Decline and Fall of Alternative Civilization

by G S Oldman

  ~ ~ ~

  At first, an evasive tension hung in the air between the two women and there was no questioning the cause, or that with good humor it passed. Dedra was much calmer and more focused and she solved a serious problem with the acquisition of contact lenses-no longer would eyeglasses slide off her face while singing. The succession of days gave the band some great rehearsals, bouts with depression vanished, the van got a decent stereo, and she was caught off guard when Luke wanted to see her again whether a relationship re-blossomed or not. June sighed relief but a wee bit of jealousy poked at her heart. Par in matters of unrequited lesbianism? She figured she was strong enough to deal with it. And she figured that a casual tryst with a certain male customer at the coffeehouse would do her a load of good and, damn! She hit that nail square on its smiling head. Both women still had libidos that enjoyed being strongly manhandled. An air of relaxation settled onto the household and one night they sat together in the living room, cracked out the whiskey and laughed and dished on men and life and expanded vocabularies and certain other feelings deep into the night.

  Perfectly normal bisexual women?

  Sheesh.

  Not setting any gold standards, June's fling led to a few more dates with the guy that were as physically satisfying as they were emotionally static. They both admitted their needs and that was enough. Dedra and Luke had declared an armistice on their prospects-it had been more than a year and a half since the breakup and they were both a bit more worldly-minded about matters of the heart and of the flesh. The tour only a week away, optimism was a kitty cat leaning its fuzzy little head into legs and furniture, bags were being packed, work shifts had been covered and Luke promised to care for the house while they were away.

  Bi-hetero perfect women of sex?

  Enough.

  As fate dictated, Faux Toppa would caravan with CrabAbble, a four-piece outfit from Tacoma, whose single and CD had gotten popular in hip east coast circles and earned them a SXSW showcase. They evoked images of Television being pantsed by Paul Revere's Raiders while standing in Motorhead's driveway. Naturally, Ms. Fatiuchka had executed the graphic layouts on both releases. Real decent guys, they were all friends of Bryan, and thanks to Gus, their main guitar slinger, there were a few shows for both bands to play along the way for gas money and crash pads. Econo. Road adventure, Ho.

  On the afternoon of D-Day, the van packed with instruments, equipment and travel bags, engine running, a minute before departure, Prez at the helm, June on shotgun, Dedra and Bryan just aft in the loft built above the cargo hold, and Bryan dropped unscheduled anchor. "Hey wait, we can't leave yet."

  "Why not?" the girls shrieked.

  "What is it now, puto?" complained Prez.

  "June, you were a flight attendant," said Bryan.

  "Uh, yeah. So?"

  "Well, this is our first flight, y'know. It's kinda important."

  "What's going on, dorkwad?" De had learned a new word.

  "Well, I was thinking that maybe you should give us one of those cabin speeches like when you're taxiing down the runway getting ready to take off?"

  "You mean a pre-takeoff service."

  "Yeah. That's it."

  "Oh, come on, Bryan."

  "Yeah, that'd be totally bitchin'," squealed Dedra. "Do it! Do it!"

  "Yeah, June. I won't drive til you do." Prez turned sidewise on his seat, grinning. "Besides, you owe me." He had voted down her desire to get the van a defibrillator but had spent his own money for a good fire extinguisher.

  June shook her head in disbelief. "You guys. Geeezzz."

  "Do it! Do it!"

  "OK, hold on." She sat upright in the seat, cleared her throat and rattled off: "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. We'd like to welcome you aboard Southwestinental Flight 666.6-1/2?757, otherwise known as jimmy crack-a-jack in somebody's box. Our pilot today is Captain Presley Morales, who was last sighted at the corner of Pike and Broadway selling Boy Scout prophylactics and rubbing himself. If he returns soon we may have extra distributor caps, which will be passed out during our electrical service if our chief vatrushkette and limbo bimbo has paid the bills and feels like it. Hi. I'm your copilot and biggest headache, Ms. Big Mac Attack Whack Pack, and if you don't do what I say, I'll blow in your face so you can smell the coffee. There will be a seven-horse, of course, of course, meal served once we are airborne, but just in case there isn't we hope you brought some glue and Twinkies. And maybe coleslaw. Bathrooms are located just under the rear emergency exit. There will be no peeing or defecation until we reach our destination, however, you may wish to look at the official in-flight literature located in the seatback in front of you to read descriptions of pee-bottles and poop-bags and hand soaps I have known. In the event of a loss of cabin pressure due to flatulence, oxygen masks will descend from the ceiling but be careful, you don't know where they've been. Place the mask over your face and the elastic strap over your head, but don't laugh or Bryan may fart again. If a passenger next to you needs assistance with a mask, you are advised to get your mask in place first so you can watch them suffocate and turn green while you've still got enough oxygen to call them names before they die. Our estimated time of arrival will be sometime next week or maybe half past next month's ass if we're lucky. If any passengers require special assistance or reassurance or therapy, or maybe a rubber chicken halfway or more up your ass, please address these requests to Captain Morales. I can't help you. He has a knife; he'll make it happen. He will. Grumpy old men will be required to dispose of grumpy young women's insertionary devices in the traditional after dinner manner. If unable to comply with FAA regulations, salt and pepper can be purchased from any flight attendant with cash only and not a penny less. A word about the safety features of the aircraft: In the event of a water evacuation, tough shit. You should have done that before you left the house. Pantyhose and douche bottles may not be used for flotation devices unless you have coupons. In the event of brake failure, passengers are advised to rush to the nearest emergency exit and use their feet, goddamit; and if that doesn't work, passengers may scream once they have finished biting the air bags. Our in-flight movie will be something you've seen before and still can't stand but so what, shut up and you won't get hurt. We hope you all enjoy the flight today, now leave me alone. Thank you for flying Southwestinental."

  Silence.

  Prez was doubled over on the steering wheel. His head rolled into the open window frame and his body went limp, gasping, "nooo. stop?"

  "Eeaaaychk!" A piercing, animal-like rasping issued from behind. "Eeaaaychk!"

  "?stop."

  "Eeaaaychk!" Dedra was more talented than anyone thought. A perfect imitation of a barking hyena eating a dolphin?backwards. "Eeaaaychk!"

  Bryan made no sound at all. He rolled around shaking and drooling like a fool, his feet kicking spastically at the ceiling.

  "No. Stop." Prez was weak, his eyes closed. "I can't drive."

  "Eeaaaychk!" Dedra could hardly breathe. "Eeaaaychk!"

  "I can't drive like this."

  "Eeaaaychk!" She was wheezing, face turned bright red. "Eeaaaychk!"

  "Stop. Please."

  "Eeaaaychk!"

  Maybe June had to have been there. "Hey. Was it something I said?"

  Prez fumbled the door open and there was the sound of bodily impact on the ground. Out of sight, his howling swelled like a tornado siren.