than her eyes, hair color, basic facial bone structure, her stringy nose hairs, half of my DNA, my decadent and daring sense of fashion, and my insatiable desire for hot pickles, those figurines were all I had left of her! I know you are coarse, sexy, and wise, but don’t take every memory I have of my mother away from me!”
“ This is good therapy,” Thais said therapeutically. She picked up a large gray vase with a lid on top. “It’s for your own good.” She threw the vase into the fireplace, a plume of gray powder filling the room. “You need to dust more often,” she said dustily.
“ No I don’t!” Gunn cried. “That … was … my … mother!”
“ Oops,” Thais said in her silly little girl’s voice. “I didn’t know. I didn’t think gray would be her color. I thought she would have been more of a warm tone woman. Orange. Yes, orange, like the color of the counter at a Quick-E Mart. Yes, that should have been the color of her urn.”
Gunn crumpled to the floor like the New York Knicks basketball franchise since the retirement of Walt Frazier and the Cleveland Browns football franchise since they sneaked off to Baltimore only to reappear later as an expansion team and have really crummy drafts. “We called her the Lady Macduff,” Gunn called with a tear in his eye and a whimper in his voice as he sat on his duff. “This is such a Shakespearian tragedy!”
“ Um, doesn’t Macbeth have Lady Macduff whacked in that Scottish play?” Thais asked in a wacky way. Thais knew about the curse, and she wasn’t about to test it.
Gunn looked up. “Yes, Shakespeare whacks, as you say in such a wacky manner, Lady Macduff only to accent Macbeth’s cruelty and provide a counterpoint to Lady Macbeth, who, like you, dear Thais, is in all respects a fine example of an archetypal femme fatale.”
“ Oh.”
“ And now the Lady Macduff rests on my floor,” Gunn whined restlessly on his duff.
Thais wriggled her sexy tan toes in the dust. “She was certainly a big-boned lady,” Thais said with certainty. “I can see where you get your big bones,” Thais said with calcium in her voice. “Do you have a Wet-Vac?” she asked, sucking at her teeth.
Gunn stood so he could crumple to the floor like an old dollar bill some cheap customer might give to a pizza delivery driver. “Mama! Mama!” he cried like a man who wanted his mama really, really badly.
Johnny decided that this would be the perfect place to end this chapter. He had established angst, tension, maternal bone fragments, dead cows, a sexy Brazilian girlfriend who used the word “pee,” and several key literary references for graduate students to analyze for many semesters to come.
It was the best chapter Johnny had ever written.
And it fueled Johnny’s determination to keep writing. He had to know what was going to happen next, and if he were excited and intrigued, the reader would just have to turn the page. Will Thais continue to destroy Gunn’s past? Will Thais really vacuum Gunn’s mother? Will Gunn stop crumpling like NFL contracts to players who keep getting in trouble with the law? Will Gunn remain a tortured soul forever?
Johnny had to pee, so he did.
12
He is such a tortured soul, Thais thought. He is tormented. He is suffering. He is grief-stricken. He is beleaguered, beset, and besieged.
I am so alliterative, Thais thought alliteratively.
And we’ve only just met, Thais thought. He’s chockfull of angst, and he doesn’t even know me yet. How quaint.
And he loved his mama very, very much. I have to love a man who loved his mama very, very much. It makes him very, very manly.
Thais felt a jolt go through her like the time she put a fork in an electrical socket one night back at UVA because all the other undergrads there were doing it. Then her thoughts caught like a split toenail on deep shag carpeting.
O-M-G, she thought, one letter at a time. Am I falling in love? Am I? Am I really? Am I? Is this love? Is
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