The Spectacular Simon Burchwood

by Scott Semegran

  "Simon, did you know that all vested state employees have their own American Express business card?" Snaggle said, his hand giving his balls a rough and tumble, right in front Lydia and myself. She had a look of disgust on her face. It's true. I was utterly embarrassed.

  "Really?"

  "Yup."

  "And why would YOU have a state-issued American Express business card?"

  "In case I have to go buy computer parts."

  "I see."

  "But I never use it. Ever."

  "And?"

  "We should use it now and get a suite or something."

  "A suite?"

  "Why not?" For one, brief, infinitesimal moment, the snaggly bastard had something there. Why not? The eternal question. There was no way I would get in trouble for Snaggle's indecent proposal. It was his state-issued credit card, not mine. Why not turn lemons into lemonade, as my grandfather used to always say to me. "I'll just tell Rod someone stole my credit card. He won't care."

  "Let's do it," I said. I turned to Lydia. "We'd like a suite, please."

  "We don't have any suites, sir," she said, snickering. "We have one room size with either one bed or two beds."

  "Fine. We'll take a room with two beds and a roll-out bed."

  Lydia began furiously typing away at her computer, filling in information, asking me things she didn't know, typing some more. She was on a mission to get back to being by herself, probably to hide in the office and carve things into her bare legs. That's what young women do, you know? When they are miserable and they hate their lives and their parents and their selfish boyfriends, they carve shit into their bare arms and legs for attention. It's true. She eventually completed her typing and handed me a couple of electronic room keys and thanked us for staying at her crappy hotel.

  "Where's Gina?" I asked.

  "She said she needed something from the convenience store and would meet us at the room."

  "When a young woman with... spiky hair comes in, can you tell her what room we're in?" I asked.

  Lydia the Depressed Giant nodded, turned around, then quickly vanished into the office behind the reception desk. That would be the last I ever saw of Lydia the Depressed Giant. I wasn't going to miss her, not one bit. Fortunately for me, Snaggle had loaded our bags onto one of those hotel carts that valets use to lug your shit around in expensive hotels. But there were no valets at this crappy Holiday Inn. Snaggle was MY valet. I motioned for him to follow me and the dumb bastard grabbed the valet cart and pushed it behind me, broken front wheel and all. It rattled and clanked like it was going to disintegrate into a million pieces. It's true. We were looking for room 325, our luxury little room for the night.

  We found the closest elevator, stepped inside, Snaggle pulling the beat up cart behind him, and I pushed the number "3" button. The doors slid shut.

  "I've never stayed the night in Dallas before," Snaggle said, one hand holding the cart steady, his other hand plunging into his pocket for his tortured testicles. If that bastard didn't quit tossing his nuts, then he was going to give himself nut cancer. It's true.

  "Yeah, it's going to be a blast," I said, sarcastically.

  "We'll make it fun."

  "Whatever you say, buddy. Nothing about this trip has been fun."

  The elevator dinged when we reached the third floor. After the doors slid open and we entered the hallway, it was clear there weren't too many guests there that night. The hallway was pretty barren and absolutely quiet, the kind of quiet you encounter at a wake in a church. As we walked down the hall, the most noise we heard was from the broken front wheel on the valet cart, shaking back and forth as Snaggle pushed it. It sounded like the goddamn wheel was going to fly off, sending our luggage crashing to the floor. But for some reason, that thing held itself together until we found our room. Room 325. I slid the electronic key in the lock and after a few failed attempts, the door unlocked and I opened it. Inside, it was the lap of goddamn luxury. All that was in there was one king size bed, a chair, and a small dresser with the crappiest TV I had seen in years, the perfect complement to the crappy Holiday Inn. It was fucking pathetic. It's true.

  "Only one bed? Where are you going to sleep?" I asked Snaggle. He looked confused yet excited. As far as I could tell, he didn't really care. He was just glad to be away from home.

  "I get the roll-out bed!" he said, propping the door open with the valet cart and unloading our bags, tossing them on the floor without a care in the world.

