The Bulls-Eye

I was abusing my body a lot of late, and not in the gutter minded sense.  With the guys up at Marlin’s Inn, seemingly any time of day, and any day, it’s hard to stay away.  But the hops and the barley and the Yellow Dye Number 5 if they even use that was getting the best of me, and it was affecting my work.

So for once, I decided to stick with cola.

Those are rum ice cubes, right?  Keep, the pussy ain’t living up to his name now is he?  Santiago furled his brow at me and nodded to Hank.  Pussy, why do you make it so easy?  I wish all the pussies made it so easy.

I don’t know if it was because I was sober, but I cracked.  “Aiden.  It’s Aiden.  Stop calling me a pussy, or Pussy with a capital P, or Fat Fish Pussy, or any of it.”

Kilgore bobbed his head.  I thought Fat Fish Pussy was funny.  My eyes were like darts and his face was the Triple-1, which is what I seem to always hit when I aim for the bulls-eye.  He tilted his head.

“My last name’s Caulfield.  Call me that.  Or Cauliflower… or anything resembling some form of my name other than P-U-S-S-Y.”

I didn’t realize I had stood while I was raging.  Truth and the fact of the matter, I didn’t even really care that he insulted me constantly.  It just felt like it was the thing I should do at that moment.

Hank sat quietly and he took it.  He never faced me through any bit of the fit.  Quite honestly, I thought he was considering hitting me.  And at his age and at my age, it wasn’t a fair fight.  The spit was in him – my mouth was all dried up.

H.L. had been in the bathroom.  As he returned to the scene, he sensed the friction in the air.  Hey, Hank.  Is the pussy giving you lip?

I lost it.  It quickly shaped into one of those laughs you can’t escape, where you gasp for breath like you’re underwater, and your eyes squeeze shut so tight they’re wrung like linen.  It’s the same kind that swallows up everyone else like a sinkhole.  H.L. cracked up so bad, he had to lean on a table, and when it fell, there was no hope for the rest of us.  Luckily he was okay, and when composure was regained, I ordered another cola from Santiago.

H.L. snuck in between Hank and I and draped his arms over our shoulders.  What was so funny anyway?

I answered: “I’m gonna be called Pussy forever.”  And Hank nodded.