Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Reunion

Not having been back in town for quite some time, knocking on FooDaddy’s door brought a flood of memories to my mind. It also gave me a headache, but I pushed through the pain and knocked again. From somewhere in the rear of the house I heard a loud crashing noise and several muffled expletives.

“Sunnuva…goddam…piece of shit…ow…cat…”

Worried he might not have heard my knocking over the racket, I stepped up the knocking and even kicked the bottom of the door a couple of times. I felt it was rather rude of FooDaddy to be so unprepared to greet me. After all, I had sent him a text message warning him of my arrival. I hoped the apparent confusion didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a cup of hot chocolate waiting for me as I had quite reasonably requested in my message.

After about fifteen minutes of banging and cursing, I heard him fumbling with the lock on the door. His face was pressed against the glass inset, a confused look on his face and his eyes red-rimmed and squinty.

“Hooehhhhthiiiiiiit?”

“Stop that jabbering and open up!” I demanded, perhaps a bit harshly. “It’s freezing out here. My feet are cold and I have a stomach ache. My back hurts and I think I have rickets.”

At last the door swung open and FooDaddy stood in the opening, swaying back and forth, looking as if he might topple over at any moment.

“Are you drunk?”

“Er…no. I was sleeping. What time is it?

I checked my phone. “1:30 in the a.m. Didn’t you get my text?”

“Text?”

“Why, yes! About my impending arrival. Surely you received it. I sent it at least fifteen minutes ago.”

“Uh…I was sleeping then, too.”

“Whatever.” I edged past FooDaddy and into the house. I wasn’t buying his story. He was obviously drunk. I was disappointed in him, to say the least, but decided to be a good friend and take over the role of host, since he was obviously not up to the task. “Why don’t you have a seat and I will make you some vinegar tea.”

“Vinegar…what the hell?”

“It’s best thing for drunk folk.”

“I’m not drunk. I was—“

“Sleeping, right. Say, you got any bacon?”

“Yeah, maybe…I dunno.”

I walked to the refrigerator and found an unopened pack of bacon sitting on the middle shelf. I grabbed it out and tucked it under my arm for future frying.

“Let’s play some video games!”

“But—“

“Oh, and I’m calling Kevin.”

FooDaddy gagged and any doubts I had about his sobriety went straight out the window. “Look at you,” I said, trying to sound as disdainful as possible. “So drunk you’re about to ralph on yourself.”

“It’s just that you mentioned Kevin…and it’s so early.”

“Kevin got drunk with you?” I grabbed my cellphone. “I should definitely call him up and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t be too generous,” FooDaddy mumbled.

The phone rang twice and then, “Hello?”

“Am I talking to a fat man?”

“Hey, musty horse! What’s up?”

“Paul, whenever he sees a handsome man.”

Kevin let out a bleet of appreciate laughter. “Not bad, Swineforth, not bad. That joke made me not hate you quite as much.”

“Good, because I’m fairly cross with you at the moment.”

“Awesome! How come?”

“The drunken party you had with Foo. He’s hammered out of his mind over here.”

FooDaddy waved an ineffectual fist at me. “I’m not drunk, I’m—“

I shoved the entire pack of bacon in his mouth to shut him up. “So, you want to come on over and play Call of Duty or some other equally rad game of video?”

“Nobody says ‘rad’ anymore,” FooDaddy said, spitting out the bacon.

Kevin overheard and yelled into the phone. “Tell him nobody likes him anymore! I’ll be. Right! OVER!”

FooDaddy, who had curled up into the fetal position, was whimpering. “I thought I was done with this.”

I reclaimed the now soggy package of swine strips. “I know!” I said. “Ain’t it great? Just like old times!”

“Right,” FooDaddy said. “Old times…dammit.”

1 comment:

Paul "FooDaddy" Brand said...

How horridly cruel of you to post this while I'm at work. Now I fear for the safety of my bacon, and I'm going to be sweatier than usual all day.