Joshua Mohr - Some Things That Meant the World to Me

We shook hands.

Old lady Rhonda and Lyle had a present, too. She winked at me, "This is all we can afford."

I winked back and loved that we had an inside joke. "You shouldn't have."

"Open it," she said, and I tore the wrapping paper; it was a board game version of "Wheel of Fortune." "So you can practice, Crash Man."

We popped the champagne bottles and had a toast and proceeded to get drunk. Lyle eyeballed the burned couch and the TV. I could tell that they made him mad.

"How's the TV working out?" he said.

"Great."

"And the couch?"

"Better than nothing."

"Are you sure about that?" Vern said to me. "The thing stinks like an electrocuted monkey."

Everyone laughed, except Lyle, who asked, "What happened to your arm?"

"None of your business," I said.

"Boating accident," Vern said to Lyle. "Rhonda fell overboard. He was lucky to survive."

Old lady Rhonda could see things weren't going so well, so she said, "Lyle, will you help me cut the cake?" and they went into the kitchen.

Vern, Enrique, and I huddled on the burned couch.

"I don't like that guy," I said.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Vern said, making another farting noise. "You don't camouflage your feelings too well."

"You want me to throw the guy out?" Enrique said.

"No. It's her husband. It'll be fine."

And then she came in carrying the cake and sang "Happy Birthday" again. Old lady Rhonda leaned down with the cake so I could blow out the candles without getting off of the couch. There was pride in her eyes, love in her eyes. "Make a wish," she said.

I thought about what I'd give her if it could be anything in the whole world and blew out the candles.

Old lady Rhonda screamed, "Hooray!"

Enrique clapped; Vern drank from a warm one; Lyle said, "Let's go home."

"You go," old lady Rhonda said. "I'll be up later."

"Let's go now"

"I'll be up soon."

"Now."

I stood up from the burned couch. "She doesn't want to go.

"I'm talking to my wife, not you."

"Boys, boys," Vern said. "Let's play nice before uncle Vern has to give both of you a marine-style talking to. Trust me, you don't want that."

"Are you coming?" Lyle said to old lady Rhonda, and she shook her head no. He left without saying another word.

"Temperamental fellow," Vern said.

"I'm sorry;" old lady Rhonda said. "He's having a tough time." She grimaced, then looked at me and faked a smile. "Let's not ruin the party. Who wants more champagne?" and we drank what was left of the bubbly and moved on to whiskey.

Eventually, Enrique left. Eventually, old lady Rhonda kissed me good night and apologized for Lyle. I told her not to worry about it, but I was lying. It was well after three a.m., but Vern didn't want to leave until I opened his gift. We were on the burned couch. I opened the present, ripped right through the porn pages. Inside was a tire iron.

"Thanks," I said, "considering I don't own a car."

He shook his head, twirled a huge eyebrow.

"No seriously, thanks again," I said, "I think this will really come in handy."

"Jesus Christ."

"Really, I can wander around the neighborhood and help the less fortunate change their tires."

"It's not for a car, god damnit!" He flashed his little white tongue. "It's for your arm."

"What?"

"We'll use it to break your arm."

Me, Rhonda, drunk, confused. Wanting to buy a few minutes. "I've got to piss," I said to Vern and ran to the bathroom, trying to steady myself. I took off my shirt and stared at my tattoo, looked at all the things that lived in that one design, how a hundred people could see it and they'd all tell me something new, the freedom in that. I tried to think up some excuse to tell Vern, some reason I couldn't let him do it, but I wanted him to do it, but I didn't want him to do it, I had no idea what I wanted.

"Hey, I'm throwing up," I said to Vern. "Some other time."

"What?" I heard him walk over to the bathroom door. He knocked. "Let me in."

"I'm puking. We'll do this later."

"If you're so tanked you're puking, this is the perfect time to do it. Let me in."

"No."

He knocked again. "You won't feel any pain if you're that tanked."

"No."

"Let me in right now!"

"I can't."

"Open up, soldier!"

I wish I had a good reason for doing it. I wish there was something I could say that would make you understand why I opened the door. But I didn't have a good reason. I just did it. I opened the door and he stood there with the tire iron, hitting it against his open palm.

"Lay your arm on the countertop," he said.

I listened to him. I had to listen to him. Do you hear me?

I fell to my knees and lay my crooked arm on the counter.

"This is going to hurt worse than Jesus hurt," Vern said.

One time my mom said she wasn't going to thaw dinner tonight, but cook, actually cook.

Letch put his hands to his cheeks and opened his mouth wide like he'd never been so astonished. "I'm sorry," he said. "I must have misunderstood what you said."

"Me, too," I said.

"I'm gonna cook dinner tonight."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I asked.

"Oh, Rhonda," Letch said, shaking his head, "she's finally trying to kill us."

It wasn't so bad. I mean, it wasn't good food. Most people probably wouldn't have eaten it. But my mom was home and she wasn't hitting the tcha-bliss too hard, and Letch was home, not hitting us too hard, and I was home, happy that we were all together.

She made chicken legs, cooked them in oil on the stovetop, and she served them with white rice that she'd pulled off the heat too early, making it feel like chewing little light bulbs.

That was all we got.

Letch looked at his plate and said, "No vegetables?" feigning shock again.

"I only know how to microwave vegetables," she said, "and I promised you boys no thawing tonight."

"What do you think, Rhonda?" Letch said. "Is she trying to poison us?"

I picked up my chicken leg and sniffed it. "Maybe"

"You first," Letch said to her, nudging me. "If she's alive in five minutes, you and me can dig in."

She took a bite of her leg, drank the rest of the tcha-bliss. She went and got another glass of wine before she'd finished chewing that first bite. When she came back to the table, she said, "I know you boys think you're pretty funny, but you better start eating before I get mad."

I still held my chicken leg up to my nose, but I didn't want to smell it again, seeing as how it stunk like the trunk of a car.

Letch said, "I'm not eating until I know you're not trying to kill us."

"Why would I want to kill you?"

"There's no reason. I'm just making sure."

My mom had another swig of tcha-bliss and said to me, "You don't think I'd poison you, do you, baby?"

I shook my head.

"Then eat, baby"

"Be careful, Rhonda. She's up to something."

"You guys," she said, "enough's enough."

I said to Letch, "I see what you mean," and set my chicken leg down on my plate.

"Baby, take a bite."

"Not yet," I said.

"The boy's only making sure it's safe"

She said, "This isn't funny." She said, "I cooked you boys dinner, now eat up."

"You look a little pale," Letch said to her. "How do you feel?"

"Eat your chicken!"

"All in due time."

"It's time."

"Can we trust her, Rhonda?"

"We better wait the five minutes," I said.

She finished her tcha-bliss, saying, "Why do I bother?" and she got up, knocking her chair over, and poured herself more tcha-bliss.