My.
Throat.
Flaps.
BANG.
Voice.
“YEAH,” I go, much to the surprise of Little Teena and Ave Maria, and maybe even me. “I have a name, assfuck. My name is Dora,” I say, and then I lurch across his pathetic little desk and bite his cheek exactly like a chimp mauling its so-called human parent would.
31
“GET HER OFF ME GET HER OFF!” THE HUMAN PUFFERFISH screams.
I taste metal. Chub’s blood.
Then I see rainbow lightning? No, it’s Crazy String — you know, that kid crap you shoot out of a can — being shot all over the place, no doubt by a one-eyed blonde girl who is piping high notes all over the room. Before I can say, “Where the fuck did you get Crazy String?” Ave Maria gets a hold of a hand-held bullhorn from tubby the tubs desk — you know, the kind that make the ear — piercing BLAP noise.
BLAP!
And
BLAP!
I swear those things could give you a heart attack.
Lardo struggles away from my monkey attack. I froth and growl.
“Just what the fuck is going on here?” he screams, cupping his newly gnawed on cheek, striking a defensive fat boy pose.
Little Teena deftly dips in and snags the Taser right off of chub butt’s hip holster. Momentarily deafened from the BLAP, also bleeding from the meat of his cheek, also blinded by Crazy String wrapped all over his face and head, intake guy gets three Taser shots from Little Teena straight to the gut. Fatty slaps at the air and then falls out of his chair onto the floor, making a little “maaaaaawwwrrrrllll” sound.
“He’s Tased, bro!” Ave Maria pipes, jumping up and down.
Undeterred and seemingly in control, Little Teena rummages around in the desk drawers. Duct tape is in there like it was waiting for us. He chucks it at me. “Mouth, wrists, ankles,” he shouts, wielding the Taser like a Glock. Man, mutton chops just look right on him. It’s a little disturbing.
I’m pretty much deaf from the BLAP horn too, but I know what to do. Mouth, wrists, ankles. Oh jeez. Blubbo has cankles. While I’m taping Godzilla up, Little Teena climbs a chair and fiddles with the security camera.
“What are you doing?” I go. But then I get it. Duh. He’s taking out the SD card. Now we’ll have a film of ourselves. Brilliant.
But this whole scene has ramped up from zero to sixty pretty fucking fast. I am sweating under my tits and on my upper lip. Fuck. Think straight. Then someone’s tugging on my arm from below. Ave Maria? Little Teena? Security?
I turn. I look down amidst the chaos. But who is there just isn’t possible. Unless you think about all the ways in which we ditch people we don’t want to deal with. I’ll be goddamned. I mean I’ll be double, triple goddamned.
It’s Special Olympics. Smiley from the hospital! Smiling the too smiley from ear to ear, tugging on my sleeve.
“Smiley?” I go. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“GULL!” Smiley responds, and claps, and points to the door between us and the incarcerated juvies. Little Teena blows the tip of the Taser like it’s smoking, spins it in his hand, then drops it to the floor.
“Um, any chance you can open that?” I ask Smiley, pointing to the door leading to the rest of the house.
“Don’t,” Ave Maria coos, “he’s just — “
Special Olympics coughs. “Why, I certainly can,” he says, as plain as day.
I stare at him for a long few seconds. Ave Maria stares at him. Little Teena smiles. The only thing that makes Smiley sound different from you or me? A slightly thickened tongue.
“You sly motherfucker,” I gush. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Oedipus,” he goes, complete with a hand flourish and head bow.
“No fucking shit?” I go.
He stares at me like I’m a retard. “My name is Ted.” And then he smiles the smile of a comrade in arms. He spins and wheels over to the safety door.
“It’s real good to meet you, Ted,” I say, and put my hand on his shoulder. “Do you mind if I ask, do you work here, or are you…”
“An inmate?” He goes over his shoulder. He nods his head up and down, then says, “And we’ve met before. At the hospital?”
“Yeah, I know,” I go, looking at the top of his head, “it’s just that the last time I saw you, you were kinda being chased like you’d escaped some kind of… ”
“Nut house?”
I stand in silence as Ave Maria and Little Teena move up behind us.
“I guess you could call me an escape artist,” Smiley says, “particularly when I’m off my meds. That day in the hospital? Off my meds. The rest of the time they keep me pretty much anesthetized.”
“Whud ju do?” Ave Maria asks.
“Set fire to my foster parents’ house,” he says.
I’m not sure but I think we are looking at him like we pity him.
“Were they creeps?” Little Teena ventures.
“You could say that,” Smiley says without looking at us.
As Smiley locates the right key on a gigantic metal key chain he’s got stashed to the side of his wheel, he says, “Only one thing pisses me off though.” He punches the key into the lock.
“What’s that?” Little Teena goes.
“That barefoot bandit fucker? The one that broke out of all the juvie homes and stole boats and planes and shit? That little brat got all the coverage. Good looking son of a bitch too. Nobody gives a shit about us differently-abled anymore. They don’t even cover Special Olympics hardly. And that wheelchair hundred-yard dash? That fucker was so mine. We’re old news.”
“Sucks,” Ave Maria sings.
“Yeah,” he says, crouching over the door knob from his wheelchair and opening the door between us and Obsidian, “Man, you’d be amazed how much bawling and blubbering it takes to convince people you are witless.” He shoots a look over at our duct taped Moby-Dick over on the floor where we left him. “We better hurry. I’ve been Tased before and he’s gonna come out of that in about two minutes.”
“Jesus,” I say, looking at Special Olympics. I clutch my throat. My throat that recently banged out a voice. I feel a kindred itch between us. That smile. The wailing GULL sounds. A kid whose parents let him down. He’s the perfect con man for our times.
Or just my teen Id hero.
“C’mon,” Smiley says holding the door open by jamming his wheelchair against it, “your friend’s through here.”
32
I HURL AND HURL. I’M A BARFING HEAD OUT OF THE window of a speeding Jag. What the fuck just happened?
I blow pumpkin color monkey chunks all over the side of the car. Sorry Ave Maria’s mom. Everything smells like bile and spit and girl puke. My head feels like a hard metal pinball has gotten loose. THINK. PLAYBACK.
The movie in my head starts with us going to Obsidian’s room to spring her. Obsidianobsidianobsidian. Black shard of glass. Biceped beauty. My ears hot. Dizzy. Smiley opening the door. When we embrace, everything I’ve ever known supernovas. Just our mouths and heads and bodies. Just heat and her black hair and her skin smelling like rain. Just my ribs spreading like wings.
I wipe my mouth. Cold night air beats my head up outside the window of the Jag. Ave Maria is petting my neck. Obsidian has her leg crossed over mine. Like she’s trying to keep me from blowing a hole through the top of the car.
Marlene.
My head movie returns. We were making our exit. Smiley popping wheelies down the long hall toward the back of the building. Through some kitchen that smelled like SpaghettiOs. Then a booming authority voice behind us at the other end of the hall. The voice of all parents or cops or lawyers or gym teachers.