Preppy: The Life & Death of Samuel Clearwater, Part One
Page 14
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Mirna patted my hand. “It seems things have changed quite a bit for the both of us, haven’t they?”
I glanced at the wall that separated us from him, like I could see him through it, and wondered what game he was playing at. “Yes, it seems they have.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
PREPPY
During the days that Dre was comatose I poured myself into work, determined to have two more Granny Growhouses set up by the end of summer, which was going to be hard, considering the amount of work each one took and I had no one around to help me. Work was all I did. Well, and I watched some porn.
And then there was that wee bit of blow I did.
While watching porn.
And the smidge of weed I smoked.
With that waitress from Presto’s who takes it up the ass like it’s her fucking job.
I motherfucking digress.
While Dre went through her withdrawals as a vegetable, I checked in on Mirna like usual. She did manage to have a few moments of clarity, but most of the time she was back to thinking she was in her twenties and waiting for her husband to get home from the war.
During one of her clearer times she talked about Dre, and it was obvious that she adored her granddaughter, smiling and laughing while telling me stories of her devilish childhood, where apparently Dre had spent a lot of time breaking shit. There was even love in her voice when Mirna told me that she’d received cancelled checks back from the bank in the mail to the tune of $1,700. All made out to cash. All forged. She’d closed the account, but it wasn’t until Dre showed up that she knew who was behind it.
I wasn’t exactly in a place to reprimand someone for their life choices, but ripping off her own grandmother made me so pissed, I was surprised that when Dre woke up that I hadn’t immediately grabbed her by the throat and pushed her out the door.
Shit, if Mirna hadn’t come in and been with it, I just might have.
I made a mental note to look into getting a trustee set up for Mirna’s finances so there was no chance of anyone ripping her off while her condition continued to get worse. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be living on her own anymore.
“Why didn’t I get on that bus?” Dre asked from behind me. I turned to find her standing next to the table, her hands fighting with the sash of the robe that swallowed her small frame in billowing white cotton. Her long black hair was wild around her face. Her deep-brown eyes burned holes into me as she waited for me to answer.
I turned my attention back to the stove where I’d burnt yet another pancake. “Motherfucker.” I tossed it into the trash bin and started over again, pouring a ladle of batter onto the hot pan. “Seriously, is this making pancake business some sort of holy magic? Do I need a wand and a Harry Potter spell?” I grumbled. “Maybe there is something wrong with this stove.” I adjusted the heat setting and again read the side of the box of mix to make sure I didn’t do something to it that somehow made the magical pancakes flammable, almost instantly burning. “Where’s Mirna?” I asked, ignoring her question and flipping my newest attempt which landed on the side of the pan, batter splattered on the burner with a hiss.
“She’s laying down for a while.”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed, pointing at her with my spatula. “It will give us a chance to have a little breakfast, a little chat, and a little bit of threatening. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I pulled out a chair from the little dinette table and made a grand sweeping gesture with the spatula for her to take a seat.
Her eyes darted to the chair, but she didn’t move.
“Sit down,” I repeated. “It’s not a suggestion,” I warned. She came forward, hesitantly. I pushed in her chair with a little more force than necessary, pushing her legs out from under her, causing her ass to plunk down hard onto the seat. I leaned over her shoulder. “Now was that so hard?” I whispered against her neck. Her shiver gave me a deep satisfaction I felt all the way down to my toes.
I made my way back over to the stove and looked over the sad stack of six, lopsided, half-burnt pancakes that looked more like the sad survivors of the pancake apocalypse than breakfast.
I took off Mirna’s “Kiss the cock” apron that used to say “Kiss the cook” but with one little swipe of a permanent marker, I had made it way more my speed. I set the stack of zombie pancakes in the center of the table and took the seat next to Dre. I placed a small stack in front of her and the rest I took for myself, pouring syrup over both plates. “Okay, now we can talk,” I announced, taking a bite of what tasted more like baking powder and foot than fluffy delicious pancakes.
“You want to know why you’re here? Right? You’re here because one of your buddies decided to dose you full of heroin, drag you across the parking lot into some shit bag motel, and play hide the salami while you drooled all over yourself.” I turned my head and opened my mouth to mimic her facial expression.
She winced.
“Truth fucking hurts, Doc.” I shoved more of the awful tasting pancakes in my mouth, and I knew exactly what they tasted like. Failure.
“Doc?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, like Dr. Dre. Remember? Or do we have to start at the beginning again? Okay, lets do this. I’m Samuel Clearwater, my friends call me Preppy.”
“I remember,” she said, her pancakes remaining untouched.
“Anyway, saw what was happening and went and…retrieved you. Brought you back to Mirna’s ’cause she’s a nurse. Even when she’s a little out of it, she still remembers her training. Didn’t know you were her granddaughter,” I said, speaking with my mouth full. If I didn’t hate wasting food so much I’d have spit it out, but instead I swallowed hard and chugged my orange juice.
“You could have just left me there,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I could of.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I stabbed my fork into another piece. I held it up and examined the food on my fork. I glanced up at Dre’s doll-like eyes that were as black as her hair. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”
“Hospitals tend to ask a fuck of a lot of questions when you bring in a girl who’s doped up on H.”
“Why would questions be a bad thing when you’re the one who saved me.”
