Seven Minutes in Mayhem
Author's note: This was actually a project for my Lit class, titled 'Humorous narrative'. Trust me, this isn't... Show full author's note »
Dying from boredom is only the beginning...The day was not young. It was 7 p.m. on a Saturday evening, so the day was OLD. Or, to be specific, middle-aged. Our attention remained unstirred, our ambitions propelled more than our interest kept at that time.
Or, in other simple, ABC, American words, we were bored as heck.
To my newly tapped amusement, Heck Hobbit just happened to be trimming the grass outside of his house, just on the other side of the window I was staring out of. Coincidence...I thought of in a high-pitched voice.
"That guy should cut hair someday." I said. I had heard his own grandparent's 1960s shaggin' shag carpet was practically resorted to an adolescent peach fuzz now.
"Uh, yeah, if they got gum stuck in it." 'Tranquil' Liza Gunn answered, as she leaned over a Bud Lite. I heard it's a really common name, that you'd hear called around a lot. Common as John Smith, Jane Doe, or butt-head. He lost the battle against the forces of boredom, and promptly lay sprawled and conked out in the middle of my living room. I almost felt tempted to spray whipped cream on his hand, then tickle his face with a feather. But then, if someone came and found him, they'd think he had some whimsical disease. I decided to spare the trouble.
"He's been mowing it for over 2 HOURS. God, even I'm getting tired!" I sighed. My street never had anything interesting going on. Just a bunch of old people, then gigolos, I mean, rich guys, and then some twitter-patted gaggle of adolescent sisters next door. And a dog down the street. Sometimes, I imagined I lived somewhere else, like Iceland. I could do with some volcanoes and hot springs. Sizzle.
"Well, it is Labor Day." she said thoughtfully.
I rolled my eyes. "Shya! As if! It commemorates those in labor."
"Must be a bunch of ankle-biting babies then. Geez, you know, I don't think I have the legs to be a doctor? All of that running around carrying babies and cutting umbilical cords..."
I closed the curtains, giving up on who I'd been looking for. "Never mind." Leave me to muse about deep-minded things such as our stock-market, the economy, or what lay on the CNN news next week instead of Jersey Shore and The Real Housewives. But then, without such a booming economy, my dad had been forced to go to a dinner-party that his boss waved the word 'promotion' at, and my dad, naturally, offered my mother to tag along. Really, when I saw them drive away, I could see them through the back window. "tag, you're it! Tag, YOU'RE IT!" Until they nearly hit the light pole at the end of my street, and behaved with well consideration until I saw them dip around the corner. Parents. You just have to look after them sometimes.
Or rather, yourself. I knew what I liked, and I liked TWO things. An empty house, and Ford Taurus. And Coca-Cola. And me.
I thought of what else caught my fancy, when my attention turned from the window to the excited laugh bursting from Liza.
"Ha ha ha! Look!" she clapped, and I saw a Sharpie marker extend from her right hand. She moved over to reveal Bud's face, complete with a Hitler mustache.
"Oh my god!" I exclaimed. "It's some of your best work!"
"I know!" she agreed. "I feel shameless to admit it, but he actually looks quite hot right now. You know, like, a spicy cayenne. Or a burning sensation of hot chocolate. Or the feeling you get under on the soles of your feet when you bounce around in an inflatable bouncy castle with no shoes on..."
"Um. T.M.I." was all I could say. Then shrink my shoulders at the sight of the mustache. It was just too much to bear. Thank god man invented shaving cream. Thank god for inventing men who didn't get facial hair until at a more appropriate age. There was only too much until you either resembled a lumberjack. And then a Yeti. And then Chewbacca.
We both turned at the sound of the back door knob turning in the kitchen, and in came Frenchie duWop, holding onto one of the strings of Apollo Burns' hoodie. I know any normal friend to a boy who happened to be a girl would hold onto the arm of her comrade, but one time, as a joke, he wore a fake arm underneath his jacket, and last year at a Halloween hayride, they entered a scene where they were supposed to run, and she pulled on his arm so fiercely it ripped the fake arm off, and she went into hysterics. I don't know why she flipped out so easily. There obviously wasn't any blood around for her to be so upset about.
"There's a front door." I nodded. "You passed it."
"I know that, Blue." By the way, my name is Blue. Short for Blueberry Marie Cobbler. My mom was on muscle relaxers after she gave birth to me, and my dad gave her the honors of naming me, although I am her only daughter, so far. It was either Blue, Chiquita-Banana, or Smurf. I don't know the exact experience of muscle relaxers, but I know them pretty well enough to stray away. So my parents let me free reign on most things, extend the leash a little. They pat me on the head occasionally. Until I chew through the leash, and then all of a sudden, my allowance is 'delayed.' Excuses, excuses.
Delighted to make your acquaintance. (cue curtsey).
"But I can't take it any longer." Frenchie continued, as she leaned against the love seat that Apollo settled into. "Every time I walk pass your house, those little trolls next door always make sheep's eyes at Apollo. Like, he's a sun-god or something. And you know what else? That blast-ended Heck kid always offers to trim my lawn. AS IF I don't know what that means! I can't help it, the guy's in love with me. It's like, wouldn't you want to preserve the lawn if I've already walked on it? Hmm?.." she motioned towards the front door. "is your front door locked? You could be next. I'm just trying to look out for you."
"Yeah, I'm really threatened by lawn-obsessed boys and boy-obsessed girls." I scoffed. "Just tell them to bugger off."
"Or tell them to bugger off." Liza added.
"I just said that. Or have you been inhaling too much permanent marker to notice?" I shot at her.
"Touche`." she raised her brow.
"Anyway..." Apollo stretched, clonking his long, athletic legs onto my mom's latte table, causing it to shake. He raised his brows, then looked down. "Who's the Nazi?"
"Lil' Hitler." Liza nodded. "But just his mustache."
I spoke. "Liza's apparently turned on by this look. I don't know why. Frenchie, do you know why?"
"No Blue, can't say that I do." Frenchie asked. "Apollo, do you know why?"
"Why no I don't, French. Liza, do you know why?"
"Do you know why you get a kick out of grappling guys on the football team, Apollo?? You run. You yell, you hit. You touch other guys butts!" Liza pointed out.
Frenchie registered a look of never registering that information before, while Apollo colored. "You guys, we should do something. Now." he said firmly.
"I was going to order a pepperoni pizza later." I said, until I heard someone knocking hardly on the front door. We heard Heck's voice, and froze.
"Everybody, up to my room." I said quickly, and Frenchie and Apollo sped up before I did. "Liza, for crying out loud, pick up Bud while you're at it."
"Oh yeah, that's easy for you to say." Liza said defensively. "Act like I have upper arm strength or something. Well I can assure you I don't."
"Stick his hand in warm water or something!" I told her. If he were laying on top of a sheet, I'd rip it out under him. Just for laughs. Ha ha ha!
"But what if he makes a loud noise?? You know how boys are, that's how they express their emotions." she said very Dr.Phil-like.
"Right, good thinking." I said.
So we dumped a glass of ice water over his head.
Perfect planning, he rose up hurriedly, shaking water out of his hair. "What the-," he opened his eyes. "Did I fall asleep or something?"
"Yay! Hitler's alive!" I said sarcastically, and the three of us headed up the stairs, while Bud carried a confused look on his face. Even more reason to not tell him.