The Mother Road (36 page)

Just like that, I snap. A reel of miserable mishaps run through my mind as my shoulders move with my intense breaths and my heaving chest.

Pee bottle, beard clippings, man fog, dirty bathrooms, mascara pube brushes, DNA in my eye shadow, flannel shirts everywhere.

A kaleidoscope of plaid washes over my eyes and I feel my pores bleed red. I grab the beer out of my dad’s hand raise it above my head, screech out what I can only describe as a combination of a horny hyena and a cat in heat kind of sound and then slam the bottle on the ground, barely missing Paul’s head.

Before I can stop myself, I take off toward the house, where I find the bag of flannels I picked up when cleaning out the bathroom in Tacy earlier and bring it to the chopping wood block outside. Twitching uncontrollably, drool threatening to fall out of my mouth, I grab the axe and raise it above my head, ready to strike.

“Marley, put the axe down and step away from the flannels,” Porter says, hands extended, as if he wants to help.

“You’re not in a good frame of mind. This is not who you are. You’re not an axe wielding psychopath looking to make a pile of long sleeved cotton into your very own plaid colored mulch,” Paul tries to convince me.

“Buttons, please put the axe down. We can talk about whatever is bothering you. Please don’t chop up Daddy’s Americana flannel shirt.”

My head whips to the three men who have turned me nuttier than a fruitcake. I bring the axe down and grip it in one hand while I step closer to all three of them. In unison, they hold onto each other and take one step backwards, covering their crotches. Smart move.

“Don’t blister your precious, precious flannels? Is that what you’re asking me?” They stand there, silent, terrified. “Is it?!” I ask again, flying my arms about.

The brave one that my dad is, he steps forward, barely, and holds out his hand as if that’s going to calm me down. “Buttons, why don’t you put the axe down?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I scream, waving the axe in the air like a banshee. “Do you think I like looking like an unglued lunatic with an underdeveloped urethra and a bouquet sticking out of her head in a ‘pee’ dress?” Paul goes to answer but I point the axe at him to shut him up. He cowers under Porter, forcing himself beneath Porter’s arm for protection. “Well, I don’t, but apparently I didn’t have a choice in the matter because thanks to you three, I’ve lost respect from everyone at the party.”

“How is that our fault?” Paul asks. The beer is speaking for him because the minute the question pops out of his mouth, he squeals and then lifts Porter’s jacket and drapes it over his own head, treating it like an invisibility cloak.

“I will tell you how it’s your fault, you utter ghoul!” I snap. “I was doing just fine until you invited him on our little trip.” I point the axe at Porter. “This was supposed to be a family bonding experience but you just had to invite Porter, didn’t you? Well, good job, because now, everything is ruined.” I start pacing back and forth, tapping the flat part of the axe against my chest. “I should have known this was all going to end like this. Stupid Marley, the little sister thinks she can have relations with her brother’s best friend.”

Paul’s head evaporates away from Porter’s jacket as he stands tall. “You had relations with my sister? I thought you were just talking. Did you…pork her?”

Without warning, my dad slaps Paul in the back of the head. “Don’t talk about your sister that way.”

Porter slaps Paul as well and says, “Yeah, don’t talk about your sister that way.”

Returning the slap, Paul swings his hand against Porter. “You’re supposed to be my friend, not her boy toy?”

My dad and Porter both slap Paul. “Don’t call me a boy toy,” Porter states.

“Don’t disrespect your friend,” my dad reprimands.

The earth tilts on its access as Paul loses all brain cells and smacks my dad in the back of his head from pure annoyance. The woods fall silent and the air turns thick as my dad’s eyebrows prepare for battle.

“Oh shit…” Paul starts running in place, shaking his hands at his side as if he can’t believe what he just did. He takes a giant gulp of air and then screams at the top of his lungs, “Ahhhhhhhhhh” and sprints off toward the wedding, my dad chasing after him, holding his pants up as he trots away, leaving me alone with Porter.

