Monday, September 7, 2009

At Marie’s (3)

“Zip yer fly for Chrissake.” JJ said. As Chris dropped his guard to look down at his crotch, JJ stepped in, bringing his fist up, slamming Chris square in the nose. Chris’s head snapped back, then his body followed. Chris stammered for a few steps falling back on the trunk of a Honda. Blood flowed down his face and chest. Chris was dazed but he didn’t feel the pain of his mashed nose.

Chris slid off the car, leaving a sweaty smudge where he had landed. He scurried back into the fighter’s stance, calling JJ back in. As they moved at each other, Chris grabbed JJ by the hair and drove his fist deep into the young man’s belly. JJ groaned as he doubled over, falling to his knees. Before JJ could regret finishing the last plate of nachos, Chris’s foot slammed into his chest, knocking JJ flat on the gravel parking lot.

Chris stomped on JJ’s chest knocking the wind from him. He pulled JJ up by his arm, stones and gravel embedded in his muscled back. Chris swung JJ, slamming him back against the Ford. The door buckled and paint nicked as JJ leaned, stunned.

Chris was confident as he controlled the fight. He grabbed the front of JJ’s waistband, taking careful aim at his belly button. Before Chris could deliver the blow, JJ kicked him in the gut, making Chris retch up a pile of foamy nachos.

As Chris spewed, John John started to giggle. Uncontrollably, though every yuck sent painful spasms from his head to his feet. But laughing so hard also made him a bit queasy, so he bent over holding on to the side of the Ford for balance. Nothing. A single dry heave that racked his chest with a gassy ache.

Chris found a dried out oil rag on the ground and used it to wipe his mouth. He also swiped at some tiny bloody bubbles on his left pec.

“God DAMN it,” he growled, mad at everything and anything now. “You see that? You SEE that? Fuckin losht dinner, cuz of YOU, y’faggot asshole.”

JJ tried to start to giggle again, but he just didn’t have it in him now: “I di’n’t force you to east … east … eat like a fuckin … I don’t know what.”

The smell of oil on the rag brought up a fresh eruption of corn mush, sour cream, and bottled jalapenos from Chris’s gorge. Sympathetically, JJ held Chris’s cold-sweaty forehead in his hand as Chris voided the last of his second jumbo basket of chips.

Chris pushed the hand away. He spat to clean the sick taste out his mouth and kicked some dirt and gravel over the mess he’d made. JJ staggered off looking at the stars in the sky.

(To be continued)


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