'Til Death Do Us Part (28 page)

BOOK: 'Til Death Do Us Part
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It

s just like being born.

He smiled.


I don

t remember what it was like to be born
,
Trip.


You don

t? I thought everyone did. Well it

s just like it! No sense in thinking about it

you ready?


Not fucking really,

I said
,
starting to work on a world class panic attack.


It

ll be fun,

h
e said as he went over to a large plastic storage bin. He pulled out
a small drum-
shaped container.

At first I couldn

t register what he was doing;
my legs were bobbing up and down so fast I couldn

t focus on anything. 
T
hen he started to grab big handfuls of the white substance and start
ing
at his
tin foil hat
,
began to apply liberal amounts over his whole body.


Can you get my back?

John asked me.


What are you doing?

I asked.


Lard, it simulates the fluids in the placenta.


I think you

re taking this a little too far,

I told him.


First time I went through there I almost got stuck
. A
s it was
,
it took me four hours to get through. It goes by a lot quicker with the lard.


Trip
,
I can

t be in that hole for four hours! I

m bigger than you
,
how am I going to fit? Just go, get your wife, I

ll stay here until the
zombies leave and
go back up through the cabin.


That

s probably a good idea
.

Relief flowed through my system, but co-mingled with it was despair. I would be alone.


Let

s have one last lunch together,

John said as he wiped his hands clean of the heavy lubricant and d
ipped back into his storage bin;
he grabbed a couple of MRE

s and some c
hemical packets to heat them up.
Within
a few minutes
,
my packet of c
orned beef and hash was piping hot.
I grabbed the closed (and sealed) packet from him before he had a chance to
open it
.


If you don

t stir it around some
it
of stays cold.

He said as he popped a soda and handed it to me.


I

ll do it,

I said
with a shudder
, his hands gettin
g entirely too close to my food, even if there was nuclear safe material between him and the sustenance.

Thank you.


You

re welcome.

He grabbed his food, stirred it around
,
and began to eat heartily.

There was a comfort to the food, not in the taste mind you, that was more like rat stew, but it was the breaking of bread with a friend.


Want some hot sauce?

h
e asked.


No
,
I

m almost done.


Good stuff?


Edible
,

I answered honestly.

I

m going to miss you
,
John the Tripper.


I wouldn

t worry about that too much.

John took longer than normal to eat his meal, almo
st savoring every morsel; even
stopping f
or long moments to examine his S
pork.


Man
,
I

m tired.

I yawned.


I bet,

John said.

Want some crackers?

h
e asked
,
splitting the packet open.


No
,
and why would you bet that?


Valiums have that effect on people.


What?

I tried to ask with excitement
,
but I just couldn

t get enough adrenaline flowing.


I put a few in your
pop
.


Dude
,
y
ou have got to stop drugging me
without at
least taking me out for dinner,

I said sleepily.

He
grabbed my now empty can and shook it
in front of my face.


Right,

I replied.

So now what?


I

m going to wait until the pills k
ick in completely, the
n I

m going to take off that awesome poncho you

ve got and cover you in lard
,
then I

m going to d
rag you through the birth canal,

h
e said as he popped a handful of crackers into his mouth.


I

m scared
, Trip,

I
admitted
.


No need to b
e, yet.
Wait
until we

re in the helicopter…the
n you

ll have good reason.


Fucking swell,

I told him.

We sat there a few more minutes as he poured a mini bottle of Tabasco over the last couple of crackers and washed them down with some red
Kool-Aid-
looking drink.


Wouldn

t that be awesome if the Kool-Aid man just came and knocked a hole in the wall for us?

I asked John
,
looking longingly at the spot I sincerely hoped that would happen.


Does this Kool-Aid man have anything to do with Rocky Stallone?

John asked.


Where are you from
, Trip?
Those
are national
r
icons.


Up,

he said and motioned.

You just slurred
.
I think we

re ready.


I

m scared
, buddy,

I
repeated
as I got up and started to pull the poncho over my head, and then I couldn

t remember in which direction I needed to pull to get it over my head.


No
problema
, your life is in my hands.

He laughed as he finally got the heavy material off of me.

John dropped about a pound of the lard on the top of my head
sm
ashing my hat down onto my head;
it felt like a damn runny ostrich egg as he spread it around
my face and shoulders.


I

m not really liking the way this feels
,
John. Things will stick to me.


Naw
,
man
, this to help from sticking,

h
e said as he slathered copious amounts of the white goo on my ass.

Wow
!
I

m looking back at the words I

m writing and I

m having a hard time deciding whether to keep them there, this is starting to sound like a porno. If I had a bigger eraser I

d rub those words out. Yes I could keep going in that vein, as a guy it

s actually pretty easy. But since my wife will probably one day see this journal
,
I

m going to swing it back.


I don

t really like people touching me
,
Trip.


What
? Put your hands over your head,

w
as all he said.

I complied, any more lard and he could have shot me through a straw.
He patted down my legs better than any
cop frisking I had ever had.
I was afraid to move
,
so sure that I was going to stick to myself. I don

t even l
ike the sticky feel of humidity—this was excruciating.
I almost wanted to go through the damn hole now just so I could get this shit off of me.


Okay
, now do me,

John said as he put his hands over his head. He waited a few moments before turning around.

You said you didn

t like people touching
you
.


It goes both ways.


It

s this or
four
hours in the hole.

He smiled.


Fuck,

I said as I grabbed a giant handful of the lard.

This is so gross, why didn

t you use vegetable oil?


Wore off too quick.

After a few more moments
,
John seemed pleased with his new
uniform of rendered animal fat.
He
grabbed some rope and made a harness for me securing it together with a mountaineer

s clasp.
He then did the same to himself,
then tied us together with about a fifteen foot length of what I considered to be entirely too thin rope.


This gonna hold? It looks like dental floss. Or maybe a super model

s thong.


I

d
trust my life to this rope,

h
e told me.


What about mine?


You

ll be fine
,
man, I won

t leave you.


I

m more concerned you might forget.


You ready?

h
e asked as he
tugged hard on our connections.
My
body was so loose I almost fell over.

You look like you

re going to fall asleep. I

m sorry
,
we

re going to h
ave to leave your poncho behind…
that

s some rocking duds.

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