  Down the hall, I heard the elevator bell ding and some heavy footsteps running in our direction. It was Porcupine with a case of beer under one arm and a carton of cigarettes under the other. She was ready for something. What she was ready for, I didn't know.

  "Is this where the party is?!" she asked, barging into the room. "What the fuck? Only one bed?" she asked.

  "Ryan called the roll-out bed."

  "Then it looks like you get the floor, Simon," she said, jumping on the bed then sitting down, her party supplies in front of her. She took off her shoes, tossed them on the floor, and made herself at home. "Who wants a beer?"

  "I do!" Snaggle said, jumping on the bed and plopping down right next to Porcupine. "I told Simon we should have fun."

  "Well, I want to thank you boys for showing me some hospitality. I really appreciate you giving me a ride this far and letting me stay in a nice hotel rather than sleeping in an alley somewhere. Let's make a toast," she said, ripping open the case of beer, the cans spilling out on the comforter.

  "A toast to what?" I asked, sitting on the bed. The three of us sat there in a circle on that king size bed like a group of junior high kids getting ready to have a slumber party, only I never had a girl at any slumber party I had when I was a kid. That would have been an outright, blasphemous, goddamn thing to do as a 12 year old boy. Even though girls were our objects of affection, they were never allowed in our private boy clubs at that age. My good ol' buddy Jason would have had a heart attack back then. Actually, he probably would have a heart attack right now. Even though Porcupine had a bizarre way of dressing, she really was a beautiful girl. It's true. "Actually, I'd like to apologize for..."

  "Apologize? For what?" Gina asked.

  "For not being honest about this trip."

  "I can't believe you lied to Rod about your grandmother. He's going to flip his lid!" Snaggle said, laughing and hemming and hawing all over the goddamn place like a goddamn idiot. As far as I could tell, he was a goddamn idiot. It's true.

  "How is Rod going to find out about it?!"

  "Boys? Boys?! Cut it out," Gina said, placing her hands on both of us as if to separate two wild dogs. We were the furthest thing from two wild dogs. We were two nerds from Austin, Texas. "It really doesn't matter, now does it? So let's enjoy the evening, get drunk, and figure out our next steps in the morning." The three of us raised our cold, cheap beers and pressed them together in the air. "To unusual friends!"

  "I'll drink to that," Snaggle said.

  We opened our beers and took big gulps. I wasn't much of a drinker but if there was a night ripe for drinking, it was this one. It seemed Snaggle and Porcupine were both lushes, each going at their beers like they were cans of water. They were cackling and screaming like two little girls, each covering their mouths to keep their beer from spewing from their faces as they made little asides to each other. Snaggle, in his own nerdy way, was quite flirtatious with Porcupine. But as far as I could tell, besides the jock itch diagnosis at the rest stop, Porcupine was not really reciprocating the nerdy flirtation. She seemed to think Snaggle was funny but that was about it. I thought he was pretty goddamn funny. He was one of the most awkward human beings I had ever met in my entire life. How could that NOT be funny? It's true.

  "OK," Gina said, straightening herself up. "I'd like to get to know the two of you a little bit better. I really don't know you at all, which is weird since I'm here with you in this hotel room." She started giggling all over the place. The beer must have been getting to her. "But do
n't even think of any funny stuff. I'm a black belt, you know?" Snaggle couldn't contain himself. He started hemming and hawing and laughing like a goddamn hyena. Beer shot out of his nostrils like a geyser. It was a sight to see. It's true. "Tell me something about yourself, some kind of secret, something personal."

  "OK. I'll go first," Snaggle said, straightening up, tossing his empty beer can over his shoulder. "First, I need a new beer." Gina handed him a beer and he opened it, taking a quick gulp. His face started to turn bright red. "I've masturbated in the rest room at work."

  "Oooh!" Porcupine and I responded, loudly and in unison. I felt a tinge of disgust shoot through my body. That was a rest room I used quite frequently. Was I sitting on a toilet that this disgusting bastard had jacked-off all over? The thought turned my stomach.

  "Ryan, that was... unexpected," Porcupine said, sipping her beer.

  "You said tell a secret, something personal."

  "Well, I didn't think you'd go THERE quite yet. You're not even drunk yet."

