Monologue for Young Adults 6: Secret Santa (29/31)

 

[This is an installation in a series I began in 2017. Each stands alone as its own piece.]

Monologue 1: Housing --  Monologue 2: Green Thumb -- Monologue 3: Secession -- Monologue 4: Thirty More -- Monologue 5: Eustace

Dude, it's gonna be awesome. I've been working all these jobs all year: babysitting, pool boy, stock boy, mail boy, go go boy, grease monkey. And with their powers combined, I've saved up some [whispers] disposal income. [normal volume] I was tempted to stash it all under my mattress just so I could roll around in it, but you know, dirty money. Actually, I can just take a shower afterwards.

Anyway, I'm gonna spoil the hell outta you guys. I don't care if we pick names out of a hat, all of my favorite people are getting what I think they deserve this year. After the year we've all had... Shelley's car crash, Minnie's cancer scare, Gil's divorce, Quincy's craft beer explosion, and Raquel's foursome deciding to be a throuple without her... Yeah, there's need for joy in this group. 

I wonder if I should get a lil... no, the club definitely has a skimpy santa's suit I can borrow the day of. Everyone loves slutty Christmas! Maybe I can just give Raquel a lapdance as her gift. Aaahhh, I'm just kidding; that's gonna be Gil's gift. 

I've never been able to do anything like this, man. I'm so excited to be the sugar daddy for once. All I need you to do is not say a word... but get everybody's addresses. And maybe get a reindeer or elf costume. The more skin the better; potbelly midriffs are very in this season. Like the Santa Clause! And at the end of the day, you'll get the best present. No pressure to get me anything, obviously. The only gift Slutty Santa is gonna need are the smiles from all the lil unfortunate guys and gals across town.

Word

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Taskmaster (28/31)

 

Diane glided into the living room to find Josh sitting on the couch stroking his temples in a circular motion. The television reflected the sunlight filling the room into his eyes. His tablet floated in front of him, only a blankpage visible to them. “What are you hiding?” they asked.
  

          Snapping out of his funk, Josh opened his eyes and pulled his tablet to his chest. “Nothing. You know I always have my privacy screen up. The windows have eyes, but you like natural sunlight.”

            “You’re not a vampire, and no one’s trying to hunt us, my lil gothic ghoul,” they teased, brushing his long, jet black bang out of his face. They draped themselves over the couch and his shoulders. “Now, break your little enchantment and show me what you’re working on.”

            “Well, that’s the thing. I realized I’ve barely done anything.” Exhaling out his nose, he wrinkled his forehead and stared intently at the tablet’s screen until words were visible to his partner. “I made this list five years ago, and it should have been completed two years ago. But look at how many objectives remain! It’s embarrassing.” 

            They scrolled and read the title of the document. “‘101 tasks in 1001 days? That sounds daunting and exhausting.”

            “It was supposed to be fun and exciting. It was supposed to push me into becoming the man I wanted to become. See, I never visited the West Coast.”

            His partner jumped over the couch and snatched his tablet. Perched on the arm, she searched for rebuttals. “Yeah, that’s an expensive accomplishment but we visited Ontario four years ago, so you crossed out ‘Visit an non-european country.’ So international. Definitely better than seeing another lousy state.” 

            “That reminds me, I still need to vacation alone, meet strangers, have an adventure. Another point for the fail column.” Josh started to lean back on the opposite arm but shot up to add, “Oh, and I don’t know how to bake.”

            “Ok, that’s an easy one to knock out, but you’re right; it’s not easy. But this one after it, you learned so many different cooking techniques. More than me. Like, um… the one with the pork belly?” Diane could already feel their tongue salivating as she recalled the meal.

            “Scoring. I scored the meat, but I haven’t scored a song yet. Or written one yet.”

            Diane resisted throwing the tablet at him. “With what knowledge of music theory?” Josh could only shrug in response. “Actually, no. You wrote that parody to perform at karaoke last year.” 

            “Mikey led that project.” 
           

