Parasociopath by Michael Sawan

Author:Michael Sawan [Sawan, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: softmaxplus unlimited
Published: 2023-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter seven

LD 46/The Exterminator

I was outside. That was odd, to be on a wooded path surrounded by trees, shrubs, and Lil’ Devils. They were everywhere, along every felled tree, jostling on every nook and perch. By this point I had watched 45 Lil’ Devil memories and of them had been inside of a building or a car. Did bad things simply not happen outside? If I had been outside more would I have avoided my troubles?

Probably not. Of course bad things happen outside. That’s the point of inside.

I was young, ten or eleven. The woods looked different than they do in Ohio. There was only one sort of tree, a thin, tall, peeling thing with green sprigs at the top. Dead needles covered the ground, and bushes splayed their finger-like leaves. Lil’ Devil’s dangled like fruit. I realized that this was Florida, outside of Ocala, a place I had nearly forgotten. Rick had moved us there for work and we didn’t stay long.

Past-me walked with Corey. I recognized him instantly, like no time had passed, and from his face I felt an affinity. It was like we were still best friends, like I still looked up to him. I stood in the woods, watching the boys walk down the trail.

“Ash isn’t even that good,” said Corey, kicking at a stick in the path. “If he didn’t have Pikachu he’d be so bad.”

“No,” said past-me. He stumbled over the same stick. “Ash beat plenty of people without Pikachu.”

I knew the memory, but was taken aback. Pokemon? Our argument started over Pokemon?

“Like who?” asked Corey.

“A bunch of people.”

“Who?”

“Team Rocket, for one. A hundred times.”

“No,” said Corey. He stopped in the path and turned on past-me. “That’s stupid. Team Rocket sucked, and it was usually Pikachu who beat them, anyway.” Corey bent over and picked up a big Y of a stick. He held it like a dowsing rod.

“What about when Charizard came back?” said past-me. “He came back and—”

Corey poked past-me with the stick. “You ever hear of a dummy-rod?” He flexed the stick, slapping past-me in the stomach. “‘Cause looks like I found a dummy.”

“Shut up.”

Corey laughed and tossed the stick away. He kept going down the path.

“You’re a dummy,” said past-me.

“Who do you think makes you dumber?” asked Corey. “Your mom or your dad?”

As an adult, listening to Corey, I understood that he was just being a jerk. He was experimenting, pushing buttons, playing. He didn’t know the nerve he had struck with past-me, who lingered behind, scowling. I don’t remember what past-me was thinking. Probably nothing. All I remember is being rage-choked.

“‘Cause your dad must be really dumb,” continued Corey, philosophizing, “and your mom’s dumb for ever having liked him. Oh! I heard some new ones: Yo momma’s so dumb it took her two hours to watch 60 Minutes; Yo momma’s so dumb the M&M’s factory fired her for throwing out the W’s; Yo momma’s so dumb she bought a solar powered—”

Past-me bulldozed Corey, surprising everyone. This was not how I remembered things.

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