The Panty Whisperer: The Complete Series (14 page)

"
S
WEET
MOTHER
OF
Leia's tits! Have you looked in a mirror?" Tommy navigates his way through various foam restaurant containers, cutting through the smell of rotting takeout and shame. "Oh, goddamn. This is worse than I thought. It smells like Honey Boo Boo's mom shit up your living room, bro."

I snarl at him. "What?"

I set down my Xbox controller and sigh, shooting a blank stare in his direction.

"Jesus, look at your stomach. It looks like the quarter pounders have been kind to you." He starts to chuckle as he gazes in disbelief.

"What the hell is so funny?" My blank stare turns into a glare.

"Nothing." He shakes his head.

"No, you opened your mouth. Say what you have to say."

"Oh, you know, just thinking about all the Panty Whisperer victims, looking just like this for weeks after a taste of ol' Herbert."

"I've never made anyone feel like this." I pause for a moment. "I'm doing fucking great by the way. I'm just taking some time off from work and relaxing. I work hard. I'm allowed to take some vacation time and fuck off."

He stares at me the way an irritated mother looks at her children when she doesn't buy any of the bullshit coming from their mouths.

"Mmhmm, ol' Quinn, she slayed the giant. You have to get over her, bro." He folds his arms across his chest.

"I'm not getting over anyone. Is there a reason you're here? You're fucking up my little eco-system."

"Yeah, it's definitely an eco-system. There is shit growing in these boxes. I can smell it. Get your ass up and take a shower, you nasty bastard. We have to get you back out on the prowl."

He kicks a pile of trash against the couch and stands in front of the television, staring right at me with a look of haughty derision, his nose constantly wrinkling as he takes in the smell that has invaded the apartment. I'm oblivious to it. I can see there is no getting rid of this persistent asshole.

"Fuck it! Fine."

I'm not sure what we're going to do that's so important at 11 a.m. on a weekday, but he seems to have a plan of some sort. He continues to stare without saying a word, nothing but a hidden smirk behind a somewhat genuine look of concern. He lifts an arm and points to the shower. "Go! I'll wait here, sweetie."

"Jesus Christ. I hate you." I get up and start toward the hall.

"You love me, Herbert. You don't mean that."

I saunter down the hallway towards the bathroom. Each step feels like I'm stepping into quicksand as I make my way to the bathroom, like cinder blocks are tied to my feet.

What an asshole. I was perfectly happy sitting there playing GTA5 and eating everything in sight. I fumble through my toiletry kit and I'm afraid to look in the mirror. I finally muster up the courage to remove the shirt I've been wearing the past week and damn near puke on myself.

For fuck's sake, I look like the guy at the end of
Super Size Me
.

I stand for a moment and stare in amazement at my stomach. Just a few weeks ago it was a chiseled six-pack, and now it has been reduced to an unrecognizable blob, moving and shaking in whichever direction it pleases with each breath.

That
bitch.

I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I can't get that girl off my mind. One second it was all going as planned and then suddenly she's telling me to fuck off as she walks away. What is that shit all about? I tell myself it's the rejection, my competitive side showing. But hell, it seemed like it was more than that, like we had a connection. I know she felt it too, regardless of what happened.

She was smart, witty, and absolutely beautiful. But there was something more. It was like I knew her. There was mystery, intrigue, something behind those eyes, and I wanted to know her. I wanted more than to get her into bed.

Tommy beats on the door, and I jolt backwards. My hand knocks my toothbrush to the cold tile, and I snap out of my imaginary pity party.

"Fuck, dude. What the hell?" I glare at the door.

"Everything okay in there, Jabba the Gut?"

"Jesus Christ. Can I have a minute to get ready?" I chuckle for a second. That shit is pretty funny. "Nice one, by the way."

"Thanks man. I've been trying to think of a way to use it for like ten minutes." He laughs.

"You executed it nicely, babydoll."

"Thanks, hon. Hurry the fuck up and don't use any sharp objects on yourself. I worry about your ass. Like you might start cutting or something."

"I could never harm a face as pretty as the one I'm looking at."

"That sounds like my good little bitch. It's nice to have you back, Sir. Now hurry. I'm worried about your takeout boxes coming to life, and I left my Geiger counter at home."

This fucking guy
.

I hop in the shower and let the hot water stream over my head and face. I don't know what the deal is. I haven't been able to get off the couch. I want to eat everything in sight. My arms and legs feel like they weigh a hundred pounds each. Things are dull, and nothing is interesting. I've neglected my poor car. She hasn't been driven in weeks.

Finally, I step out of the shower into a cloud of steam that remains suspended in the air, slowly drifting inches below the ceiling. I do feel much better, like a new person. Until I look down. Fuck, I need to go running, this is unacceptable. I'm not even going to step on the scale.

I throw on my last pair of clean clothes and burn a few calories trying to button my jeans. I can hear Tommy laughing at my predicament in the other room.

"I think I might call a hazmat team to come in while we're gone. Or maybe we can just set this place on fire." I laugh as I walk around the corner.

"Something man. This shit is ridiculous. Grab a trash bag." He starts shifting the trash into piles.

"I didn't really mean we need to throw my shit away."

He stares at me like I am an idiot. "Dude, we're going to get rid of the garbage and drop your clothes at the cleaners."

"Ahh, good idea." I walk over and start to help.

We spend the next 30 minutes gathering two trash bags full of takeout boxes and empty ice cream containers. I lower my head and look at the floor as he walks by holding them, staring me down like I'm a filthy filth monger.

He tosses them outside and turns to me. "Alright, Whisperer. Are you ready for the next step?"

"Ha, what's that?"