“Fine, co-wrote a parody. I’d still count it.” They slid from the arm of the couch to the cushion, intertwining their legs with his. “I can’t believe I have to build a white man up this much, but darling, you’ve accomplished so much. For each task still at large on this list, there’s one accounted for. And think of all you accomplished. Like that promotion at work.”

              Josh finally stopped darting his eyes across the room to look into theirs. It was clear they were his biggest cheerleader. “Yeah, you make very good points. Some of these are barely important to me anymore. But at least I accomplished the fulfilling task on the list.”

                Diane stared at him as he reached for the tablet. Scrolling down, he highlighted an entry and handed the glorified paperweight back to them. The 99th task read: Date a guy, maybe a girl? Who knows, you’ll date someone. Blushing, they placed the tablet face-up on the table and leapt across the couch. As the two shared an embrace, a squirrel on a branch outside their window stared intently at the tablet as its eyes glowed red. 

 

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Tik Tok Fail (27/31)

Int. Plural Radish Black Box Theater

Black walls, ceiling, and floor form a perfect cube to create a theater space. Spotlights hang from the ceiling, but the work lights are on now to fully illuminate the room. The chairs are stacked except for seven forming a circle in the middle of the room. RAHIM, 27, African-American; TITUS, 31, Caucasian; and ITHACA, 34, Caucasian sit bored checking their phones.

RAHIM

I don't think anyone else is coming.

TITUS

They'll come.

ITHACA

You didn't make this a mandatory meeting. I barely rolled out of bed for this.

TITUS (annoyed)

They'll come.

RAHIM

Aight, but can I just start? I only planned for the hour, and I was hoping to grade papers down at Green Jenny's before they switched to happy hour. I'm no good with discount beers in front of me.

Titus pauses to respond until Ithaca slaps him on the shoulder.

TITUS

Yeah, fine. 

RAHIM

Cool. So, I was telling Titus we should start advertising our shows on Tiktok.

ITHACA

Oooooh, this is why nobody else showed up.

Ithaca starts to gather her belongings.

RAHIM

No, seriously, think about it. We do stupid shit on stage all the time just messing around. If we record enough of those sessions in self-contained 60 second bites, we could bring in a bigger audience.

ITHACA

Teenagers. You really think teenagers would come to an improv show? The average age of our audience is 48, and that's with our friends coming to humor us.

RAHIM

(pitifully) I'm not a teenager. And you'd be surprised who you can reach on tiktok.

TITUS

Yeah, I watch tiktoks.

ITHACA

Aaah, no wonder you greenlit this pitch. Shouldn't have expected anything more from a manchild.

TITUS

Listen, this could actually be a way to expand our audience so we can stop paying our dues on this space outta pocket. Yeah, most of the creators on that damn app are under 23, but there are plenty of 30-somethings quietly watching as they procrastinate falling asleep too, even if they don't have the damn app.

ITHACA

So you want our videos to actually go viral? You know going viral isn't what it was ten years ago, right?

RAHIM

Mmm, she's not wrong. Our attention spans are def shorter. Like, you gotta be a God-Level tiktok if you wanna be remembered. Like so good you inspire copycats or a whole ass trend.

ITHACA

I'm not dancing.

TITUS

Oh, yeah, no. (He shakes his head as if to say "me neither.")

RAHIM

Ya'll are stiff, anyway.

MONA (off-screen)

It's gotta be something that slaps.

MONA, 28, Dominican-American, walks out of the shadows wearing all black. She spooks the men.

RAHIM

Damn, Mona. You gotta stop doing that.

MONA

Never. Anyway, we don't need to be original first. We can ride coattails til we finally start being funny; whenever that happens.

RAHIM

She's gotta a point.

Ithaca starts making her way towards the door.

TITUS

Ithaca! Come back.

ITHACA

This meeting coulda been an email. At worst, a zoom meeting. When ya'll are done deciding who to copy, let me know. Besides, you don't need the whole troupe for phone skits anyway.

