magical thing of all cuz Yellow Streets the most ugly ass street you ever knew but now its glittering. Come morning, that glitter will be gone down the sewer but tonight? Tonight Dag did something special for all our asses.
* * *
Dag does a slow twirl. On her back shes attached fly wings and theyre as gorgeous as any stuff made in the history of stuff. Its so gorgeous I choke like a chump. Theyre sculptured out a wire but Dag bent it all intricate so it has designs like maple leafs and ocean waves and fiery flames. Stretched across the wire is something thin and glisteny like saran wrap and when the breeze blows it flutters like the most delicate thing.
* * *
The wings are attached with beautiful bows to a black leotard so tight you can see through it to Dags bod, except Dag markered the leotard in silver all strategic so you cant peep no nips or bush. Mostly she markered spirals. Spiral tits, spiral shoulders, spiral elbows, spiral bellybutton, spiral knees, spiral booty, and between the spirals she markered even smaller spirals so if you search too hard for nudity you just get dizzy. Trust me on this!
* * *
Dag lifts up her natural arms and her four fake arms come up too cuz theyre connected with strings. It takes me a sec cuz Im a dumb ass, but I realize shes saying come get a hug. That touches my heart and whatnot cuz I havent been feeling the love from Dag since that rough business went down with Gwendolyn.
* * *
Before I go in for the hug Im real thankful I threw my Grishnákh stuff at Robbie cuz that would a been some weak ass Halloween disguise next to this. Besides, man, I can do better than Grishnákh. Tonight Im the biggest hero of all. Im Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, rightful claimant to the thrones of Arnor and Gondor, and Dags the Half Elf Arwen, youngest child of Elrond of Rivendell, the High Elves last Evenstar and granddaughter of Lady Galadriel. Sure its a shame we cant retire our asses among the Rohirrim near the forest Fangorn where we can plant junk and plow junk and drink fresh goat milk and have intercourse all over the dang farm. But theres a bigger battle and we been called to fight. Thats not a choice. Thats destiny and me and Dag are stuck in it.
* * *
The hug isnt for me though. Dag glides right by. One a my fingers touches her body or her thorax or whatever you call it and thats the best feel I can cop. I turn around and theres Midget. Little sisters standing on the other side the screen door like she forgot what planet shes on. Eyes big as hell. Hands hanging like bricks. Hair glued up in flypaper and she dont even care a hoot.
* * *
I get it. I get it now. Dag didnt invent and design this costume for me. Didnt keep it on the DL for me either. Dag did this, all this, for Midge, she did it for little sister, and when Dag opens the door and steps her insect ass inside I follow behind cuz even though I been left out a the whole hug situation I got a feeling this might be the most important emotional moment I ever see.
* * *
Midgets the flypaper. Dags the fly. When they wrap their eight arms around each other it makes a duck tape sound cuz a how flypapers stick to pipe insulation. Dag asks Midge real soft if she knows flypaper has arsenic in it. Yo, for real? I didnt know that myself. That seems like important wisdom to know.
* * *
Dagflys exactly who Midges been waiting for since the day I first knew her foster ass and she puts her whispery mouth to Dags ear and all the secrets Midges got stored up all this time comes pouring out like dog blood, like pumpkin guts, and Dags eyes pop like shes shocked and then go sad like shes sad and then go thoughtful. I shut the door behind us and lean on it and observe the whole living room scene real respectful and listen to the musical geniuses Barenaked Ladies do their last song. Cant hear a word my girlies are whispering but thats all right. Thats all right. I feel pretty dang lucky just to be here.
Lotte,
Your fish are dead. Surprise. They’ve been dead the whole time. Right after Mama and Papa locked you up, they decreed the Big Flush. Morrissey, Johnny, Andy, and Mike went loop de loop until they took the big waterslide to the sewer. Mama didn’t think I could care for them properly while juggling my copious activities. I cried like a little brat back then, but Mama was right. If something’s destined to croak, don’t let it swim around forever suffering. You’re the one who said the Clinic is a fish bowl. Do you wish the docs would give you the Big Flush?
