Blood Sugar

by Daniel Kraus

so I do a thug turn and roll up on that fogey like hes gonna get bruised.

  * * *

  He takes a drink of veggie smoothie like hes got all the time in the world. Dont he know what day it is? Hasnt he ever checked a clock? Things are about to go wild on Yellow Street and he chooses this exact time and place to mess with me? I drop my bags and swagger up and say

  * * *

  The sun is direct in his face and I can see the lines dug deep in his skin like bark on a big old tree and its like this old dudes probably been taking breaks on this curb since before I was born and is gonna be taking breaks on this curb long after whatever happens to me tonight happens to me. Old timers still flashing his nametag so I guess goatee manager man didnt can his ass. Not that it matters none. Walgreen goes outta business, burns down, whatever, this dinosaurs gonna outlive all us fools, rabbiting all the worlds celery like hes from Watership Dog.

  * * *

  He goes

  * * *

  Thats what I say.

  * * *

  He goes

  * * *

  Ooo! I punch my palm and do a circle walk so I dont bank his ass! Im like

  * * *

  He goes

  * * *

  And I go

  * * *

  And hes like

  * * *

  And Im like

  * * *

  Then he goes

  * * *

  So I go

  * * *

  Two black folks walk by on their way to Walgreen and they spot Dick Trickle and instead of avoiding him they smile and head right up. The man is a sharp looking brother, handsome as hell. If Dags dads George Clooney, this dudes Idris Elba. He gives Dick Trickle a dap and asks hows Dick Trickles living, and then Idris Elbas honey that looks like Rihanna leans over and plants her pretty red lips right on Dick Trickles withered ass cheek. How the dang hell do all these sexy black superstars know this crusty old brontosaurus? They go like and Dick Trickle chuckles like and I just got to stand there alone steaming mad while Dick Trickle gulps a gulp of health drink before remembering Im standing there. He sighs big and rubs his bony hand across his face like hes trying to iron out sixty five million years a wrinkles.

  * * *

 

  * * *

  Old mans interrupted my flow. My comeback is weak.

  * * *

 

  * * *

  Dick Trickle takes a second celery stick from his plastic bag. Man, I wish he did smoke so I could bum a heater cuz its colding up by the second and my teeth are rattling. But this old skeleton? His crooked ass leg and those skinny ass arms? Not a single bone on him is shaking.

  * * *

 

  * * *

  I go like

  * * *

  He goes

  * * *

  Four dang thirty in the p.m. and the suns razor blading the bald center of this old farts fro. Dark rolled up rapid tonight. People are checking the sky all surprised when they come out the automatic door. How many times have I seen that door ghost open and ghost shut? Tonight goes like I think its gonna go and this could be the last time in history I see this Walgreen. Dang, man. That feels weird to think. Whos gonna bust the balls of Salvation Army Santa if Im not around? Whos gonna bust the balls of Dick Trickle?

  * * *

  When the door shuts and the Monster Mash is sealed in, no cars come by for a bit and the only thing I hear is leaves crabbing their monster claws across the cement. If thats the real life sound of the night then I better keep talking and talking and talking cuz what if that cold ass click clacking is all I can hear when Im stuck all alone inside some juvie cage like Robbie used to be?

  * * *

  I go

  * * *

  Hes like Dick Trickle shrugs and his prehistorical face gets even darker cuz the suns stuck behind public housing.

  * * *

  For a sec it gets me thinking. What if the cobwebby old geezer is right? What if the whole reason I feel Lord of the Rings so powerful and wrote it on my jean jacket is so that the marker can soak through to my skin and I can start fighting for the forces of good. Those two superstars that dapped and kissed Dick Trickle, his church on Golden Boulevard, this Bishop dude he keeps mentioning. Its like Dick Trickle is the real deal. He dont need no Barack Obama mask. Hes got so much fam hes got to celery up to stay healthy so he dont die and all his loved ones cry forever. What do I got? All I got? I got this jacket trying to inject Peter Jacksons inspirations into my veins.

  * * *

  But I cant help it, I go

  * * *

  Thats what I say.

  * * *

  The truth though is Im wondering.

  Feast

  The McDonald feast is torn up. Cant believe my eyes. Its like somebody got terrorist bombed. Whole cribs splattered. Mangled ass hamburger stomped into the carpet like brain. Bits a nugget and chicken tender flung across the chair like muscle. Fries smushed into everything like white flesh. And ketchup. Ketchup like you cant believe, striped on the walls and goobering the clocks. Before I recognize the McDonald wrappers I figure Robbie decided to skip past all that candy nonsense,
and this mess is whats left of some poor ass child that came knocking early.

