As I get closer to the blonde bombshell, my gut churns. I immediately think it's my usual hangover cure. A Baconator from Wendy's. It's happened. Finally got food poisoning. It was bound to happen, but quickly realize that's not it. Something's off about this chick. I got pretty shitty vision as it is. I'm nearsighted. My prescription sunglasses are in the car. Most women from my point of view look pretty good from afar until I get close. Then they're far from good. I saw curves and blonde hair from afar. Her face is even pretty. What I can't get past though? Well, on the other side of her, my blind spot, there's a crowbar jammed firmly in her side. Blood's running down her legs, well, everywhere actually. I'm not even thirty feet from her and I smell her stank. Don't know if it's a yeast infection or what. I went down on a girl with a yeast infection once. I manned up. Even went back for seconds. That's how much of a pleaser I am in the sack, but this girl? I just can't get past that crowbar in her side... call me old fashioned, maybe picky, but that crowbar would just be a distraction! Ok, think hard, Timmy. How do you start this conversation? "Nice crowbar... um, wanna fuck?" No, no! That would never work! Ah, fuck it. Just say the first thing that comes to your mind.
"Nice boobs..." I say. Fuck. No, Timmy. Wrong, WRONG! Suddenly, she spins my way and that's when I see her eyes. Eyes are the gateway to the soul so I've been told. Hell, this may make me sound a little romantic and shit, but some ladies, damn, they could get me off with just their eyes. This bitch though? Ugh... her eyes are pupiless and milky... fish eyes... Jesus Fuckin' Christ, if I didn't know any better... If I dare say... this white eyed broad with the crowbar implant? She's either taking the worst walk of shame of her life from the frat house down the road, or she has a serious condition! Wait, holy fuck! What if she's a zombie? Goddamn it... I knew this would happen. I haven't read or watched the news since 9/11. Too damn depressing. Don't tell me I missed out on some goddamn zombie apocalypse! Maybe that's why people were all glued to the TV today. I dunno. It wasn't Netflix so I didn't give a fuck. Come to think of it. My boss was all in a hissy fit... think he said something about my lack of janitorial skills got a bunch of people sick, and how there were excrement’s all over the toilets in the ladies room.
Thing is, I know I cleaned that shit. Women's bathrooms for the record? Oh, FAR worse than the men's room. Don't let women fool you. There's a reason they put on makeup, make themselves look like perfect, little composed dolls. They are DISGUSTING and that coming from a guy who scratches his ass and balls and smells his fingers after. Oh, shit, if this girl is a zombie... FUCK! She's making her way toward me now. But, damn, despite everything else, her rack... Jesus, they are perfect... oh, fuck! No fuckin' way! Bitch tried to bite me! Just lunged at me like a goddamn cat! Fuck does she smell bad... Damn, it... what do I do here? What do I... fuck! Ok, that was far too close. But damn, I still can't take my eyes off her rack. Focus, Timmy, focus... no, not on her rack. Get to your car. You can't hit girls. Even Zombie girls! Fuck! Back to the mission. Stop giving a fuck. Get in your car, roll a joint, and get out, Timmy! Move! Move!
I quickly side step her, hop in my car, slam the door closed. Start her up, and pull forward. Bitch is staring at me as I drive away. Better not think about it. Better do something I haven't done in years. I turn on the radio and go through the stations trying to find the news. All I get is static. Fuck. Is this really the Zombie Apocalypse? Well, best get home to Heaven's Shelter. My sanctuary. See if my fellow knuckleheads know anything. See, thing is, I did shit right. Bypassed college, busted ass for four years doing odd jobs since I was sixteen, lived off humble pleasures, and instead of owing $100,000 I pocketed it. Now? Purchased myself some land way up north in NH where only moose, bears, hermits, and other people like me tread, and everyone who isn't from there? We call them flatlanders. Hell, all my neighbors are cool as shit. We got a brotherhood. We've already PLANNED for something like this. We built a rigging system to block the only entryway in. One pull, down come about a hundred or so of the thickest logs you've ever seen, and we're as safe as a virgin in Sunday School. Let me tell you something. I know you city pricks think you're all smart in your fancy hybrids, but I've read the graphic novels. Zombie outbreak happens? You're the first to go. You know why? You fucks are already zombies! Like the good little robots you are, you wake up, do what you're told, get a job, bust ass for someone other than yourself, buy shit you don't need to impress people that don't care, and fuck! There's even laws for WALKING for fucks sake in cities! I've been called a lot of things in my life, but one thing Tim O'Kane isn't is a goddamn sheep! I got one life, and one life only and I discovered real early there isn't a whole lot of things that make me happy except cold beers, a finely rolled blunt, and good friends. It ain't about what you have, but who you have. Remember that.