"Walking out the front door. I mean if you're not ready, I understand. Baby steps are key. I don't want to overwhelm you." He holds up both hands as if he's trying to keep me calm and relaxed.

"Shut the fuck up." I punch him in the shoulder and open the door. "Oh fucking hell."

It's like the sun has me in an interrogation room. I damn near feel like I'm going blind, as little fuzzy stars pass in front of my face. I'm disoriented momentarily and think I might pass out.

"You ok there, Paul? Having a defining moment in your life?"

"Paul?" I look at him like he's speaking a foreign language.

"The Apostle? Road to Damascus? Goddamn, you ever read the Bible?"

I shake my head and laugh. "You are the most blasphemous person I've ever met."

He starts the mocking. "Your poor, poor mother. What a disappointment." He shakes his head and walks toward the car.

"Where you going? I need to get my baby out of the garage."

"Not in that condition, Sir!" He hollers and bugs his eyes out at me, a fake angry look on his face. "You lose five pounds before you even think of showing your face around her!"

"You make a valid point. She deserves better."

He continues to bug his eyes at me and stares as if he's looking into my soul. "Yeah." He nods. "Goddamn right she does."

We drop my clothes off at the dry cleaners and get back on the road. Tommy takes a familiar exit off the highway and cringes. All at once, the dots start to connect.

"No, no, we are not going there right now." I shake my head at him.

"I was given strict instructions from a power much greater than all the panty whispering fairies in your little pecker. You should've answered your phone when people tried to call."

"Seriously, bro. I can't right now."

"It's fucking happening. Man up, pussy." He grins at my discomfort.

"Fuck me." I squirm in my seat. My stomach cramps up as we pull down the road. I roll down the window to take in some of the air and let the warmth rush across my face as we coast down the street that looks exactly as it did 20 years ago. It's the same people doing the same things in their front yards, only the kids playing in the grass are now grandkids.

Tommy eases on the brake and there she is, standing in the grass, her arms folded, and a scowl across her face. My chest tightens and I can't even look at her.

My mother is not a woman to be trifled with. My father passed away when I was young, and she raised me by herself. She's petite, about five-foot-three with curly brown hair and blue eyes. She looks like the sweetest and nicest woman someone would ever meet. I love her more than anything.

But when she's angry, it's best to stay out of her way. This woman would whip a grown man's ass without flinching. I finally glance in her direction and notice her foot tapping on the ground. It's not a good sign.

Tommy pulls up, and for the first time today he looks genuinely serious. We get out of the car, and her stare burns into my skull.

Tommy steps out and walks over to give her a hug.

"Thank you, Thomas." Her voice is monotone. She gives Tommy a slight peck on the cheek as he wraps his arms around her. Her eyes remain trained on me the entire time.

"You're welcome, Mom." Tommy releases her and backs away.

I might just shit my pants if I have to watch her stare at me much longer. It doesn't matter how old I get, when Mom is disappointed there will be hell to pay.

"Over here, now." Her words are not in a pleasant tone.

The scent of fresh cut grass and summer heat seeps into my nostrils and my shoulders slump as I saunter over to her. It's like I'm seven all over again. I have to be a foot taller than her and it's like I'm looking up at her from the ground. Once in front of her, I stare into a familiar pair of eyes. Memories of my childhood flash through my mind. It's the woman who made me.

My hands fumble around in my empty pockets as she reaches up and squeezes my cheeks together with one hand like a vise.

"Herbert Hannover, when your mother calls, you answer the phone. Do you understand me, boy?"

"Yes, Ma'am." I want to look at anything but her, but I can't.

There's a pause.

Finally, I let it all out. "I'm sorry. I was in a messed up place, and I'm just, very, very sorry."

Her small arms wrap around me and she crushes me with the strength of ten grizzly bears. I can barely breathe, but I don't care. It's the best I've felt in weeks. Her upper body trembles as I lean down and let her kiss me on the cheek. Guilt seeps from my pores.

She whispers in my ear. "I love you, Bubs."

"I love you too, Mom."

She releases me, and oxygen rushes into my lungs. Tommy chuckles when she's not looking in his direction. He's been on the receiving end of Mom's hugs as well. They can murder a man's soul and make him feel like the most loved person on the planet at the same time.

"Come on inside now, boys. I'll make something to eat, and you can tell me about the girl."

There's no secret that can be kept from moms. They always know what's going on with their sons.

Tommy whispers in my ear as he walks by, a shocked look spread across his face. "How does she do that? She's the fucking Oracle, bro."

"Watch your language, Thomas. I'll wash your mouth out with Dial dish soap. You understand me?" She doesn't even turn around.

His eyes look like they may pop out of his head. "Sorry, Mom."

We both rush to get ahead of her, fighting for position to open the door before she can do it herself.

She smiles. "Now those are the two young men that I raised."

We follow her inside.

Family pictures hang on the walls in old cracked wooden frames. Tommy's smile can be seen in many of them. He's been a member of my family since we were about five. His dad passed around the same time as mine, and his mother worked as an engineer to support their family, sometimes working long hours. Somehow, Tommy remained socially normal in a family full of geniuses.

They're nice, but it's difficult to have conversations with them. Tommy is fluent in their language, but not me. He used to get mad when Mom would scold him for making a B while I was congratulated for the same grade.

"
We all have different levels of ability, Thomas
," she would say.

"Hey bro, you think the Nintendo is still around here? Need to grab that shit before we leave. Play some fucking Tecmo Bowl later."

It's not a bad idea, except for the fact Mom probably sold it off in a garage sale. We were always encouraged to play outside and only allowed to play video games as a reward for good behavior. At Tommy's house a Nintendo was laughed at as inferior. They were always writing their own games in BASIC and doing all kinds of shit I didn't understand.