Juggernaut

by K. S. Adkins

  My husband isn’t just Evander Church to me. He’s also my Van Wilder. He’s my kind of crazy.

  “—bit of drool there,” Hillary says wiping my mouth.

  “Fantasizing about your husband again?” Sugar teases.

  “Of course she is,” Carol smiles. “Have you seen my son?”

  “Are we going to swim soon?” India asks, waddling over. She is the cutest preggo ever. “I need to be weightless.”

  “Then ease up on the Cheetos,” Hillary advises.

  “Try and take this bag away and see what happens,” India threatens. Oh, and she means it, too. A couple weeks ago, Sugar tried taking India’s plate away and got a titty twister for her trouble. Now we all proceed with caution.

  Pregnant women really do have super strength.

  Grabbing my key, cooler, and pool bag, the five of us head to the elevator and wedge ourselves in.

  Van, Scott, and Pop are golfing (I don’t golf and Van’s learning) and will join us later. According to Pop, it isn’t about golf, but about networking and bourbon. Plus, Pop is loving all the time he’s spending with his son now.

  Tossing our towels down on our respective chairs, I help India in first, handing her a floatie and a non-alcoholic strawberry daiquiri. Once submerged she lets out a sigh of pleasure, followed by a fart. Oh, I should mention; she stopped excusing herself weeks ago. This was a time-saver considering how often she blew ass.

  Shedding my cover-up, I snag a drink from the cooler and join the group in the water.

  And that’s when the fun starts.

  “Chicken fight,” Hillary announces. “India can ref.”

  “Uh…” I glance at Carol. You know, Carol who is in her mid-sixties.

  “You don’t think I can hold one of you on my shoulders?” she challenges me directly.

  “It’s just that…”

  “Sugar,” Carol says waving her over. “Climb on.”

  “If I kill her,” Sugar whispers in passing. “Tell Evander it’s Hillary’s fault.”

  India is too busy floating to care, Hillary is gearing up, and I notice we have once again, drawn a crowd.

  With zero grace, Hillary seats herself on my shoulders using her knees to squeeze the blood from my brain. “Ease up,” I warn her. “I think you just busted an ear drum.”

  “Fuck that,” she says, fisting my hair for balance. “Carol looks serious.”

  “She’s a senior citizen,” I remind her.

  “Old people are strong,” she says, hooking her feet behind my back.

  “I feel good about our chances,” Sugar says to Carol. “Oh, and in case no one has told you, you have chiseled shoulders.”

  “And go!” India hoots safely from the other end.

  Coming at us like lightning, Carol propels Sugar forward and I caught her fist in my cheek as a reward.

  “Bob and weave!” Hillary orders, but my fucking eyes are watering.

  Once the girls up top start to battle, I plant my feet to give Hillary room to move. Giving me an evil grin, Carol tells Sugar to hold on and does the unthinkable. The woman drops under water and with only one leg, one very strong leg, swept mine out from underneath me. With a flailing Hillary still attached, I’m kicked, scratched, and nearly drowned.

  Coming up for air, I notice two things straight away.

  The first, Carol’s nose is bleeding.

  The second is security.

  Flinging Hillary away, I stand to my full height ready to rush over to aid her when she insists she’s fine.

  Then as casual as you please, she also adds, “Taylor, sweetheart, your breasts are out.”

  She does this with a smile and blood running down her face.

  After golf, Scott and my dad have joined me on the balcony for a drink before the chaos comes home.

  Knowing the girls are swimming, when my phone rings in the middle of my dad’s joke, I answer it absently.

  “Mr. Church,” Louis, our security guard says, “I’m calling about your wife again.”

  “Another complaint?” I smile proudly.

  “Yes, sir,” he says hesitantly. “You know how I like your wife and that I don’t like calling. But I have to, it’s my job.”

  “I’ll come down and bring them up.”

  “Not necessary,” he assures me. “They’ve uh… cleared the pool. But I had to call you and note that I did.”

