by B. P. Draper
* * *
Before anyone could identify a time when Michael Jackson wasn’t creepy on some level (never!), Bubby appeared on a highway. What tipped him off, you ask? Perhaps it was the moment when he saw a car rushing towards him at the speed of nearly 70 miles per hour.
He thought quickly and with his amazing power of thought teleportation he disappeared from the highway and reappeared on the sidewalk outside his old home.
As he looked up and down the street, he noticed how run-down the area suddenly seemed. The standard of living had obviously gone down, as evidenced by the sight of a few burnt buildings and boarded-up windows here and there on a few houses.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think that this place turned into a drug lord’s dream, Bubby thought to himself.
Bubby looked at his home and saw that the house had changed considerably. The windows were busted out and boarded up. The lawn was very unkempt in that trash littered the over-grown grass, which was more now like a weed-filled field. Now this really looks like a crack house, he thought to himself.
He walked up the sidewalk and knocked on the door. His mother answered the door and stepped out of the smoke-filled house. She seemed older than when he last saw her. Her face was wrinkled and it appeared that she was overcome by the effects of stress.
“What can I do ya for youngin’?” she said looking him over.
“Mom?!” he said astonished. “Don’t you recognize me? It’s me. Bub… I mean Robert.”
“Well thank you so very much for bringing up such a painful subject! While you’re at it, why don’t you just give me a paper cut and pour lemon juice on it. My son died seven years ago, to the day,” she said angrily, turning towards the door.
“I’m serious, Ma. I am Robert. I never died.”
“Here’s how it is, young lad. I went to my son’s funeral. I believe that I, more than anyone, should know that he is as dead now as he was then. Besides, my boy was a nerd in the highest definition of the word. And by looking at you it is pretty obvious that you are not a nerd. In fact, you are one very fine looking specimen.”
“Thank you… No! I am your son! The whole idea is just plain nasty! I mean, what do I have to do to prove to you that I am indeed your son?”
“I have had enough pain from his death if you couldn’t tell by now. My husband and I, since Robert’s death, have drowned our sorrows in drugs. Now the poor man is doing ten to twenty in prison. Not only that, but the only form of condolence that this town has given me for the death of my son was a change in the school motto. Now it’s: ‘If you’ve been struck by lightning, you’re probably skipping school.’ I ask you, what kind of memorial is that? So why can’t you just drop this junk about being my son?!”
Bubby chose his words carefully. “Because I freakin’ am!”
“Look, it’s pretty obvious that you’ve been smokin’ something really good. Now if you just come on inside and share some of the stuff with my friends and me, I won’t call the cops about trespassing. Is it a deal?”
“I ain’t smoking nothing. And I am your son.”
“That seals it. You are definitely not my son. He did not speak in double negatives and my son shared everything he had!” With that, she walked inside and slammed the door behind her.
Bubby turned and walked away. He was so preoccupied with the fact his mother had disowned him though, that he forgot the correct way to go down the steps. Quite quickly, he found himself looking at the sidewalk in an up close and personal manner. He got up, dusted himself off, and tried his best to put to use all that he had learned in Walking 101.
Strolling down the main street, he started to notice eyes watching him intently. He felt like a piece of meat getting stared down by a pack of lions. Just as a precaution, he checked to make sure that there wasn’t a hole in his shorts. When he was positive that there wasn’t, he started wondering why all of these freaks were staring at him. He ducked into the nearest restaurant to avoid the stares.
He ordered his food, got it, and went to sit in the back corner. The throngs of people that had followed him in went over and sat around him. However, they were very careful not to sit beside him.
Bubby was becoming quite edgy by this time and decided it would be best to break the ice. “It’s a hamburger with no mayonnaise, because that’d be bad for you.” A handful of people got up and went to get in line to order. “With a large soda pop,” he added. The rest of the crowd got up, pushing and shoving to be first in line.
Bubby swallowed the burger quickly and poured the drink in his mouth to wash it all down. He ran out quickly just as the group started to come back with food of their own.
Out in the street, he argued with his mind for a good idea to rid himself of the people that had been staring at him. These people are messed up! I’ve got an idea! No, you don’t, it’ll never work. Yes, indeed it will. I believe it’s a good idea. No, it probably won’t, it sucks. Does not! Does too. Now that we’re on the subject, I’m not schizophrenic either. Come off it, yes you are. Will the two of you be quiet, I’m trying to sleep! Sorry. Yeah, me too. The idea will work, by the way—you see, I’ll just staple gun them all to a moving vehicle. That will definitely not work. Well, when you’re right, you’re right. Who’s still talking?!
Suddenly, a stampede of townspeople came running over the horizon. Without any good ideas, there was only one thing left to do.
He turned to face them and yelled, “Red light!” The people stopped dead in their tracks. In the blink of an eye, he was in his secret chamber, leaving the people to be the city’s brand new statues.
