If you are not familiar, Flash Fiction Friday is a website that gets people into the habit of writing. This was my first go at it — I had a good time. Check out the site and check out my first piece.
It was an honest mistake…or it was honestly stupid. Either way, I didn’t mean anything by it.
When I was 16 I got drunk on screwdrivers and Mimosas and other beverages that mixed vodka and fruit and could fit nicely in a Big Gulp cup from Circle K.
We listened to Metallica and rolled through town in my new Chevelle SS. My father, a mechanic, dropped the keys in my hand that morning and said,” Don’t ever say I didn’t give you anything.” I ran to the door and nearly pissed myself. He beamed.
Anyway, Jimmy and I rolled through town making appearance everywhere people could gawk, point, and try and get a glimpse of who was driving it. We hit Better Burger, The Paladium, Skateland. We drank and bumped our heads.
Then Jimmy had the idea of cruising the park. Jimmy was a clown who had as much sense as a big rubber nose. Promising the possibility of Katrina being there doing some Frisbee golf, I agreed.
“Mother fucker,” he slurred, “I just hope Gina is with her.”
I nodded my head. A car honked behind me. The light had turned green though I didn’t remember stopping, so I shoved my hand out the window and gave him the bird.
“Show ‘em whatcha got.”
I didn’t need any more cajoling and took off, the tires laughing the whole time. Wind rushed through my hair. Jimmy giggled a ‘fuck yeah’ under his breath.
When we got to the park, Jimmy pulled out one of his father’s porn magazines from his backpack. He had many of such magazines and usually sold them to the poor nerds in Spanish class.
Ripping a page down the middle, he tore a section out and put it in his mouth.
“Dude,” he said, “I’m fuckin’ eatin’ pussy,” then laughed a little too loud. He chewed the glossy paper and spit the ball in my general direction. We both drank as I circled the park to the Frisbee golf course. And he ate another piece of a woman’s body.
Floop, floop, one after another, no matter my subtle protestations – “Damnit, Jimmy, I’m gonna ram your head in a pile of dog shit and beat you with my boot.”
I thought about Katrina, her dark hair, dark eyes, how impressed she’d be when I rolled up in this ride and a little Mimosa left.
Suddenly a very large wad of spit went into my brain and I swerved hard. I heard a laugh then gasp; I felt the gravel under my tires and the vibrations in the steering wheel; I heard the Big Gulp fall from between my legs and hit the floor. And then it was all black.
A minute or two later I opened my eyes. Jimmy was already out of the car, circling it, eyes wide, pants wet from his drink.
“Dude,” he said when I got out. The two right tires were bent to shit, the front axle looked snapped, thing I did not have names for were hanging under the car’s carriage.
When my dad got there with a tow truck he borrowed from work, he circled the car once, a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip. He stared at it a long time. Jimmy danced like he was about to piss his pants.
“I was driving here to see Katrina.”
His eyes did not waver from mine and I thought I would puke.
“And, you know, I was just driving along when this animal jumped out and I swerved to miss it.”
He looked at Jimmy. I did too. He nodded.
“What kind of animal?”
“A furry one,” I said before I knew what the hell I was saying.
Dad hooked up the car, and we all piled in the front seat. Jimmy passed out right there while Dad smoked and I listened to some country station I never knew existed.
After dropping Jimmy off we went straight to the garage. We unhooked the broken thing and pushed it into the bay where I set the blocks so we could raise it up and see underneath. Dad never said a word. He didn’t have to. This was mistake both of knew I would have to make up for.
After examining the undercarriage, he handed me a socket wrench and the hard work began.