been sleep-eating.
What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she so hungry all the time? She
popped another candy in her mouth and considered the possibilities. Maybe she
was stress eating. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was PMS. Maybe she needed to
go buy some sweat pants because the jeans she was wearing were way too tight.
She popped open the top button and licked the Cheetoh residue off her fingers.
“Here we are,” Ollie said, throwing the van into
park.
“My tocks thank you,” G-Ray said. “Let’s go see
where the King lives.”
“Lived,” Ollie said. “He died, remember?”
“So some believe,” G-Ray retorted. He hopped out of
the van and did some elaborate stretches designed to loosen up his tocks.
Claire remembered her dream where Elvis came and
talked to her. “Maybe he’s still alive,” she said. “A lot of people have seen
him, you know.”
Ollie snorted. “Yeah, a lot of people claim to see
Santa Claus, too.”
“They say the same thing about aliens,” G-Ray said.
He was bent over at the waist and looking between his legs at Claire. “But I’m
here to tell you, aliens are real, man. R.E.A.L.”
“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re bent
over like that, G-ray,” Ollie said.
G-Ray straightened up, reached behind himself,
grabbed a butt cheek in each hand and squeezed them together as if they were a
mouth talking. He said in a high-pitched voice, “We are alien entities. Take us
to your leader.”
“The aliens are speaking through your butthole?”
Claire said.
“Stranger things have happened,” G-Ray said.
Claire burst into loud guffaws. Which turned out to
be a big mistake. The sudden expulsion of air sent a gust of Cheetoh dust out
her nostrils coating the back of the front seat and Ollie’s face with neon
orange powder.
Ollie’s orange covered face, which now resembled one
of the Oompa Loompa’s from the chocolate factory, sent Claire into fresh
hysterics. She held her belly and rolled around on the floor of the van and
made sounds like a barking seal.
Ollie grabbed a handful of tissues and mopped at her
face. Oscar whined and jumped out of the van. Ollie and G-Ray exchanged
concerned looks.
Finally, Claire sat up and wiped the tears from her
face. “Sorry,” she said to Ollie. “I’ve just never seen you orange before.”
Ollie got out of the van and tucked Oscar into her
backpack. Claire moved to the front seat and looked at her reflection in the
rear view mirror. She wiped the orange off her mouth and pulled her hair back
into a ponytail. She looked presentable except that her eyes were red and
bloodshot. Nothing more sleep wouldn’t cure.
*
Ollie was becoming more and more concerned about Claire.
All she did was eat and sleep, sleep and eat. Ollie couldn’t help but take it
personally. Maybe she was bad for Claire. Maybe being around Ollie for any
length of time was detrimental to Claire’s sanity. When she picked Claire up in
Houston, she was a well-groomed, successful woman with a job, making six
figures a year. Two days on the road with Ollie and Claire was packing on the
pounds, snoozing deliriously and blowing orange stuff out her nose.
“Candy anybody?” Claire asked.
Both Ollie and G-Ray shook their heads. “Okey
dokey,” Claire said, popping it into her mouth. “Too bad, ‘cause that’s the
last one.”
Ollie strapped the backpack with Oscar in it over
her shoulders and shut the van door.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Claire asked.
Ollie patted her pockets. “No, I don’t think so.”
“What about EZ?”
“She’s sleeping,” Ollie said.
“You’re going to leave her in the van?”
Ollie shrugged. “If she were awake she could go with
us.”
“You’re really going to just leave EZ in the van
while we tour Graceland? Do you know how hot it can get in a locked car?”
“I cracked the windows.”
“Let me get this straight,” Claire said, “you take
the dog inside in your backpack, but it’s
What the hell was wrong with her? Why was she so hungry all the time? She
popped another candy in her mouth and considered the possibilities. Maybe she
was stress eating. Maybe it was hormones. Maybe it was PMS. Maybe she needed to
go buy some sweat pants because the jeans she was wearing were way too tight.
She popped open the top button and licked the Cheetoh residue off her fingers.
“Here we are,” Ollie said, throwing the van into
park.
“My tocks thank you,” G-Ray said. “Let’s go see
where the King lives.”
“Lived,” Ollie said. “He died, remember?”
“So some believe,” G-Ray retorted. He hopped out of
the van and did some elaborate stretches designed to loosen up his tocks.
Claire remembered her dream where Elvis came and
talked to her. “Maybe he’s still alive,” she said. “A lot of people have seen
him, you know.”
Ollie snorted. “Yeah, a lot of people claim to see
Santa Claus, too.”
“They say the same thing about aliens,” G-Ray said.
He was bent over at the waist and looking between his legs at Claire. “But I’m
here to tell you, aliens are real, man. R.E.A.L.”
“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re bent
over like that, G-ray,” Ollie said.
G-Ray straightened up, reached behind himself,
grabbed a butt cheek in each hand and squeezed them together as if they were a
mouth talking. He said in a high-pitched voice, “We are alien entities. Take us
to your leader.”
“The aliens are speaking through your butthole?”
Claire said.
“Stranger things have happened,” G-Ray said.
Claire burst into loud guffaws. Which turned out to
be a big mistake. The sudden expulsion of air sent a gust of Cheetoh dust out
her nostrils coating the back of the front seat and Ollie’s face with neon
orange powder.
Ollie’s orange covered face, which now resembled one
of the Oompa Loompa’s from the chocolate factory, sent Claire into fresh
hysterics. She held her belly and rolled around on the floor of the van and
made sounds like a barking seal.
Ollie grabbed a handful of tissues and mopped at her
face. Oscar whined and jumped out of the van. Ollie and G-Ray exchanged
concerned looks.
Finally, Claire sat up and wiped the tears from her
face. “Sorry,” she said to Ollie. “I’ve just never seen you orange before.”
Ollie got out of the van and tucked Oscar into her
backpack. Claire moved to the front seat and looked at her reflection in the
rear view mirror. She wiped the orange off her mouth and pulled her hair back
into a ponytail. She looked presentable except that her eyes were red and
bloodshot. Nothing more sleep wouldn’t cure.
*
Ollie was becoming more and more concerned about Claire.
All she did was eat and sleep, sleep and eat. Ollie couldn’t help but take it
personally. Maybe she was bad for Claire. Maybe being around Ollie for any
length of time was detrimental to Claire’s sanity. When she picked Claire up in
Houston, she was a well-groomed, successful woman with a job, making six
figures a year. Two days on the road with Ollie and Claire was packing on the
pounds, snoozing deliriously and blowing orange stuff out her nose.
“Candy anybody?” Claire asked.
Both Ollie and G-Ray shook their heads. “Okey
dokey,” Claire said, popping it into her mouth. “Too bad, ‘cause that’s the
last one.”
Ollie strapped the backpack with Oscar in it over
her shoulders and shut the van door.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Claire asked.
Ollie patted her pockets. “No, I don’t think so.”
“What about EZ?”
“She’s sleeping,” Ollie said.
“You’re going to leave her in the van?”
Ollie shrugged. “If she were awake she could go with
us.”
“You’re really going to just leave EZ in the van
while we tour Graceland? Do you know how hot it can get in a locked car?”
“I cracked the windows.”
“Let me get this straight,” Claire said, “you take
the dog inside in your backpack, but it’s
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