Sunday, September 11, 2011

FICTION: Music Arranged By Shea Hennum

"So, how're things goin’ with Kate?" I asked.
"Uh…I'm cheating on her,” He replied.
"So, uh…"
"What're you gettin’? The ahi tuna looks great, but I haven’t had good gyoza in, like, ten fuckin’ years."
"That's what?"
"That's…That’s it?"
"That's what?"
"I ask you what's up with your wife and your response is 'I'm cheating', followed by: what’re you getting for dinner, I’d like some good dumplings?”
"Think about that for a second. Uh-huh. Alright. Now, do you really think that was a strong sequitur?”
“Y’know, you hear ‘non sequitur’ all the time, but you never really hear anyone say ‘sequitur.’ Isn’t that a strange—“
“I don’t—“
“All I’m saying is, maybe it’s not really a thing, y’know? Like, there is no such thing a sequitur, just the negative form of one.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Now there’s a popular phrase."
"Why is it that all you can seem to think about right now is fried pork and the semantics—no, no, not even the semantics—the fucking popularity of the words being used in this argument?”
"Calm down, calm down. I've cheated on Kate a whole mess o' times. It’s no big deal."
"Don't what me!"
"Well, don’t what me.”
“I’ll what whoever—God damnit.”
“All I’m askin’ is that you make some sense.”
"I am making sense."
"I don't think so, and I'm pretty sure my opinion is the only one that matters here. I mean, the waiter isn’t givin’ two fucks no matter what kind o’ shit you’re talkin’."
"Ugh. Whatever. Forget all that bullshit. How could you not tell me that you cheat on Kate all the time?"
"I dunno. I just never got the chance, er it's not very important, er…somethin’."
“I dunno if I’m more hurt that you’re cheating on your wife or that you never thought to tell me. I thought we told each other everything. I tell you everything.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize you cared so much.”
“It’s not that I care…per se…”
“Butch, never bitch.”
"Whatever. I’m just sayin’: you're shockingly cavalier about all this."
"Eh, it's become pretty mundane for me."
“What do you mean it’s become mundane? How much sex must you have for it to become mundane?”
“Man, I am so bored with my sex life, I’m thinkin’ o’ getting’ someone to choke me while I jerk it. And that doesn’t even sound appealing to me! I just want somethin’ different, for the sake o’ different, y’know?”

When Kate came home early from work that day she wasn't expecting to find what she found, not that anyone ever is, and, like so many who wander through their day, she stumbled across the exact opposite of what she had hoped to find.
She walked into the bedroom she shared with her loving husband—the bedroom she had dreamed about since prom night when, instead of taking what he wanted, he talked with her, and twirled her hair, and then let her nestle into the crick of his collar bone while the sun rose—and she noticed, in the nightstand he had left slightly ajar, the corner of a black pocket notebook, the kind the manufacturers claim has no official pronunciation. Kate didn't remember buying this for her husband, being there when he bought it, or hearing anything from him about buying it. So, with a guilty conscience, because snooping had always made Kate feel uneasy and anxious, she opened it and stared confused. But quickly, as she realized what she was looking at, she felt a growing sensation that started in her left temple and poked at the back of her eyes before making its way, trembling, out to her limbs.

"Were you ever gonna say anything?" I asked.
"I think I just did," He said.
"Don't look at the menu, look at me."
"What? What's the big deal? Are you telling me that you’ve never cheated on Susan? And, more importantly, why won’t you just let me order some gyoza and some miso and some kurodai?"
"Shut up with the fucking food, already. And no! Never. Not once. I married her because I had no interest in going around, fucking other women. No one forced me into the marriage. If I wasn’t in love with her, if I still didn’t wannna be tied down, wanted to screw whoever, whenever, I would’ve never married her in the first place.”
"That’s insane.”
“Why is it insane?”
“Because marriage is just a piece o’ paper guaranteeing you some ass when you go out and the strange won’t give you the time o’ day.”
"Says the guy who pays his credit card bills with other credit cards."
"Hey, you know what: fuck the credit card companies, man. Fuck them in their dirty, round faces.”
"It’s just not a smart thing to do, that’s all I’m sayin’.”
"It’s not like they can collect from a dead man. Just let ‘em chase each other’s tails ‘til then.”
"They’ll just collect from your family, you dildo.”
"Yeah, but fuck those guys, right?"
"Don’t start talking about—“
“Don’t worry, I won’t. But you know I don’t care if those fuckers are stuck with my bills when I go.”
“I don’t know if all of them—“
“Sure, they weren’t involved in that heinous shit, but they wanted—“
“Nice use of the word ‘henious.’”
“Aww, you noticed.”
“What was that you said about ‘never bitch?’”
"Not important.”
“When did you start…giving a shit about shit, anyways?”
"I dunno. Whenever. It’s not important.”
“Haha. I know.”
"I just…I can’t believe you’ve been cheating on Kate this whole time.”
"Believe it.”
"Does she know?”
"God no. If she found out she’d probably kill me. Or feed me my balls. Somethin’ shitty.”
"You don’t think she’d be justified?”
"No, ya asshole. Murder is some fucked shit. Affairs? That’s just life."

