Hello Crazy
The bulge in my jeans is a cell phone too big to hold with one hand.
The screen is cracked and no longer displays color accurately so when I turn it sideways to watch porn, some guy’s ass looks more bronzed than usual. Life’s little improvements
I smeared my lipstick hours ago and only now beginning to realize how professional I must have looked stumbling through the front door of my favorite Italian restaurant; teeter-swaying past plates piled high with fettuccine, bumping every cafe-style table and daring blood red wine to slosh over glass walls and stain cream-colored table clothes.
All one big show just to get to the bathroom.
I want so badly to roll over onto my stomach, fill my view with linoleum tiles scuffed by shoes more expensive than my entire outfit. I want the room to stop spinning. I want to get off my back because I've been lying in a pool of Big Man’s blood for a few minutes now and if you’re going to marinate, make sure to coat both sides evenly.
Someone tries the doorknob then follows up with a polite knock. Even from this angle I can see the deadbolt is a FirmPress. The only reason we moved into the apartments behind Ranch Market is my dad liked how the screen door was fitted with a shiny new FirmPress.
He used to say “that shit’ll hold forever.”
Today’s my Dad’s birthday! Fuck.
I reach for the bulge and shimmy the cell phone out of my jeans. Before it hits the floor I grab it with both bloody hands and hold it front of my face—9:30pm. He’s still awake
“Luna, call Dad.”
The screen lights up blue and bronze and chirps back, “Calling Brad.”
“No! Not Brad.” At least not now.
“Luna, call Dad.”
“Calling Dad”
I bring the monolithic slab to my ear and listen to the ring, like a digital dove cooing at twelve times the normal speed.
“Hey Kiddo!”
And just like that I’m no longer a scared and helpless baby. My muscles relax and the room stands still as I’m tucked snugly into womb of his voice.
“Hey Dad, how’s it going?”
“You know, quiet night over here.”
“Quiet?! I thought you’d be out celebrating.”
“It’s Tuesday, what am I celebrating?”
“Oh come on, I know it’s late but I didn’t forget...”
“Forget what?”
I turn my head and rest the massive phone on my face so I can give my hands a break. My ear is now soaking in a warm bath of blood. I sigh.
“Happy Birthday, Dad.”
“Oh it is my birthday. How about that.”
We do this song and dance number every year. It’s strangely comforting because I know it means his age isn’t bothering him yet.
“Well thank you, Kiddo. How’s my offspring doing?”
I look at big man sprawled out on the floor next to me, his mouth hangs open lazily and his eyes have rolled back in their sockets. I expected a man of his size to last a lot longer. Sadly, it was all over way too soon.
“Things are good, you know just working, hanging out, writing when I can.”
“You meet any celebrities yet?!”
Another knock on the bathroom door, this one a little more impatient. With the same amount of effort it takes to chew through one’s own arm, I sit up.
“Dad, famous people don’t just walk around like... out in the open.”
“Sure they do! You’re in Hollywood, baby. You just don’t have the inside scoop yet.”
“And you do?”
“Of course I do! You know your old man’s reputation spreads far and wide. Plus, that girl just won’t stop calling me. You know the one, the actress I like.”
“Lorena Marks”
“Yeah! Lorena Marks. She’s obsessed with me. We were just talking on the phone right before you called but I saw your number and I told her I gotta go, my precious daughter is calling and she is much, much more important than you.”
I pull the knife from the side of Big Man’s neck.
“Awww, I always appreciate how you’d rather talk to me than an Oscar-winning actor.”
“Actors come and go, but I only have one of you. As far as you know. I mean the 80’s were a wild time.”
“Jesus, Dad.”
He’s amused with himself. I can’t help but enjoy how he laughs at his own jokes.
“Alright, Kiddo, Ima let you get back to being young and free in Los Angeles. You be safe out there, okay?”
The phone is slipping out of my hand. I quickly set the knife down on the bloody floor and grab it with both hands.
“I will. Promise.”
“Alright I love.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
“Bye-bye now.”
My dad’s voice has the strange quality of feeling like a physical presence. It has a weight, a shape, a smell even. Light bounces off the surface of his words and glimmers into my eyes. Now that presence has turned its back and walked right out of the room, leaving me completely alone.
Well, actually, Big Man’s dead body is still here.
A loud bang on the door from an angry fist attached to an even angrier 50-something who drinks white wine while eating pasta with red sauce.
I roll my eyes then dig into my pocket. There he is - my magic 8 ball.
The coke hits me like lightening from Zeus himself and I’m back baby. I could kill 10 more Big Mans.
“Excuse me! Other people need to use the bathroom!”
The angry 50-something has turned into several others and they all scold me from behind the door. I should hurry up.
Wait. No. I eye the FirmPress protecting me from the mob of idiots who don’t know shit about pairing wine with pasta.
The FirmPress that works so well my dad didn’t mind leaving me home alone as he worked the night the shift at Allen’s Grocery Store and Deli.
The FirmPress that could hold a door shut during WWII, the Spanish Inquisition, and the meteorite that killed the dinosaurs.
I got all the time in the world because that shit’ll hold forever.
I pick up my phone.
“Luna, call Brad.”
End
