helps. Helps a lot. Sorry, off topic.”
Gulp of scotch.
“My sperm donor of a daddy died in a shootout. Unfortunately, it’s looking a lot like yours might bite it the same way. His was for cheating an unfriendly poker game. Mine is, well, slightly more complicated. Same error in judgment, I suppose…fucking drifting again. Sorry, man.”
Another gulp.
Pours more.
“You're going to hate me for a long time and you won't really know why. That's okay. I should have been around to show you shit, I know I should have.”
He pushes the glass away, pops open his pill bottle scattering out a few on the table in front of him. Preparing.
“You got good
DNA
kid, no question. Your Mom's a MILF, and I'm not bad either. Both of us are pretty bright bulbs, so that has to put you ahead of the curve. Good looking and smart goes far in this life. Sucks for the armies of hideous dumbasses that clog the planet, but it is a fact. People will like you, and definitely will want to show up to your funeral. That's a long way off, but it's important.”
Takes a mouthful of scotch, swishes it side-to-side before a hard swallow. He picks up a pill, getting it ready between his thumb and index finger.
“You should live like you want people to miss you. There, that's a good one. I’ll leave you with that bit of wisdom.”
He bounces the pill, trying to land it in the scotch glass.
“Take it easy on your mom. Take care of her. She deserved a helluva a lot more than me . . . as do you. Just know that I think of you frequently. I've set aside some things for you. Your mom will know what to do. But Sean . . .” Remo’s eyes water, but he holds it together. “All of this—me talking here, the mindless babbling—this is really me trying to say, in an extremely piss-poor fashion, that I'm so very, very sor— ”
His ringing cell phone cuts him off in mid-sentence.
Plop.
Finally got one in the glass.
Remo sees the caller ID, answers with a confused, “Hello?”
Nothing on the other end.
“Anna?”
Anna clutches her cell, standing in the doorway of her homey kitchen. Unlike Remo, she picked everything out by herself.
Sean sits coloring a Toy Story 3 picture at the table. Woody and Buzz are an odd mix of magenta and periwinkle, but the kid’s enjoying himself. Anna tries hard to keep her conversation with Remo away from Sean. “Remo, I shouldn't have said those things. You deserved every word and it was the truth, but I shouldn't have said them. Are you really dying?”
Remo, touched, replies, “Unfortunately.”
“Let's be clear, I will never forgive you.”
“Understood.”
“Stop. Let me talk. I don't like this, and I’m certain this is a massive mistake, but . . . you should meet Sean. If I don't let him meet you, I'll hate myself later.” The conversation is emotionally exhausting for her.
For first time in a long, long time, a light shines in Remo. “Thank you, Anna.”
She can hear in his voice that he means it. At least, she’d like to think he’s being honest. She snaps, “No talking. I'll meet you Saturday at seven. They’re doing a thing for kids at the park that night.”
Remo doesn’t want to make a mistake with this. “Help me out. I haven't checked a calendar in a few days.”
“Today is Friday.”
“Okay. Yes. Absolutely. I'll be there.”
“Remo…don't fuck this up.”
“No. No way. I will be—”
She hangs up.
Remo looks straight into the camera, “There.”
Wipes the moisture from his eyes.
Sniffs.
“Well, okay then.”
He gives a grin, his heart wide open.
His expression shifts as his mind clicks, data churning. A thought comes to light and he hates himself for not piecing this together sooner, pissed that this is something he should have realized long before.
Why haven’t they killed me yet?
Chicken Wing could have easily done it by now, so why hasn’t he?
He can’t!
It’s a fucking family dynamic issue, some bizarre organizational chart Mashburn
Gulp of scotch.
“My sperm donor of a daddy died in a shootout. Unfortunately, it’s looking a lot like yours might bite it the same way. His was for cheating an unfriendly poker game. Mine is, well, slightly more complicated. Same error in judgment, I suppose…fucking drifting again. Sorry, man.”
Another gulp.
Pours more.
“You're going to hate me for a long time and you won't really know why. That's okay. I should have been around to show you shit, I know I should have.”
He pushes the glass away, pops open his pill bottle scattering out a few on the table in front of him. Preparing.
“You got good
DNA
kid, no question. Your Mom's a MILF, and I'm not bad either. Both of us are pretty bright bulbs, so that has to put you ahead of the curve. Good looking and smart goes far in this life. Sucks for the armies of hideous dumbasses that clog the planet, but it is a fact. People will like you, and definitely will want to show up to your funeral. That's a long way off, but it's important.”
Takes a mouthful of scotch, swishes it side-to-side before a hard swallow. He picks up a pill, getting it ready between his thumb and index finger.
“You should live like you want people to miss you. There, that's a good one. I’ll leave you with that bit of wisdom.”
He bounces the pill, trying to land it in the scotch glass.
“Take it easy on your mom. Take care of her. She deserved a helluva a lot more than me . . . as do you. Just know that I think of you frequently. I've set aside some things for you. Your mom will know what to do. But Sean . . .” Remo’s eyes water, but he holds it together. “All of this—me talking here, the mindless babbling—this is really me trying to say, in an extremely piss-poor fashion, that I'm so very, very sor— ”
His ringing cell phone cuts him off in mid-sentence.
Plop.
Finally got one in the glass.
Remo sees the caller ID, answers with a confused, “Hello?”
Nothing on the other end.
“Anna?”
Anna clutches her cell, standing in the doorway of her homey kitchen. Unlike Remo, she picked everything out by herself.
Sean sits coloring a Toy Story 3 picture at the table. Woody and Buzz are an odd mix of magenta and periwinkle, but the kid’s enjoying himself. Anna tries hard to keep her conversation with Remo away from Sean. “Remo, I shouldn't have said those things. You deserved every word and it was the truth, but I shouldn't have said them. Are you really dying?”
Remo, touched, replies, “Unfortunately.”
“Let's be clear, I will never forgive you.”
“Understood.”
“Stop. Let me talk. I don't like this, and I’m certain this is a massive mistake, but . . . you should meet Sean. If I don't let him meet you, I'll hate myself later.” The conversation is emotionally exhausting for her.
For first time in a long, long time, a light shines in Remo. “Thank you, Anna.”
She can hear in his voice that he means it. At least, she’d like to think he’s being honest. She snaps, “No talking. I'll meet you Saturday at seven. They’re doing a thing for kids at the park that night.”
Remo doesn’t want to make a mistake with this. “Help me out. I haven't checked a calendar in a few days.”
“Today is Friday.”
“Okay. Yes. Absolutely. I'll be there.”
“Remo…don't fuck this up.”
“No. No way. I will be—”
She hangs up.
Remo looks straight into the camera, “There.”
Wipes the moisture from his eyes.
Sniffs.
“Well, okay then.”
He gives a grin, his heart wide open.
His expression shifts as his mind clicks, data churning. A thought comes to light and he hates himself for not piecing this together sooner, pissed that this is something he should have realized long before.
Why haven’t they killed me yet?
Chicken Wing could have easily done it by now, so why hasn’t he?
He can’t!
It’s a fucking family dynamic issue, some bizarre organizational chart Mashburn
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