eyebrow at the nickname but let it go. I assume other people must call him that and he must be okay with it because I got the feeling he isn't the sort of fellow who backs down to avoid a fight.
I waved goodbye and headed out the door, following Griffin to his SUV. As I climbed in the blue Expedition, I lost my foot. Not like I slipped, but my foot actually fell off my body and down onto the sidewalk with a plop. I blushed, as much as I can anyway, and bent down to retrieve it, splitting my jeans in the process. It wasn't a tiny little rip either. Nope, it was a full-blown, seam-splitting rip, and it was loud. I was so embarrassed and could only think to joke, "Whoops. That's last time I eat Taco Bell that's been in a dumpster for four days." Truthfully, I wanted to crawl under the truck and die, but I retrieved my foot, climbed in, stapled it on, and untucked my REO Speedwagon tee-shirt, grateful that it would be long enough to cover the rip. Yeah, I'm an REO fan. Deal with it.
"You want to stop off somewhere and pick up a new pair of jeans?"
"That might be fun, both of us traipsing through Wal-Mart, terrifying the local gentry. Thanks, but I think I'll be okay."
"You sure? I know a thrift store for supers. We can run in and grab you a pair."
"Really? That'd be great." I beamed him a thankful smile, and we headed off to this super-store of a different sort.
We pulled up to a storefront in the middle of a row of car dealerships, and I carefully exited Griff's car so I didn't split, or lose, anything else.
"Hiya, Jeannie!" Griffin's whole face lit up as he greeted the woman behind the counter. She was as blue as he was green. I had no clue what sort of creature she might be.
"Griff! How are you doing, old man?" She had a merry twinkle in her aqua eyes as she turned them to me. "Who is your friend?"
"I'm Bob, the zombie. What are you?" So, playing coy is not my strong suit. Then again, I always preferred honesty to trite social rituals. I smiled the second I heard her call him Griff. It's always nice to be right.
"I'm a mermaid, Bob," she laughed, and that was the first time I could ever describe a laugh as tinkling. It reminded me of wind chimes, but not in an annoying way.
"Cool! You're the first Mer I've met."
"Well, I hope I do my race justice."
"So far, so good." I blushed. Of course, I've been dead a long time, so when I say blushed, I mean I looked just a tiny bit less green.
"Pleasure to meet you. How can I help you guys today?"
"Bob needs a new pair of jeans." I flashed Griffin a smile, thankful that he hadn't gone into detail as to why I needed the new pants.
"32 waist?" At my nod, she led me over to a section of the store that was all men's jeans. She pointed out the section that would fit me best.
"I don't have long johns on. I can buy a pair to try the jeans on with, if you want." I was so embarrassed. I usually get my clothes from the Salvation Army drop off bin. As such, I've never really had to worry much about trying them on. I was pretty sure that nobody would want to try on jeans with the previous shopper's rotten flesh still clinging to them.
"No worries, Bob. Try on whatever you like. There's a hamper by the dressing rooms. I always rewash because those wolves can be pretty hairy. Get that on someone allergic to dogs, and whoa boy, have you got an angry customer." I had tears in my eyes at her kindness, but I blinked them back and rummaged through the rack looking for a couple pairs of Wranglers. I figured I might as well get some pants that fit now, rather than wait for the Salvation Army raids with the guys and divvy up what was found. My mom kept a credit card open for me, and I decided to finally make some good use of it.
When I had six good pairs of jeans in my hands, I headed around to look at the tee shirts. My mouth dropped when I found a great selection of vintage concert tees. Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, AC/DC, and the Steve Miller Band made it into my hands and back to the changing rooms. I noted the large hamper in front of them and headed in to try on clothes. I felt a bit like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except I was rotting, male, and not a whore. Everything I grabbed fit like it was meant to be mine. I practically skipped to the counter to pay. "I'll take it all, but can I wear these out?" I pointed to the black jeans I was currently wearing. "Also, do you have a garbage bin for these?" I held up my ripped pants.
"There's a recycle bin behind you on the far wall. So glad you found some things you like." Jeannie grinned at me.
"Some things? I don't want to leave. This store is amazing."
"Thank you, Bob." She blushed. It turned her more aqua than the light powder blue she had been. I dropped the jeans in the bin and went to pay for my new clothes. When I reached the register, I stopped. It wouldn't be right to get clothes and not grab some stuff for the guys.