The little black notebook was littered with poorly-handwritten scribbles on every page. First was a name—a girl’s name, Kate noticed, always a girl's name. Then a number, a rating, never a number higher than ten, though, those were few and far between. Then there was a letter, or pair of letters. The letters confused Kate at first, but then she noticed that some of them seemed to line up with the initialisms for third-base sex acts. Kate was disgusted and horrified. The book dropped from her hand and landed awkwardly, bending the pages, hopefully not permanently—not that Kate cared.
She went into the closet, pressed the buttons on the little door, opened the safe, and took the lock off her weapon. Kate knew where her husband was and who he was with, and, about, how long he'd be there. She forgot her plans for the evening and slammed the door behind her.

"It’s just life," He repeated.
"It’s just life?” I asked. “Fuck, man. How some girl hasn’t beaten you to death by now is…shocking? Impressive?
“I am actually astounded. You’re whole philosophy is…is…well…it’s fuckin’ crazy.”
“But not as crazy as…”
“As what?”
“Who, not what?”
"You know…that one girl…”
“What girl?”
"That one I dated in high school, remember? The one who…woohoo…with the honey…and the…"
"Oh! Yeah, that chick needs to be locked up."
“A smooth criminal she wasn’t.”
“I know your dog didn’t think so! Not with that honey—haha. Not with that honey.”
"Good times, man."
"Damnit! Why do I always let you get me off topic?”
"I just don't think there's any topic to get off o’."
"It really is like talking to Hannibal Lecter’s dick.”
“’Cause I’m crazy horny?”
“Well, apparently, but also ‘cause you’re crazy and hard-headed when you’re aroused.”
“It’s crazy to wanna behave like God intended?”
“Please…I’d love to hear you explain this one.”
"Just think about it, man. Humans weren't made to get down with just one person our whole lives."
"So, you're excuse is, because homo erectus was down with the dino-sore-ass gangbang supreme-o, it's okay for you to do it?"
"Yeah…pretty much."
"How…enlightened of you?"

Kate drove through traffic with more speed and stupidity than a frat party. Over the speed-limit and through red lights, endangering the lives of whoever happened to get in the way of her wrath. She was like an Old Testament god who had just caught her people worshiping a golden pussy, and Kate would not abide.
Her car screeched to a stop when she reached her destination, her picnics with Cain already being planned.

"Listen,” He said. “We only have one live, right?"
"I believe that, yeah,” I said.
"So, how are we gonna spend that life?"
"I know you're gonna tell me."
"I am. We should all spend our lives doing what makes us happy. And you know what makes me happy?"

Kate walked into the restaurant and gave the maitre d’ the finger. She walked past the tables of people who looked at her—curiously first and frightened second. They saw what was in her hand and froze with compulsory terror. But a brave couple in the back dialed the police, though, they feared, it may’ve been too late.

"What?" I asked.
"Women," He said. "A lot of ‘em. A lot o’ the time. And I pursue that happiness."

Kate raised her weapon without hesitation, fully aware of the consequences, gritting her teeth, practicing her ‘Electric Chair’ face.

"Well," I said," I just wish you would've—oh, fuck! Get—“
"Wha?" He said.

Kate's husband was pushed out of the way a second before it happened, a second before the gun went 'blam!' and her husband's friend, the man who would've been her child's godfather, fell—his brains exploded all over the back of the couple behind them. Kate's husband turned with awe, his body going into shock. Kate fell, too, overwhelmed with tears.
She was prepared, but for what? The gun dropped out of her hand and landed on the floor with a 'cliclack,’ and the screech of sirens rose and rose in a crescendo before ending abruptly, tonight’s symphony cut short by technical difficulties.

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