#Brain Curd 302

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #302

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

Experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.

I rode my bike to the far corner of town - the other side of the train tracks (or it would have been if there were ever rails built here). I found the usual chain-link fence and locked my bike to it with a U-lock. I tugged on it to make sure it was secured and entered the leftmost front door.

This apartment building, a duplex, was owned by the church next door, which purchased it from the family who used to own it just a year ago. It was good timing, too, because the homeless population in town was double the last count. Up the stairs I climbed, into the dimly lit foyer of the men’s home.

My father, who sat in the corner staring at a tiny laptop screen, accounted for roughly a third of that population increase all on his own. So he was provided a bunk and a bit of floor space, just like the others. As was his nature, he took it in stride and expanded out further than anyone had given him permission to: his desk was large enough to account for his own bit of floor space, that of the man in the bunk above his, and that of one of the men in the bedroom.

“Hey,” I said, taking off my backpack and setting it on the floor with an unintentional thud. The women’s home downstairs must have hated me.

“Hey,” my father replied, taking a hit of his vape, which was the size of a deck of cards with four wedding rings stacked atop. He turned around and blew the cloud of vegetable glycerin and flavorings into my face. “Doesn’t that smell just like Fruity Pebbles?”

“Fruity Dino Bites, maybe,” I replied.

He looked me up and down. “Take a seat, you’re making me nervous.”

I pulled a folding chair from the wall and sat in it, creaking the floorboards beneath the thin carpet.

He turned the screen to face me. “Check this shit out.”

He hit the spacebar and an animation began playing over wobbly footage of the ocean. It was a title card, which read, ‘The Vapist.’

He proudly smirked and said, “New intro for the channel.”

I nodded. “Cool.”

“And take a look at what I’m reviewing this week.” He held out several small glass bottles with vape liquid inside, waiting for me to take them (I didn’t). “They’re all cereal themed. But the one I just sampled for you is supposed to taste like Froot Loops. It didn’t taste anything like Froot Loops, right?”

I shook my head. “No, definitely not.”

“Good, ‘cause I already sent him an email. It’s false advertising, you know. I’m gonna have to put that in my review.”

“How much did you pay for all these?”

“Nothing. These are review samples. I’m doing him a favor.” As far as Dad was concerned, this YouTube channel was his job - though it didn’t pay more than whatever value you could put on e-juice. Hence the lack of his own apartment - and more importantly, lack of a stocked pantry.

I unzipped the second pocket of my backpack and pulled out a couple bananas left over from school meals. “I brought you something to eat.”

He took one of the bananas and frowned. “What, do I look like a monkey to you?”

“Uh… this was all I could get. It’s not - I mean, would you prefer an orange next time?”

“As the bisexual said, ‘I’d prefer something other than fruit now and then.’”

“I would have saved you a burrito like usual, but I was starving today.”

“Hmph.” He gestured to the other banana still in my hand. “Eat up, then. You’re a growing boy.”

I looked at it. It was small and green. He liked them green, but I never did. It didn’t sit right with me to eat a banana that wasn’t ready to be eaten, a banana still acidic and lacking in sweetness. Bananas like this fought back against you, both when you peeled them and when you ate them. Overripe bananas were at least good for banana bread, but these, to me, were good for nothing but waiting.

I cracked the stem and started removing the peel. “I chickened out again.”

“Seriously? Dude, it’s not that hard.”

“Yes it is! I’ve never asked anyone out before in my life.”

“Alright, fine. Pretend I’m Celeste.”

My eyes twitched. “Huh?”

“Or, uh… what was her name?”

“Oh, uh… Serenity.”

“Right. Serenity. You two went to preschool together.”

“Yeah, and?”

“You’ve known how to talk to her since you started talking.”

“Yeah, but…” I trailed off, focused on removing as many strings from the banana as I could. “It’s different. I’m different, she’s different.”

 “She’s not different. Watch. Pretend I’m her and ask me out.”

“You don’t look anything like her. She has a lot more hair on her head and a lot less below the neck.”

“She’s got more below the neck than you think. You’ll find out after the dance is over.”

“Dad!”

“What? You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but…”

“Then fuck her brains out. No big deal. But you need to ask her out first. Try it.”

“Uh… okay? Hey, Serenity.”

“Hiii,” Dad replied in a horrid falsetto.

“Nope, nope, nope, I can’t do this.” I took a bite of rock-hard banana and I swear it crunched under my teeth.

“Can’t do what?”

“Stop it, Dad.”

“Hmph. Baby.” His stomach grumbled. “That banana isn’t gonna do it for me. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Suddenly I started to feel queasy. It was like a sense of impending doom crossed with food poisoning. I shivered.

“I, uh, I’m not feeling so good.” I rubbed the side of my head and my eyes watered.

“Fine, I fly, you buy. Hurry up, I’m starving!”

“I don’t… I don’t have the cash…”

“What do you mean you don’t have it?”

“I lost the money…” It was all I could do to say these four words and hold down the contents of my stomach.

“Goddammit, Trevor… What am I supposed to eat, now?” He held out his floppy arms. “I’m malnourished!”

“I could…” The thought of food was making it worse, but I needed to defuse the situation. “I could bring you my leftovers after dinner?”

“Oh. Of course," he said. “Of course you’re expected at ‘home’ for dinner. What are you having?”

“Probably…” I gulped, trying to keep from vomiting. “Probably… Maybe steak again?”

“Man, fuck you. Fine, go back to your private palace. Ride your little bike back to Grandma and Grandpa.”

I could see as if it was right in front of me: my own shaky breath fogs up my glasses in the cold dark of the night - everything is cold, so cold, and as my glasses become clearer, I see my bicycle, crumpled in the street, hunched over as if sobbing. There’s blood on my hands.

When I came to, my father was halfway through yelling at me to hurry and clean up the puddle of vomit in front of me. I fell back onto the floor as my legs gave out. I breathed heavily, my heart beating in my ears. But at least my stomach felt better.

“I think I need to go lay down,” I said, or at least, I heard myself say it.

Dad stared at me, incredulous. “Sure, fine, you want to leave, then leave. You didn’t need to give me something to clean up! There’s a sink right over there!”

“Sorry,” I said, getting up. I zipped my backpack and slung one of the straps over my arm, then hobbled outside.

“What just happened?” Celeste asked. “Are you alright?”

“I should be asking you what happened,” I grumbled. “This is all because of whatever you’ve been doing to me.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t that banana?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I had a vision.”

“A vision this time? Not just an idea popping into your head?”

“That’s right,” I said as I unlocked my bike. “And it felt real.”

“What did you see?”

I trembled as I looked at my bicycle. The handlebars were still unmangled in my hands. “I don’t want to talk about it. All I’ll say is, I’m gonna walk my bike home today.”

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