Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tales of a Drunken Degenerate Chapter 28, Copyright 2010, Robert J. Day
You spend the next two days in a Vicodin-induced haze, lying on the couch in the living room, watching old movies, smoking grass, and greedily consuming the meals Oscar cooks for you. Little by little, you start to feel like yourself again. On the third day, you decide you’re ready to face Wal-Mart girl and tell her how you feel, that you want to be a family. You, her, and baby makes three.
The shitheap you’d driven to go and try to pay off the bikers went missing in action the same time you did, so Oscar agrees to drive you over to Karen’s apartment. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining brightly and there’s just the right amount of a breeze blowing to make the weather perfect.
Sitting in the passenger seat of the van you roll down your window and ask Oscar about something that’s been bugging you. “Hey man, how come you’re doing all this anyway? You really went out of your way to help me. Letting me stay at your place, getting me a job and then loaning me the two grand, and now taking time off of work to take care of my broke up ass. What gives Oscar?”
Oscar seems uncomfortable with your words, and he’s quiet for a good long while, seemingly trying to find the right words. You notice his usually rock steady hands tremble the tiniest bit as he lights a cigarette. “Look kid” he finally says, “I have almost a million and a half in the bank. I own my house outright, and six more nicer ones that I rent out. Money isn’t a problem for me, in other words. Money I got. What I don’t have is many real friends. Most people look at me like I’m some kind of freak who belongs in a sideshow somewhere. Hell, maybe I am, I dunno…
I started doing porn because I was a twenty-three year old virgin and I wasn’t sure I would ever get laid. Even the people who don’t look down on me, no pun intended, still treat me differently. But not you. And as long as that never changes we are friends you and I, and anything I have is yours. Now shut the fuck up a minute, and start thinking about what you’re going to say to the coke-snorting, shoplifting, gun-toting, Nymphomaniac who is currently carrying your demon spawn, cause we’re here. You want me to wait?” Oscar asks, as he pulls into a vacant parking spot. “No it’s cool” you say, “I’ll see you at the house later. Thanks man. For everything.”