CHAPTER 7
I Discovered My Best Friends Bucket List And All I Got Was This Stupid Responsibility
(And I chill with my mom)
I sat on my mom's torn and ripped couch, in her apartment, she was sober enough to remember me at this point. She downed straight warm cups of Old Crow. I knew the sober wouldn't last, so I did the only thing I knew how in these kinds of situations.
Drink.
The bottle of Jack Daniels was in my jean pocket. I slipped it out on took a long pull.
“Do you drink every day?” Mom asked.
“Do you?”
“Don't be a fucking smart aleck.”
“Then don't ask stupid questions, I am your son.” I said. “Therefore, I am a functioning alcoholic. Like you, the alcoholic part, obviously not the functioning part.”
“Always such a smart mouth punk. You think you're superior and that you know better, because you just took off to that whores house to live.”
“You talking about Aunt Becky? She's a fucking Bible thumper. Farthest from whore I have ever seen.”
“You think someone can't be a whore for Jesus Christ?” Mom said, words slowly starting to slur.
“Fuckin' A. You're getting drunk again.” I said. Right on time the door bell rang. “About fuckin' time.”
“That pizza is hours late.” Mom said.
“I'm convinced you didn't even order one to begin with. I actually called and ordered these ones.” I opened the door. Paid the guy. Set the pizza's on mom's filthy table. I wasn't above these living standards I just chose to not live this way.
The carpeted floor was covered in cigarette ashes, cans, bottles, empty pizza and Chinese food cartons. Clearly she had let herself go. Now I was wondering if I should just have some pizza and go. I clearly wasn't going to find sympathy here. And the last thing that was good for me would be to get involved in this train wreck.
“Tough call, dude.”
I turned to an empty chair. It was occupied by Dick. He smiled. Blood poured from his stomach and throat wounds. He took a bite of pizza. He was still in his delivery uniform. Of course mom couldn't see him, no one could but me, it was my curse and a blessing. Not many people got to interact with their best friends once they check off this mortal coil.
“How are you going to explain my bucket list to Lorrie? Have you even decided if you're gonna do it?” Dick said. I shook my head. I couldn't answer out loud. My mom would hear me. Though she was digging into pizza and washing it down with room temperature whiskey.
“I don't know what to do.” I said and bit into a piece of pizza.
“About what?” Mom asked.
“Dick was just murdered. He left behind his girlfriend and an extremely long bucket list he wants me to fulfill.”
“Sounds like a lot of horse shit. The best part about losing somebody is that you don't gotta do shit for them ever again. You should throw away his grocery list and tell his chick to hit the bricks.” Mom said. I felt anger toward this woman that gave birth to me. She didn't know shit.
“It's a bucket list. Things that he never got to do before he died.”
“Dude I was only twenty-six when I was killed.” Dick pointed out.
“Fuck it. Take care of yourself.” Mom said. It was nearing time for me to leave.
“He was only twenty-six when he was killed, mom.” I said. “I loved him, he was a brother to me. You need to watch your tone when you speak of my friends.” She seemed to shut up after that.
We ate in silence. My Jack Daniels was gone. She cracked a fresh bottle of old crow. I got up, it was late, even Dick had fallen asleep. I didn't know if I was supposed to shake a ghost awake.
“I need to get going,” I said. “Just so you know I probably won't be back.”
“I figured as much. You're probably used to being around idiots that kiss your ass.” She was fully liquored up. That comment of hers woke Dick up.
“Is it time to go, dude?” He asked.
“Yeah.” I said. I took a last look at my mother. I figured she might last another two years, tops. “Good-bye.” I walked over and opened the door.
“Don't screw it up with that girl.” Mom said. I froze in my tracks.
“What girl are you talking about?”
“You know what girl I mean. That's why you came here. Advice. If you love the girl don't screw it up. And don't come back here. It's too late Tom.”
“It's Tucker.” I said defensive.
“I always wanted it to be Tom, like Tom Sawyer. Your horrible father wouldn't allow it.” She lied on the couch and turned her back to me. I was angry at the tears in my eyes. At that point I wanted to rip both of my eyeballs out and smash them.
Wasted tears on a wasted woman. Mom. A fucking joke.
“Let's go home, dude.” Dick said. I looked at him and the wound in his throat bled slower. He smiled crookedly at me. “You don't need her, dude. You're better off with me and Lorrie.”
“But you're not really here.”
“What difference does it make? You can still see me and hear me.” He said. We walked to my car in silence. I couldn't say anything, he had a point.
On the way home I stopped at a bar. The place faced the beach. It was full of college kids. They drank like it was going out of style, I ordered a 15 buck Jack and Coke Zero. Some Nirvana song screamed from the jukebox and I wondered what the fuck kids their age were doing listening to that band. They sucked when I was a teenager, the songs got harder to tolerate each time you heard them. Maybe they were older college attendees.
One of the girls looked to be a few years younger than myself. She had long jet black hair and 50's style bangs. She wore tight black Capri pants. Tall stiletto heels. Polka dots?! Yeah, she wore polka dots. White on black. My mouth was watering.
I should just finish my drink and leave. Lorrie was at home and I had to get home, despite the fact that there was enough alcohol in my system to make me slightly hazy. I took hard sips off my drink.
“Hey.” I heard a voice say from my left. I looked. It was polka dot girl.
“Hello.” I said.
“I've never seen you here before.” She said.
“I'm just passing through.”
“That's awesome. I wish I could just pass through. I have so many classes and homework...” She said, then started humming along to the atrocious 90's grunge rock.
