Which Way From Here - page 3
Filed in:
Chapter One
Written By:
Justin Hughes Chicago,
IL
Stop looking at me like that you jealous fucking retard monkey. Please don’t open your mouth. Just grab your coffee and squeeze my ass and go off to work.
“Honey, you can’t be serious. You are inviting Dave? When was the last time that they saw him for Christ’s sake?”
“Sean. Dearest. They are my parents. They really liked David when we dated. He used to visit them when I went to Syracuse. and so fucking what if he goes to THEIR fucking party. So I lost my virginity to him over fifteen years ago when we were in high school because this is what this is about, right? That there was other boys that staked claim here before you did? I also fucked six other guys before we got married but I’m not inviting them. Shit! four of them don’t even have last names!”
“Hey listen, I didn’t bring that up! What is up with you always bringing up the dudes you slept with like it’s some weird fuck badge of merit? I understand that ole-first-time-Dave was, and I want to stress the big fucking WAS, close to your parents but c’mon it has to have been at least twelve years since his weaseling weekend visits. And you know you’re just inviting him out of sympathy.”
“Sympathy? Sympathy? D’you really think so? Huh. Yeah I guess I could be sympathetic towards my first love that just lost his wife. Not to mention the unborn child he lost too or that he only found out about a few days before. You’re such a fucking retard sometimes.”
“Ignoring the name-calling yet again, my point is that he is going to know that it is out of sympathy that we invite him.”
“Ohhhh so now, it’s WE, huh?!”
“That he is going to be bombarded with sympathy from every direction even if it’s just this harmless fun social gathering he is going to know that in the back of everyone’s mind is Michelle. Even if it’s not, he will think it. All I’m saying is I hate sympathetic overtures. It’s so forced and full of falsehood. But then again, what do I know? I’m a ‘fucking retard.’ I’m late. I’ll call you.”
Shit. You’re right. YOU ARE A FUCKING RETARD. But you’re right. I just want David to be better, to be happy, and forget that stupid bitch he married.
“Fuck.”
“Anna?”
“Sweetie, will you please, for the last time, call me Mom? Please?”
“You said “Fuck”, Mom.”
“Henry, please go get dressed for school.”
Stop looking at me like that you jealous fucking retard monkey. Please don’t open your mouth. Just grab your coffee and squeeze my ass and go off to work.
“Honey, you can’t be serious. You are inviting Dave? When was the last time that they saw him for Christ’s sake?”
“Sean. Dearest. They are my parents. They really liked David when we dated. He used to visit them when I went to Syracuse. and so fucking what if he goes to THEIR fucking party. So I lost my virginity to him over fifteen years ago when we were in high school because this is what this is about, right? That there was other boys that staked claim here before you did? I also fucked six other guys before we got married but I’m not inviting them. Shit! four of them don’t even have last names!”
“Hey listen, I didn’t bring that up! What is up with you always bringing up the dudes you slept with like it’s some weird fuck badge of merit? I understand that ole-first-time-Dave was, and I want to stress the big fucking WAS, close to your parents but c’mon it has to have been at least twelve years since his weaseling weekend visits. And you know you’re just inviting him out of sympathy.”
“Sympathy? Sympathy? D’you really think so? Huh. Yeah I guess I could be sympathetic towards my first love that just lost his wife. Not to mention the unborn child he lost too or that he only found out about a few days before. You’re such a fucking retard sometimes.”
“Ignoring the name-calling yet again, my point is that he is going to know that it is out of sympathy that we invite him.”
“Ohhhh so now, it’s WE, huh?!”
“That he is going to be bombarded with sympathy from every direction even if it’s just this harmless fun social gathering he is going to know that in the back of everyone’s mind is Michelle. Even if it’s not, he will think it. All I’m saying is I hate sympathetic overtures. It’s so forced and full of falsehood. But then again, what do I know? I’m a ‘fucking retard.’ I’m late. I’ll call you.”
Shit. You’re right. YOU ARE A FUCKING RETARD. But you’re right. I just want David to be better, to be happy, and forget that stupid bitch he married.
“Fuck.”
“Anna?”
“Sweetie, will you please, for the last time, call me Mom? Please?”
“You said “Fuck”, Mom.”
“Henry, please go get dressed for school.”