"Can I have a few more minutes?" I asked Griffin.
"Yeah, sure. Go nuts. I have to talk to Jeannie anyway."
I ran back to the concert tees and dug out several for the other zoms in the horde. I didn't know their jeans sizes, but at least I could get them some cool shirts. I took my new armload of clothes up to the counter and grinned as she rang up my purchases. The total was more than I had spent in a year. I put it on the card, took out my cell phone, and called my mom, leaving a message telling her that I had bought new clothes as well as how much they had cost. I felt the need to do it just in case the credit card company called her about suspicious activity.
She had given me a cell phone because, although she couldn't stand to look at me, she did want to keep in touch. I think she just pretended I moved out of state for a job. It hurts a lot, yet I have no choice but to keep going. For a while, I tried suicide. Having lived through being hit by a train, jumping from a fourteen-story building, hanging myself, shooting myself in the head with a .22, and one truly awful attempt at self immolation, I came to the conclusion that I was alive now, no matter what. Even if I wasn't genuinely alive and was actually more ? undead. The train debacle had taken an awful lot of staples. No matter how depressed I get, you can bet I won't be trying that again.
It's not easy being a zombie. It's a damned hard life when you're dead but can't ever rest. It sucks when the people you once cared about look at you with terror (or worse, pity) in their eyes. Mom may have liked to pretend I was still alive, but I hated it. I rarely called her anymore, and wouldn't have called her then if I hadn't needed to warn her about the credit card bill. Before you call me a deadbeat, pun intended, you should know that I send money regularly to my mom. I don't get much, just what we find lying around and earn through recycling.
We have a bunyip, an Australian werecreature that looks human but changes into a frightening mishmash of a monster, that works at the recycling center. He pays us for the scrap metal and wood we find. He even opens the place up for us after hours so nobody will see us. We made a killing in copper from the ruins of the plantation house. Like I said, not an easy life. I'd like to be a chef. I love cooking, but let's be honest for a moment: Who is going to hire a decomposing man to cook food in their restaurant? I'm sure there are hundreds of health codes that would prevent me from ever even stepping foot in a kitchen, let alone preparing food in one.
Unlife can be just as unfair as life ever was. Though sometimes good people come along and make things just a little brighter. I smiled, took the bags Jeannie handed me, and after we said goodbye to her, we walked back to Griff's SUV.
"Thank you for bringing me here." I hoped my gratitude came across as sincere.
"You sort of have a knack for getting into trouble, don't you?"
"Not really trouble. It's just like the song says, 'If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.'"
"That's rough. You seem like such a nice guy."
"Well, we all have tests and trials in our lives. Mine just happen to be more ridiculous than most."
"True. Never seen a zombie lose a foot and then split his pants within seconds."
"Like watching a dark comedy, isn't it?"
"Yeah, kind of is. Sorry you have to
live like that."
"It's okay, Griff. I find it kind of funny now, and it's always nice to make other people smile and laugh. I cover a lot of my own pain with humor, so I guess a Griswoldian life is the life for me."
"Griswoldian?"
"After Clark W. Griswold?"
"Oh, I get it now. Well, it sure fits you."
"Yeah, it does. It used to bother me a lot. I cursed my unlife often because of it."
"And now?"
"I've come to terms with being a comedy of errors. I feel like there is something big coming up that will make everything I've gone through worthwhile, you know?"
"Bob, you've got the heart of a wonderful person."
"No, I don't! I swear I only eat animal meat." I winked at him, and he chuckled and shook his head.
"I'm glad I met you." He smiled at me and looked down at the address in his hand when we stopped at a light. He looked back at me and sighed. "Here's hoping this witch will help. I'm thinking that maybe she doesn't know she has to call the ghouls every so often to rein them in and keep them from getting too wild. The alternative is she's doing it on purpose to create mass chaos and eventually out us to the humans. If that's the case, the Council will surely have her tortured, killed, brought back, and tortured for eternity."
"Yeah, they're pretty reasonable like that." I nodded and Griffin chuckled.
"Yup, about as reasonable as the Spanish Inquisition."
"Nobody expects
Bob the Zombie Page 4
