Jacqueline Druga - The Flu

“OK.” Mick looked at Tom. “How do I look?”

“Nervous,” Tom answered just outside his booth, speaking up just a little over the noise of the crowd and Dexter’s Rockin’ Rollers.

“Appearance-wise, how do I look?” Mick asked.

“All right. I guess,” Tom replied.

“She doesn’t know, right?” Mick questioned.

“Nope.” Tom shook his head.

“Good. I would have dressed better, but I didn’t want to dress too good. That could tip her off.”

“No way,” Tom said sarcastically. “No way… unless…” He pointed behind Mick.

Mick turned around when he saw Marian walking toward the booth. He whined. “Aw, why did she dress like that?”

“It’s the occasion.” Tom shrugged.

“Son of a…” Mick looked to the tug on his sleeve. “Oh, hey, Dustin.”

“Mick, can I… can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” Mick, placing his hand on Dustin’s back, stepped away from Tom’s booth. “Can’t talk long. I have to find your mom. Where is she?”

“Watching Dexter’s band with Tigger.”

“Good. I have until Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer’ and then I’m up.”

“Mick,” Dustin spoke soft. “Listen…”

“Have you seen Chris?” Mick looked around. “He has to be near. Do I look all right?”

“Yeah, Mick.” Dustin’s eyes moved off to the right then returned. “If things don’t pan out, please don’t go away.”

Very seriously, Mick looked at Dustin. “Go away?”

“Yeah, I mean leave us. Please don’t.”

Mick smiled gently. “Things will pan out. But… doesn’t matter what happens. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thanks.” Dustin let out a long breath.

“No, thank you.” Mick kissed him on the forehead. “I have to find her. God, are there a ton of people here.” After a swat at Dustin’s arm, Mick darted off.

Dustin felt relieved, then he felt the tap on his shoulder. He turned to see his friend Jerry. “What?”

“Did the chief just kiss you?”

“No! What are you nuts? He was checking me for fever. That’s all.” Dustin sniffed in arrogance. “Kiss me,” he scoffed. “Please.”

Again, Patrick turned away from the sight. But it seemed to him, no matter where he looked around that festival, freakish shivers ran through him. Dexter and his band of geriatric rockers were on the bandstand cranking out old Van Halen tunes from the eighties. Marian Roberts, smiling, serving up donuts and milk in an evening dress and then… Eunice Bender.

One eye open, Patrick turned to look. Perhaps it was his imagination or his fear; maybe he was misinterpreting what she was doing? However, as he looked, not only did he see that he was correct, he saw that Eunice had moved closer.

Locking her eyes with him at that instant, Eunice did it again.

She manipulated her corn dog for the visual benefit of Patrick. But somehow Patrick couldn’t determine if she was sending an erotic message or a sadistic one. Her puckered lips glazed the entire length of the elongated object and left a thick ruby red smear that was almost barbaric.

Before he could send some sort of unconscious invitation in return, Patrick spun to make his getaway. The second he did, he slammed into a screaming Dylan.

“Oh, shit.” He looked to see Dylan lying on the ground. “I am so sorry.” He reached down and helped her up. “I didn’t see you.”

“Obviously.” Dylan smiled and brushed off her jeans. “Good thing you didn’t run into Tigger.” She gave a nod of her head at Tigger, who was laughing. “Too engrossed in the band?”

“Huh?” Patrick looked. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“I love this song.” Dylan bounced and shot her hand into the air singing loudly one line of the chorus to the Bon Jovi tune. She snickered. “Sorry. They are good.”

“Yeah. And this song…” Patrick’s eyes widened. “Oh, this song,” he spoke with enthusiasm. “Dylan, you will forever love this song.”

Dylan’s eyes shifted toward him. “Why?”

“You just will.”

“All right.” She shrugged. “Speaking of love, I hear things are blooming pretty fast and furious with you and Eunice Bender.”

Patrick stared for a second. “Excuse me, I see Lars.” He turned quickly again.

“Patrick, watch…” Dylan cringed when Patrick slammed into someone else. Only this time, no matter how much force he hit him with, Patrick didn’t knock him down. Dylan snickered.

“What the fuck?” Mick reached down and lifted Patrick. “You wrinkled me.”

“Sorry. Gotta go. See ya.” After a shift of his eyes to Dylan, then to a staring Eunice, Patrick made sure no more people were in his way and he ran.

Mick shook his head. “What is up with him?”

“Love,” Dylan stated.

“Stay put,” Mick instructed. “I mean it.” He pointed to Tigger. “You, too.”

“Mick, what—?”

“Just stay put. The song’s almost over.” Mick bent down, grabbed Tigger, lifted the stiff child to his level, kissed him, and set him back down. He hurried and kissed Dylan. “Love you guys. Stay put.” He said again firmly and took off.

Dylan lifted her shoulders cluelessly when she saw Tigger gazing up at her. “Don’t ask me. Maybe he’s gonna sing.” She watched Mick approach the stage. “Oh my God!” she spoke excitedly. “He is! Tigger, where are your brothers? They have to see this.”

Lars looked over his shoulder to his right when Patrick snuck up beside him. “Hiding?” Lars asked.

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “I wanted to see Mick… yes. I’m hiding.”

“I understand. I did catch glimpse of Eunice Bender and her mock corn dog fellatio.”

Patrick groaned. “Hiding from the FBI was easier than this. Speaking of the FBI, have you seen them?”

“Yes,” Lars responded. “Last night after our testosterone bonding I stopped by their quarantine trailer. They do indeed have the flu, and lucky for you, they’ve surpassed the time frame where I could help them.”

“That’s too bad.” Patrick cleared his throat. “So, how are they handling it?”

“Fine, I guess.” Lars shrugged. “Seems they don’t even know they have the flu. They think they have allergies. Allergies with thick black clumps of phlegm.” He saw the confused look Patrick gave. “They’re idiots.”

“Look.” Patrick pointed. “Mick’s gonna do it.”

“Nah.” Lars shook his head. “Fifty bucks says he fails.”

“You’re on.” Patrick shook Lars’ hand.

“I know…” Mick lifted his hand to the crowd as he spoke through the microphone, “I know you want Dexter to continue. And don’t worry, he will. He’s got another really good set coming up. But there’s something really important I want to do. Dylan? Can you come up here, please?”

Dylan looked embarrassed. “I knew he would do this one day. Ever since we did that Donny and Marie Osmond song at karaoke. I’m killing him.”

“Mom, go.” Chris nudged her.

“Fine. But I’m not singing.”

Mick watched Dylan slowly make her way through the crowd and to the stage. He waited patiently for her to step up.

Dylan looked to all the faces, then to Mick. “I’m not singing.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Mick told her.

“Then why am I up here?” She clenched her jaws. “Mick, people are staring at us.”

“Good.” Mick smiled. “See, there’s a reason I brought you up here. Dylan. Dylan… a lot has happened in this world, and in Lodi, we survived. A lot has happened in our lives, and you and I survived. I love you. I want you to be my wife. Marry me.”

Dylan’s eyes widened amongst the sentimental sighs of the crowd. “Mick? Why are you proposing in front of all these people?”