RAHIM (checking his phone)

Yeah, I'mma get going, too.

TITUS

What?

RAHIM

Full transparency, my partner got outta work early and just sent me the purple devil emoji. Also, she scares me (motioning towards Mona) and there's not enough of a buffer anymore, so...

Ithaca and Rahim exit.

TITUS

That's fine. Mona and I can come up with something on our own, right?

Titus turns around, but Mona has faded back into the darkness on the edges of the room. Before exiting herself, she turned the lights out on Titus.

TITUS

Welp. I guess that's a wrap on today.

Word
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Alternative Black History Facts: Pies (26/31)

The year was 1854. Tensions were especially high in Chickasaw, Mississippi. The autumn air wasn’t as crispy as it usually was, and the colonizers couldn’t stand it. Sweaty and upset, they didn’t enjoy finding their Jack O’Lanterns already starting to rot on November 1st. Usually, the families would leave their pumpkins out on the porch to scare the slaves all November until they got a taste for something seasonally sweet that apples wouldn’t satisfy. Preserving the innards from the ice box, the h’whites would still drag the jack o’lanterns inside to scoop any remaining meat out for their pumpkin pie filling. 

After smelling sweet pies on the window sill autumn after autumn, the slaves had enough of being jealous. Unaware most of the pumpkin was already emptied out, one night, Cletus and Fletus stole three four pumpkins from Massa Winston’s porch. Unfortunately, Cletus was caught by the overseers’ dogs, but he wasn’t no snitch. He destroyed the evidence and let Fletus return to the slave quarters. 

“I thought they seemed kinda light,” said Fletus when they finally inspected the pumpkins.

“Wells, whats wes gonna dos now?” said his brother Plebus.

That’s when Auntie Ruth had an idea. “Go out and fetch me a few of them yams.” Usually stewed, Ruth figured they were just as orange on the inside as a pumpkin. So she skinned and boiled the yams, mashed em up good, added some milk from the cow down the road, and some spices - including nutmeg - they hid from their owners. Crumbling stale bread to make a crust, she put it in the furnace and made something incredible.

“Damn,” Fletus said. “I think Cletus mighta got whooped for nothing.”

“No,” Ruth said. “Without ya’lls courage, I might not have had this idea.”

And that’s how the first sweet potato pie was made. To this day, black people prefer it over pumpkin pie even though they almost taste the same because making pies outta gourds is some white people shit.

 

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Room Raider (25/31)

Glimmering aqua lights and light murmurs snuck from the living room into the long hallway. On the opposite end, the bathroom door glided open without a sound as Laura carefully lifted it up with both sides of the knob. Her unpainted toes crept across the carpet, avoiding any hidden creaky floorboards until she arrived at the room on the left a third of the way down the corridor. This portal already agape, she used the same technique to adjust it to ajar once she was discreetly inside.

            Open blinds allowed the glow of street lamps to escort Laura on her dialectic mission. Her eyes beamed like a possum as she surveyed the room. Shifting around the bed, she arrived at the dresser. She took a minute to let the anticipation build, the realization of her gumption welling behind her heart. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she noticed her reflexes opened the drawer while she daydreamed and cotton briefs were touching her forehead. She panicked for a second, but upon inspection, she hadn’t stained them.

Wishing to not risk it all for such an ordinary pair of undergarments, she fished around delicately amongst the delicates. Soon enough, the marauder withdrew a bra she shouldn’t have minded wearing herself. She placed her entire face into one cup and breathed in the scent of Gain, giggling to herself. Feeling she had invisibily left her mark, she exchanged tops for bottoms. Though a frilly waistband, it seemed larger than it should have been. Maybe they were stretched out. She imagined sharing them with someone special.

            The lights flicked on. It took a moment for Laura’s lecherous eyes to adjust. “Dude, what are you doing?” Tamika scratched the back of her head as she leaned against the atrium in a loose t-shirt and boyshorts.  