  “What caused this complaint?”

  “A uh…chicken fight and uh…exposed breasts. Oh, and a bloody nose. That’s why the pool was evacuated.”

  “Thank you, Louis.”

  Hanging up, Scott lets out a sigh and asks, “How many complaints are they at now?”

  “Seven.”

  “Seven?” my dad huffs. “My daughter can do better than seven. Hell, my wife could do seven in her sleep.”

  This is true. Because when you put my mom and my wife together, crazy shit happened.

  The two of them, my dad and I are convinced, shared a soul.

  When they aren’t tasting dad’s creations, planning parties (mom hired herself and works for free), or out with The Shit; they are causing trouble at every turn. Because Carol Church likes being banned from restaurants as much as my wife does.

  Just last week—though neither is talking—they were asked to leave a nail spa.

  “Here,” dad says, tossing a container on the table. “It’s my latest batch.”

  “Evander,” Scott groans at my dad. “I promised India I would ease up on the edibles.”

  “Do you see dinner?” he counters. “I don’t. We can’t eat until the crazies come back. It’ll tide you over, try it.”

  “What’s this batch called?” I ask taking a piece.

  “Trainwreck.”

  “I’m still recovering from Hallelujah,” Scott mumbles.

  “Got you feeling spiritual, didn’t it?” Dad argues.

  “I thought it was the rapture,” Scott says with a shudder. “I held onto my wife’s ankles so the creator couldn’t take me.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” I weigh in. “I tried it, too. At least India wasn’t offering you up to Satan in return for eternal forgiveness.”

  “I love that girl,” Dad praises.

  Taking a bite, I have to admit Dad’s edibles are delicious. Which is how we always got into trouble. It’s hard to remember they aren’t a treat and when you should only eat one, you eat three or four.

  “Funny,” Dad says, snagging one. “I didn’t hear either of you bitching when you sampled that batch of He-Rection.”

  “What was in that, by the way?” Scott asks. “It worked fast.”

  “I used a small amount of freaky-deaky and a large amount of Viagra.”

  “You put Viagra in our edibles?” I choke mid chew.

  “I’m sixty-six years old, Son, and I still give it to your mom at least four days a week.”

  “What happens the other three days?” I found myself asking.

  “She’s giving it to me,” he grins.

  “I went so long, India thought I broke her cervix,” Scott recalls.

  As for me, the day I tried He-Rection is burned into my memory. How hard I was, how many times I took her. How she begged for more. How we christened every room in our home, including the linen closet. All Taylor had to do was look at me, and I needed her again. My God, the positions alone…In that moment, I realized my dad was the smartest man alive. “I need another batch of that,” I rush out. “It’s like I was in my twenties again.” Then it hit me. “That’s why Taylor sent you flowers, isn’t it?”

  “I believe the card said, Sitting down is for suckers, Love Taylor.”

  Taking another bite, I tell my dad, “These are fucking delicious.”

  “Some say the key to a successful marriage is communication,” Dad muses. “I say the key is a crazy woman and great pot.”

  “Maybe you should explain exactly what Trainwreck is.”

  “Bah,” he waves Scott off. “It’s not about what’s in it. It�
��s about how it makes you feel.”

  And when the girls walk in with my mom holding a towel to her nose, Dad was out of his seat rushing over to his wife. “The juggernaut?” he asks, looking her over.

  “Gee, thanks,” Taylor says, coming to sit on my lap.

  “This was all me,” Mom smiles. “I took Taylor down and Hillary’s forehead connected with my face.”

  “You took Taylor down?” he asks, glancing at my wife.

  “Chicken fight,” Mom shrugs. “I swept her leg. Streets rules, you know.”

  Kissing Mom on her cheek, Dad looks at me and proudly says, “Crazy women, son.”

  “Oh, edibles!” Taylor says, reaching for one.

  “Gimme,” Hillary says while taking her own.

