Toe Tags 2: Wherein Lisa Gets Squashed

Now available, Toe Tags 2: Blood & Bizarro edited by William Pauley III & Brian Barnett. I'm proud to be included with fantastic writers such as Kevil Shamel, Suzie Bradshaw, Lee Hughes, Laura Eno, Andersen Prunty, Jordan Krall, David W Barbee, Steve Lowe, Garrett Calcaterra, John F.D. Taff, J. Travis Grundon, Alan Spencer, Joey Froehlich, Brian Barnett and William Pauley III.

My story, Lisa Got Squashed, holds my record for number of full rewrites at the big 40. That's FOUR-ZERO. Lots. It's my baby. My poor strange, squashed baby. Here's a sample:

***

"Kid, you’re forgetting, she went insane. Cuckoo. Checked out to La La land. And in the land of crazy clowns and roving daisies, there's a big difference between squish, squash, and smoosh."

"So why'd she go insane?" Jordan asked.

Derek finished off his beer. "You liked my party, kid?"

Jordan flinched at the change in Derek’s voice. He nodded and shrugged simultaneously, unsure of what to reply.

"Sure as hell you did.” Derek’s voice deepened. "How did she go insane, you ask?" He tightened his grip on the bottle, stood up, and smashed it on the barbeque grill.

“Woah!” Jordan stood, knocking over his lawn chair.

“Where you going, buddy?” Derek lifted the sharp edge of the broken bottle. “Get back here.”

Jordan limped towards his pickup. He felt Derek’s big hand grab his shirt; yank him backwards. "You’re not going anywhere yet."

"I wasn't going..." Jordan’s eyes grew huge when Derek brought the glass close to his face.

"Just shut up, kid." Derek screwed up his face like he had just gotten a whiff of his own breath. "Lisa went insane, the way we all go insane. Someone hurts you, hurts you real bad. We all have our ways of coping. Some choose drugs, women, smoking, some..." He tilted the bottleneck head down, like he was guzzling. "Booze. Lisa chose schitzo. In the end," Derek’s pupils expanded, "the pain always comes back to get you."

They stood there.

Eye to eye.

Silent.

Jordan finally adverted his gaze and willed himself not to piss his pants.

Derek let loose of Jordan’s shirt. Forced a smile. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to frighten you. Why don’t you go have a seat and I’ll fetch you another beer.”

Jordan thought of making another attempt for his pickup, but even if he could make it, what then? His truck wouldn’t make it far on the flat. He glanced at the weapon in Derek’s hand and made a decision. Jordan limped back to the lawn chair, turned it upright, and sat.

"This'll help." Derek handed him a cold one.

"Uh, thanks."

"You see," Derek flipped his sunglasses up. "What caused her to go schitzo is not what's important. What she did about the pain between the reality checks in La La land is what really matters. She took some sharp glass," he held out the razor shard of the bottle, "and she cut her wrists." He made a slicing motion over his own wrists.

Jordan, in the middle of a gulp, choked, and spit beer into the wind. It sprayed back in his face.

Derek twisted his thin lips into a smile. "Kid, get a grip."

Jordan coughed again. He pulled his tank top up and swiped it over his face. "So did she die?”

"No." Derek's voice softened. "Unfortunately, for her, she lived."

 ***