William Rose - Sex in the Time of Zombies

So anyways, I found Ginger out by this old factory that a lot of the girls like to hang around, bein’ near to a well traveled road and all. She was sittin’ up against this chain link fence and pullin’ hairs outta her nose one by one but her face lit up like the sun in the morning when she saw me comin’.

I squatted down next to her and started tellin’ her all about Master Twinklebottom and what he said about callin’ me Monica and all that.

“Plum near the most romantic thing I ever heard.” I finished up. “Except for nobody puts Baby in a corner. I swear Gin, you shoulda see the look in his eyes when he said it. Was like he was there with me, but somewhere far, far away at the same time.”

“Twinklebottom… he the guy gots the scar on his right cheek? Kinda looks like a big old pink zigzag?”

I told her that was him. Unlike most folks, who just kinda pass through these here parts, Twinklebottom’s been around long enough that most of th’ regulars have at least seen ’im. So Ginger starts tellin’ me how she actually knew him, back before society got flushed down the shitter.

“James? Jack? Somethin’ simple like that. John. Yeah that was it. John somethin’ or other. Used to work at that repair shop out on Route 35. Took my little Honda there all the time. They weren’t as cheap as Snyder’s, but Snyder’s didn’t have no grease monkeys cute as him neither. I always thought that man can give me a lube job any day . Didn’t realize he was one of yours, sweetie.”

So I begin tellin’ Ginger ’bout how, as far as I could tell, there weren’t any other girl for him but me. And how he always made sure he had the food t’ pay for what he was wantin’ and never tried to talk his way into gettin’ a piece of the action on credit. And how his hands seemed to know exactly how to touch me when most every other guy just wanted t’ stick it in, pump their spunk, and be on their merry way.

But when I was talkin’, Ginger started gettin’ this look on her face like I was tellin’ her that my favorite kitten just got run over with a lawnmower. She was shakin’ her head real slow like and she took my hand in hers and looked directly at me with those dark eyes.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, “I see that look in your eye and don’t you fool yourself. I’ve been doin’ this longer than you’ve had pubes. Even back when money was still worth somethin’. You ain’t nothin’ more than a piece of tail. Let me tell ya a thing or two about your dear Twinklebottom….”

The way Ginger told it, back when Twinklebottom was still John Something-or-Other he was the most dedicated husband a girl could ever wish for. Lots of ladies down at that repair shop brought their business there just so they could see him leanin’ over that engine with his fine, tight ass clinchin’ everytime he’d turn a wrench. And not all of ’em was shy about it either.

They’d twirl their hair ’round their fingers and lean in so close that he’d be able to smell the perfume driftin’ up from their cleavage; they’d touch him softly on the arm, run their hands gently across his, and slip phone numbers on folded pieces of paper when they handed over their credit cards.

So yeah, he coulda had his pick of pussy practically any night of the week. But he wouldn’t even so much as flirt back. Ginger said he would just get this little grin on his face, raise his left hand, and point to that gold band circlin’ his finger.

“Girl,” I told her, “if you’re thinkin’ I’m gettin’ sweet on him… and I ain’t sayin’ I am… then you sure gotta helluva way of talkin’ me out of it.”

“What I’m trying to tell ya, sweetie,” Ginger had said, “is that you ain’t got a chance in Hell with that man. He calls you Monica, honey. And I’d bet a week’s worth of payout that when he’s got his eye’s closed he ain’t picturin’ your sweet little lips wrapped around that dick of his.”

Most times, I get along with Gin as well as chickens and ducks. But for some reason, I just kinda got this angry little feelin’ deep down inside. Felt like I wanted to break somethin’ and wouldn’t never be happy unless I did. And I don’t like feelin’ like that, ya know? Makes you all bound up inside, like everything about you is just bein’ smashed down into this tight little ball.

So I pick up this rock and chuck it at the factory, hopin’ to maybe knock out one of them little triangles of glass that still stick up outta the panes. Only I missed ’cause Grandpa always said I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn even if’n I was three feet away. So that just made me wanna find a bigger rock and just keep tossin’ those fuckers until I actually broke somethin’, ya know?

And it weren’t the same talkin’ to Ginger after that. I kinda started half listenin’ to what she was actually sayin’. I could hear the words but they were like the way adults voices sound when you’re a little kid and you’re just startin’ to fall asleep in the back of the car. Kinda muffled and far off sounding, like something that can’t make up its mind on whether it’s real or not.

I was tryin’ to think up some excuse, some reason I had to go, cause that mumble felt like it was vibrating inside my head and I was gettin’ as worked up as a bee in a shaken jar. Turns out, though, I didn’t have to say nothin’. This guy comes up and he’s got this dead squirrel in his hand, right? And he’s lookin’ at Gin with this grin that’s greasier than cooked possum. I don’t like the looks of this fella right away. He had these beady little eyes and this rat-like nose and he was kinda jerked his head to the side every time he’d talk. But Gin don’t seem to pay him no mind. She only got eyes for that red squirrel and I swear I could hear her tummy just rumblin’ away as she stood up and lead that dude into the factory.

With Gin in there earnin’ her keep, I just kinda up and walked away, ya know? Didn’t really have no place in mind that I was goin’. Just wanderin’ around with my head in the clouds, thinkin’ about John Twinklebottom and picturin’ how he musta looked in those coveralls with a big ’ole silver wrench stickin’ outta the back pocket. I could see ’im so clearly that I could almost smell the oil on his hands and hear the clank and clack of him a’workin’. And, for some reason, just thinkin’ about him made that little ball of anger down inside my belly just melt away like butter on toast.

So I get this idea in my head that I’m gonna find him, right? I mean, we’ve talked and I have a pretty good idea where he stays and all. It weren’t that far from the factory neither. Took me about ten minutes or so and next thing I know I’m standin’ outside this shack that looks like maybe it used to hold firewood or garden tools or somethin’ in it. A little ways behind the shack is this old house only there ain’t all that much of it left anymore. Those blocks that made up its foundation are all dark and sooty and you can still see some of the beams which held the whole thing together. Only they’re all black and charred lookin’, kinda like a match once you’ve let it burn down so far that it hurts your fingers. Everything else is just this big ’ole mound of cinders and ash piled up in the middle of where that house used to stand and it’s funny but I could still kinda smell the smoke just hangin’ out in the air. Even though that damn house been burnt down for pert close to a year now.

So I knock on the door of the little shack, right? And I feel all funny and nervous; kinda like I did the first time I ever let a boy touch my cooter. But I just tell myself it’s ’cause I ain’t knocked on someone’s door for so damn long that it reminds me of how everything used to be.