            Caught red-nosed, she tried to shove the garments back into the drawer and shut it but caught her finger. The yelp echoed into the hallway.

            “What’s going on down there?” Sakura screamed from the couch in the living room.

            “This bitch is high as fuck, in here sniffing her own panties, making us wait to put the movie back on and shit.” As Tamika’s body turned to call back, her pierced nipples became more apparent to Laura. Shaking loose of her gaze, she looked around the bedroom to find her Gossip Girl and MCR posters hanging on the wall. In her stupor, she forgot they all used the same laundry detergent. “Damn, your room is retro as fuck.” Tamika’s smile shined as she turned the lights back off. “You got one minute til we press play without you.”

            Alone again, Laura tilted and plopped on her bed behind her. She giggled as she rolled towards the door. An idiot, she resolved to try her plan again sober; she’d realize what lingerie from Rihanna felt like one day.

  

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You Can't Comb This (24/31)

 

Ext. Entrance to EMC Theaters - Day

It's a sunny but windy day. The weather calls for jeans and jackets, but GREG, 31, African-American, wears cutoff jeans and a t-shirt with a flannel tied around his waist. His hair is bright yellow with black roots, the sides are recently shaved. He paces aimlessly to the right of the ticket booth and entrance while checking his phone. 

Enter TYRONE, 28, African-American, wearing a plain yellow almost a size too small for him and a navy windbreaker and snatchback cap with his work's logo on it.  His stroll is not one of urgency.

GREG

What uuuuup?

TYRONE

Nothin, playa, you know, the usual: workin my fingers to the bone so I can provide food and tuition  for the future of my loins so his mama will get off my fuckin neck.

GREG

Mmm, things not going well in paradise?

TYRONE

What? Oh nah, she moved out.

GREG (choking on saliva)

Nigga, what? I just helped ya'll move into that tiny lil apartment last week.

TYRONE

Yeah well she decided to move back in with her mama instead of dealing with my apparently egregious ass. I dunno. Least I got more room for my stuff.

GREG

Shit no wonder you working so much, paying more in rent and all.

TYRONE

Oh no, that bitch is still on the lease. I gave her a break on utilities, but she still paying half. I just had dinner with her last night. She says hi, by the way.

GREG (under his breath)

I'm never gonna understand this nigga.

TYRONE

Huh?

GREG

Nothin.

TYRONE

Oh, I thought you were complainin about how your shorts are failin to make you look like a white gay.

GREG

Shut up. Ain't nobody trying to look white. Too much ass for that.

TYRONE

Clearly.

GREG

Gayer.... (sasses his voice up) guilty ass charged, your honor.

TYRONE

If you had a car, the license plate would definitely read ASS-MILK.

GREG

Exactly, but I'm trying avoid being hate crimed, so I don't drive.

TYRONE

Is that why you don't drive?

GREG

Maybe... Listen, enough about my trauma, my shorts are cute as fuck.

TYRONE

You sure you not tryna get hate crimed? All press is good press right?

CHAUNCEY (off-screen)

(yelling) Look at dem short ass shorts!

Enter Chauncey, 31, Bajan-American, noticeably taller than the other two gentlemen. He wears a black t-shirt with a character on it with black and white track jacket; his shoes match. 

GREG

Look at this late mothafucka here!

CHAUNCEY

Noooo. I was finding parking.

Greg and Tyrone look at the empty street, two cars are parked.

GREG

Bruh.

CHAUNCEY

Oh, not out here. I ain't even tryna let niggas trip over themselves as they notice my car. I parked in the garage two blocks down.

GREG

I'm surprised you walked that.

CHAUNCEY

You know I'm tryna be healthier... but I didn't; I rented a scooter and parked around the corner.

GREG

You have no shame.

The men walk towards the entrance of the theater.

TYRONE

What up, Chauncey?

CHAUNCEY

Aw shit, what up, Tyrone. I ain't know you was coming.

TYRONE

Yeah no, this is the only time of day that worked for me.