  "I'm getting drunk though," Snaggle said, snorting and cackling. He sure was a goofy bastard. I'm not sure what kind of sick son of a bitch would admit to something like that out loud but he sure did. He was absolutely shameless. It's true.

  "Ok, Simon. It's your turn," Porcupine said, lighting a cigarette.

  "I don't think this is a smoking room," Snaggle said.

  "Who cares. Simon? You're up."

  "Can I have a cigarette?" I asked. I hadn't smoked in quite a while but it sure looked good to me. That's what drinking alcohol will do, make me want to smoke. It was a disgusting filthy habit but there was a part of me that loved to smoke. Cigarettes once had a hold on me. They are addicting as all hell. It's true. Porcupine handed me a smoke and lit it. I took in the first drag and felt the smoke seep into my lungs. The nicotine quickly shot through my veins. An old demon was awakened. "I don't know what to say."

  "Oh, come one," Porcupine said.

  "Yeah, I said something personal," Snaggle said.

  "I know. Something quite disgusting, I might add," I replied.

  "Just give us one secret. Please?" Porcupine asked.

  I racked my brain for something personal to say. I sorted through years and years of memories in my brain like a file system, flipping through scenes running all the way back to my early childhood. I didn't have much to share that I would have considered a secret. I mean, I'm a writer. Most writers write about themselves, even about personal shit. I felt like I was an open book. But I wasn't about to confess something like Snaggle did, the filthy bastard. I mean, all guys jack-off in inappropriate places but I'm not going to admit to that with a young woman in my company. But I did think of something rather personal and felt it was a good fit to share.

  "OK. I cheated on my taxes last year."

  "The room was dead silent, not a peep was said for a few moments.

  "Simon, everyone cheats on their taxes. That's no secret," Porcupine said.

  "Yeah, what's that all about?" Snaggle asked, a little perturbed.

  "Well, that's all I got."

  "Boring!" Porcupine yelped. She tossed her empty beer can on the floor and opened another. I had to admit, there was something in me that really enjoyed being around Porcupine. She was fun. She was free. She was... a lot of things. Most of all, she was interesting. There are not a lot of interesting people in the world. Most people are pretty fucking boring. It's true. But not Gina. She was anything but boring.

  "All right, you two. Are you ready for my secret?" Snaggle and I both nodded, inching inward in the circle a bit, our attention fixated on Gina. "Come in closer," she said, putting her arms around our shoulders. Her voice lowered to a slight whisper. "I have three nipples," she said. Our mouths dropped open, hanging there, mesmerized. "But if you think I'm going to show you guys, you're fucking crazy!" she barked, smacking our foreheads with her hands, sending the two of us backwards onto the bed.

  The three of us laughed hysterically and continued to drink into the night. We drank until my memory faded into darkness, the kind of darkness that comes from heavy drinking and smoking, a deep sedation that was welcome and very much needed on my part. It's true.

  18.

  I woke up with the worst hangover in the history of all hangovers. There was a banging in my head that didn't cease to stop no matter how much I squeezed it or how much I rubbed it. The pain was almost unbearable, the kind of pain that puts drastic measures into your mind. For the life of me, I couldn't remember the last time I drank and smoked that much in a few short hours but Snaggle, Gina, and I ripped through that case of beer and half of that carton of cigarettes like we were on a mission, a mission to kill boredom and cluelessness. Staying in a crappy hotel in an unfamiliar place will do that to you, bring on the boredom. And we killed it all right. It's true.

  I sat up in the bed in total darkness except for a sliver of light poking through the curtains, waxing and waning in the slight opening of the curtains brought on by the motion from the air conditioner, wheezing moist air into the room. I felt around blindly in my vicinity on the bed but found nothing so I stood up and tip-toed to the curtains. I opened them slightly, letting in a little more light. It was bright outside and the sunlight desperately wanted to come into our crappy room. And to my horror, the light shone on Snaggle's half-naked body. He was draped over the end of the bed, limp, his torso on the bed, his legs on the floor, his pants down around his ankles, his arms crossed on his chest. He looked like a drunk mummy with his arms crossed like that. And to my poor eyes' misfortune, the morning light revealed that he did have the worst festering goddamn rash I had ever seen, the kind of rash that would make a leper wince with disgust. It really looked terrible. For a quick moment, I felt sorry for the poor bastard. He must have been in a lot of pain or at least some major discomfort. It's true.