The ride is quicker than I realize. Must have downed the rest of my joint and time traveled. Happens when you're stoned at times. Feels like I blinked and here I am. Rush's 2112 album will do that to you, takes you on a digital trip. Try it!
I drive up our immensely long driveway and pass under the ranch-like sign where in big bold letters it reads, "Welcome to Heaven's Shelter." I get out. The air is so much nicer up here! Spruce trees all around me. They can only grow up in high altitude you see. They look like tall, thin Christmas trees. Finally, I've washed off the stink of flatlanderville.
I'm home! I stumble a bit as I make my way to my trailer. Yup. A double wide. See, me and all my best friends, we all pitched in, bought some land up here, built ourselves eight trailers in a neat circle with a fire pit in the middle. We all have fully stocked fridges with beer. We each grow about three plants of different herb for us, and us only. No need to sell. We get in enough trouble as it is, and New Hampshire, the Live Free or Die state, STILL hasn't legalized this shit. The people in charge of New Hampshire are all on moral high horses. Any one who seeks power shouldn't have power or be in power. As it's said, we would be better off being run by the first twenty names in the goddamn phone book. Now you know why America is fucked up. But anyway, I digress. Seems that shit's finally come to an end! Woo! Let life begin! We have junk food galore up here. Freezers stocked with deer, moose, partridge, and trout. We have smokers for the meat, dehydrators to make jerky of all kinds. We have the fastest internet possible. Gaming laptops, every gaming system imaginable, and best of all? All linked together so we can play in our trailers against each other. You know, just in case we're too stoned to take a thirty foot walk to each other's trailers. Like the sign says. This is heaven! Hunting, fishing, video games, alcohol, weed, and yes, despite my rather haggard life, yes people. We get laid! Girls are ever so lonely way up here. Thing is though, way up here in a place like this. It's not about who's fucking who. It's about who's turn it is... but nobody cares. Literally. Everyone here? They're like me. Don't give two fucks, because giving just one might mean you care.
Fuck. I got to rock a piss terribly. Ah! Speaking of pissing... there's one of my best buddies, Reckin' Ball. Yup, that's all you need to know about him. He got the nickname because no matter what, you give that guy liquor, and he'll crash into everything important and break it. Currently, he's wearing a Stone Cold Steve Austin shirt that says, "Been there, destroyed that," on the front. How appropriate. He's leaning against his trailer with one hand, and pissing in the other. Even more appropriate. Oh! He's already swaying, anddddd boom! He's on his face. Jesus H Christ, Reck! Get yourself together! We still got loads of...
Fuck.
I just tripped over my own feet on the way over to him and took a digger. I already hear him laughing. Bastard. Hope he pissed on himself. I get up and dust myself off as he tries to stand only to fall again. I stand over him.
"Ok, before anything, zip it up," I say.
"Ugh, we got to do something about this gravel. Dick's all cut up again," Reck said as he sits up, and zips up, tries to stand, but topples over. “Jesus, Timmy! How long you been standin' there watching me piss?"
"Long enough..." I say.
"Like what you saw did ya?" Reck asked. Before I can respond, I see he notices the bottle in my hand. Reck, you see is what you call a liquor connoisseur. If there's a label he doesn't recognize, he needs to drink it. He's passionate you see. His eyes light up like a damn kid at Christmas. Some people are just lucky like that. They discover their passion and hobbies early in life!
"What, what the fuck is that and where did you get it?" Reck asked.
"Stole it from my boss... think it's French..." I say. Reck rubs his hands together.
"Seems the Reckin’ Ball’s going to be out in full swing tonight, Timmy! You, you do plan on sharing that, right?” Reck asked, and then I noticed that despite him falling while pissing, his glass beer mug is untarnished, and he hasn't spilled a drop. This, this people is what a champion looks like. Fuck Wheaties and their choice of athletes. Put Reckin' Ball on the box!
