XX
1.
Moira spills a beer on her iphone, XX Beer. She curses, towels the phone
off, puts it in a pot, puts rice on top to absorb any beer that might have got
into electronic cracks and crevasses.
2.
Grandma comes in, sees the pot of rice, says to herself:
That Moira, starts everything, finishes
nothing. She puts water in the pot, sets in on the stove, click click
click, ignites her favorite burner, goes back to watch Animal Planet. She likes animals more than people. She believes
that everyone does, they just pretend to like people.
3.
Lew picks up his guitar, a Candy-Apple Red
Stratocaster, straps it on, strums a harsh chord. An old girlfriend stole it
and gave it to him, along with a big shiny kiss. She’s long gone –whatever
happened to her? That was before he met Moira, that beautiful bitch.
4.
Moira needs to make a phone call, needs to call the
law on her ex, Lew, who’s not paying child support. Gringo motherfucker.
In the hall, on the way to the kitchen, she sees the
goldfish she once gave him swimming lazily around his tank. After all this
time, Finned Fucker’s still alive.
That’s the name Lew gave him, and Moira hasn’t bothered to change it
5.
Back in the day, Lew’s ma worked in a watch factory
painting radium on dials. She licked her brush to keep it pointed. All the
ladies did. They giggled about their radium smiles. She passed it on to Lew.
Lew’s grin is radium grim. His band is a garage band. They play in his garage.
In the dimness, Lew’s teeth light up his face. His band mates like the eeriness,
named the band Nuclear Teeth. They
worship the old stuff, Sam the Sham and
the Pharaohs, Question Mark and the Mysterions, Roky Erikson and the Thirteenth
Floor Elevator, the first psychedelic band. In their honor Lew has learned
to play the electric jug, though its hard on his radium lips and teeth.
6.
She wanted to give Lew a pretty parrot. Maybe he could
teach it to rap, she thought. But it was too expensive. She passes her grandma
watching TV. A lion roars. Moira giggles. Moira enters the kitchen.
7.
Lew doesn’t go on genealogy sites. He knows who he is.
Every time he looks in the mirror, every time he doesn’t brush his teeth, every
time he sees an unguarded photo of himself onstage, in love with his
Stratocaster and the sounds it makes, he knows who he is and where he came
from.
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois