Kickass Anthology (2 page)

PINK

Brandon Witt

IT WAS the bubblegum pink KitchenAid mixer that made me lose my father.  I supposed you could say that it might have been my coming-out that was the clincher.  Maybe getting married to a white guy was the cause, a white guy that was just as flaming as myself. Maybe it would have helped if I had chosen someone a little more butch.  Maybe a lesbian.  Mom is convinced that it was when I decided to enroll in culinary school instead of a pre-med program.  It might just be the sum of all these things. 

It doesn’t really matter what did it.  Although, it
was
the bubblegum pink KitchenAid, no matter what anyone else thinks.  I still remember the look on my dad’s face when I walked into the house the summer before my senior year in high school, after using all of the cash I’d saved to buy the KitchenAid.  He’d stared at me dumbfounded as I sat the box down on the kitchen counter.  It was when I pulled the appliance out of its Styrofoam that it happened.  His entire face fell when he noticed the rosy hue. 

He never looked at me the same after that.  Never mean, never cruel, just kind of… I don’t know… always looking through me, I guess.  His son was gone.  It was Pinky that did it—that stole his son.  And he was right, she did.  Well, not the mixer necessarily, but that expression.  His son was gone.  At least, the person I’d pretended to be my first seventeen years was gone.   

That expression broke my heart.

But it set me free, too.  Within a month, I came out.  Yep, daddy, your lanky son wasn’t going to grow out of his feminine stage.  I’d quit pretending at school a long time before.  Being the only black kid in my grade had paved the way.  Didn’t hurt to get teased about being a faggot any more than being called a nigger.  I couldn’t hide my race and I didn’t want to hide my sexuality.  However, being
that
kid at school was one thing.  It was an entirely different story to let the mask fall at home.  Until the mixer, until that expression. 

Dad had been in Rob's and my shop in the trendy Highland Square neighborhood a couple of times.  Mainly because mom and my sister dragged him there.  He never looked exactly disappointed or anything. Like I’ve said, he’d lost any delusions years ago.  I was fairly certain that I saw him flinch during that first visit when he noticed the old pink KitchenAid on the white tile counter close to the cash register.  It was for display only.  I had industrial-sized mixers back in the bakery.  Pinky was just for nostalgic purposes by this point. 

Dad handled it better than I’d expected, truth be told.  I don’t think many fathers would be comfortable walking into their son and his husband’s cupcake and wedding dress store. 

Rob and I had worked our asses off to get Lace & Cake up and running.  The first two years were pretty sketchy, but by our third, we were actually starting to make a profit.  Having reached our tenth season, we’d become one of the most sought after companies in the Denver wedding business. 

My parents had met Rob and I at Lace & Cake to go out to dinner at a new Middle Eastern restaurant that had opened up a block down. We were already halfway there when I realized that I’d left my cell in the shop.  Of course, as soon as I said that I was going back to retrieve it, mom slipped her hand over Rob’s elbow and said that they’d save us seats while Dad and I went back to the shop to get the phone. I started to protest, I didn’t enjoy Dad’s and my awkward silences anymore than he did, but she gave me that look.  Just like she always did.  The one that said
Mikey Thomas, don’t you dare argue with your mother. 
And with that, dad and I turned as one whipped unit and headed back to the store. 

At seven, it was already dark outside, so after unlocking the doors, I flipped on the lights as dad and I walked back into the shop.  I started to apologize to dad, but then let it go.  We were both used to mom finding any and every reason, even as ridiculous as a misplaced phone, to shove the two of us together.  I’d never really figured out what she hoped would happen.  That somewhere between the nine-hundredth and thousandths time, we’d fall into each other arms, dad apologizing for being disappointed in me and me promising to butch it up?

The phone wasn’t on the counter where I’d assumed it would be, so I left dad standing uncomfortably surrounded by a host of wedding dresses and headed back into the bakery.  After searching for a moment or two, the front door chimed.  I rolled my eyes.  Dad couldn’t even handle a minute in the store without making his escape, probably smoking out on the sidewalk. 

My phone wasn’t in the bakery, either. 

I’m ashamed to say that I’m addicted to my phone.  The fact that I had set it down long enough to misplace it was nearly a miracle in and of itself.  And then it hit me.  While Rob had been locking up, I’d gone to the bathroom and had checked Facebook while I’d been in there. 

Sure enough, my cell was safe and sound on the sink counter. I swiped it up and stuffed it into my pants pockets, feeling a little more complete than I had a moment before.  Shutting off the bathroom and bakery lights in turn, I walked back into the showroom and halted in the doorway.

For a moment, my brain couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing.  Strangely enough, it was dad catching my gaze that made it all sink in. 

“Walk over here slowly or I’ll blow his fucking head off.”

I looked towards the man behind my dad.  The man with handgun pointed at the back of my father’s head.  He looked like he’d been strung out for days.

“Over here, now!”

I jumped at his yell.  Complying instantly I began to cross the distance to them.  Dad managed to catch my gaze again and gave a barely noticeable shake of his head. 

Maybe if we’d known each other better, I would have understood what he wanted.  Was I suppose to turn and run?  Rush the man?  As it was, I simply walked towards them.  If what my trembling legs were doing could be considered walking. 

“You do what I say and nobody gets hurt.”

Cliché much?

“One wrong move and Sanford here loses the back of his head.”

Dad hated that show.

Now that I was closer, there was no doubt the guy was messed up.  Rob was a ginger and had skin so pale you could see the veins at his throat sometimes, but it was nothing to this guy’s complexion.  Sickly white and covered in sores.  Through his snarl, his teeth were rotted.  The gun trembled in his hand.

