Baked In Seattle by Shaw Sander

Author:Shaw Sander
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: women, weed, christmas, lesbian, bisexual, seattle, recovery, interracial, marijuana, 1990s fiction
Publisher: Shaw Sander

“I don’t think he’s going to come back,” I told Amanda into my glass of wine.

I still couldn’t eat food. Peanut tried to get me to eat anyway and I pushed her away.

“I thought by today he’d have settled down, 48 hours off the mushrooms and with anti-psychotics in him but he seems exactly the same only slower.”

“Yes, he will, Mom,” Peanut demanded. “He’ll be fine. He has to be.”

“He has to be,” Amanda seconded.

“Ziller wasn’t,” I moaned, laying out my darkest vulnerability. Not my golden boy. Not my Dew. The genius goes mad and never returns.

“When are you guys going to tell us about Ziller?” Peanut asked, taking more salad with her chopsticks, the black lacquered ones with the mother-of-pearl inlaid roses she always kept in her purse. “Chad doesn’t know what you guys are talking about. You always refer to him but you’ve never explained who is.”

“A, you tell” I said, passing off to her, my head in my hands. Amanda rubbed my back and said she’d tell the story.

“Ziller was The Sunshine Tribe’s John Kennedy, man, a tall looker the color of caramel. He had round John Lennon glasses, a little afro and always wore a little cap, like a…what do they call them, Al?”

“Greek Fisherman’s cap,” I prompted her “And he had an Indian motorcycle.”

“This guy was the coolest thing on two wheels and we were all crazy about him. Sorry, poor word choice under these circumstances.”

“Oh, wait!” I shot up my head. “I have to tell you something before I forget. Can we set your story on the shelf just for a moment?”

“Sure, Al.”

“I went to Target today to return all that crap Dew bought in his buying frenzy…well, first I went to Walgreens but they said they can’t take the phone cards back once they’ve been activated at the register. Nine hundred dollars in phone cards, he bought. Jesus. Anyway, I went to Target and I didn’t have the receipt but I had his temporary credit card Peanut found in his trashed apartment. Sure, she could take it back, she told me and then she said, ‘Wow, he really went crazy, huh?’ I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to say ‘yeah, actually, he did.’ I started laughing or else I’d have cried.”

“That’s awful and hilarious, both,” Peanut said, hiding her chewing mouth with her outstretched delicate, be-ringed fingers. One of those gold bands was the wedding ring her dad had gotten me an eternity ago, another was the diamond from Angel. It all looked better on Peanut, who had her nails decorated every two weeks. Today they were turquoise with silver stars.

“Yup. Go ahead, Amanda, I’m sorry to interrupt. Tell about George Wilson Ziller.”

“We worshiped him. He was the son of a Black Panther and a Jewish women’s rights activist and he was raised in France. Just the ultimate cool, you know? Like Hendrix and John Lennon put together but the accent was slightly Parisian. His eyes were hazel. Anyway, he came back to

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