Ent. EMC Theaters Lobby - Day

The ceiling is high and the spotlights barely light up the large room. To the right is a wall of self check-in kiosks for purchasing tickets. Forward is the concession stand, attended by two teenagers. To the left is one teenager taking ticket stubs in front of a hallway that leads to the theaters.

GREG

Shit, fine by me. I hate crowded theaters anyway. People talking over the movie and shit. Now we can do all that for ourselves. Some real Negro Science Theater 3000 shit. Ya'll getting any snacks.

The group pauses, then laughs.

CHAUNCEY

Nigga, I like nice things, but I'm still frugal. 

Chauncey and Tyrone pat themselves to show off their smuggled goods.

TYRONE

The question is where is yo shit, cause I know it ain't in them tight ass shorts.

GREG 

(smugly) Maybe so. 

CHAUNCEY

Nah, it's in that big ass mess he calls hair.

GREG 

(gasps) Excuse the fuck outta me, sir. My hair is very in right now, according to me.

CHAUNCEY

Out here looking like an electrocuted troll doll.

TYRONE

Like Don King dipped in honey mustard.

CHAUNCEY

Like Frankenstein's Rent Boy.

Greg is visibly impressed by Chauncey's queer reference.

TYRONE

Chicken Nugget ass. Lookin like Rupaul in the 80s.

GREG

If that means you think I'd survive the AIDS epidemic, (sarcastically heartfelt) thank you!

CHAUNCEY

Would you though?

GREG

Obviously not. I'd have a rapid, tragic death and you all would moan me!

CHAUNCEY

I'm bout ready to moan the back of yo' head, with that crooked ass shape up.

GREG

You just mad cause I don't have to navigate hills and valleys like you do. My mama taught me well.

CHAUNCEY

Mm,  (smacks lips) how is your momz, by the way?

GREG

She's very well and doesn't say hello to you at all.

Chauncey laughs.

TYRONE

But really though, I'm tryna understand it myself. Cause, for real, the front ain't even that bad, but as you curve around to the back... It's like you threw all of trigonometry out the window. Started with a protractor and said fuck it; had a cheat sheet full of the equations in your pocket but fumbled it before your walked yo ass in the classroom for the test; Pythagoras' theory be damned!

GREG

Doesn't matter; I did very well in the class so I could forget it at will, thank you very much. And what about you? Mad cause I have hair to fuck with? Hmm? Mad cause you and me got revert hairstyles?

TYRONE

First of all, my bald is beautiful. Second, I'm mad cause you got hair and you fuckin it up. You don't deserve that shit. And yo shorts still short.

GREG

As I thought. You just mad cause I'm stylin on ya.

CHAUNCEY

Oyight.

Greg pauses in disbelief.

GREG

Really? In front of company.

CHAUNCEY

Honestly, you did it to yourself.

TYRONE

The fuck just happened.

GREG

We just have too many references. Ignore us.

TYRONE

Ya niggas are weird.

CHAUNCEY

Yeah, and you bald as fuck.

TYRONE

And your scalp gives bitches car sickness. And?!

The trio stops walking as Chauncey and Tyrone exchange glears.

GREG

Hey... hey... but what about my hair? Don't it look like pee-flavored cotton candy?

CHAUNCEY

Shut yo nigga-naps up. You lucky I left my pick in the car. 

GREG (grabbing his head)

You wouldn't dare.

CHAUNCEY

It's what your mother would want.

GREG

But "you can't comb this!"

Greg and Chauncey die of laughter as Tyrone is left in the dark again.

GREG

Shit. My bad. 'nother reference. Basically this kid at our high school had a loopy side afro... it was just really uneven all around. Anyway, long story short, after school we were all in the cafeteria after school and I snuck up behind him with my pick or comb - whatever I had - and from the nape of his neck combed up trying give his hair some life. Manz turned around to me and said "you can't comb this!" Sticks with me and Chauncey to this day.

TYRONE

Yall niggas are terrorists.