“We don’t keep money in the store.  We deposit every night.”  True enough, though we hadn’t made the deposit yet.  My voice quavered, but I was surprised to realize I didn’t sound like I was close to tears.  I was, but at least I didn’t sound like it. 

The man’s lips twitched.  “Lie to me again, and his brains will cover all your faggoty dresses.  You think I’m stupid enough that I haven’t been watching.  I saw you all walk outta here five minutes ago.  Was just gonna wait until you left again, but then decided this might be easier after all.”  Saliva pooled at the corners of his mouth and began to run down his unshaven jaw. 

I hadn’t spent time around people that used drugs, but the guy seemed more coherent than he appeared.  Maybe he wasn’t high at the moment.  I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.  Though, having the unsteady barrel of the gun inches from my father made me go with the latter.

I forced an element of calm into my voice again, or at least tried to.  “Fine.  I’ll get it.” 

From my periphery, dad shook his head, but I ignored him.  What did he want me to do?  Turn into Bruce Lee?  It was just money after all.  And not that much.  The guy might be more lucid than he appeared, but he obviously wasn’t too bright.  People didn’t pay cash for wedding dresses and we didn’t do that many cash transactions for the cupcakes, either.  Everyone pays by credit for everything.  I wasn’t going to bring that up, however.  I just hoped he’d take the cash and book it, not take the time to count. 

“No quick movements.”  He pushed the barrel of the gun into the back of dad’s head, forcing it forward. 

I gasped.

Dad squeezed his eyes shut.  Surely because he expected the gun to go off; not because his son sounded like a powerless Disney princess.  I wouldn’t have been willing to bet on that being an accurate assessment, though. 

The man’s gaze darted towards the shop windows, then back at me.  “Move.” 

It took another shove of the gun for dad to realize the man meant him and not me.

“We go together.”  The man gestured towards the counter with his chin.  “Empty the cash register first, then the safe.”

“We don’t have—”

He cut me off. “Don’t give me that shit.  You’ve got a safe.  Move!”

I moved.  Walking on even more shakier legs towards the cash register, trying to think. 

We didn’t have a safe. There was no way I would be able to convince the guy of that. 

I had to think of something.  Something. 

Maybe Rob and mom would come back in a couple of minutes if we didn’t show up soon.  Although, we probably hadn’t even been gone five minutes yet.  And that was the last thing I wanted.  What if Rob or mom
did
show up? 

Dear God.  I had to think of something. 

I reached the counter without a plan.  Without so much as a thought that was anything other than pure panic. 

“Open it, and put the money in a bag.”

I did as he said.  Retrieved one of the silver Lace & Cake bags from under the counter and filled it, one trembling handful of cash at a time.  Probably no more than three hundred dollars in all. 

I turned towards him, holding out the bag.  He and my dad stood less than five feet away, next to Pinky. 

Another glance out the window.  He shoved dad’s head forward once more.  “Now the safe.”

Think!  For fuck’s sake, think! 

There was no way I’d convince him we didn’t have a safe. 

I could see the whole scenario play out in my head.  Me pleading with him, promising him we didn’t have a safe.  That the bag of money was truly all we had.  Then him pulling the trigger as he said he would.  Seeing dad drop to the floor.  Feeling his blood splatter my face.  Then the man turning to me, like he’d just made some point about lying about the safe by killing my father.

Maybe I’d watched too many episodes of Law and Order, but I didn’t think so.  The man looked like he wouldn’t think twice before killing my father. Of course, even if we had a safe, he would probably just shoot us after I got it opened. 

He wasn’t wearing a mask.  He hadn’t attempted to hide his identify in any way.  Drugged up or not, why would he leave us alive only to be able to recognize him later?

The next imagine that flooded my mind confirmed that I had indeed watched too many crime shows, but I didn’t pause long enough to analyze it.  No sooner had I understood that we weren’t getting out of this alive than I screamed at the top of my lungs, as loud as a girl on the playground or a terrified Chihuahua being chased by a Rottweiler.  “Dad!  Get down! Drop!”

I threw myself towards the mixer while I simultaneously whipped the bag of cash up, aiming for the gun.  I felt the impact of the bag and the explosion of the gun filled the shop. 

I let out a high-pitched scream of terror.  My hands clasped on either side of the mixer’s motor head. With a groan, I hefted the twenty-five pound machine off of the counter and swung around blindly in an arch. 

Mom would call it God.  Well, she did call it God.  Maybe it was.  Maybe it was luck.  Who gives a shit?  Whatever it was guided the whirling KitchenAid to collide with jarring impact against the side of the robber’s head.  As one, he and the gun crashed to the floor.

For a moment, everything was still, and once more, my brain refused to put the pieces together.  What had just happened? What had I  just done? 

Again, my dad’s gaze pulled me out of it.  Our eyes met over the body of the man, dad still on the ground from where he’d thrown himself. 

A pain-filled groan sounded between us, causing both of us to look at the man.  His movements were slow, but already he was attempting to push himself up.

“Mikey.”

I looked back up at dad. 

“Again, Mikey.”

I only paused for a moment.  Long enough for the man to issue another grunt and make it up onto his elbows.  Without any more thought, I held Pinky out in front of me, over the man’s head, then let her drop. 

There was a loud crack and the man returned to his prone position on the floor.  Though his head hadn’t exploded or anything quite so dramatic, it was clear he wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.  Nonetheless, I retrieved Pinky off the floor to have at the ready.  Just in case.

Before Dad pulled out his own cell to call the cops, his eyes met mine once more.  He nodded.  “Good job, Mikey.  Good job.”

Dad never looked at me the same way again. That absent stare was gone.  I saw his son in his eyes.  And it was the bubblegum pink KitchenAid mixer that did it.

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