by Tara Sivec
“Nope, no talking. This is a serious game. Pay attention.”
Jenny rolls her eyes at me and squats down to talk to Veronica.
“Okay, honey, remember, don’t take the ball away from your teammates. And if you get the ball, spike it all the way down the track,” Jenny explains to a confused Veronica.
“Or, you could kick it down the field,” I confirm for Veronica.
“Soccer sucks,” Veronica complains, folding her arms in front of her and refusing to move.
“I know, soccer totally sucks and it will probably make you gay. But there’s not much else to pick from when you’re three. Suck it up and go make me a goal!” I tell her as I grab her shoulders, turn her around to face the field and give her a little shove.
“Okay, seriously. You and I need to talk. I have something I need-”
The ref blows the whistle right next to Jenny for the kickoff, and she stops in the middle of her sentence to wince. There’s a flurry of kids all racing for the ball, hitting and shoving and pulling hair to get to it. They don’t care what team they’re playing for; the just want the ball. It’s soccer anarchy.
“NO, JUSTIN! WE DON’T BITE IN SOCCER!” Jenny yells to one of the kids.
“Get the ball, Veronica! Take that ball away and pitch it past the catcher!”
“You are majorly screwing up your sports talk. Pitch and catcher are for baseball,” I explain to her as the crowd erupts in cheers when someone makes a goal. No clue who made it or what team just got the point because all these little bastards look the same.
“But we get two points for a basket, right?” she asks as the kids come in for a water break.
“No, you get one point for a goal. Basket is in basketball.”
“But you told the kids earlier to dribble the ball down the field. I KNOW dribbling is basketball,” she argues.
“Dribbling is basketball and soccer.”
“Who stops someone from dribbling in basketball?” she asks.
“Defense.”
“Then who stops them from dribbling a ball in soccer?”
“The defender,” I tell her, wondering if this is going to turn into the worst “Who’s on First” moment in history.
“Whatever, as long as they don’t kill each other, I don’t care. Anyway, we really need to talk about something important and-”
“Shhhhhhhhh!” I tell her, putting my finger against her lips. “Game. We play. No talk.”
Fuck! I sound like a God dammed Neanderthal but I can’t help it. Whatever important thing she needs to tell me is probably going to be that she’s decided she wants a younger penis that likes to eat vanilla.
Luckily, something shiny distracts her. Unfortunately, that shiny thing is Fuckson, Mr. Vanilla himself.
Not to be confused with Vanilla Ice, obviously. If Mr. Ice walked over here right now, I would freak the fuck out! Best rapper since Milli Vanilli. You can’t blame it on the rain without first stopping, collaborating, and then listening. Genius.
He saunters (yes, I said saunters, shut it) over to us and hey, look at that. He’s wearing a fucking shirt for once.
“Jackson! You made it,” she says with a smile as she gives crap hole a quick hug before ushering the team back out on the field.
“OH MY GOSH YAAAAY! I’m so excited you’re here!” I squeal in sarcastic delight, clapping my hands together and jumping up and down.
Jenny gives me a dirty look before turning away to face Vaginal Itch Vanilla.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world! You’re doing a great job coaching. Drew, you didn’t play soccer in school, did you?” shit dick asks.
What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not good enough to play soccer? He doesn’t think I know how to play sports? Did this shit on a shingle just insult me?
“What, you don’t think I would totally kick ass at soccer?” I ask him, trying to rein in my anger before I’m kicked out of a peewee soccer game for bloodying someone’s face.
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean that at all! I just meant, with your size, I’m betting you played football or rugby. Some full contact sport where you could really kick ass and not just run around the field. You seem like you could play a mean game of football.”
He’s right. I CAN play a mean game of football.
“I was a total loser in school and didn’t play any sports. You must have been like the coolest guy in school. I can tell just by looking at you that everyone liked you. We’re you homecoming king or anything?” he asks curiously.