GREG

Not me! That was like my one time being a bully, deadass. I was quiet as shit before I met him.

CHAUNCEY

So was I. That school changed us.

GREG

For the better?

CHAUNCEY

Meh.

TYRONE

The fuck are we seeing again?

GREG

Bad Hair.

Word

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Trash It! (23/31)

 

 

              Glass shattered against a pillar. It was the last thing any of the patrons expected to hear that night.

~~

              It must have been the disco music. Rufus assumed no one would ever bother his merry band of outcasts behind the two-foot thick, twelve-foot high stone walls he constructed. Grey to the outside wall, inside the tavern each brick was painted a different fluorescent color, a select few around the five-foot mark signed by legends and fallen fellows that graced the establishment. Spotlights attached to the walls angled out to hit the dancefloor. Those that wished to linger in the shadows until their moment to shine called them could linger on the sidelines or even watch from above along the inner balcony circling the room.

Feeling ambitious, Rufus mixed up his priorities. He couldn’t have – but should have – predicted the newly installed stereo system would literally blow the roof off, its craftsmanship always leaving much to be desired in comparison to the walls it rested on. Everyone from the slender, hairless, twinkling fairies to the beautiful, dark-skinned divas with newfound womanhood hollered and cheered. With the new breeze, their chief complaint about the stiff, smelly air was eliminated. It had been so long since their last threat, no one thought twice about the accidental renovation.

              By the time Lamont with the sharp nose caught his first whiff of wet dog, it was too late. Whispers of “Queeeeer” and “Mineeeee” slowly caused each dancer to stop as they looked up to the full moon shining down upon them. Lamont and Rufus climbed ladders to the balcony and peered over the wall. The Climbers had found them. Savage, quadruped beasts with grey and purple fur, their legs sticking out at 90 degree angles and toes that pierced the ground. “The Party Police are here, ya’ll!” Lamont called down.

              The Climbers came from the Stompers. The Stompers came first. Decades ago when outcasts of society were ignorant enough to hide in ditches and holes and shallow caves, the Stompers would pounce and crush oddities without trial. Their maliciousness was swift and bloody. They were lucky Rufus was smart and strong enough to build Stonewall for them to congregate at all.

              With the music still blurring, most of the crowd got on the ground and covered their heads as they prepared for impending doom. They danced a fierce last dance on the floor. That’s when the glass shattered and the people’s curiosity got the best of them. “Dammit, I missed. I meant to hit the…” Shirley, six foot five in burgundy heels and a dress that barely reached her knee, started to trail off before regaining her focus. “Listen, ya’ll, I’ve been through too much to just lie down and die. I just started really living, and I ain’t laying down on this nasty floor so one of ya’ll can take a peek up my skirt cause it ain’t ya business.” She reached her long, black fingers with burgundy tips for another beer bottle and smashed it against the wall behind her. “So ya’ll best get up there with Lamont and Rufus and start launching whatever ya’ll can at those trying to steal our joy.” Surprised her speech actually worked, Shirley dodged twinks and bears alike as they rushed for the ladders.

“Don’t all come up at once; grab and pass up some ammo for us. Ain’t but so much up here,” Rufus called down to the swelling mass. Like a well-oiled Cadillac, those behind the stone wall assembled into a firing crew. As the Climbers began their ascent, chairs and tables smacked them in their round, stout faces. Those knocked off or still on the ground were assault with glittering fairydust; any lucky enough to reach the top were scratched and shoved by the bears and otters dodging swipes themselves. However, this only stunned and angered the Climbers before they would try again.

              Lamont looked down at Shirley, still on the ground organizing the troops. “It’s not working, lady! You got any better ideas?”

              Rufus froze mid throw when he heard the music stop. Afraid they had already been breached, he turned around to see her carrying the stereo over to the ladder. “What you doing with my new equipment, gurl?!”

              “We’re gonna have to tear it down and rebuild if we wanna survive. Make it so they don’t want it no mo’. You see? Better than letting them have the satisfaction.” Shirley’s brown eyes shot up to meet Rufus’.