Porter takes a deep breath and steps toward me but I hold the axe up before he can get close. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Listen Marley…”

“No, you listen,” I screech. “You think this is some kind of fun game you like to play? Screw around Paul’s little sister? Make her want things she can’t possibly have? Well, guess what Porter? I’m done! I’m no longer playing your sick and twisted game. You’ve broken me down for the last time.” My voice is way too high-pitched. I can feel myself teeter over the brink of insanity. I’m on the verge of banging my head up against a tree, and the only thing I can think of doing so I don’t end up bawling my eyes out is dig into my inner twelve year old self. I puff my chest, walk over to the chopping block and raise the axe over my head. Eyeing Porter, I say, “You’re a stupid McStupid pants and I hope your penis drowns in its own puke and when I say puke, I mean semen, because that’s what penises do, they puke up semen full of babies. I hope your penis drowns in a milky river of babies and then gets an infection because its own babies that it puked up are actually diseased because of the time you let a zombie suck you off. Your penis was sucked on by a zombie and is now going to drown in its own zombie baby puke. People will call it the Penis Puke-pacolypse. Wikipedia will have a whole page dedicated to your rotten, limp zombie penis that children will go to, to scare each other into puking themselves, so then it turns into double puke problems. There will be puke everywhere because of your penis!” I point my axe at his dick and then say, “Bad penis, very bad penis!” I scream the last word, add an “aye, aye, aye” at the end, whip the axe over my head, and then chop down on the shirts that lay in front of me.

Satisfied, I grab the bouquet out of my hair, throw it at Porter’s face and take off toward the house.

Most definitely my finest moment.

There you have it, the beginning of the end. The day I lost my mind, threw all self-respect to the wind, and chopped up a pile of flannel shirts. Metaphorically, it felt like I was chopping off the dicks of the three men who have turned me this way, but I try not to think of it that way because two of those dicks belong to family members, but that third dick, despite its ability to make me scream to the point of attracting all animals ready to mate, I enjoyed chopping it up.

Did I cause a scene at my brother’s wedding? Yes, I did, but sometimes you have to live your life with the motto…#NoRegrets. Sometimes you have to ignore the way people perceive you and do what you feel is right. If that means stopping the reception at your brother’s wedding to scream out a war cry to all that are listening and then storm off, in your pee dress, then go for it. Every person needs to have a moment in their life of total insanity. A time where there is nothing else you can do but snap in half, wave your arms in the air, and run around like a crazy person, tongue hanging out and insanity in your eyes.

Hell, you were able to act like that as a child, but as an adult, you are held to higher social standards like keeping your legs crossed in public, not shooting snot rockets at the dinner table, and saying please and thank you rather than, “Give me that syrup, you whore.”

As a model citizen, one who’s picked up trash on the sidewalk and opened doors for elderly women who fart while they pass you, I deserve this moment. After everything I’ve been through in the last couple of days, I deserve to toss my sanity into the air for birds to crap on it. When you have that moment, you will know exactly what I’m talking about.

And do you know what the best part is? People will see how utterly crazy and psychotic you’ve become in that moment that they will forget about it and never bring it up, and do you know why? Because that’s what being an adult is all about, ignoring the psycho that seeps out of you and moving forward as if nothing ever happened, because one day, they will find themselves in the same situation and will enjoy the same courtesy from others.

It is what we do best as model citizens. To the person’s face, you act like nothing happened, but behind their back, replay the video you recorded of them over and over again.

There are no words of wisdom I can give you other than, if you’re going to absolutely lose your ability to live by the adult rules, then do it right, go all out. Froth at the mouth, skitz out, kick things as you pass them, punch walls, stab bales of hay with machetes, and sound out unintelligible words while bouncing up and down, caressing your nipples. If you’re going to go crazy, do it right.

The End

Not really, but if it really was the end, please tell me you would have tested the above? Chuck a few water glasses, slam your head against your reading device, maybe throw a few death threats at your pillow? I would at least hope so.

**PORTER**

There is a time in a man’s life when you realize you need to not interact with anyone, take a step back, and understand the fact that you might just have fucked up everything you’ve ever worked toward.

That’s what I’m doing.