“Actually, yeah. I was homecoming king AND prom king. It was the first time in the history of the school that it happened. You should have seen how loud everyone cheered when they called my name. Dude, it was fucking amazing.”
What the fuck am I doing? I just called him 'dude'! And I’m sharing a memory with him. I don’t like this guy. I hate this guy. Do NOT be nice to him.
“Oh man, I wish I could have seen that! I bet you won everything,” he says. He stares at me for a few minutes, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable when the next thing pops out of his mouth.
“Wait, Drew Parritt? Holy shit, I knew that name sounded familiar! You were first team, all-state during all four years of high school and got a scholarship but blew your knee out senior year. Oh my God! You’re a fucking legend!”
He knows me! He’s heard of me! I am a fucking legend!
“Shit, man! That last game of the season sucked major ass. I could have worked harder with the physical therapy and possibly been back on the field sophomore year of college but I was too busy with the ladies at that point,” I say with a laugh, quickly cutting it off and dropping my smile when I remember who the hell I’m talking to – Public Enemy Number One!
“Man, do you still have all of your trophies and awards and shit? I would love to see all of them,” he gushes.
Noooo, the force is strong! Resist! Resist!
“Yes! I have them all in the basement on a dinky shelf. I really want to build some kind of cabinet for them but I’m not good with that stuff.”
Fuck! What the fuck am I doing? Stop talking to him. He’s my arch nemesis!
“Hey, I can totally build that for you. I went to school for carpentry actually and my teachers all said I had great natural talent. I build stuff for everyone in the family, and I’m trying to start my own business. I could come over later and you could show me your trophies, and I can get an idea on how big of a cabinet you’ll need,” he says excitedly.
Awe, shit. I’m a goner.
“That would be fucking awesome! How much do you charge for something like that?”
Why am I asking him this? I will NOT let him make me a trophy cabinet. I WON’T, no matter what the price is.
“Oh, there’s no way I’d take your money. Totally on the house, dude. It would be an honor just to be able to see your trophies, let alone build you something to put them in.”
Well fuck, I think I’m falling in love with Fuckson. God dammit!!! At least Jim and Carter have already had a chance to talk to him and they can bring me back to reality with what an asshole he is.
The soccer game finally ends and Jackson says good-bye and that he’ll stop by later.
Fuck, I can’t even bring myself to call him a bad word anymore because he’s too fucking likeable! Now I’M the one who needs the intervention.
Jenny is busy talking to the parents, so I sneak away and walk over to Jim and Carter by the bleachers before she corners me and wants to “talk”.
“Okay, give it to me. Tell me every mean, awful, and shitty thing you think about him. Go.”
Jim and Carter share a look before turning to face me.
“Actually, we kind of like him,” Carter says sheepishly.
“Yeah, he’s going to come over tomorrow and watch the girls so Liz and I can go out to dinner,” Jim adds.
“He’s coming over to our house Tuesday because he has a secret wall cleaner he mixed together that will take black permanent marker off of the walls
,” Carter says.
Noooooooo! They were supposed to help me! They were supposed to be my wingmen and now they just fucked me in the ass!
“Did you hear him talk about that thing he did in the fifth grade?!” Carter asks Jim.
“Oh my gosh, that was the funniest story ever!” Jim replies with a laugh.
“I really liked his jeans. I asked him where he got them and he said Target. Who knew?” Carter says with a shrug. “I wonder if he would go shopping with me for jeans if I ask him.”
I stare in horror at my two friends as they go back and forth gushing over my sworn enemy that I now kind of like.
“We’re going shoe shopping next Friday because he knows a great store about an hour from here that is having a huge clearance sale so make sure you don’t ask him to go Friday,” Jim says.
“Wait, a shoe sale? I need new shoes,” I tell Jim.
I am fucked.
Chapter 21 – Spoop
“I GOT IT!” I scream upstairs to Jenny as the doorbell rings and I race to answer the door.
