Splinters by Ben Patrick Johnson

Author:Ben Patrick Johnson [Johnson, Ben Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: epub

THERE’S THIS thing about Gerald. Every time I am ready to give him the heave-ho and make my life less complicated, he does something that endears me. And I take him back. This is the first time in this story that I’m taking him back, but it’ll happen again later. You’re probably already thinking I’m an idiot for putting up with his crap. And honestly, maybe I am. And was. But you haven’t met Gerald and smelled his smell and had him stare you in the eyes like you are the only other person alive on the planet. So you can’t really know how powerful this man is. Or was. (Or is.)

This time, his screwup was bad. Not showing up for the game, taking drugs, my finding him out dancing. Bad. The next time was worse, the time when he went really super crazy.

We’ll get to that in a bit. I have to pace this story out. If I tell you all the bad things at once, you’ll have a horrible opinion of Gerald and write him off, and this whole exercise will be a waste. No, it’s important that I tell you the good with the bad. Not just so you’ll like Gerald a little, but so you won’t think I’m ridiculous for sticking with him. I have to tell you about watching clouds, about kissing on the grass, about the hours and hours of wonderful nothingness we spent together.

I have to tell you about how, after we left Runyon Canyon, we went to the store and got a container of ripe cherries, then sat on the front stoop of my place and ate them and spat the pits toward the street, seeing who could project the little stones the farthest. Gerald hit a dog, either by accident or not. He thought it was funny. I didn’t. Our fingers and mouths were smeared with purplish red juice, and we giggled at each other.

“Vampire!” he accused, pointing at my mouth.

“Serial murderer,” I countered with a nod at the stains on his hands.

“I’m exhausted,” Gerald said with a yawn.

“You’re the one who took drugs. You’re tired now? I’ll bite your neck in your sleep.”

“Promises, promises.”

We dragged into the apartment, pulled off our clothes, and collapsed on the bed in a heap of arms and legs.

When I woke, it was almost dusk. Gerald had his arm across me. He snored. I was starving. Gingerly, I pulled myself free and walked to the kitchen. There wasn’t much in the fridge, so I came back to the bedroom, rallied Gerald first with whispers and then, when that proved less than effective, tickles. We put on something like leave-the-house clothes, drove to a Chinese dive in a strip mall on Sunset Boulevard, and ordered half the menu.

During dinner, I got a text message. I looked down at the phone vibrating on the tabletop. Its glass face was spotted with soy sauce where some had spilled when I was pouring it on my fried rice.

I sighed when I saw my mother’s name on the display.

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