It’s Monday morning. Marley left for the airport early Sunday morning, only saying goodbye to her dad and Paul before she took off. I wasn’t on the hug brigade list before she left. Do I blame her? Not one bit.

Let’s get one thing straight, when I said what I had with Marley was a fling…that was me trying to make our relationship not look like a big deal to her brother and dad. The last thing I needed was them meddling in whatever it was we had. When I told Savannah Marley was like a sister to me, that was before she asked about our relationship and we were just talking about her as a person.

Do I think of Marley as a sister? Fuck no, more of a best friend, a best friend I’m madly in love with.

I pull my hands away from the goat I’m currently milking and rest my elbows on my thighs, hands clasped in front of me. I bow my head and try to erase the image of Marley out of my brain. Even though the dress Savannah made her wear was hideous, she was still gorgeous, even when it looked like she peed her pants and had her bouquet decorated on the top of her head as if it was the star on top of a Christmas tree.

The night before the wedding, shit, I will never forget the way her hands ran across my body, the urge and need pouring out of her, the way she screamed my name, or the way I held her afterwards until I had to ask her to leave. Telling her to go back to her bed that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Desperately, I wanted to ask her to stay, not just that night, but to not go back to California at all. I racked my brain that entire evening, trying to find a way to make things work for us, but nothing came to mind. Instead, I distanced her away from me, ultimately pushing her three thousand miles away.

From what I heard, Paul apologized yesterday before Marley took off. They laughed off their “fight” and chalked it up to another McMann Massacre. At least she was able to leave on good terms with her family. Me, on the other hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if she left town with a voodoo doll that replicated me, clippings of hair and all.

Knowing I have a long day in front of me, I get back to work, milking the goats, feeding them, and cleaning out their stalls. Bernie tends to the crops on his tractor, wearing a chopped up flannel shirt, courtesy of Marley, and a long-sleeved shirt under it.

Before I know it, it’s lunch time and Bernie is calling me into the main house to take a break. I wash up at the sink and then take a seat in front of two hot dogs and chips on a plate. There is something I failed to mention, Bernie just doesn’t eat hot dogs on road trips; no, he eats them almost every single day. I try to have lunch on my own a lot of the time, but the start of the week always consists of eating lunch together to talk about what we have going on for the week. Hot dogs are always served.

“Chilly morning, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah.” I pick up the hot dog and shove it in my mouth, trying not to gag from eating the phallic shaped object so many times in the last few days. “There was some frost on the grass when I woke up. I heard it’s supposed to be a bad winter.”

“That’s what the almanac says,” Bernie confirms, chip crumbs casually falling into his beard, which he’s been growing out for the winter months.

“How’s the corn? About ready to be harvested?”

“Almost. It’s getting there. We have a ripe crop this year and the pumpkins are bigger than ever. My friend Thomas has been helping me with the Pumpkin Patch and Tractor Pull. If we can get things set up this year, it might be an annual tradition. He’s retired and looking for something to do, and I know a few ladies in town who want to sell homemade apple cider and doughnuts. It could be the beginning of a fall tradition at the McMann Farm.”

“Really?” I ask, a little shocked to hear about this Pumpkin Patch idea for the first time. “I didn’t know you were going to open the farm up for visitors. When did this start?”

Bernie wipes his mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I’ve been thinking of ways to expand. There’s a need for a local pumpkin patch here, so when you started with your soaps, I started brainstorming with Thomas.”

“But, why didn’t you include me?” I might be a little hurt by not being included in the Pumpkin Patch idea.

Setting his hot dog down, Bernie folds his hand in front of him. “Porter, once I saw the passion you had for Man Soap, I knew it was going places…”

“You don’t know that.” I shake my head. “You heard Marley; it’s a fat chance in hell it might actually happen, given what’s out on the market right now.”

“I love my daughter, very much, but she can be a moron sometimes. She might know the ins and outs of the beauty industry, but she knows it for women. She doesn’t know what goes on in a man’s mind…what we might be looking for. Will your soap be sold in Walmart? I don’t know. Can I see it being sold in consignment and hipster type shops like Urban Outfitters? Yes.”