“AH! But look at this, Timmy! Still intact! Like a champ! And, and I think there’s still a little left down there,” Reck says, as he finishes up the last swig.
“All right, buddy, up we go!” I say, and reach out with a free hand, which Reck grabs, and a moment later he's hoisted up.
"To the bar?" Reck asks.
"To the bar!" I say. We both cheer. It's what we do. Literally, this place we've built here. It's like fuckin' Diagon Alley in Harry Potter, except instead of us being wizards, we're just raging alcoholics. Next question!
We walk past several friend's trailers. They are empty. Everyone's still at work. Reck is the only one still unemployed. Well, that makes two of us now. He's taken a break you see, planning his next job carefully, and how to quit it in a blaze of glory. It's what we do... if we don't, we won't have any drinking stories to tell each other. The last job he quit was a seafood restaurant. His boss was a 6' 3" ex-college football star who got into a bad party one night, got kicked out, lost everything, and now throws his weight around the kitchen as a manager. Except he had one problem. He threw his weight at Reck one day which is something you just don't do. See, Reck is Irish Italian and stands in at about five foot six. Listen, you know the whole saying of, it's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog? Yeah, I've seen Reck beat the ever living shit out of guy's nearly twice my size and I'm a big dude. He's grounded. Like a lightning rod. You just can't knock him over when he's in fight mode, and boy, does he fight dirty, like a fuckin' Wolverine. Even as kids, we couldn't beat each other up, so, we just decided to be best friends instead. He's the only one who can keep up with my drinking in this park and it's always good if say, we go down into the flatland to raise some hell, that he knows, and I know, no matter what, cops? Jocks? 'Roid freaks? Wiggers? Those fucks are going down.
Now, I said Reck was the only one unemployed right now, but he's not the only one in the park right now. My good friend Molly, a sort of off and on, friends with benefits thing, she's our official bartender, and we tip her better than a whore in a strip club. Sorry, performer I mean. They really hate being called whores. Whores never take their clothes off for money. Molly could strip if she wanted to, but this woman is CLASSY and honestly, I have just as much fun hanging out with her as I do with Reck. We built her a bar, now when I say built, we fuckin' built it. Honestly? This girl rakes in more in a year catering to us drunk fucks than she would at any corporate job. She's got a shit load of student loans you see, over 100k worth, and just two years hanging with us? She's got maybe a few more months to freedom. Sure hope she doesn't leave... it would break my heart. What little of it is left that is...
"So, how'd you get the French shit?" Reck asked. I'm about to tell him when I see Sammy struggling pulling a keg out of her pickup truck.
"Hey, assholes, come help me with this thing," Molly said.
"Well, top of the morning to you too!" Reck said.
"Fuck you, Reck. It's one in the afternoon, now help me," Molly said. Together we lug the full steel keg inside, and within moments the Keg containing Harpoon IPA, a New England Specialty, is hooked up and running fine. We pay the lady upfront around $100 each. Gonna be a long day considering it's not even five O'clock yet. I raise the bitter, hoppy brew up, and knock it back. Amazing. Head's starting to clear a little now. Beer has that magical power. Once it hits your lips... just no going back!
"So, saw a hot blonde today," I say.
"Why isn't she here?" Reck asked.
"Think she was a zombie..." I said, then tell them both about the scene that took place at my car before I left, not before telling them my recent retirement from the working world. I don't know what it is exactly, but at this point, Molly does something no one really does out here. She turns on the radio, and we listen in to what's going on in the outside world. Even Reck seems fascinated. I pick up a few words on the broadcast, 'sickness' 'plague' 'outbreak' and all of these other fancy words but I know the truth. A zombie outbreak started, no idea how, or why, but fact of the matter is, I don't care. The Dow Jones? Zombies? Drunk Hermits? Doesn't matter... the life we've built here for ourselves? Nothing can touch us. This was the point. That's the thing with Redneck ingenuity, or, I suppose it's more accurate to call us Notherners 'hicks,' but we all figured out real quick we don't belong in society. We drink too much. Drive too fast. Talk too loud. Swear too much, and dress as if we are colorblind. Stress is the major killer, and no greater stress than trying to fit into a world that isn't your own. If you have the ability, like us, to create your own reality, be very careful who you allow inside... so, if you're somehow listening to me, if you don't hear anything I say, just remember this. If society ever breaks and America goes to shit, find yourself a Redneck.
