The Knave Page #3

• Drama
• Fiction
• Short story
• Action and Adventure

								

     “Actually, I just bought strawberries and apples. See?” he held them out.
     “They’re moldy and brown. You’re an idiot!” she shook her head. “I can’t live with you for the rest of my life, Chris. You’re too dumb and too broke. If you were dumb and rich, at least you’d have something. But you’re not. Would you even want to be with you?”
     “Huh?”
     “If you were me, Chris, would you want to marry yourself?”
     He paused. She stared at him, waiting for him to do something. It took all his strength just to shake his head back and forth. No.
     “Well, see, there. You can understand.”
     She backed out of the driveway and left him alone.
     He got into his old, taped up silver Corolla, with three missing hubcaps and one flat tire and began to shiver as he lay awake that night. He wished he could fall asleep. In the morning, he put on his magician suit. A few holes had ripped into the bottom hems, but he tucked it into the pants, so they became invisible.
    One hour into the drive, the gas stopped working. He shifted to neutral and pulled it down to the nearest gas station. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out, “Yellow?”
     “You son of a bitch,” it was a deep, old voice.
     “What?”
     “You missed Frank’s entire birthday party—where the hell are you? I’m not paying you, if that’s what ya think, ya freakin’ moron. You were Frank’s favorite—”
     “Mrs. Jefferson, my—”
     “You just disappeared!”
     He cursed the f-bomb under his breath, punching his fist right into the car seat.
     “What did you say to me?”
     “Nothing!”
     “What!”
     “I—My car broke down,” he yelled.
     “Yeah, yeah. Excuses, excuses. It’s always something with you, isn’t it. I’m never booking you again.”
     “I’m sorry—”
     “Are you? ‘Cause if you were, you’d come do it for free, now.”
     “What—yes, yes! I will!”
     “Really.” she said in disbelief.
     “I can come after this weekend—Sunday night or Monday.”
     “Fine.” she groaned. “If you actually come.”
     “I will—”
     “Whatever.”
     She’d hung up. He took off his hat and chucked it at the car floor, rubbing his hands into his eyes and moaning. Then, from the side of the window, he saw a car pull up alongside him. A kid got out to get gas.
     The kid looked like a glob of toothpaste—with white hair and blue streaks running through it. The rest of his body was thin—like a brush handle. Veins popped out of his arms as they dangled like pure bones at his sides.
     “Excuse me?” Chris opened up his car. The kid snorted quietly under his breath.
     “Hey, Big Timer.”
     “Oh, this?” Chris laughed, looking down at his suit. “Hey, I’m Chris Thompson, nice to meet you.”
     “Hey,” the kid raised an eyebrow, glancing around the parking lot as if an explosion were about to happen.
    “Sorry, do you mind if I borrow some gas?”
     “Dude, just buy your own. It’s right here.”
     “No—no, I can’t. You know how expensive it’s getting, and—”
     “So you want to take mine?” he raised an eyebrow.
     “Borrow, man. Borrow. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry. Here, gimme your number. I’ll text you.”
     “219-216-1181.”
     “Alright, I’ll pay you back in no time. Listen, thanks so much for that.”
     “Yeah.” the kid groaned, rolling his eyes. Chris hooked his car up to the kid’s and started taking the gas. When he got back to his car, he grabbed his drink and froze. The plastic water bottle in the cup holder was full of warm, yellow liquid.
     “What the—”
     The kid ran to his car, grinning and laughing, as Chris pulled out and drove away. “Stupid kid,” Chris muttered, hurling the pee bottle out at the kid and missing by miles.
     Then, he was out in the road.
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