My Best Friend's Bucket List: Volume One (4 page)

“
Yeah, well, I'm here to make you feel comfortable.” I
said.

“
You make me feel sexy.” Lorrie said. This made me feel
guilty. It scared me. I was not sexy to her, not her type at all,
it sucked. But she was buzzed and headed down a drunk
tunnel.

“
You could use another hit of bourbon.” I said. Taking her
glass, I went into the kitchen, made her another drink.

“
Dick'll be home soon, huh?”

“
Yeh.” I said. Pouring her three fingers of bourbon on the
rocks.

I brought her the drink.
She sat blankly on the couch.
Friday I'm
In Love
by
The
Cure
played out loud. My computer played
it loud for Her.

For the next few minutes I had a fantasy
that Lorrie and I were berry picking. She smiled, I loved her to
death, I knew she wouldn't love me the way women were supposed to.
I could not shake her of Dick.

“
Just lie back, take a nap.” I suggested.

“
I'm just really worried.” Lorrie slurred. I took the empty
glass from her.

“
You've only known Dick for almost 24 hours. I've known him
for years, he's fine, trust me.” I said. Lorrie's eyes were now
fighting the heaviness of her eyelids.

“
Maybe I can lie down for just a minute.” She said. I stood up
allowing her to stretch out on the couch.
Innocence
by
The Airborne Toxic Event
was
playing. The first line was totally how I felt for Lorrie
Lovitt.

“
I lost my innocence today I could feel her in my
bones...”

Staring at a now sleeping Lorrie Lovitt, the
two eyeballs in my skull suddenly burned, I'm sorry to report, but
I cried like a school girl with a skinned knee. It was then that I
decided to do two things.

1. Arrange a Lorrie Lovitt Playlist
   Mixtape.
   

2. Do everything in my power to fix the
   relationship between Dick and Lorrie. I needed her to be happy.
   

In the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my
face in hopes of getting rid of the severe redness only that level
of weepage can bring on. My forehead still looked pretty messed up
from the accident. I guess it could've looked worse
considering.

Lorrie slept, still. She would be out for a
while. The computer continued to play depressing songs. She looked
10 times more like an angel. Her breathes were small and shallow.
The urge to lie with her and hold her crept into my body.

I fought it. Grabbed my car keys. Locked up
behind me.

In the car, driving. I
realized that the route to Lou's Chubby Chaser Lounge hit
4
^th
and Crest Ave. Right
past my Uncle Tommy's place. He was enjoying his retirement
watching TV on DVD the last time I had seen him. His idea was to
catch up on all the shows he had missed while working all those
years.

Uncle Tommy had worked graveyard shift as a
hospital janitor for decades. In that time he only slept during the
day, ran errands in the evening, then went to work. In short, Uncle
Tommy had missed out on a lot of TV shows.

I drove down the main
street to hit 4
^th
. The chill on the
air was unbelievable. The thick scent in the air was of Fall,
Autumn. The cold air sent shock waves up my nose. Instantly the
heart in my chest melted to a thick syrup. Autumn was teasing, but
well on its way.

That meant Halloween. It meant Pumpkin pie
and unwanted turkey dinners. I always despised turkey but loved the
fix in's. Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Stuffing(from the box of course),
my mothers fruit salad(I made Dick learn how to make it, because I
hated my parental units)that consisted of canned fruit cocktail and
Cool Whip.

There was one Halloween night me and Dick
were on a Trick 'or Treat mission. We were both 21 years old. It
didn't matter though. My size was plenty scary, the folk's handing
out candy have problems with teenagers. Once you have hit the legal
drinking age, they comply in fear of confrontation, that was our
leverage..

I only had to punch one guy, he was another
costumed Trick 'or Treater, probably at least 18 years old. He
tried to play a joke and come up from behind me and give me a
scare. Even though I was dressed like Jason Voorhees. The kid had
balls. But it got him a fractured jaw. No candy for him, for awhile
anyway. That was the year I learned that no one should sneak up on
me. I had violent defense reflexes.

Dick's theory was that the reflexes came
from the years of violence from my mother. She would at times get
coked out and smack me if I spoke to her. She meant well, but I
think she scarred some part of my soul, unintentionally. My father
just took off into the night chasing various pussy and ass. Who
could blame him? His wife was coked out and violent. But he was no
prized piece. My father valued money and random pussy. He didn't
have a sympathetic or empathetic bone in his body.

I wanted them both dead
for so long. The two were just toxic beings to the earth. When I
was in freshmen year of high school, I fell for a girl, she was not
much unlike Lorrie Lovitt. Her name was Cynthia Garcia, she dressed
like Sandy from
Grease.
I wanted her more than the latest Nintendo game.
But I would need help.

I knew my father was quite the ladies man. I
considered calling him, he had tried to contact me few times during
the beginning of freshmen year, he wanted to reconcile. When I
returned home that night, my Aunt, sat at the kitchen table, her
eyes in tears. Her face redder than the surface of Mars.

“
What's up?” I asked.

“
Your father was found dead in an alley this morning. His, his
throat was cut and his wallet was taken. He was mugged, Tuck. You
won't ever be seeing him again, not that you even wanted to, you
should be happy. Now you don't ever have to worry about him trying
to reach out to you again.” My Aunt wept something
fierce.

I hid in my room and cried for two hours.
Then I called Dick. We went bowling. Then I told him the news. He
was more broken up than me.

That seemed like another lifetime as I
pulled into Uncle Tommy's driveway. His old Mustang was parked. I
parked behind it. He was home and no doubt basking in the glow of
his gigantic flat screen HD TV. One look and it's impossible to
look away. Oprah could be on the tube and as horrible as that would
be you wouldn't look away.

