Oliver Benjamin
still held each other, swaying slowly to and fro. I remember having
the strangest feeling later that night when I was alone with my
thoughts, that it was not Charly, but I that was going to go away
somewhere, and that where I was scheduled to go was far more
unfamiliar to me than even the famine-stricken deserts of the African
continent.
But I survived to tell the tale. With the help of alcohol and pot and
various other diversions, I made it through the year. From this point
on, everything would be grand. Smooth sailing. Clear skies. The open
road. My baby and me.
I put the box with Charly’s ring back into my carry-on bag. Then
I took a deep breath and tried to relax. After reclining my seat back,
I swung my left foot, along with my Rollen Mountain Manprize
lightweight hiking boot, built to last through the next two ice ages,
over my bony right knee in a desperate attempt to calm down and
achieve “harmony with the universe.” Unfortunately, at that moment
the chaos of the universe won a decisive victory and I sent old
Madge’s injection molded plastic dinner tray sailing in a trajectory of
its own, spilling the green smeg and flan on her loudly snoring
bosom. She didn’t even wake up. First, I checked my boot for
structural damage, but you know how it is when you love your shoes.
We had achieved a respectful understanding—I agreed to take care of
them, and they agreed to make me feel like a goddamn gladiator.
I stared at the swaying gelatinous gush of the dessert on the
swaying gelatinous gush of the old lady’s mammary glands, and I
found myself getting dizzy. She was sleeping soundly, and I really
couldn’t let the stuff sit there, so I ripped open my safety-sealed
napkin and leaned slowly over to carefully scoop the goo from the
swinging septuagenarian knockers without touching them. To my
horror, she woke just as I was finishing and I pulled back my hand in
shock. I was frozen. Her eyes opened wide as she realized what it was
she thought I had been doing. Then, the corners of her mouth curled
up into a blushing smile, and she said slyly,
“Those hormones must really be galloping in your young veins,
Jobe. I haven’t been fondled like that since my husband died! Now
you just control yourself—I’m an old woman you know!”
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