Turtle Boy (Part III)

I’ll be heading to Sumatra for a few days and there is a slight chance I might get eaten by a tiger. Here is Part III:

Peking, Michigan, May 15, 1999

“Brandy, you remember Ron, don’t ya?”

Randy held the door open for his cousin from Ohio. Randy was sporting a thin wispy mustache and his dark brown mullet was trimmed short in the front.

Cousin Ron popped his head in the trailer door. His long, dank hair concealed most of his face. He wore a brown and black flannel shirt and tattered jeans. He had a long narrow face like an underfed Fox terrier.

“Whassup, Brandy?” mumbled Ron.

The now fat and pregnant Brandy sat on the tired orange sofa and smoked a Virginia Slim as she watched Lust Beach, the hottest show on daytime television.

“Goddammit, Randy, your cousin is just bad news!” the large woman muttered.

Brandy had her bleached hair teased and feathered high. Her pink sweatshirt she wore had a kitten with huge eyes printed on it. It was a little tight and some of her fat rolls were visible above the top of her black stirrup pants.

“Brandy, he’s all the way up from Sandusky and you can’t just say ‘hey’?” scowled Randy.

Ron stepped into the trailer. “Sorry about last time, man.” He hung his shaggy head in repentance.

Brandy sat up straight in the sofa. “I think it was your fuckin’ stealth paint that made Tony all fucked-up caveman like!” She snarled at Ron.

Randy stepped in front of the sofa. “Sweetheart, he din’t know nothin’ about that paint!”

“If y’all are thinkin’ ’bout huffin’ paint with me, you can just fuckin’ forget it!” Brandy crossed her arms over her chest angrily. “My paint-huffin’ days are behind me.”

“Hey, sweetheart, Ron’s just helpin’ me out with my side job.” Randy smiled beseechingly.

“That’s all,” said the thin cousin from Ohio. Ron smiled and showed a jack o’lantern smile.

“I don’t want you losin’ any more of your teeth!” said Brandy. “I don’t want my man to have a meth-mouth like Ron’s!”

Randy sat beside his wife and stroked her hair. “You know I hardly ever touch that shit anymore. I’m just sellin’ it now. Please, Baby Doll- Ron has feelings too.”

Brandy looked away. “I’m not doin’ any drugs with this baby. I don’t want another caveman.” She sniffled and took a drag from her cigarette. “I want this baby to be healthy. The only thing this baby’s gettin’ is plenty of food- and no drugs!”

“Hey, Brando,” cooed Randy. “That’s cool wit me. I don’t want another caveman baby neither.” He kissed her forehead and winked at Ron, still smiling. “We gotta make a delivery in Kentuckyopolis, honey, so I might be back a little late.”

“Yer still workin’ at Stereoland, right, Ron?”

“I was there all mornin’. I worked all like four hours, but I told em I had to go ’cause of a death in the family.”

“It’s totally true!” said Ron. “I was there when he said it.”

“Don’t you go quittin’ yer day job, ’cause I know how glamorous sellin’ can be.” Brandy looked past Ron to watch a burly lifeguard run into the water on Lust Beach. “Why can’t you work out and look like him?”

Randy shook his head. “I bet a million dollars he’s a fuckin’ faggot. I don’t got time for that shit anyway. In real life all he does is suck cock all day long.”

Ron giggled.

“Yeah right!” said Brandy. “He got lady problems you wish you had.”

“I gotta go, sweetheart.” He squeezed a boob. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Promise?” She looked up at him.

“Fuck yeah,” nodded Randy who left the trailer and slammed the aluminum door shut.

Peking, Michigan, Camelot Estates, April 11, 2000

Brandy heard Tony growling from the bedroom.

“Okay, goddamit! I’ll get yer lunch!” Brandy stubbed her cigarette into a Mountain Dew can and pushed herself out of the sofa.

Brandy watched the flatscreen as a tanned, muscular Jesus Christ kicked open the doors of the Dome of the Rock and started spraying bullets at the hundreds of scimitar-wielding crazed Arabs who rushed him.

“Those who live by the sword-“said Jesus, in a raspy voice, who dropped the M-16 and grabbed the katana slung over His back.

“Die by the sword.” Jesus leapt up in the air, spinning and swinging His sword, and lopped off the heads of the twenty Arabs surrounding Him. Blood spurted from the necks as the Son somersaulted into the scrum and began to mow down His foes like a weedwhacker.

“Get ‘em, Jesus!” cheered Brandy, pumping her fist.

Out of the corner of her eye could see headlights coming towards her trailer. She reluctantly pressed pause on the remote control.

“Thank you, Jesus! Dominos is here.”

“Grawr!” growled Tony from the smaller bedroom.

“Hold yer horse, Tony. Wait til the pizza man leaves! I don’t want you scarin’ him away.”

“Rowr! Peetha!”