  But I could only take so much of looking at my coworkers diseased private parts so I tossed a pillow on him, hitting his stomach, waking him up abruptly. Of course, he realized instantly that he was half-naked and screamed like a little girl, running as fast as he could to the bathroom. All that nerdy racket woke Gina up. She had fallen asleep in a chair, curled up like a house cat. She rubbed her eyes then stretched her arms.

  "What was that horrible sound?" she asked.

  "That was Ryan," I said.

  "Ryan? It sounded like a little dog getting run over by a car then being dragged for a block or two."

  "Like I said, that was Ryan."

  "What happened?"

  "I have no idea. All I know is that I opened the curtains and he had his pants around his ankles."

  "Lucky you," she said, snickering. "We partied like rock stars. Killed that beer."

  She got up, stretched, and walked to the bathroom. She knocked on the door, asking Snaggle if he was OK. He said something or another about being embarrassed or ashamed or some shit like that. She laughed and banged on the door some more, asking him to come out. He eventually did. He made his way back to the bed, embarrassed, sitting down at the end with his face covered.

  "I'm sorry. I must have tried taking my clothes off. I like to sleep in the nude, you know?"

  "I didn't know that," she said. "But thanks for sharing."

  "We drank a lot," he said. "A whole lot!"

  "Yep."

  "What's for breakfast?" he asked, smacking his gums. "Do they serve breakfast here? Waffles with LOTS of syrup sound good."

  "I saw something about an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet when we checked in last night."

  "Sounds perfect," he said, zipping his pants, straightening his shirt. "Then what?"

  "Who knows," I said. "Probably go back to Austin."

  "I have to find a ride to Norman. But first, a shower."

  She went into the bathroom and closed the door, leaving me with the snaggly bastard with the diseased nutsack, sitting on the bed with his hands in his pockets, doing what he did best. I was surprised I survived that long with Snaggle. I was also surprised that I ha
dn't killed him by that point or abandoned him at a remote rest stop or pushed him out of Clint the Caddy while we were going 70 miles per hour or some shit like that. My tolerance for him was wearing pretty thin. I think that if Gina wasn't with us, then I would have done one of those things by now. He deserved to be left stranded somewhere. It's true.

  I decided against taking a shower myself even thought that's what I normally would have done. I'm not much for walking around smelling like a stinky bastard but sometimes your current circumstances overrule what you would normally do. Sometimes, weird circumstances make you do all kind of weird goddamn things. It's true. So instead, I started to gather my things together, getting my bag in order, thinking about going home. My trip had turned out to be a real bust. I drove all the way to Dallas with two goddamn knuckleheads because I wanted to get my kids and they weren't even in Dallas. They were at home somewhere in Austin, probably watching a movie, eating chicken nuggets, and enjoying their time with their mother, not even knowing that I was on a mission to get them. It was a sad goddamn state of affairs. It's true. Snaggle gathered his things too including, surprisingly enough, his bag of Skittles. I couldn't figure out why he still had some left at the pace he was going, shoving fistfuls of candy in his mouth whenever he had the chance. He was a fiend for sugar.

  After a short moment of silent packing, Gina emerged from the bathroom, fresh and clean from her shower. Her hair laid flat on her head, not her usual spiky hairdo, and she had removed all the shit from her face with the exception of a pair of earrings. She looked like a normal goddamn human being for once and a beautiful one at that. It was a pleasant surprise.

  "Are you boys ready to grub?" she asked, tossing her towel on the floor. "Let's go!"

  We found the valet cart in the hallway and tossed our things on it. Snaggle pushed the rickety thing to the elevator, its wheel still broken. We took the elevator down to the first floor and found the lobby / dining area full of travelers. Where did all of these goddamn people come from? I assumed the crappy hotel was empty because I didn't hear a peep from anyone last night. Clearly, I was wrong.