John Jodzio - Knockout

“Your drunk self is trying to get a message to your sober self,” Liza told me. “Can’t you see that?”

I watched as Ronnie cupped his hands over the window to see inside. I sat on my couch in a spot where he could see me, but I kept my eyes shut, stayed perfectly still.

“Ma’am?” Ronnie yelled as he pounded on my door. “Are you all right?”

I watched as he walked back to his truck. I thought he’d given up, but then he walked around to the side of my house. My dining room window was open and he took out a pocket knife and cut the window screen. Then he hoisted himself up and slid his body through the window and into my house. He stood up and brushed himself off and walked over to me. When he got near, I opened my eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need help?”

I did not answer him. I did not explain anything. I just took his hand and pulled his little body closer to mine. There was a nice breeze coming in through the open window and I pulled his shirt over his head and then I unbuckled his belt. I undressed him very slowly and very deliberately. He did not argue, he did not say a word. When we were both naked, I wrapped my body around his tiny body; I surrounded him with my arms and legs. I took this little man, I took him and I pressed him into the spots in my body where I hid myself from myself.

My metal band Hymenoptera broke up so I got a job at a piss test place. They didn’t piss test us to work there so during my lunch break I usually got high by the dumpster. One day, right after lunch, a girl named Julie walked in.

“I need to pass a drug test to get a job at the laser light show,” she said.

I used to work at the laser light show, but I quit because I hated all the Pink Floyd and Zeppelin they played. Sometimes when I ran out of weed I still went there to get a contact high, but I always wore earplugs so I could get my contact high in peace.

“There’s this thing about my test,” Julie said. “I’m gonna fail because last night someone spiked my hard lemonade.”

Since I started working here, I’d heard many tales of woe and roofied hard lemonades. It was difficult to tell who was telling the truth and who was lying. All I knew was I’d accidentally eaten some cocaine fudge at a party a few nights before and I knew how easily something like this could happen to a trusting soul.

“I was wondering,” Julie said, pulling out two twenties from her bra and sliding them across the counter, “if you could piss for me.”

Many people tried to bribe me since I started working here, but I hadn’t taken any of their money because of my excellent scruples. In the last few days though, I’d heard some chatter about Hymenoptera reforming. If that happened I’d need some extra cash to unpawn my guitar and buy my amp back from my dealer.

“Okay,” I told Julie. “Follow me.”

Julie and I went into the employee bathroom. While I was summoning a stream I caught her peeking at my junk.

“It costs extra to see it,” I said.

“How much extra?” she asked.

I hadn’t charged anyone to see my junk in the last few months so I didn’t know the going rate. I figured inflation had probably doubled what I’d charged last time.

“How about three bucks,” I said.

“How about two?” Julie asked.

“You drive a hard bargain,” I said.

Julie looked like a lady who might enjoy a longer striptease instead of just a quick peekaboo so I did an enticing, erotic jig, pulling down my boxers a little with each hip shake until my dick just sort of flopped out.

“I gave you the three-dollar performance anyway,” I told her.

“I could tell,” Julie said.

I’d worked up quite a sweat doing my dance and now Julie walked over to me and wiped the sweat from my brow with her shirtsleeve. Then she kissed me on the lips.

I’d had sex at work with Ellen, the office accountant, a few times, but Ellen was older and mostly she wanted me to say complimentary things about her ass in her husband’s raspy voice, so sex with Julie was way more enjoyable.

When we were finished, I filled up Julie’s piss cup and handed it to her.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she told me.

Afew days later, Hymenoptera got back together. I lugged my guitar and amp over to our practice space. At first everyone was excited to see each other, but that excitement was short lived. After we started to play, our lead singer forgot the lyrics to one of our songs and the drummer threw his drumstick and nailed the singer in the back of the head.

“What the fuck?” the singer yelled.

“You need to take this shit seriously,” the drummer said.

It took a while, but the bassist and I cooled the two of them down. We started practicing again. Midway through another song though, the singer quit singing and turned to face the drummer.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he said, “but last week I boned Sadie.”

Sadie was the drummer’s girlfriend. He immediately jumped over his drum kit and began to choke the lead singer. The bassist and I started to load up our gear.

“That lasted way longer than I thought it would,” he told me.

The next day when I finished with my shift at the piss test place, Julie was waiting for me in the parking lot. She had a big black dog with her.

“Your piss was bad,” Julie said. “You cost me my job.”

I figured she’d brought the dog along to attack me, so as they got closer I threaded my keys between my fingers in case I needed to stab the dog in its face.

“I’m really sorry,” I said. “What can I do to make this right?”

Julie took the dog’s leash and pressed it into my hand. “You can apologize to me by dog-sitting Rancho tonight.”

I stood there while Rancho sniffed me up and down. When he got to my bag that held my weed, he started to bark.

“He used to be a drug-sniffing dog,” Julie explained, “but he retired because he has seizures.”

When he finished barking at my weed, Rancho had one of these seizures. He flopped onto his back and his legs started to shake. His dog eyes rolled back into his dog head. Soon all the shaking stopped and he popped up off the ground like nothing had happened.

“See?” Julie told me. “No big deal.”

Soon Julie left and I walked back to my apartment with Rancho. Halfway there, Rancho started to bark at a garbage can. I rummaged around and found a Ziploc baggie with a joint inside. When I stopped by the frozen yogurt place, Rancho barked at my friend Carl, who had a handful of quaaludes in his pocket.

“That dog’s a goldmine,” Carl told me. “Take him to the laser light show and pretend you’re a cop and confiscate everyone’s drugs.”

“Good idea,” I said.

Soon Rancho and I were standing by the exit doors of the laser light show. Whenever Rancho barked at anyone I flipped out a fake police badge and told them to hand over their drugs. After ten minutes, I’d already scored two dime bags of weed and these really hairy-looking ’shrooms. While we waited for our next victim, Julie tapped me on the shoulder.

“This is how you dog-sit?” she asked.

I noticed Julie was wearing the uniform for the laser show, the white shirt, the red suspenders. She was wearing a nametag with her name on it. She’d gotten the job even with my bad piss.

“I thought you failed the test,” I said, flicking her suspender.

“I let the manager show me his junk and I got the job,” she explained.

While we stood there contemplating each other’s lies and wondering which one had done the other person more harm, Rancho had one of his seizures. I quickly knelt down and stroked his cheek and held his paw until he came out of it. I guess Julie hadn’t expected me to be such a competent dog-sitter or such a compassionate human being, because when I looked up at her she had tears in her eyes.