Some Are Sicker Than Others

by Andrew Seaward

  It took them twenty minutes just to get through downtown Boulder—rush hour traffic was horrible this time of day—but they finally made it and were flying up the foothills highway towards thirty-six then onto Lyons.

  As Dave shifted into third and checked the speedometer, he felt his phone vibrate against his leg. He pulled it out and flipped it open. Cheryl’s name appeared like a death threat flashing across the display. Oh great, just as he suspected. He figured it was only a matter of time before she called. She was probably freaking out, looking for Larry, wondering why he didn’t show up at her sister’s house. Good. Let her worry. About time she thought of someone other than herself.

  He flipped the phone closed and shoved it back in his pocket then looked at Larry sitting Indian style beside him on the floor. The kid was picking his nose and playing with the buttons on the cassette player, trying to shove in some old beat-up tape. “You better not break that thing,” Dave said as he checked his mirrors and shifted into second.

  “I’m not gonna break it, daddy. I’m juth twying to git to my favit thong.”

  “Oh yeah and what’s that?”

  “Magic Bus.”

  “Magic Bus?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who sings that?”

  “Who.”

  “What?”

  “Who things it.”

  “I don’t know who sings it. That’s why I’m asking you god damnit.”

  The kid wagged his head and started laughing. “No, daddy…Who things it.”

  “God damnit Larry, what the fuck is wrong with you? I just told you I don’t know who sings it. I’m asking you who sings it.”

  “Thath what I’m trying da tell you daddy. Ith The Who. Thath da name othuh band. The Who.”

  “The Who?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell kind a name is The Who?”

  “You know The Who.”

  “No, I don’t know no damn Who.”

  “But we pwayed it afta da chuckle board.”

  “Aw for Christ’s sake, Larry would you please stop it with the god damn chuckle board? We didn’t play any fucking chuckle board.”

  “Yeth we did.”

  “No we didn’t.”

  “Yeth we did.”

  “NO WE DIDN’T!” Dave slammed his hands against the steering wheel so hard that it shook the driver side doors. “God damnit Larry, just stop talking! I can’t play games with you right now! You’re driving me nuts!”

  The kid shrugged and pushed the tape into the cassette player then hit the play button and cranked up the volume. The song began with a strange arrangement of percussions. It sounded like wooden sticks being banged against a basketball pole. Then, along came the guitar and the singer’s high-pitched vocals that made Dave cringe because they were so obnoxiously nasal. To make matters worse, Larry started screeching along with the lyrics as he strummed away on his air guitar.

  “You wanna turn that thing down?” Dave said, as he flipped on his high beams, peering like an owl out through the windshield.

  “Come on, Daddy. Thith ith da beth part.”

  “It’s too loud. I can’t hear myself think.”

  Dave glanced into the rearview mirror trying to keep an eye on the back of the bus. It was a circus back there. The girls were up and dancing in the aisle, their tight green shirts rolled up and tied at the waist. Every time they lifted their arms, Dave got an eyeful of those tight, young abdominals. Their belly buttons seemed to wink at him as they arched their backs.

  “Hey girls,” he said, glancing behind him. “You wanna save some of that energy for the match tonight?”

  The girls ignored him and continued dancing, their muscular, volleyball player legs grinding against the backs of the seats.

  “God damn,” Dave muttered as he turned back towards the windshield. What he’d do to those girls if they were just a little older. He’d take those legs and wrap ‘em around him and bury his nose into those young, curly muffs. He got goose bumps just thinking about it. If only they weren’t so fucking young.

  He shook off the goose bumps then flipped on the wipers as light flakes of snow began to float against the windshield. Christ, look at this shit. What a disaster. Thought they said it wasn’t supposed to snow until tomorrow. Idiots. Fucking meteorologists. They wouldn’t know a snow storm if it hit ‘em in the dick.

  He leaned forward and strained his eyeballs, trying to figure out how far they were along. Just then, Sarah came running up behind him, her soft, sweet breath blowing against the back of his neck.

  “Hey coach, can we stop for a pee break?”

  “What?” Dave turned around and looked at her—her nipples were like little strawberries poking through her tight, green uniform.