  * * *

  First thing I think is oh no. Did my Midget survive this? Cuz I tell you what, lettuce and tomato and onion and pickle looks a lot like little girl guts. But sisters making a soft noise and there she is squatted in the same corner as before except now shes got a chunk a McRib. Shes chewing and whispering to her dead ass flypaper flies and this time theres no doubt shes saying the name DAndre. And thats not all. I hear Antoine and Shonelle and Cassandra and Michael and Jemarcus and Sharise and Eric and Jada too. Naw, man. Thats too many. Too many fly names. Cuz what if all their asses were messed up bad as DAndre? What if Midges been carrying around every single one a them inside her head?

  * * *

  The flies are multiplying like crazy. Theres maggots all over little sisters green sweaties. Im losing my mind, man. Im losing my mind. I swear Im gonna jump in, grab them squirmy worms in my fists, and squeeze till they goop out. I dont give a dang if Midget gave them maggots names or not, theres no space left in the world for traumatic little fly babies. Lucky for me Ive got a little bit of sense left cuz it turns out theyre not maggots. Theyre sesame seeds. Midge musta ate a bun.

  * * *

  Robbie staggers in. Fat boys a whole new level a fat. Maybe its just my furious mind. But the Barenaked Ladies are stretched so tight its like they have Downs. Robbies weaving like hes drunk. Face red as hell, belching wet, stumbling like hes gonna take a header. His whole outfit is plastered with McDonald. Mustard and barbecue and mayonnaise and special sauce. Its like he took a bath in that junk. My favorite shirts stained fatal and hes got cheddar cheese caught in his hairdo. Theres just no doubt. No doubt at all. Fat boy promised us a feast and then feasted it all himself. Like a punk. Like a pig. Like a piggy ass pig face punk.

  * * *

  Something snaps. Feels real as a couple years back when Robbie stomped and broke my toe. I start shaking serious and wheezing like Im one a them poor ass asthma kids in gym. Its not right. This behavior here is not right. This feast was for all a us. For me and Dag and Midget. We havent ate all day. Now its just grease. Just smears a grease on top a the grease already greased over everything. Whole cribs nothing but grease from stuff that once upon a time was clean.

  * * *

  Brother DAndre is who I feel like. Bunch a busted ass parts sealed up inside stupid cement and rotting away where nobody can see. If I break off that cement, a big chunk a me is gonna break off with it. But mightyduck it. You feel me? I dont care what breaks off. Im itchy under there so bad and cant take none a this no more.

  * * *

  McDonald guts feel good and warm. Get me two big handfuls before I start throwing. Robbies halfway through a burp when it hits, a big eyeful a honey mustard goop and cheddar jack slime from a chicken wrap. It splashes across his face and its not funny. It looks like hes been shot, like the mess bursted from his insides. Midget gasps and cuts out her buggy conversations but thats the last thing I care about cuz Im wild, Im a animal, Im grabbing McDonald slop off the floor and screaming how Robbies a fuck, a fat fucking shit ass fuck, and thats what I say, the genuine fucking f word and shit ass s word too, cuz I dont care about what a fucking childs supposed to fucking say, Robbies a motherfucking terrible fat adult shitfucker that shits all over his fucking motherfucking friends that fucking do all they fucking can to keep his motherfucking shit tight as fucking possible and the shit ass motherfucker doesnt appreciate it one fucking bit or treat little fuckers like little fuckers oughta be motherfucking treated. Shits splashing Robbie all over. Cheese melt. Tartar sauce. Hickory smoke bacon. Mushrooms. Some a it backsplats on me and it doesnt taste any better than the snot sliding down cuz Im sobbing like a little bitch. Fuck Robbie, you know? Fuck all grown ass adults. Miss Poole from school and Dick Trickle from Walgreen and Mrs F from the nice part of town and Moms and my lets be honest probably white as fuck pops too cuz none a them helpless adult fuckers are helping none a us kids far as I can see. Just look at this sorry shit. Little sisters nibbling a McRib with her fucking hands! Theres supposed to be a table, yo. A table for little motherfuckers to eat their food from. And forks and knives and shit. Napkins to wipe your fucking face like youre civilized after you clean your plate. And plates! Fuck, man! You got to have fucking plates to clean in the first motherfucking place! Naw, motherfucker! Aint none a this shit gonna stand! Midge is a baby, yo! A baby! She cant grow up in a filthy ass world that aint got any way out except ending up like Robbie or #69 Kyle Ketchum or one of them motherfucking Halloween children walking down the fucking block to their doom right this fucking second.