  “Dessert before dinner,” Sugar claps shoving one in her mouth.

  “God, I miss drugs,” India sighs, falling into Scott’s arms.

  “Don’t worry,” he says, kissing her neck. “I did enough for both of us.”

  “He-Rection?” she perks up.

  “No,” he corrects. “His new strain, Trainwreck.”

  “In that case, I’ll take two more!” Taylor says.

  “Uh, Taylor –” I try.

  “Come on, Van Wilder? What’s the worst that can happen?”

  Eating another edible myself then passing the tray around, I’ll be reminded the next morning of Taylor’s last words.

  Peeling one eye open, I focus on the ceiling before testing my limbs.

  As I’ve done hundreds of times in my life, I try to remember what happened the night before.

  Slowly, the details come to me.

  Pop’s edibles.

  Shots of vodka.

  Dancing on the balcony.

  Oh, and round two in the pool.

  Somewhere in there I think Van went streaking, but it’s hazy.

  Sugar is to my right, Hillary to my left, Van is between my legs with his head on my stomach, and India is on the couch shaking her head at me.

  “Why are we on the floor?” I manage to ask.

  “At least you made it inside,” she says, thumbing it over her shoulder. “Scott’s still out on the balcony.”

  “Where’s Mom and Pop?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Will it require a hazmat suit?”

  “At a minimum.”

  “Why is my tongue so thick?” I ask the pot Gods.

  “Where’s my top?” Hillary asks, rolling toward me.

  “Whose shoe is this?” Sugar asks while tossing it away.

  “Is that—why is there a condom in my hair?” Hillary gags.

  “My mouth feels furry,” Van says stretching.

  “India,” I groan. “Where did it go wrong?”

  “Could be when you decided Twister would be fun.”

  “We played Twister? We don’t own it.”

  “You used the patterns on the rug,” she grins. “Shit show, seriously.”

  “I think I won that game,” Sugar says, licking her lips. “Explains why I’m sore.”

  “Or it could have been when you ran into your bedroom and grabbed a box of condoms from 2000 and filled them with water to have a balloon fight.”

  “Not jizz then,” Hillary exhales. “Thank God.”

  “But I’m pretty sure it’s when you all started pelting people on the street things started to go south.”

  “We pelted pedestrians with old condoms?” I ask, sitting up.

  “Cops didn’t like it much,” India chirps.

  “Fuck,” Van groans. “I remember the next part.”

  “You should,” India nods. “Because the rest of the blame is on your shoulders, Evander.”

  “I’m still damp,” I announce. “What happened at the pool?”

  “Well,” she says, standing up and handing me her phone. “Just watch.”

  Huddling together, Hillary, Sugar, Van, and I sit stunned at what the video reveals.

  Ushering Scott in from the balcony, India sees about making breakfast when I say to Van, “Marco Polo?”

  “Not my best idea,” he mumbles.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say, playing it again. “But I bet Louis has a few words.”

  “Damn, Evander,” Sugar says snatching the phone. “What did he ever do to you?”

  “I –” he tries, but can’t get the words out.

  “Poor man was just doing his job when you tackled him in the deep end.”

  “I thought he was Scott,” he groans.

  “You tried buying him off with drugs,” Hillary snorts.

  “Can we stop focusing on Van and pay attention to what really happened?” I sigh.

  “Cue it up again,” Sugar asks. “I must’ve missed something.”

  I’ve already caught it, but clearly no one else had. Playing it one more time, they all lean in and when they figure it out the responses ranged from a giggle, to a snort, to a deep gag. Because off in a dark corner Carol is giving her husband a blowy.

  “I can never unsee that,” Van whispers. “It’s one thing to talk about it…”

  “Your parents are freaks,” Sugar praises. “Will they adopt me?”

  “Now, Trainwreck makes sense,” Van moans, falling to his back.

  “Actually,” India says while pouring coffee. “Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your CPR skills, Evander.”