  “Can we stop? I have to pee.”

  “Already? We just got on the road.”

  “I know coach, but I have to go.”

  “Can’t you hold it?”

  “No, coach.” She crossed her legs and began gyrating up and down in an “I gotta go pee” dance. “Please coach,” she said, her voice soft and raspy, like a child prostitute trying to sell a hand job. “Pretty please, I’ll do anything you say.” She reached up, put her hands around Dave’s shoulders, and began to dig her fingers into his neck muscles.

  “What are you doing, Sarah?”

  “I’m giving you a massage. Doesn’t it feel good?”

  Almost immediately, Dave felt a tingling sensation move from the back of his head down to his nuts. His muscles went limp, his eyes rolled backward, and his dick got hard and pressed up against his zipper. “Please stop that Sarah,” he said mumbling, one eye closed, his tongue hanging out. “I can’t concentrate with you doing that.”

  “Only if you promise to stop.”

  Dave looked down. His dick was enormous. It looked a zucchini was shoved down his pants. “Alright, alright,” he said, trying to push the zucchini downward, “but only if you go back and sit down with the rest of the girls. I can’t have you up here while I’m trying to drive.”

  Sarah squealed then wrapped her arms around Dave’s shoulders, hugged his neck, and gave him a wet kiss on the cheek. Then, she spun around, whipping her long, blond hair outward, adjusted her bra and strutted back to her seat. As she went, Dave took a peak in the rearview mirror, watching as that tight, little ass wagged back and forth. “God damn,” he muttered, trying to flatten out his penis. These fucking girls were gonna be the death of him.

  He exhaled deeply and shook off the tingling then moved his eyes to the clock on the dash. Christ, it was almost five-thirty. At this rate, they’d be lucky if they made it up there before the end of the JV game. But, did it really matter? What would the referees do? Forfeit the game? Please. They’d be doing him a favor. At least then, he’d get to go home early and curl up in bed. He needed some sleep. He felt like a fucking zombie. He could barely keep his eyes open let alone coach a god damn volleyball game. Maybe he should stop, just for a few minutes. He could sneak a couple quick hits somewhere while the girls were off taking their pee break. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen? Hell, a few hits would probably be good for him.

  He eased on the brake and put on his turn signal then pulled off at the next exit on the side of the highway. There was a gas station there, an old Citgo, with a couple self-service pumps and some vending machines.

  He pulled into the lot beside a semi that was packed with tree logs covered with a layer of slick snow. He lifted the emergency brake, cut the ignition, and turned his head towards the back of the bus. “Alright girls,” he said, as he pulled himself upward, “we’re gonna stop for just a few minutes. This is your last chance before we get up to Estes, so make it count.”

  The girls all got up, pulled on their jackets, and filed out of the bus and into the parking lot. Larry just sat there in his seat smirking, watching as the girls brushed by him. He had a look on his face of deep concentration as if he was counting the number of boobs he saw go by.

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nbsp; “Larry,” Dave said, snapping his fingers. “Stop staring. And put your damn tongue back in your mouth. You’re drooling all over the place.”

  Larry quickly put his hands up over his eyeballs, but snuck a peek through the little slit between his fingers.

  Once the last girl was out, Dave zipped up his jacket then tugged on his wool beanie and pulled on his gloves. “Alright,” he said, as he peered out the windshield, looking for a good place where he could sneak away and smoke. “You gotta pee, Larry?”

  The kid nodded.

  “Me too. Let’s go.”

  He grabbed the kid’s hand and pulled him out into the parking lot, and together they walked around the front of the bus towards the opposite side of the road. There was a little, white shack back there, what looked like an old restaurant, and lucky for him, the place was closed for the winter. It was perfect—the perfect cover, tucked underneath an umbrella of snow covered Douglas Firs. “Okay,” Dave said, looking back towards the gas station, “I’d say we got about ten minutes to go pee.”

  “Ten?” Larry said.

  “Yeah. Here.” Dave guided the kid over to some bushes. “You go over there by those bushes and I’ll go over here by the shack.”