It’s shoe shopping day and Jackson had told me he would come over and get me when he was ready to leave. I’m still not one-hundred-percent on board the Jackson train yet, but any guy that knows where the best shoe sales are gets a free pass for the day in my book.
I fling open the door and Jackson is standing there next to a four-shelf, hand-crafted, oak trophy case.
“I had some free time last night and was able to build your trophy case. I hope you don’t mind,” Jackson says with a smile.
Well son of a bitch. Now I’m on the Jackson train waving good-bye to my loved ones and heading off into the sunset with my new best friend.
“Dude, this is fucking awesome!” I tell him as I step outside onto the porch to get a good look at my new case. It’s the best piece of furniture I’ve ever seen. This thing will easily hold all of my trophies and medals, and this guy, who could probably tell I didn’t like him at first, had made it for me just to be nice.
Or he still wants to steal my wife and this is his way of distracting me. While I’m busy setting up my trophies, he’s going to be upstairs having sex with my wife.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I got this for you too,” Jackson says as he steps down off of the porch and picks something up that he had left by our bushes.
When he turns around, he’s cradling a garden gnome in his arms. But not just any garden gnome. This little guy is wearing an Ohio State football uniform from my alma mater. Instead of a weird garden gnome hat, he’s wearing a silver football helmet with a red and white stripe down the center. He’s also got on an Ohio State football jersey with my old number painted on it, and he’s holding a football in his arm.
Now, normally, I am not an advocate of garden gnomes. They are creepy little bastards that come to life at night and ass rape you while you’re sleeping. They hover over your head on your pillow and just wait until you flip over on your stomach so they can take off the covers and have their way with you. This hasn’t been proven scientifically yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. It’s also the reason why I always wear a belt to bed. I’m not making it easy for them to get my sweet ass!
Jenny has always wanted to get a gnome for our front yard - the one where the little creepy guy is sitting on a dock holding a fishing pole. Every time we are anywhere near a garden store she begs me to let her buy it. And every time, I have to remind her what those things are capable of. Especially one with a fishing pole.
Good God, woman! Do you know what kind of harm could come to my ass with a garden gnome carrying a fishing pole? Unspeakable acts will be conducted. UNSPEAKABLE.
I had never thought I would see the day where I would welcome a garden gnome into my yard. But this one is a winner. I can see it in his eyes that he would never hurt me. He would never use his evil garden gnome way against me.
“Jenny is always talking about how she wants a garden gnome but that you don’t like them. I saw this one the other day and thought you might approve of it, so I had the guy at the store paint your old jersey number on it,” Jackson says as he hands the little football guy over to me.
“I’m naming him Buckeye and he will be my friend forever,” I say softly as I pat Buckeye’s head and then set him down on the first step of the porch.
With one last smile in Buckeye’s direction, I help Jackson carry the trophy case down into the basement and then he helps me place all of my trophies into it before going back upstairs.
“Hey, Jackson!” Jenny says as she meets us at the top of the stairs with Billy in her arms. “How was your date last night?”
Jackson laughs and I look back and forth between the two of them.
Date? Jackson had a date? With a woman that isn’t my wife? This day just keeps getting better and better.
“Oh man, it was so awesome, Jenny! We had such a good time and you will be happy to know it turned into a sleepover,” Jackson says with a smile.
Wow, I didn’t know the guy had it in him! Banging on the first date is so me. I feel so close to him right now.
“I’m so happy for you! So you guys obviously hit it off. Are you going out again? Jenny asks as she shifts Billy to her other arm.
“Yep, we’re going out again tonight. Although, after the wake-up call I got this morning, I’m surprised I can even function or walk right now!”
Jenny and Jackson laugh and I just want to wrap this guy up in a hug and jump up and down in happiness that he’s found a chick to bang, and I can stop freaking out.
I reach over and pat Jackson on the back. “That’s awesome news, dude. I’m happy for you.”
Jackson smiles again and I think I might even see him blush a little.
“Thanks. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this good about someone. Dave is a great guy. I can’t wait for you guys to meet him. Is it okay if I use your bathroom?” he asks.
