It was the weekend of a big football game and my friends and I—never ones to miss an opportunity to eat in excess—set out to get Pokey Sticks in honor of the momentous occasion. For those of you that don't know, Pokey Sticks are the king of breadsticks. That's all I can say. I don't know what it is about them or what it is that makes them better than most. I mean it's just bread, cheese, garlic, salt . . . ? I don't know. It's a mystery. I, personally, feel it has to do with whoever is making them. From the looks of the staff at our local pizzeria it would seem that the longer the hair, bigger the stomach, and dirtier the hands, the more exquisite the flavor.
But back to the story. Sam, Casey, and I had set out to get Pokey Sticks. We decided to walk in order to save money and the weather seemed nice enough for a stroll. Everything was fabulous. It was the night of the big game, we were young, happy, and about to experience a carbohydrate overload of epic proportions. The sky looked a bit cloudy so we brought along an umbrella just to be safe, though, we were certain we wouldn't need it. Yes, nothing could have been better and as we skipped along we were the embodiments of hope, joy, and the promise of fulfillment. The trip there went smoothly. We arrived right on time, picked up our two steaming boxes of greasy jubilation, paid, and were on our way home. No problem. And then . . .
Oh. Shit.
It was as if the clouds had been watching us the whole way, noting our barely-controlled glee and rubbing their hands together as they plotted against us. It started raining with a ferocity that rivaled The Perfect Storm. Always quick on my feet, I immediately opened the umbrella and Casey and Sam rushed in beside me like chicks under their mother's wing. We walked this way for some time, hobbling together with our shoulders hunched, Sam clutching the boxes of Pokey Sticks with single-minded resolve. However, with the three of us under one small umbrella our progress was slow and awkward. At last it became too much for Sam and with a hiss of exasperation, she exited the umbrella's shelter and walked in front of us in the rain, completely unprotected.
We came to a stop at a traffic light, Casey and I snug beneath the umbrella—dry aside from our feet—while Sam stood before us, Pokey Sticks clutched to her chest, dripping wet and glaring. If anyone got too close her head would snap around, spraying water from the ends of her hair, and she'd stare the intruder down like a lion defending its kill from hyenas. A man and his drunken friends were waiting beside us and without warning his hand shot out and took hold of the box Sam was holding onto like a life-raft.
"Gimme that!" he said, tugging. "Give that to me! NOW!"
Sam didn't react with fear, anger, outrage, or any of the other emotions appropriate for a mugging. No, Sam merely held onto that box, her knuckles white as her fingers dug into the damp cardboard, her drenched hair hanging into eyes that hinted of impending mania. The Pokey Stick tug-of-war could only have lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an age before the man, obviously sensing that Sam was about to snap, let go of the box and scampered away. Victorious, Sam surveyed the man with distate, watching through narrowed eyes as he and his friends fled the scene.
Throughout all this Casey and I never intervened, instead viewing the exchange with detached interest. Obviously Sam had been possessed. That's all there was to it. She had been possessed by some Pokey-loving demon and she was going to kill the man with her bare hands. It didn't seem real. We simply could not process what our eyes were telling us and as a result had no emotional reaction whatsoever. All we could do was blink and wait for the excitement to pass.
At last the light changed and before Casey and I knew what was happening Sam was already halfway across the street, muttering angrily to herself as we approached our building. Once back into the dry splendor of our apartment Casey and I wisely hung back, watching as Sam dried her hair with notable agression. When it finally came time to eat, and we all sat down around our meal, we let Sam have the first pick.
It seemed only fair.
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