He shook his head as he reached in his pocket for his key ring. As pieces of the stereo were passed up the ladders, he found a hole in the wall and stuck the wrong key in. He was hoping he’d guess incorrectly again, but the second try was the charm. “Alright ya’ll. Start pushing these bricks over the side,” Rufus called out, but his command was met with bewilderment. “Did I stutta? I said, push!” As a demonstration, he showed his true might and pushed one of the great stones off the wall himself. It fell with great speed, crushing two Climbers below it. The other monsters let out a hiss in disgust.

The fight lasted all night, but by the time the last record was thrown and the names honored on the wall remained protected by another two rows of bricks, the Climbers fled into the sunrise, no longer interested in claiming what wasn’t theirs.

Rufus held a grudge against Shirley for helping destroy his tavern, but her legend lived on as the woman who saved the alternatives that night.

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Sista, I Can Save Ya Life! (22/31)

 

Sista, sista, so nice to meet ya

hope you can hear me over these speakas

tryna compete for ya peepas.

Look, my Nubian goddess, I ain't no rapper 

but that should let you know I have sense,

ain't up in my momma's bathroom

waiting for one day to take off

Gaze upon me, 

this ain't drip, this is elegance

and I'm here to share my blessings

upon you

You don't hafta wine on that table 

no more, you can be queen of the world

from the humbleness of my kitchen

See, I'm here to protect you

Put you in ya place

Show you the power

of the black man

A true king of this land

all I see belongs to me

No, I'm not saying you're property

but as my support, you'd be under me

Now hush your mouth

can't you see what's good 

when it's in front of ya face

Oh, who's your lil friend?

Almighty, a harlot, a jezebel, guttersnipe

Most men might find this alluring

but this perversion I do not

Again, sista, I beg you

Come away with me

Your father wouldn't want 

to see you like this

Live a better life with me

in service of me, enriched by me

Bitch, don't you see this drip!

Excuse me, my queen,

this white world we live in

has affected my brain

I'd almost never call you out ya name

No, bitch, come back

Aw damn

Hello, my milky maiden.

Word

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Perched and Ready (21/31)

 

            The Ravens game played on mute from across the room. The replay displayed the quarterback handing off the ball to his trusted running back as he was sacked immediately. This pure act of destruction seemed to entertain Peepers as he stood in the middle of the living room, his gape geared upwards towards the screen. Winkz and Toosie squeaked out to him, but he didn’t hear them. He also didn’t hear Miguel as he cocked his gun and fired a BB that shredded through his tiny mouse body. The sound of the BB bouncing off the floor filled the roam as the mice silently mourned their deaf friend from the safety of a toy chest. 