I didn’t finish your last letter. I got to the part where you said you were “acutely concerned” about me, and laughed until I cried and the letter got too soggy to read, although I give you props for scrounging up flowered stationery in the Clinic. You realize that’s where you live, right? And what that makes you? I have the highest grade point average in my class. I’m the president of six clubs. I’m athletic and artistic. I’m a B-cup. I’m beautiful.
I can do anything I want.
When Mrs. Rivers my dance teacher claps like a retarded seal, I imagine she’s trying to put out the fire I set to her dress. When Mr. Homewood the gymnastics coach tells me to run the routine again, I imagine doing it naked like I know he wants, so I can watch him cry in shame over his boner. When Ms. Tubb my Quiz Bowl coach says, “What’s the capital of Botswana?” I say “Gaborone,” but what I hear from my mouth is, “How much wine do you have to drink, Ms. Tubb, to live with being this pathetic?”
Wow, am I looking forward to not pretending anymore.
The same thing happened to Robbie. People dumped praise on him for insignificant achievements until he got drunk on it. Gee, he carried a brown ball over an arbitrary line of paint?! You should see this scrapbook Robbie has. It’s loaded with articles drooling over how astounding he was. Where’s all those reporters now? Slobbering all over some new boy carrying a new ball, that’s where.
Letting Robbie believe he was somebody ruined his life. I won’t let it ruin mine. My scrapbook’s like a tick about to pop. It’s three times the size of Robbie’s, which means it’s three times as hazardous. Lotte, let’s not forget your scrapbook was a big juicy tick too before Mama mysteriously “misplaced it,” and hmmm, how did life work out for you, ha ha ha?
One day Jody wondered if his mom kept a scrapbook of him, and I asked if he’d ever done anything worth putting in a book. He looked sad, but really he should
be proud. Realizing your “accomplishments” are fake is what growing up feels like. The pitiful thing is most people never realize it. The only non-fake thing you ever did, Lotte, the only thing you ever did for you, was try to kill yourself. You did a crummy job of it, but I respect you gave it the old college try.
I’m not going to pussy out like you did. They’re going to need a lot more than one stomach pump to fix what we’re going to do. Remember in my first letter I said I didn’t have any dark secrets? I sure do now. Robbie had an idea that’s going to educate this town on how you don’t mess up kids and expect they won’t mess you up back. I think Robbie was joking when he came up with it, but it felt like my skin caught on fire. He’d have dropped it, but I kept bringing it back up. I encouraged him, complimented him. Pretty soon it wasn’t a joke, and best of all, Robbie believed he’d planned the whole thing himself without any help from anyone, which, as you know, is critical when you’re dealing with males.
What would you think if you looked down your sweet little sister’s throat and all you saw were miles of rusty pipe? Is that a strange thing to ask? I have thoughts like this all the time and never tell anyone, not even Jody. My heart is a crow with oily black feathers. Does it take a crazy person like you to make sense of a crazy thing like that? My eyeballs are filled with dog fangs. Did your eyes ever feel like they could bite?
When you do hear what we did, you won’t approve. I daresay you’ll be “acutely concerned.” Watch out, Lotte! Those doctors are turning you back into the robot girl you used to be. The robot girl I pretend to be. I hope one day, when we’re both locked up in different places, you’ll think of what I did, and why I did it, and who I am, and I hope truly and sincerely that you’ll feel pride.
If you don’t, well, whatever. I absorbed you a long time ago, just like The Glenn will absorb Yellow Street, just like “The Blob.” Remember that movie? It was a whole lot better than “Deadgirl,” “Antichrist,” and “Martyrs,” which I did watch but only made me feel sorry for you. Those movies are no fun at all. I have fun all the time. Don’t you wish you were me, ha ha ha?