  The kid looked back at him with a confused expression. It was obvious he didn’t want to be left alone. “But daddy—”

  “Don’t argue with me, Larry. There’s no time. Just go.”

  The kid scowled then slunk away behind the bushes, his pudgy ankles disappearing into about a foot of snow.

  Once he was gone, Dave pulled out his pipe, lighter, and red plastic pill bottle, first checking to make sure no one was around. He did a couple quick hits then tilted his head backward, feeling as the crack surged through his blood. He did a couple more just for good measure, but came to a sudden stop when he felt his phone vibrating against his leg. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He pulled it out and flipped it open. Big fucking surprise, it was Cheryl. What was her deal? Was she stupid? Didn’t she understand he didn’t have time to talk?

  “Christ almighty.” He mashed his thumb against the power button, waited for it to turn off then shoved it in his pocket. There. Now, try and call him. See how fucking far you get with the power turned off.

  He chuckled to himself and returned to his lighter, lit up again, and went for another hit. But, before he could suck in the smoke, he felt someone’s presence, their feet crunching behind him in the snow. He snapped his head around. Oh Jesus, it was just Larry, the kid looking up at him with a curious grin. “God damnit, Larry, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing sneaking up on your daddy like that?”

  “I’m finished,” the kid said, with proud assurance as if he’d just accomplished something really profound. “And I did it all by mythelf.”

  “Well, good for you.”

  Dave wrapped his lips around the cylinder then did another quick hit and looked back across the road. The girls were getting back from their pee break forming a line by the bus’s front doors. “Alright,” he said, turning to Larry. “Guess we should get back over there. You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Alright, let’s do it.” He took the instruments, shoved them back in his pocket then grabbed Larry’s hand, and headed off across the road.

  When they got back to the bus, Dave’s head was swimming. In fact, he was so loaded, it felt like his feet weren’t even touching the ground. He was floating—floating across the pavement, like one of those floats in the Macy’s Day parade. He felt fast, loose, free, and giddy, no twisting in his stomach, no pain in his knee. He could do anything. He could be anybody. Watch out motherfuckers, ‘cause he was coming, and he was about to turn this shit up a notch.

  “Alright,” he said, as he moonwalked across the parking lot and hopped his way up the steps of the bus. “Let’s go girls. Vamonos!”

  Most of the girls were still hanging out in the parking lot, twirling their hair, and playing with their cell phones.

  “Come on,” Dave shouted down to them, his hands cupped around his mouth. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go! Chop, chop! I don’t got all damn day.”

  The girls all just looked up at him with utter annoyance then rolled their eyes and flipped back their hair. They formed a line at the base of the steps and, one by one, climbed back on the bus. “That’s it,” Dave said, as they brushed by him, his eyes focused on the clefts of their butts. “One, two, four, eight…who do we appreciate?” He waited for the answer but no one said anything, so he decided to answer it himself: “Dave! Dave! Dave! Yeah! Whoohoo!” He raised his hand up to one of the players who just glared at it with a look of disgust. “Come on Lacy,” he said, acting offended. “Don’t leave me hanging girlfriend.”

  “My name’s not Lacy, coach. It’s Virginia.”

  “Oh shit, I knew that. Well gimme some skin anyway.”

  Dave stretched his hand up even higher, but the girl just crinkled her nose and crossed her arms. “What’s the matter with you, coach? Are you alright?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. I’m just excited. This is a big game. It’s the biggest. The best. We’re gonna win. We’re gonna kill ‘em. We’re gonna squash ‘em. Right? Right?” He clenched his fist and started pounding it against the steering wheel. “Come on Lacy—I mean Virginia. Shit. Sorry. Come on, don’t leave me hanging.”

  The girl slowly uncrossed her arms and tentatively touched her hand up to Dave’s palm.

  “Yeah!” Dave bellowed. “That’s the spirit! That’s what I like to fucking see! Way to go! Alright, keep it moving…one, two, Lacy, Jenny.”

  He kept his hand up as the girls moved by him, getting dirty looks from most, but sympathy high fives from some. Once the last girl was on, he stood up, cupped his hands together, and shouted back to the rear of the bus: “Yo Sarah. You back there? Where you at girl?”