“Mama is so proud of you when you use words, Tony!” She grunted and heaved her bulk off the couch. “Unh!”

“Tony, baby, I don’t feel nothin’ in my feet. I should go to the clinic sometime.” She waddled the six feet to the door and unlocked it.

The Dominos delivery driver had pulled up behind her Suzuki. The headlights lit up the wall opposite the television.

“God bless you!” Brandy swung the door open and the Dominos man stepped backwards.

“Oh, m’am thank you.” The Dominos driver was nineteen years old, short, chubby and had cystic acne covering his face. He handed over the three large boxes. “That’ll be thirty-three dollars.” His voice cracked.

Brandy put the boxes on the hood of her Suzuki. “Can’t you give me a deal. I have two sons who eat a lot of food and I only work part-time?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that. You have to tell the person who takes the orders that.”

“What kind of fuckin’ Christian attitude is that?” She put her mighty arms akimbo.

“Ma’am, I just can’t. Thirty-three dollars, please” he cringed.

“Y’all accept food stamps?” Brandy reached into her purple purse.

“No ma’am. Just cash or a credit card.” He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time.

“That’s just not right. This is food. These are FOOD stamps.”

“Ma’am, if you don’t have the money, I can’t let you have those pizzas.”

“PEETHA! Rowrrr!” growled Tony from within the doublewide trailer.

The driver looked around nervously. “Ma’am, I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine.” Narrowing her eyes, Brandy began to pull out money from her purse. She found a ten, a five and a handful of crumpled ones which she placed into the outstretched hand of the driver. “How much is that?”

“Uh, that comes to twenty-eight.”

“Christ! Don’t you make enough in tips? Isn’t that enough? How many kids you got?”

The driver swallowed and furrowed his brow. “Ma’am, I need five more dollars for those pizzas.”

“I got some change. Is that good?” Brandy scowled and began to scoop handfuls of change, lint and Cinnamon Altoids into the the driver’s hand.

He counted out the quarters and dimes and put them into his fanny pack. “I still need two more dollars.” He nonchalantly dropped the lint and Altoids on the doorstep.

“You’re robbing me blind, kid!” She dug ever deeper and grabbed a handful comprised mostly of pennies, lint and a condom.

The driver flinched as she placed the handful of change and detritus into his hand. “Uh, okay, that covers the bill.” He picked up condom packet and handed it back to her. “Ma’am, uh, this is yours.”

“Honey, I’m not worried about getting’ laid anytime soon. That’s your tip.” She smiled and grabbed the boxes. “Don’t just fuck any girl and leave and not support her goddamned kids!”

“Thanks a lot!” sneered the driver. He scowled weakly and put the rest of the change into his fanny pack. He tossed the lint and the condom onto the driveway. “Now I can fix my brakes, lady.”

“You’re welcome, honey.” Brandy turned around. “Hey, do you have any extra napkins?”

The driver shook his head and got into his truck. “If I had any would I give ‘em to you?”

“Fuckin’ punk kid.” Brandy opened the screen door with her elbow and set the pizza boxes onto the coffee table. “I sure hope you pick up them Altoids I gave to you.”

The driver squealed the tires. “Fat bitch!” He yelled through the open window.

A baby began to cry. “Goddamit, Tony, you caveman baby! You woke up Mark!” Brandy shuffled to the bedroom in her Winnie the Pooh slippers.  “I wish your daddy would pay me that child support.” She opened the door to the smaller bedroom and a waist-high hunchback wrapped himself around her knees. “Grarr! Peetha! Mama!” He looked up, his eyes twinkling under heavy brows. His tongue dangled down to his chin as he panted.

Brandy patted him on his head and pushed her way into the small room and looked at the little baby crying in his crib.

“Perfect little baby Mark,” she cooed. She picked up the baby and kicked away Tony. “Perfect little human baby!” She brought him over to the couch and pulling up her too-tight NASCAR t-shirt, allowed him to suckle her breast. The older son ambled behind her, swaying his head back and forth.

“Too bad your daddy is a fuckin’ loser, who ain’t showed his head around here for three months!” She shook her head and glowered at the older boy.

With the other hand, she tossed a pizza box to Tony, who sat obediently on the shag carpet. “There’s your fuckin’ pizza, you little caveman.”

“Rowth!” Tony grabbed the box and ripped it open the top with his teeth and clawed hands. Cardboard and spittle flew to either side of the hunchbacked toddler.

Brandy unpaused Jesus Christ, Special Forces and stuffed a slice of Ranch chicken pizza while Mark drank her breast milk. A spot of ranch dressing dropped onto the face of Jeff Gordon on her shirt.

“Goddamit! I need a napkin!” She used Mark’s shirt to wipe up the spot. “I should just complain and get that pimply kid fired! What a rude turd!”

“Rowr!” growled Tony happily.