The Firefly Field Theory

|10| The Art Of Bemoaning: Part II

PART II:

“Pass the olives.”

“Gimme the bread.”

“Tissue please.”

No God, no. Don’t send me back to reality. I can’t take it. I swear I just can’t…

My stomach growls in retaliation like an entire pride of bloodthirsty lions. I stop begging God for a minute and consider the forceful argument my stomach makes.

“What was that?” I hear Bravo ask. Apparently I’m not the only one who heard the expression of intense outrage.

“Wow, I think that was her stomach.” That’s Wall-e. Apparently I’m not the only one who knows its origin.

“Wake her up then, she should eat something.” Bravo says.

I stir up a little and sitting up in my seat proves to be a task by body has forgotten.

“I’m awake,” I grumble.

“Good Morning,” Bravo peeks into the back seat, “eat something.”

“Give me something to eat.” I say rubbing my eyes.

I hear her rummage through some bags, and in three second tops from the front seat emergency kitchenette, a single coaster modeling a single slice of bread floats its way to the back seat. Only on closer inspection do I unravel this is no ordinary slice of bread. It’s a slice of bread coated in mayo and sprinkled with sliced olives. She then turns around and places the most terribly cutout quarter of what had been my apple, on my plate.

“What did you do to it?” I ask looking at the jagged up and badly treated piece of fruit.

“I cut it out as best as I could.” Bravo answers.

“With what?” I ask. Pity swells up in me looking at the slightly browning, beat up fellow.

“The scissors you guys were thoughtful enough to buy.”

“This is what you bought them for Z?” I ask.

“I’m terrified by knives.” Comes his reply.

I don’t know what to say to this. I bite into whatever the bounteous blessing, circumstance has to offer. My mouth is beyond hyper salivating. Even I’m perpetually surprised at how hungry I had been, I devour the somewhat apple and finish the bread. In no time I pass my plate into the kitchenette asking for more. Because this pleases the chef, she gives me a paper cup full of apple juice too.

“So I heard what you did to those kids.” Bravo says to me.

Since I’m too busy chewing on my second bread slice I keep my replies short, “Yeah.”

“Bad move.” She says.

“Whatever.”

I don’t realize this soon enough, but Wall-e suddenly kicks into hyper mode, he abruptly pounces on me with a tone indicating bold anger, “No, don't you ‘whatever’ her, do you realize what you did?”

Bluntly I say, “I threw eggs at them.”

Apparently this statement proves too notorious for his delicate taste, he cringe and screams out, “EXACTLY! YOU THREW EGGS AT THEM!”

“Correct.” I nod as I brush my fingers together dropping the sticky bread crumbs, into my empty plate.

“I’m not sure you get the point I'm trying to make here.” Wall-e says.

“You’re right I have no idea what’s bothering you.”

Exasperated for God knows what reason he says, “It starts with an A and ends with M.”