  Sarah raised her hand and stood up slowly. “Uh…right here, coach.”

  “Oh, there you are. Can you do a head count for me to make sure we’re not missing anybody?”

  “Sure coach.” Sarah stood up and started counting, mumbling to herself as she pointed her finger in the air. “…eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Fourteen coach. Looks like we’re all here.”

  “Alright. Good, great, grand, wonderful…hold on tight ‘cause here we fucking go!”

  Dave spun around and jumped back behind the steering wheel, then cranked on the ignition and pulled the doors closed. “You ready?” he said, looking beside him at Larry who was sitting Indian style on the floor. The kid nodded. “Alright. Hold on. Here we go!”

  Dave wrenched into first and slammed down the accelerator. The bus reared forward, fishtailing through the snow. He didn’t even bother to check in his rearview mirror. Just put the pedal to the metal and merged back onto the road. The girls in the back all began to cheer and whistle as a black cloud of exhaust plumed over the gas pumps.

  “Alright, we’re really moving now,” he shouted down to Larry who had his pinky finger jammed up his left nostril. “Hey Larry, why don’t you play that song you like?”

  “Weally?”

  “Yeah, Come on…play it, play it, play it. I wanna hear it. It’s my favorite song now. Play it, play it, play it.”

  “Okay.”

  The kid reached forward and hit the play button then jumped to his feet and strapped on his air guitar. As the high-pitched vocals came howling out of the speakers, Dave began counting off the numbers on the speedometer. “Forty-five…fifty-five…sixty-five…seventy-five.” He turned around towards the back of the school bus, pumping his fist like he was at a horse race. “Seventy-five miles an hour everybody! Whoohoo!” His body seemed to shift with the turns in the highway as he slammed down the clutch and wrenched into second. He felt like Dale Earnhardt at the Daytona Five hundred going for the prestigious Harley J. Earl trophy.

  “This old banana can really cook, can’t it Larry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re really sailing now, aren’t we?”


  “Yeah.”

  “Whoohoo!”

  “Whoohoo!” Larry started pounding his fists against the back of the seat cushions, drumming along to the beat of the song. He leaned over Dave and stuck his head out the window, his butt crack hanging out the back of his jean shorts. Dave laughed maniacally as he flipped on his high beams and pushed the pedal all the way down to the floorboard. “We’re gonna murder those little pukes, right?”

  “Yeah!” Larry screamed out the window.

  “We’re gonna kill ‘em, right?”

  “Yeah!”

  “We’re gonna destroy ‘em. We’re gonna show those stuck up mountain brats how we grow ‘em down in the ‘burbs. Right Larry? Right?”

  “Right dad!” Larry pulled his head back in from the window then cranked up the volume as high as it would go. Then, he started shouting along to the song’s chorus, something about having a magic school bus.

  “Hey,” Dave said, pointing at the stereo, his eyes enlarged to the size of grapefruits. “That’s what we have. We have a magic school bus.”

  “Yeah, we sure do, daddy.”

  “Yeah. Fucking magic school bus.” Dave nodded along, waiting for the chorus, then he joined in with Larry singing along to the magic school bus. “Too much Magic Bus…Too much Magic Bus.”

  As Dave joined in, Larry raised his own volume, and started marching up and down the aisle like a midget Nazi. Even Sarah ran up to the front and joined in the mayhem, tugging at Dave’s sleeve, egging him on. “Coach! Coach!” she said, nearly screaming, a look of exhilaration in her young, wild eyes. “Stop it! You’re going to get us killed. Slow down.”

  “Yeah Sarah. We’re really cooking now, aren’t we? Too much Magic Bus…Too much Magic Bus!”

  “Whoohoo!” Larry added, now doing his own version of the funky chicken.

  Dave looked down at the speedometer—they were almost up to eighty-five. He turned back towards Sarah—the girl was having so much fun that she was actually crying. “Yeah Sarah, that’s the spirit. Come on, give me a high five.” He lifted his hand up to the ceiling, but Sarah was too busy wiping the tears of joy from her eyes. “Come on Sarah,” he said. “Don’t leave me hanging. Slap me some skin. Give me five.”