            Miguel smirked as he rested his BB gun on the ledge of his makeshift hunter’s nest atop the couch, sturdy cardboard boxes and cushions supporting his short, slender frame. He tossed his brown bangs out of his face as he took a swig from a can of Natty Boh, the carbonation echoing in the back of his throat. He didn’t understand why people complained about working from home. You could really make it your own, like a game, he thought. It beat the unpredictability of the field. 

~~~

            It was a fine modern home with a modern attached garage and a modern front door, yet Miguel still found the suburbs weird. A sprinkler three houses down startled him as it activated. The white man of that house looked at him and waved, probably unagitated because he spotted Miguel’s uniform and chemical filled backpack. It was clear why he was there. Miguel sighed as he knocked on the door he was assigned to tap. 

As he lifted his hand, the door opened to reveal a busty woman in her mid-40s, her midriff showing because she still had it like that. “Oh, wonderful you’re here.” She smiled behind her custom Prada shades. For a second, Miguel wished he would have opted to wear his Prada framed glasses to prove how wonderful the company’s insurance was. “You can let yourself in, help yourself to a snack or two. I hate being in the house while you do the treatment. The sound of the screams. Faint, but a mother can hear anything.”

“Yeah, I can hear a lot too. Must be a parent thing,” Miguel responded.

She looked down past her shades at him, surprised. “Yes, it must be. Well anyway, I’m off.” As she trotted to the garage, she paused. “And I already paid you, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. If there’s anything extra, I’ll let you know.”

She raised her eyebrows as if to say, I know you will. Miguel watched her drive off before he closed the door. With most of the curtains drawn, natural light filled each room of the first floor. Always choosing to be eccentric, he dropped to his knees and began to crawl around to inspect for droppings, trails, easy to find holes before he started spraying. When his sweep of the first floor was complete, he began to spray and throw traps where they needed to be. The hissing of the hose and flopping of the traps almost distracted him from a creaking sound upstairs. 

            Jokingly cursing his white mother, Miguel climbed the steps to the second floor as they creaked under the weight of his equipment.  Once he reached the landing, he noticed a cracked door to his right with light spilling out. He didn’t expect anyone else to be home. “Hello,” he called out. Perhaps the madam of the house left this light on while she rushed to leave the house. She did mention hating the sound.

            When he knocked, spray hose in the other hand, the door gave way easily. His eyes followed the trail of light up to the bed where a man in his 20s laid in nothing but Urban Outfitters socks, Andrew Christian underwear, and thin rimmed glasses. His thick chest hair led down to a slightly bloated stomach that contrasted his slim frame. He rested his head in his palm as he took Miguel in. He smirked.

Miguel sighed. After assessing the situation, he asked, “Are those Prada?”

~~~

The front door opened as Miguel took another shot at the mice. A BB whizzed past Winkz’ head as he scuttled back to his hiding place. Karl shook the rain off his afro as he entered. “Honey, I’m home.” He looked down at the floor and saw the crime scene. “Oh for fucks sake, Miguel.”

“I was gonna clean it up, but you didn’t call on your way back home.” Miguel tumbled down from his perch and brushed the slaughter mouse up with the dustpan and broken broom he kept by the foot of the couch. “See? Already gone, Holmes.”

“Mmhmm, there’s still some evidence left at the scene, Watson.” Karl stepped over the mess as hung up his raincoat. “Of course, the Ravens are losing. What else is new?”

Miguel turned his head. “Actually, I made a house call the other day. An unexpected one.”

Karl pivoted. “What kind of house call?”

“If I’m telling you, you know exactly what kind.”

Karl nodded his head; he knew but wished to confirm. “Well, you big slut. Good for you? How’d much you make? What were they like?”

“He was fine,” Miguel started to look at his partner. “I thought it was going to be his mom at first, but she left in a hurry.”

“Wait, a mom pimped out her son? Ugh, I love the suburbs.”

Miguel scoffed.

“Oh lighten up. You did this every time you have a little adventure, even if it isn’t earning you money on the side.”

“I just wonder what my parents would say.”

Karl laughed. “Yeah, my parents don’t need to know what I do between the sheets. They can stay ignorant.” He paused but Miguel didn’t take the hint. With a playful slap on the arm, he continued, “But you don’t have to. I’ve been home all of two minutes and you haven’t asked me how my weekend was.”

Miguel apologized for being so rude. “Sorry, the mice distracted me.”

“Yeah, whatever Elmer Tom.” Karl snickered at himself. “Well, my weekend was great. Bobby was very accommodating.”

“Ew, his name was Bobby.”

“Listen, I can’t help what names these white women give their sons.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Miguel threw his swept up kill into the trash can. “Well, I might as well shower now.” He removed his t-shirt. Sweat glistened off the small of his back. 

Repositioning himself on the couch, Karl called out to him. “You go do that, and my ass will be right up behind you. Ol’ sexy lil thing.” Miguel flashed his winning smile as he climbed the stairs. Karl, alone in the living room, turned off the television. In the corner, Toosie squeaked at Winkz returned to him. “Ya’ll are disgusting,” he called out to the mice, “but ya’ll sure are good for business.”

 

Word

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