  * * *

  Robbie stands there and takes it. Hes got onion in his hair and a pickle glued to his cheek. It looks like hes crying chipotle. When I run out a McDonald I throw everything I can, a computer mouse and a hockey puck and a beautiful geode rock. The rock knocks Robbie right in the ear but he doesnt do anything except blink even after the blood comes. Under his flab he looks just like a scared little child. Like us, like no better than us, and if thats true how are we supposed to make it? It makes me crazy sad and that makes me even madder but I dont got anything left to throw, I cleared a bald patch in the living room and now Im slipping around a big orange puddle a McDonald juice.

  * * *

  Im on my ass now with my drawers soggy with sauce but I pull the Grishnákh stuff out a my snowboots, fake teeth and purple ass face paint that wasnt the right shade anyhow, and I throw that too and it makes me heartbroken as hell cuz I had plans, you know? I had plans a doing that stuff up right so Dag thought I was smart and creative and now shes never gonna know, nobodys ever gonna see all the things Ive got imagined inside my head.

  Shower

  Last thing left to throw is my ninja stars and I feel Gwendolyns crusty blood on the stainless steel. Up pops a video in my head of me doing Robbie the same way, how his fat jelly neck slices open and black evil blood shoots out. But heres the question killing me. Does dropping Robbie have the same mercy to it as dropping a tick sucked doggie? Hows anyone supposed to know for sure?

  * * *

  Whole cribs full a noises I cant stand. Midget whining cuz shes spooked. Robbies stomach squirting cuz a all the McDonald. And me doing hiccups cuz Im a boo hooing bitch. I drop my ninja tools, all of them, and kick every single one into floor trash and use a sleeve a my jacket, the one that says and who knows, yo, maybe the cave troll is me, and I take that sleeve and wipe all the hot emotional goo off my face. Emotional goo wont get none a us nowhere. Doesnt matter what Dick Trickle said about crooked paths. Midget, Dag, Robbie, me, this is the path we four are walking. We better accept it. This is the path and one a us has to step up, lead the way. Why not me? What else am I here for?

  * * *

  Walgreen bags are still sitting where I dropped them. I fish around inside and pull out the deodorant and mouthwash and cologne Dag got and I throw them at Robbies feet.

  * * *

  I say and it comes out scary weak. I huck back some snot and do a do over.

  * * *

  I dont look at Robbie when I say it. Dont look at anything. All I look at is the back a my eyelids but the problem with being a human person is you cant close your ears no matter how bad you want and clear as hell I hear Robbie lean over and fart and pick up the deodorant and mouthwash and cologne and shuffle his footsteps real slow across the room, thump thoomp, and through the McDonald trash, crinkle crunkle, and into the bathroom where the shower starts firing in spurts like it does, like a cut throat bleeding out, split splat sploot.

  Music

  House stinks like eggs cuz the waters bad on Yellow Street. Robbies outta the shower and shining like a whale cuz a the Total Body Hair Removal. His tats are on full display. Hes got a Jesus cross on his arm and a mean mongoose on his back and what looks like a push lawnmower high up on his leg though I guess that cant be right. None
a them are inked with skill and all a them are uglied up with pimples.

  * * *

  I wish I could quit looking. Not cuz Robbies blubber butt revolts me but cuz hes sick. Fat boys sick as hell. First time he puked it went on so epic me and Midget went in there to get a look and both a us gots our minds blown. There was a whole mountain a McDonald in that toilet. Cant believe a mammal put that much food down in the first place. Robbies got a bad DT tremble and hes holding the towel rack so he dont fall. Hes pale as hell. Even his lips are pale. Me and Midge hurried our asses out a there but not before I peeped the shower. Looks like fast food soup. Lettuce and tomato and meat clogging the drain so bad the waters just floating there pink.

  * * *

  Second and third time Robbie puked we didnt go look.

  * * *

  Midgets the one that spots trick or treaters first. Little sister taps the window real hyper till I come see. Theres no mistaking it. Its a momma and two sons dressed like smurfs or blueberries or something else blue. Right now theyre strolling the other side a Yellow Street but theyll be circling to our turf soon enough. Its five thirty. Already late. Too late to be thinking about changing the plan. I pound me some yoga breaths like Miss Poole taught and clear my mind of all the junk up there cuz, look, when you lose your yoga mind? Thats when things go rough. I pick up the Walgreen bags. Simple. I go in the kitchen. Real simple. Be the monk.

  * * *

  Robbie lied so much today he deserves a olympic medal in lying. But he didnt lie about this. He said he was gonna turn out the crib for chemicals and thats exactly what fat boy did. He has it set out in neat rows on top a the sexy calendar witch. Theres a rusted ass can a WD40 that says