American Fuss

WAIT I WASN'T READY

I didn't think much of what was going on. Or rather I was so numbed to his antics that I didn't expect anything new. It wasn't like a rat was going to crawl out of the brownie mix, but then with his cooking anything goes. There he stood, brown goop slubbed to the bridge of his nose. He reached up to wipe it away, his charcoal eyeliner smudging as he did. He wiped his finger against the rim of the bowl and continued to stir. "That's unsanitary," I scolded him. Jimmy leaned back and looked at me, his fingers clinging to the lip of the countertop.

"You can lick my face off, then you won't be able to bitch," he sneered. I gagged at the thought and started out of the kitchen, leaving him to his pot brownies.

"I'd rather die."

"Hey you fat fuck, it's not like I jizzed in it. And you wouldn't even eat these anyways!"

"You're not wrong, and I'm not fat!"

"Alright then big boned fuck!"

"Suck my ass, Jimmy."

"Only if you buy me dinner first." I flipped him the bird and plopped onto the couch, only to hear him cackling up a storm. I turned on the tv and sunk into the couch. I rested my weight awkwardly onto my right arm so that I could pull a cigarette from my shirt pocket. I stuffed it in between my lips and lit it, cupping the flame in my palm. I pulled a drag of the cigarette and dropped my head on the spine of the couch.

I picked up Jimmy on the side of the highway in Los Angeles.

I honestly thought he was either going to stick a needle in my arm or slice my throat, at the time I would've taken both, so I pulled over and let him in. I was running to death, but Jimmy was running away from his.

I was leaving Vegas, running away from the fallout of a bomb.

She was incredible; a walking masterpiece with eyes that could bring a man to his knees with a single glance. And she was mine. At least, that's what I believed. Izzie, my dream in heels, an atom bomb just waiting to drop. What was a man to do when he found out that his everything took his heart and served it on a silver platter to a prick with a wallet deeper than the Pope's? I walked in on her fucking him. He had one hand gripping her shoulder and the other gripping the headboard. I can still see the look in her eyes when I opened the door, her bright blue stars peering fearfully through her thick white curls. I didn't do anything, just stood there, an aching nausea churning in my stomach. And that's when I left.

Of course Izzie ran after me, practically naked. She didn't care that her tits were out for all to see in that shitfuck of a hotel, she was just scared I would leave her. Of course that's exactly what I did. I left her.

Somehow I ended up in L.A.

\/\/\/

February 13, 2015

I tapped my thumbs anxiously against the steering wheel. The rhythmic sweeping of the windshield wipers lulled me into a daze. I hummed under my breath and rested my chin on the wheel. The California sky didn't look that much different than Nevada. I had always thought that in California the sky held more stars than anywhere else, but they were just the same. Same stars, same sky, same place, just different people. I sat up in my seat and fumbled around in the dash for a pack of gum. I wasn't even wanting the gum to begin with, but it might have been able to take my mind off things. I unwrapped a stick from the cartridge and tossed it into my mouth. I wiped my thumb against the bridge of my nose and rubbed the fresh streak of eyeliner between my fingers.

That's when I saw him.

He was walking along the side of the road, one foot on the cement and the other in the dirt. His black mock converse turned orange from the dirt. When he heard the car approaching he turned and started walking backwards, withdrawing his right hand from the pocket of his skinny jeans, throwing his thumb in the air. I pulled the car to the side of the road and sat still, my fingers wrapped on the steering wheel. I eyed him as he walked up to the car and bent over so he could look inside at me. He started talking in a run of muffled vowels. I leaned across the seat, reached for the door handle, and let it ajar. He gripped the inside of the door and opened it further. The muffled vowels became clear, "-Therfuckers out here. I really appreciate this, bud." My brows pursed.

"What exactly did you just say?" I asked. He looked at me and then to the door.

"Oh right, okay, I said it's raining motherfuckers out here," he sniffed. What a first impression.

"Here I'll turn on the heat for you, get inside."

A toothy grin swept across his face as he climbed in the passenger seat. He was drenched, his normally gelled hair clung to his temples. He threw his duffle in the back seat of my Corolla and wriggled in his seat. He shot me a smile, slammed his heels into the dash, and said, and I quote, "Nice tie, did your mommy give it to you to tie her up with?" It was in that moment I memorized the face of my best friend. I bit my lip and watched as he reached for the tuner dials. "You don't mind do you?" He didn't wait for a reply and went right ahead to swifting through the static. Content that he found a station he liked, he leaned back in the seat and pulled what seemed to be a joint from his boxers. "So what do I call you?" he asked as he lit the joint.

"Brandon," I replied. He shuffled around to face me with the joint hanging between his cracked lips.

"Hey, pleasure to meet you, Brandon, I'm Jimmy," he said, reaching his hand out to me.