I glanced at the wall that separated us from him, like I could see him through it, and wondered what game he was playing at. “Yes, it seems they have.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
PREPPY
During the days that Dre was comatose I poured myself into work, determined to have two more Granny Growhouses set up by the end of summer, which was going to be hard, considering the amount of work each one took and I had no one around to help me. Work was all I did. Well, and I watched some porn.
And then there was that wee bit of blow I did.
While watching porn.
And the smidge of weed I smoked.
With that waitress from Presto’s who takes it up the ass like it’s her fucking job.
I motherfucking digress.
While Dre went through her withdrawals as a vegetable, I checked in on Mirna like usual. She did manage to have a few moments of clarity, but most of the time she was back to thinking she was in her twenties and waiting for her husband to get home from the war.
During one of her clearer times she talked about Dre, and it was obvious that she adored her granddaughter, smiling and laughing while telling me stories of her devilish childhood, where apparently Dre had spent a lot of time breaking shit. There was even love in her voice when Mirna told me that she’d received cancelled checks back from the bank in the mail to the tune of $1,700. All made out to cash. All forged. She’d closed the account, but it wasn’t until Dre showed up that she knew who was behind it.
I wasn’t exactly in a place to reprimand someone for their life choices, but ripping off her own grandmother made me so pissed, I was surprised that when Dre woke up that I hadn’t immediately grabbed her by the throat and pushed her out the door.
Shit, if Mirna hadn’t come in and been with it, I just might have.
I made a mental note to look into getting a trustee set up for Mirna’s finances so there was no chance of anyone ripping her off while her condition continued to get worse. Fuck, she shouldn’t even be living on her own anymore.
“Why didn’t I get on that bus?” Dre asked from behind me. I turned to find her standing next to the table, her hands fighting with the sash of the robe that swallowed her small frame in billowing white cotton. Her long black hair was wild around her face. Her deep-brown eyes burned holes into me as she waited for me to answer.
I turned my attention back to the stove where I’d burnt yet another pancake. “Motherfucker.” I tossed it into the trash bin and started over again, pouring a ladle of batter onto the hot pan. “Seriously, is this making pancake business some sort of holy magic? Do I need a wand and a Harry Potter spell?” I grumbled. “Maybe there is something wrong with this stove.” I adjusted the heat setting and again read the side of the box of mix to make sure I didn’t do something to it that somehow made the magical pancakes flammable, almost instantly burning. “Where’s Mirna?” I asked, ignoring her question and flipping my newest attempt which landed on the side of the pan, batter splattered on the burner with a hiss.
“She’s laying down for a while.”
“Excellent!” I exclaimed, pointing at her with my spatula. “It will give us a chance to have a little breakfast, a little chat, and a little bit of threatening. Doesn’t that sound nice?” I pulled out a chair from the little dinette table and made a grand sweeping gesture with the spatula for her to take a seat.
Her eyes darted to the chair, but she didn’t move.
“Sit down,” I repeated. “It’s not a suggestion,” I warned. She came forward, hesitantly. I pushed in her chair with a little more force than necessary, pushing her legs out from under her, causing her ass to plunk down hard onto the seat. I leaned over her shoulder. “Now was that so hard?” I whispered against her neck. Her shiver gave me a deep satisfaction I felt all the way down to my toes.
I made my way back over to the stove and looked over the sad stack of six, lopsided, half-burnt pancakes that looked more like the sad survivors of the pancake apocalypse than breakfast.
I took off Mirna’s “Kiss the cock” apron that used to say “Kiss the cook” but with one little swipe of a permanent marker, I had made it way more my speed. I set the stack of zombie pancakes in the center of the table and took the seat next to Dre. I placed a small stack in front of her and the rest I took for myself, pouring syrup over both plates. “Okay, now we can talk,” I announced, taking a bite of what tasted more like baking powder and foot than fluffy delicious pancakes.
“You want to know why you’re here? Right? You’re here because one of your buddies decided to dose you full of heroin, drag you across the parking lot into some shit bag motel, and play hide the salami while you drooled all over yourself.” I turned my head and opened my mouth to mimic her facial expression.
She winced.
“Truth fucking hurts, Doc.” I shoved more of the awful tasting pancakes in my mouth, and I knew exactly what they tasted like. Failure.
“Doc?” She wrinkled her nose.
“Yeah, like Dr. Dre. Remember? Or do we have to start at the beginning again? Okay, lets do this. I’m Samuel Clearwater, my friends call me Preppy.”
“I remember,” she said, her pancakes remaining untouched.
“Anyway, saw what was happening and went and…retrieved you. Brought you back to Mirna’s ’cause she’s a nurse. Even when she’s a little out of it, she still remembers her training. Didn’t know you were her granddaughter,” I said, speaking with my mouth full. If I didn’t hate wasting food so much I’d have spit it out, but instead I swallowed hard and chugged my orange juice.
“You could have just left me there,” she pointed out.
“Yeah, I could of.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I stabbed my fork into another piece. I held it up and examined the food on my fork. I glanced up at Dre’s doll-like eyes that were as black as her hair. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?”
“Hospitals tend to ask a fuck of a lot of questions when you bring in a girl who’s doped up on H.”
“Why would questions be a bad thing when you’re the one who saved me.”
