Luau at the Moloka`i Shores: 7
I made a fist with my left hand and hit Ben in the cheek. He punched me in the eye and I threw another left that struck his forehead. He jammed me into the corner of the cab and put all his weight on me. I couldn't move. I squirmed and pulled the lever on the driver's door—the door opened and we tumbled out. My head hit asphalt. Ben stayed on top of me and pinned my shoulders and arms against the road. I jerked my hips trying to buck him off.
"Quit fighting," he said, "you sonuvabitch!"
He wrapped his hands around my throat. I freed my left hand and hooked him hard to the belly. He gasped and rolled off just as lights cut through the papaya plantation. A car was coming. Heels clicked over the road and Gramma blinded me with her flashlight.
"Whacha keeds doin'?" she asked.
Ben popped up. "Nothing."
"Notting, mah foot," Gramma replied. "Now flag this driver down."
I got to my knees and stood. Something barreled around the curve and lit up the road. The lights were low on its frame and spaced far apart. Its paint shimmered in the moonlight and a chill went through my body thinking it was Rocky's Falcon. But then came a familiar rumble. "Chipper,"I waved, "it's Uncle Chipper!"
"I'll be a monkey's uncle," Gramma said.
The Impala pulled over and idled. Chipper rolled down the driver's side window. "Miss me?" he asked.
"Like the bloody plague," Gramma answered.
"Wot's the pilikia?"
"Blew mah fuse."
Chipper nodded. He smelled like whiskey. "Ride mah tail home, Brownie," he said, "follow me close."
"You okay, Uncle Chipper?" I asked.
We got back in the Scout and Gramma fired it up. She hugged the Impala's bumper and kept our emergency lights flashing. She followed him on straightaways, around curves, and through dips. Gramma banged my knee with the shifter going from second to third.
I didn't say a word on the ride. Neither did Ben. I was sure Gramma knew something was wrong but she was concentrating on getting us home. My eye was swelling and I had trouble swallowing. I hated Ben. He was desperate to find someone to love and his desperation had turned him mean.
I wished he'd never been born.
* * *
Author's notes: Jeffrey and Ben speak both English and pidgin English. They use pidgin English whenever the mood strikes them.
|© Copyright 2006 Kirby Wright & Trout.|
|This issue of Trout is sponsored in part by UNESCO.|