  “I don’t know CPR, India,” he says.

  “Louis would argue otherwise.”

  “Or,” Pop says, walking in wearing only his briefs. “He thinks you’re leaving your wife for him.”

  “Excuse me?” Van coughs.

  “For future reference, honey,” Mom says, wearing one of Van’s t-shirts. “Resuscitating someone doesn’t involve tongue.”

  “You’re lucky Taylor isn’t the jealous type,” Pop offers.

  “You made out with Louis?” I question him.

  “I don’t—I don’t remember…”

  “And cradled his head while he did,” India adds.

  “Well, the good news is my record is probably wiped clean.”

  “How can you be so casual about this?” he demands to know.

  “You took one for the team,” I shrug.

  “I put my tongue in a man’s mouth!”

  “Do we need to get into all the places my tongue has been?”

  “Anyway,” India goes on. “Louis has agreed to look beyond Evander’s feelings towards him in exchange for an invitation to the next party.”

  “My son’s making friends,” Pop praises.

  “I knew you had it in you, Van Wilder,” I nudge him.

  “Is the juggernaut contagious?” he asks.

  “Don’t you even try pinning this on me,” I laugh. “You have just as much crazy in you as I do. The difference is, I’ve embraced my crazy. You’re still fighting yours. When you become one, it gets easier.”

  “I owe Louis an apology,” he mumbles. “And possibly a car.”

  It’s over breakfast, while Van is visibly beating himself up, India confessed, “I was just fucking with you, Evander.”

  And when my husband turns to me and smiles in relief, I fall back laughing.

  Some time ago, I attended a party hosted by my partner, Scott Sinclair, and his wife India.

  I remember being reluctant to go.

  Because Scott is social and everyone liked him. And being the owner’s son, few liked me.

  Not wanting to look foolish having no one to talk to, I (begrudgingly) asked Whitney to join me.

  At that time in my life, I figured suffering through her was slightly more tolerable than suffering alone.

  And that’s exactly what I was doing when I came face to face with the most perfect force of nature.

  A woman so beautiful, so vital, my surroundings blurred, and all I saw was her.

  I fell in love on the spot and spent the next two years wishing a woman like her could love a man like me.

  Little did I know the same happened fo
r her.

  And because neither of us understood the pull, we spent the next two years screwing it up.

  Though I have to give Taylor credit. While most gave me a wide berth, she always tried.

  She never gave up on me.

  And with the help of my mom, India, a wish, and a fake proposal, I found my chance.

  I also found myself in the process.

  Taylor Church was now my wife, partner in various petty crimes, and my wish come true.

  Case in point: We are front row at Korn.

  Taylor has surprised me with tickets when I casually mentioned they are a favorite of mine, yet had never seen them live. She’s also chosen my concert apparel which consists of a t-shirt that says heavy metal with a fucking unicorn shitting rainbow on it, a pair of ripped, faded jeans, and what she calls shit kickers. Initially, I was uncomfortable, feeling like even more of an outcast than at our last show. But then we are stopped constantly because people wanted to know where I got my shirt and all discomfort vanishes.

  About twenty minutes ago, In This Moment has finished their set, though my wife has yet to get over seeing Maria Brink live.

  Apparently, she’s her lady crush.

  Watching Taylor let loose would never grow old. I know for as long as we lived, wherever I took her, she’ll never hold back. Thanks to her, I’ve learned to let go, too. So, when Korn opened with “Blind”, I lose my fucking mind right alongside my wife.

  I may not have taken advantage of my youth and concert binged as most did, but making up for lost time did not suck either. Linking my fingers through hers, she raises our arms up and we thrash to “Y’all Want A Single”, like I’ve dreamt of doing my whole life. And when Jonathan Davis slaps my hand, I roar in victory, then tag Taylor around the neck, sealing my mouth over hers. I make out with my wife for the rest of the song, ignoring the world around us.