“You put this on?” I asked.
“Yeah! You like Nirvana?” She smiled, excited.
“No, hell no. Not my thing.”
“What do you mean, hell no?” She asked defensively.
“Kurt Cobain had soul but no heart. He could whine and whine and groan but there was no heart in his music. He was as bad as a blues singer.” I said, irritation boiling inside me.
“Wow.” She said. I noticed her large tits and mad cleavage. “You here this guy, Rick? Called Kurt Cobain a loser.” Some idiot wearing a Sublime t-shirt looked over at us. He was big and corn fed. It looked like he hadn't showered in days.
Rick strolled over to say hi.
“What's up, Patty? This faggot talking shit?” Rick said. Patty? Was he fucking serious? The name totally didn't fit.
“I just called Kurt Cobain heartless. Metaphorically of course.” I smiled at Rick and Patty. I was in no mood to be fucked with and the idea that Rick may try amused me.
“You don't know shit, fucker.” Rick said. I could tell he was drunk and he was the kind that got angry and stupider.
“You are a fucker.” Patty said. I grinned like a wolf.
“I think you two should walk away now.” I said. But, Rick moved closer, I was sitting down and he stood. Patty to my left and the joker Rick to my right.
“Take it back.” Rick said, in what I assumed was his tough guy tone, but it sounded like a wet whisper.
“OK. Take it easy,” I put down my drink and raised both hands in surrender. “I'm sorry, Rick, Patty, I'm sorry Kurt Cobain couldn't write from the heart or that he didn't have a good or even medi
ocre singing voice.”
In my peripherals I saw Rick start to move, I smashed the glass of Jack and Coke Zero in his face. He screamed out. Blood poured from his nose. Patty took a swing, I saw it coming, seized her by the wrists and kneed her deep in the groin. She fell to her knees. I dropped a tip on the table and remembered why I don't like drinking in public.
I didn't notice my hand bleeding or the small shards of glass imbedded into the skin, until I actually started the Zephyr. The glass pressed into my skin as I gripped the wheel. But the determination to not treat it until I got home was strong. Blood seeped into my rugs and stained the upholstery.
Dick sat to my right in the passenger seat at a certain point. He stared straight ahead and didn't say anything but I knew what he was thinking. The silence was deafening.
“You shouldn't be driving drunk, dude.”
“It's what I do.” I said. “I thought you were going to tell me I shouldn't hit chicks. And I was gonna point out that I didn't hit her, but kneed her in the groin.”
“I wasn't gonna say that. I saw you knee her. And she had it coming.” Dick said. “So, what are you going to do about number one on my bucket list?”
“Start from the bottom.” I said, coolly.
“You're gonna start from the bottom, at the last thing I wanted to do before I died?” He asked.
“Yeah. It's easier and probably the thing at the bottom isn't as glamorous.” I said, hands burning like hot sauce in my wounds. Dick laughed and smiled at the same time. He used to do that when he was alive and it cracked me up. Dead, though, not so funny.
“What's funny?”
“You haven't read the list have you?” Dick asked.
“I read item zero. Where you request that I fulfill your bucket list if you fucking die before hand.” I said. Acid in my tone.
“Why are you getting pissed off, dude?” He said.
“Because! I WAS OUT, MAN! I WAS FUCKING ON THE ROAD!” I paused and tried to rest my breathing. I was rageful. “You had to go and fucking get yourself stabbed! HOW THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO HELP YOU?! I WAS OUT OF TOWN.” I started crying. “You fucker! You idiot! You got yourself killed over pizza!”
“Dude, it's not your fault. Please man. You don't have to do anything with that ridiculous list.” Dick said, calm.
“It's obviously important! And I didn't read it but I skimmed it. And the part with the Asian hooker seemed feasible.”
“Yeah, I felt every guy should be with a prostitute, right? Why not Asian?” Dick said.
“True that. I agree.” I said.
“You shouldn't be driving. You seem slightly drunk and really worried.” He said. I stepped on the pedal. Sped up. Motorists swerved out of my way. I screamed and growled. Fuck, I was drunk off my ass, with a bleeding hand.
I got home finally. Dick was not there at a certain point. I drove alone with my thoughts. I made some decisions and decided on thoughts. Pulled in and parked.
Inside the apartment. Lorrie Lovitt slept. I ran hot water in the kitchen. I washed my wounds. Lorrie entered the kitchen. She was wearing string bikini panties and a black tank top.
“Whoa. Put on pants.” I said, trying not to stare but doing a horrible job.
“What happened to your hand?” She asked, concerned.
“Bar fight. I'm good.” I said.
“You could have gotten seriously hurt.”
“Would you please put on pants?” I asked, noticing her slender legs and hips that are smooth and cream like.
“Shut up. You are probably gonna need stitches.” Lorrie was all business.
“Are we bothering Sloppy Deb?” I asked.
“She's a heavy sleeper.”
“I can't feel my hand.” I said. Then things started to get dark.
“How long have you been bleeding like this?” Lorrie asked.
“Few hours or so.” I murmured. Then fell off this Earth.
“TUCK, CAN YOU HEAR ME?” Lorrie yelled. I shook my head. So she knew I was alive.
“Get ready to leave the state of California. We are going to White Castle.” I said before I passed out.
“What?” Lorrie asked.
“The bucket list! That is all there is here from here on out.” I said. Life faded into darkness. My last image was off Lorrie Lovitt in string bikini bottoms.