Jenny tells him to go ahead and use the half bath downstairs which is a good thing because my brain is somewhere in outer space right now and I need a minute without him in the room.
“Dave? Tell me that’s some weird chick’s name,” I whisper to Jenny as Jackson walks down the hall to the bathroom.
“Um, no. Jackson is gay. I told you that,” she says as she walks into the kitchen to grab a few bottles from the fridge to pack into the diaper bag.
“No, you most certainly did NOT tell me that! I’m pretty sure that is something I would have clearly remembered,” I complain as I glance behind me down the hall to where Jackson disappeared.
“What’s the big deal? We know plenty of gay people. You’re not turning into a homeopathic are you?” she demands angrily.
“No, I’m not turning into someone who uses alternative medicine,” I reply with a laugh.
“This isn’t funny, Drew. If you have a problem with gay people, we have a serious issue.”
“I don’t have a problem with gay people! I have a problem with thinking some guy wants to bang my wife when the entire time he wants to bang the Hershey Highway. This would have saved me a lot of headaches, let me tell you,” I explain.
“You thought Jackson wanted to have sex with me?” Jenny asks in surprise.
“Um, yes. Why the hell wouldn’t I? He’s a good-looking guy and you’re hot as fuck. Of course I would think Jackson wants to have sex with you,” I tell her. “And another thing...he’s been in that bathroom too long. If he’s spooping in our toilet, we’re going to have words.”
Jenny pauses with a bottle in her hand and looks at me in confusion.
“If Jackson wants to poop in our toilet, he can poop in our toilet. He’s our friend. Jim poops in our toilet all the time,” she says.
“Jim poops in our toilet all the time because he has three girls who constantly knock on the door and ask him if he can paint their nails or brush Barbie’s hair. His poop gets stage fright at his house. This is completely different. Jackson is depositing spoop in our home!” I complain.
“Will you kee
p your voice down! He’s going to hear you!” Jenny scolds.
“I think he SHOULD hear me! He can take as many dumps as he likes in my toilet. But they can’t be spoop dumps!”
Jenny mutters to herself as she puts Billy down in his bouncy seat up on the counter and buckles him in.
“Stop saying spoop! I don’t even know what that is. You know I don’t like it when you use big words I don’t know,” she complains as she zips the diaper bag closed.
“It’s very simple to understand. Jackson said he had sex this morning. Thereby confirming that he has spooge floating around in his back door regions. It’s not just poop at that point anymore, Jenny. It’s SPOOP. He’s SPOOPING where we brush our teeth! Now every time I go in there, I’m going to see spoop. Spoop in the toilet, spoop on the floor, spoop on the walls. Everywhere I look there will be SPOOP and it’s all his fault!”
Jackson is gay. Jackson does NOT want to sleep with my wife. This makes me so happy. Spoop makes me so sad.
“That man made you a trophy case and is taking you shoe shopping today. He can spoop on our living room carpet if he wants!” Jenny argues.
“Oh, now you’re just being silly. Why would he spoop on the carpet? He’s not a dog,” I tell her as I make faces at Billy while he coos and smiles at me.
“If you turn out to be gay, you’d never spoop in Daddy’s toilet, would you, Billy? No you wouldn’t! You’d keep your spoop to yourself because you love Daddy.”
A few minutes later, Jackson walks into the kitchen and stands next to me. All I can do is look at his hands and hope he washed the spoop off of them. It will be embarrassing if I have to remind him.
“RAPE ME! MOMMY! RAPE ME!”
Jenny sighs and shakes her head when she hears Veronica yelling from the bathroom in the upstairs hallway.
“Um, is she asking you to rape her?” Jackson questions with a laugh.
“Yep, she totally is. She’s having a hard time saying ‘wipe me’ right now after she goes to the bathroom by herself,” I explain to him.
I wonder when Jackson is in his own home, if he screams, “SPOOP ME! SPOOP ME!”
