Leftovers

Before She Left

"IT was the summer of 1965. The day was unbearably hot. Every women and man on sight were all in a frenzy if you know what I mean. And on a lazy Sunday, or was it Monday... anyways, it was the day I met my first husband, David Brown Jr. He had the skin of roasted coffee, and the manhood the size of Tex- Ouch! Christian, watch where you're clipping that thing child!"

Christian ducked his head, focusing on the old lady's mustard-colored bunions," Sorry, Miss Roach!"

Miss Roach moisten her papery lips, and you could hear that blap blap blap of saliva from her tongue, "Hmm, now where was I?" She continued.

He prayed to God she would miraculously forget and pass out asleep like normal old ladies.

"Oh, yes! His smile was the size of Texas... "

Oh dear God, kill me.

Every single weekend he'll ask himself, "Christian, out of all the dumb-ass places you could've chosen for volunteer work, why the hell did your firm, rickety ass pick the nursing home?" Every teen movie knows a teenage boy shouldn't be spending his weekends at the senior center. They should be at home beating their baguette under the blanket while Katy Perry's Fireworks plays quietly in the background.

Yet for some reason, here he was: listening to Miss Roach go on and on and on.... and on about her series of husbands who all happen to be very black with at least have something about their body parts being the size of Texas, while Paris sat on an uncomfortable stool, cleaning out her bunions which, like her husband's manhood, is actually the size of Texas.

And you might be wondering, why was this teenager putting himself through a summer load of bunions?

The reason is one word, two syllables: Ma-bel.

Mabel.

She told him she hated her name, but just solely the sound of it, those two syllables, burns, no completely destroys Christian- in a good way. He's not his typical don't-give-a-shit self when she's around. When she's around, Christian gives shits, loads of them, about every aspect of his substandard teenage boy body. It also doesn't help that she was going to be a senior, and Christian was a growing hormonal sophomore trying to grow a ferret above his lips.

But damn, Mabel was cute.

Damn her and her lovable brown curls and that beauty mark under her kaleidoscope eyes that changes at every angle you looked at her. She was short, which was a bonus since half of the girls in school were taller than him, and not only did her physical appearance checked off every box in his ideal girl, but Mabel was a good person. A rarity in the world. She volunteered at nursing homes, orchestrated fundraisers, and all those other things good do. Christian wouldn't know.

Every room she entered ignites with life and every word she speaks, specifically the words directed at him, were like the melody of a brilliant sunrise.

If only Christian had the balls to ask her out, and then being the Mabel he loved, she'll have to politely turn him down.

"Christian? Are you even listening to me?" Miss Roach's bunioned, bruised foot gently tapped him on the cheeks, and Paris almost barfed.

It smelled worst than the restroom at the Indian restaurant next to the gas station on Town Square.

He swallowed the rising vomit and hacked," Yeah Miss Roach, your husband was in the marines."

The old lady pursed her lips and continued. She's told him this story at least ten times already this month.

Before she could continue or worst, start another story about her second husband, a knock came from the door.