FUCK! And then it hits me, hits me so fuckin' hard... I start breathing heavily, I start sweating... I'm shook. Ridiculously shook. Like, I doubt I've ever been more scared in my life. I'm just paranoid is all. I had a long day, adrenaline must be wearing out. Reck and Molly look at me with surprise. I doubt they've ever seen me this way. I need to get out of here. The walls seem to be closing in. I feel claustrophobic. Fresh air. Need fresh air. I nearly spill my beer, a cardinal sin around here, in my attempt to get out of the trailer. I hear Molly and Reck's voice but they sound distant, underwater... I immediately hack up the French stuff, followed by my beer. Fuck does it burn. I then feel Molly patting and rubbing my back, bless her, what a woman, and Reck asking me questions. I don't hear him right away. I tell myself to calm down, calm down, it's going to be ok, it's going to be...
"Timmy? You fuck! What the fuck's the matter with ya?" Molly's voice comes through clear now. Reminds me of a lot of good times, sleepless nights she was there for me. I cling to her voice, and as always when I get low, which isn't a lot, I'm up out of the darkness of my mind, and I'm back to the light, breathing hard, but most certainly back. God bless this woman...
"Dude, ok, ok, he's back. I can see it in his eyes. What the fuck was that all about man? Thought you were going to have a nervous breakdown or some shit!" Molly asked. And then it hits me. So much pent up shit. This is what happens you see. You go through life, push down all your darkness, and eventually, a fear so powerful comes up, something you can't process, and the floodgates open, and you collapse... fear's hit me for the first time since I was child...
"What is it? What the fuck's wrong? I don't like seeing that look in your eyes, Timmy!" Reck asks. Before I can answer, we're interrupted by the sound of loud motors, muscle car motors. I look up through hazy vision to see everyone, my family, come screeching in all at once. I see my brother Ramsey with his glasses, a ridiculous look on his face, smiling, laughing, cheering. He worked at an office building. Said something about zombies, society being over. He's happy. He runs into his trailer, takes all his suits, and ties, throws them into the firepit, and helps himself to a beer at the bar.
I next see my brother Brian. A tall beast of a kid, usually quiet, not a big drinker, pull in from his job at Best Buy. A huge, child-like grin on his face. He goes to his trailer, grabs a shotgun, and starts open firing at the sky. Tea
rs are streaming down his face. He's happy. Then Mike, my real life brother pulls in, stumbles out of the car, the joint in his mouth nearly out, but he sucks it back, burns his fingers a bit, tosses it to one side, and rips up his court summons with a big grin, runs to his trailer, grabs his favorite bong --a three foot behemoth-- goes into the bar, and does what's known as a 'Strikeout.' You inhale a huge rip of smoke from the bong, hold it in your lungs, chug a beer, do a shot, then blow the smoke out. I see his eyes water and turn as red as the Devil's prick. I've seen Mike happy plenty of times, but never this happy.
Next up comes my brother Josh. It's like destiny happening before my eyes. My fear started to dwindle little by little as I suddenly see all my friends, one by one arrive, Josh being the last. He has the ability to light up every room he enters, or in this case, possibly the entire bit of Heaven's Shelter. He's been through restaurant after restaurant all to support his music habit. Now? Society's over. He celebrates by grabbing his guitar, a cigar, and big mug of ale as he begins playing and singing 'American Pie.' When suddenly, they all notice me on the ground. They rush over. Fuck. I hate being the center of attention, but they've got me now. They've never before seen me this way. Only Sam has, and she looks worried, especially at a time when everyone else is happy, ecstatic even. The rapid fire of questions fly at me. Timmy's balloons have burst. I've finally fallen down after many, many years of repression, all due to my number one fear, now made reality. I shudder at the thought of it again. Sam holds me. It's comforting. Just comforting enough. I ask for breathing room. Everyone steps back, waiting, eyes bulged. I hate to say the thing everyone else hasn't thought of yet. I hate to be the bearer of bad news...
"What is it, man? You look like shit! I ain't never seen you look so, so..." Ramsey starts.
"Sober?" I say. I grunt. "Fear will do that..."
Unhappy Endings Page 23