I didn't knock, just walked in. The odor was
of skunked alcohol, chili fries, fried beef. It was cool and damp.
The wallpaper was more faded than the last time I had been there.
It was close to plain darkness. The light from the large TV shined
upon the living room.

Zack Morris and Kelly Kapowski had a
conversation about single life. They both seemed upset and wanted
to work it out. They seemed stubborn in HD.

In the pleather wannabe
La-Z-boy recliner sat Uncle Tommy. He was dressed in faded cargo
shorts and a stained white v-neck shirt. Tommy sipped from a tall
can of
Miller Lite.
His eyes were bloodshot and it was obvious he hadn't slept in
days. He seemed very into the show on the screen.

It was even hard for me to turn away from
the ginormous TV. The height and clarity of an HD Zack and Kelly
was amazing. I felt like they were having their trivial high school
conversation right there in the room.

“
Hey, Tommy.” I said to the figure lounged in the
chair.

“
Yeah?” He asked seriously.

“
I came to ask for advice. I'm at an all time low. The woman
I'm falling in love with is in love with my best
friend.”

“
That's life. What the hell do you want from me?” Tommy
said.

“
I don't know how to feel. I guess. There's a part of me that
wants the two to be happy. Then there's a part of me that wants me
to prove to Lorrie Lovitt that she can love me.” I paused, I was
visibly shaking.

“
I knew this was coming.” He said.

“
How so?” I moved to the edge of my seat.

“
I spend my days and nights watching TV. Television is just a
fabricated reflection of reality. At some point all of us come
seeking truth and answers. At some point we all feel regret for our
actions and the way we feel.” He said. I was confused. Really
confused. “So this girl is either not attracted to you or she is
playing a mean game of hard to get. Or as Summer Roberts calls it
'The Hot and Cold Game.'”

“
Huh?” I asked.

“
In season two of
The OC
Seth Cohen is jealous of Summer and Zach's
relationship. Summer tells Seth that he needs to go
cold
on Alex. She says,
“Go Iceman on her ass.” Seth thinks she's referencing
Top Gun
but she
literally means go
cold.
”

“
Look, Tommy, I have had a rough almost twenty four hours.
What the fuck are you talking about?”

“
GO COLD ON HER ASS!
Don't be sweet
or nice or caring. Show her that you don't need her. See how fast
she sings a different tune.”

“
How did you know I was being sweet and nice to
her?”

“
I spend my days watching TV. TV is what raises our youth. It
teaches men to be subservient to women. Of course you are nice and
sweet to her, it's been spoon fed to you since the day you could
physically open your eyes.” He paused, drained his beer. Looked at
me for the first time. “Now go be an asshole to her, she'll respect
you more for it in the end.”

“
I don't have it in me.” I admitted for the first time out
loud. I felt tears forming in the corner of my eyelids. “Her face
is too precious, her eyes see through me-”

“
OH, CUT THE SHIT.” Tommy said, “Grow up, Tuck. Would ya? You
need help. I'll help you.” He picked up a cordless phone that sat
to his right on a small table. He dialed a number, waited one beat,
then the following conversation on his end took place.

Tommy: “Hello. Hey.”

Pause.

Tommy: “I'm fine. You?”

Pause.

Tommy: “Good, good. I need your help with
something.”

Pause.

Tommy: “Great. Can you check my mailbox to
see if the mailman picked up a package I left for him?”

Pause.

Tommy: “Yeah. Thanks a bunch.”

Uncle Tommy hung up the phone. Looked at me
seriously and said, “Remember that sometimes, no matter how hard
you try or how much you care, you just might be Screech Powers to
her Lisa Turtle, you're not always gonna be Ryan Atwood to her
Marissa Cooper.” He paused, then said these final words, “Now get
the fuck outta here.”

I didn't care to stay, though I was
confused, so I left.

Outside at my car I saw a girl approaching
Tommy's mailbox. From where I stood she looked familiar, my stomach
tightened. Though she was a good distance away and had put on forty
or so pounds, it was her.

Cynthia Garcia. The one that got away. The
one I thought would be my wife.

She noticed me and looked dead in shock. She
stood still like a wax figure. Finally, after we both snapped out
of it, she approached with caution. My heart hammered.

“
Tucker?” Cynthia said.

“
Cynthia. Yeah, it's me.”

“
What are you-?” She said.

“
What are you-?” I said.

Cynthia said, “My sister just got a place
here. Well, over there. My sister sometimes helps your Uncle out
with things and he remembered me from when we were...” Her sentence
trailed off.

“
Wow. OK.” Was all I managed to say.

“
Would you like to come over for a beer or lemonade? I mean,
we have other things. My sister's out for the weekend, she comes
back on Monday.”

“
OK.” I said.

The living room was cozy for something so
modern. A lot of metal and glass. The sofa was from Ikea. Cynthia
bent over the table organizing coasters. She wore tight Capri
jeans, black stilettos, red spaghetti strap top with a black
cardigan pulled over, the top button was buttoned up.

My body filled with lust just being this
close to her. After all this time, one would think at this point
the sexual chemistry would have ceased, quite the opposite. Cynthia
took a seat to the left of me. She sat rather close. I could feel
the heat from her legs on mine. Though forty pounds heavier it all
seemed to go to beneficial places.

Her chest more robust. Her
thighs more supple. Her ass more shapely. I could smell the
Paris Hilton
perfume she
was wearing. The scent intoxicated me.

“
What happened to your head?” She asked.

“
Car accident.”

“
Well, it certainly didn't effect your arms and chest.”
Cynthia giggled. “You have been hitting the gym pretty
seriously.”