Balloon Boy and the Porcupine Pals: Antihooliganism
Page 8
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After leaving the Midland Mall, Balloon was still having serious doubts about his ability to stand up to Victory. It had been easier to imagine himself telling her no when he was talking to Russ. Now that he was by himself again, driving toward his parents' house, he had lost most of his confidence. He decided to see what his parents thought about the prospect of an extended trip. Plus, he knew his mom's kitchen cupboards would be well-stocked with store-bought cookies.
Balloon parked the Metro on the left side of the house. Tracks through the grass indicated that, although he had his own residence, he still visited his parents often. Balloon climbed out of the low seat of his car and lumbered toward the front door. As usual, it was unlocked. He entered, immediately moving toward the likely repository of his mother's cookie supply. On the way, he encountered his mom.
"Hey, momma," he said.
"Hey, sugah," said his mother. She was hard at work on a TV Guide crossword puzzle, her bright red press-on fingernails gripping a dull pencil. After kicking Balloon out of their house, Balloon's parents had kept their distance. They never inquired about his employment, his education, his relationships, his hobbies, or anything else. Balloon would often talk to them about these various matters, but they showed little interest. They knew nothing about the recent changes in his life. His mother frantically erased an incorrect word from her crossword puzzle.
"Momma, I gots to talk to you 'n pappy 'bout somethin' real big," said Balloon, dipping his cookies into the whole milk he had discovered in the refrigerator.
"That's good, baby," said his mother, completely unaware of what Balloon had said. She stared blankly at the crossword puzzle, her free hand primping her hair-sprayed head.
"I reckon it may be good, but it may be somethin' real bad."
"Uh huh ... yes."
"But I's wantin' to talk to you 'n pappy, see what y'all think 'bout everthang."
"Okay, uh huh."
The two sat in silence, Balloon dipping his cookies in the milk, his mother trying to decipher an eight letter word for "person of low intelligence."
"So," said Balloon, his mouth full, "pappy around?"
At the mention of her husband, Balloon's mother was pulled away from the puzzle. "Yes, baby; he's in the TV room yonder, watchin' his wrastlin'." After looking at Balloon, the missing word suddenly popped into her head: imbecile.
Balloon finished the package of cookies. "Okay, I's gonna go 'n git him so us three can talk."
"Well, why don't you go 'n talk to your father 'bout whatever it is that's botherin' ya, 'n if you two can't get her worked out, then the three of us can get together. Sound good, sugah?"
"If'n that's what y'all wanna do," said Balloon.
Without another word, Balloon's mother directed her perfectly made up face back to the puzzle. She had always gone overboard when applying her makeup, substituting bright reds and oranges for the natural color of her face. Her fake eyelashes winced as Balloon threw his plastic milk cup into the sink and exited the room.
Traveling through the narrow hallway, Balloon emerged to the dull blue light of his father's favorite television program: Tuesday Night Buttkicking. "Crazy Max is hurt! He's lying on the ground! And, oh no, Thunder Bolt is climbing the ropes. He's at the top! Oh, a devastating blow to Crazy Max as Thunder Bolt comes off the top ropes!" And on and on it went. Balloon waited patiently while Crazy Max revived, Thunder Bolt became unconscious, and someone from the crowd ended the wrestling match by hitting both over the head with a metal chair. Balloon's father had no idea his son was in the room.
"Hey, Pappy," said Balloon during the commercial break.
"Hey, boy. Come for them cookies? Momma's got 'em in the kitchen. Hep yerself." Balloon's father didn't look away from the television as he spoke.
"Thanks, Pappy. Already got me some. Momma even gots whole milk." Balloon's father had quit listening, diverting his attention to an advertisement for an upcoming monster truck rally. "Pappy, I gots to talk at you 'bout somethin' real big."
"That's good, boy," said his father.
"So anyhow, they's this girl named Victory. And she needs me to hep out her pappy, on account a his head's 'bout to splode. But I gots to leave a while to go yonder a piece 'n git the cure 'n all. What you thinkin' 'bout that?" Balloon watched his father, vaguely aware his words were not heard.
"Yep, uh-huh," said Balloon's father, still glued to the television set. He had leaned forward in his lazy boy recliner, excited for the "cage match" at the end of the show.
"But, she's real far away to git that there cure."
"Uh-huh, yep, I see." The cage match was about to begin. Battle Axe and Human Death Machine watched as the metal bars extended down from above to envelop the wrestling ring. Balloon had a faint feeling of nostalgia, remembering the endless nights watching Tuesday Night Buttkicking, Friday Night Smackdown, Wednesday Night Rumble, and various pay-per view death matches. His mom never participated, but she would always make them a hulking bowl of butter-drenched popcorn. Balloon's mother had stopped making the popcorn years ago, but his father was still addicted to "professional" wrestling. Balloon's eyes came back into focus.
"Dad, you ain't even listenin' to me nohow," mumbled Balloon.
"Yep, uh-huh," was the only response. Human Death Machine had just performed his signature pile driver, but-amazingly-Battle Axe was still conscious.
Balloon waited a few more minutes for his dad's attention, and then decided to leave. Human Death Machine had just revived for the third time, indicating the match was far from over. Balloon said goodbyes to both his mother and father on the way out of the house. Instead of a response, he only heard his dad screaming at the wrestling referee.