Somewhere In Between

by Kerry Lambert on October 6, 2012

in FICTION

Gene Davis

1.

Dear Margaret,

Something horrendous has happened to me. I hope you’re sitting down, darling. You may even want to grab a Schlitz (or is it Pabst you’re so fond of?) before reading any further. Friday night I was accosted by a brutal thief. He broke into my condo, through the bathroom window. Glass shattered everywhere, even into the tub. As if the robbery and assault were not enough, I cut my toe showering just this very morning. Yes, I bleed as I write.

I was enjoying a glass of 1999 Cotes du Rhone and just tuning into the Oxygen movie; it’s name I cannot remember due to the trauma I sustained from the terrifying ordeal. I do remember it had that hideous creature Rosanna Arquette in it. You know how I can’t stand her little nose. And as she’s desperately trying to act her way out of a paper bag, I heard a deafening crash.

I don’t know what was worse, the ringing in my ears or the sudden fear that gripped me like a horny escaped convict. I sat frozen in my new Ethan Allen davenport (aubergine with light periwinkle trim and mahogany feet- you’d love it) until there was an eerie silence. After several minutes, my curiosity got the better of me and with the stealthiness of an F-117A Nighthawk (don’t ask me how I know, I might have to kill you), I slinked into the hallway. You should have seen me, darling. I was so smooth I would have made Couversier look like Cisco.

Then, it was then… and grip yourself Margaret because the rest isn’t pretty… I was suddenly grabbed from behind with a violent force worse than a 6.0. Pulled by my hair, I was thrown into my bedroom and onto the surprisingly unpolished wooden floor. I was so appalled by the amount of lint under the bed that I took mental note to fire Pilar in the morning should I survive.

“Where you keep the loot?” I think he said with a monosyllabic grunt. I couldn’t be certain, but I was certain that in addition to not passing the 4th grade, he hadn’t bathed for at least 3 days. (Don’t ask me how I know, I may have to kill you). The stench of this animal before me was painful. As if being pushed onto your unclean floor wasn’t enough, I was overcome with nausea.

“What loot do you speak of?” I replied. I kept my voice firm and loud, to assert my alpha dog status. I was on the floor, indeed. A perfect position for him to smell MY ass. Well, he wasn’t sniffing, and instead kicked me. Yes, kicked me in my abdomen with boots that must have had spurs on them. I shrieked in pain. (You know how it’s beensince the hysterectomy.) He told me to shut up and went back to rifling through my things. Apparently he was in a hurry. In my experience, a job done quickly is a job not done well.

He proceeded to call me names that I cannot bear to repeat, and headed straight for my Queen Anne jewelry chest. It must have been like hitting a jackpot in Vegas because he let out hoots and hollers I’d only heard in the secret game room at Caesar’s and then once in my hotel room but that’s an x-rated story not suitable for children. My children, anyway. Read about it in my posthumous memoirs, darling.

So as I’m curled in the fetal position, grinding my teeth into bone meal from the ungodly pain (it was worse than my dissentary in Africa) I heard this cretin start rifling through my drawers. He’d already filled his little black knapsack with my jewels, including mother’s ruby lariat; I didn’t have a clue as to what more he thought he’d find.. what’s the street value for a Victoria’s Secret Angels bra these days? The thought of this foul creature touching my panties, fingering my stockings, dirtying my brassieres with his fecal-infected fingers eclipsed the pain in my side, so I willed myself a strength I didn’t know I had and rose from the floor like a Phoenix from the flames.

It was beautiful. It was grand. I quickly grabbed my pearl-handled revolver from underneath my velvet pillow and held it steadily in my hands. Once a delicate tulip, I had now become a bounty hunter who’d just cornered America’s Most Wanted.

“Okay, put the shit down, bucko.” I said. Oh Margaret, you should have seen him. If there was ever a moment I wish I had captured with an Instamatic, this was it. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped. He began shaking like my little Peaches after a bath, god rest her soul. I was in control and it felt good, it felt… orgasmic. He mumbled something about being careful or handling this like adults, I don’t remember. His lumbering size must have somehow impeded his vocal abilities because most of what he uttered was unintelligible.

I took a step forward, he- a step back. He dropped the little black knapsack then clumsily fumbled for something in his pocket. What I don’t know. A gun to shoot me with? A watch to check the time? I couldn’t take any risk so I shot him in his leg.

He crashed to the floor and landed with a resounding thud. Jesus, the entire apartment shook, and then he begged me to spare his life. I had become an animal, my dear Margaret. But his pleas got to me and I spared him his life. My goodness would seal my own fate. No sooner had I lost my aim than he pulled out a midnight special and shot me in my Achilles heel of sensitivity. Really, he shot me in my heel.

What transpired after that, my darling, was only the beginning of more madness. There was the police interrogation, the merciless inquiries from the neighbors, and the onslaught of media. I have an interview scheduled with the local television station about “local heroes”. Despite the fame, my sleepless nights have been wrought with nightmares that would frighten Mr. E.A. Poe himself. My doctor has out-sainted Mother Theresa by providing me with several refills of Valium and it is only through these little nuggets of nirvana that I have begun to see through this fog that has forever altered my human existence.

My abdomen is bruised beyond belief and there is a hole in my heel, but these scars are inconsequential compared to those sustained by my soul. I may have endured this with the bravery you have always known me to have, and I still consider myself a cast iron skillet of a girl, but I’m getting older, darling, and more fearful as the days go by. I hope this horrific incident will prompt you to write or call. Or perhaps even drop by. I’d sure love to see the baby. How old is she now?

Love, Your Mother-

Sylvia L. Sexton

2.

Yo Manny-

I’m sure Rico already told you about the old lady and the condo, right? You’re probably in that little 2 by 2 cell of yours laughing it up, or maybe you’re too busy getting it up your culo. Now look who’s laughing! Yeah, it’s me.

So I did you your favor and yeah, ma found out and slapped me into Sunday with her bible and rosary beads. That condo was a goldmine of freaky, bro. That old lady in Toluca Lake was nothing more than a pickled loon with skin so fake baked and wrinkled she looked like a KFC original chicken breast.

La loca leaves her bathroom window wide open kinda like your mouth must be when your cell mate comes in for the night- so it was easy getting in. Speaking of easy, ma’s got a new boyfriend. Some maricon from the church named Wilfredo who looks half retarded. So your buddy Rico lifts me up through the window but that asshole copped a feel on my chocha- yeah you BETTER kick his ass- I almost fell on my face into condo lady’s shower. But I didn’t because I am cool.

So anyways, I get in there and walk straight to her bedroom like nobody’s business. The lady’s on her couch watching some pay-per-view porno and she’s so liquored up on cheap wine- I could smell it all the way from the hallway- that our whole family could set up a meth lab from her bedroom and she’d never know.

So you must wonder, if everything was so smooth, how did she end up getting shot? Well
first all, let’s be straight: I did not do it. It goes like this:I spot one of those jewelry cabinets in the corner of her room. As I get closer to it, I realize it’s the same one ma gave me for my quincenera, you know, the wood one from JCPenney? Well, I’m throwing all her cheap-ass costume jewelry into my backpack when she comes stumbling into the room in a daze. Her eyes are all glazed over, she’s got that creepy after-sex-lots-of-booze look and she flips on the overhead light. I pull some crazy ass Jet Li move and whip around and crouch down behind her bed and bzzt! The light goes out.She says “goddammit” and stumbles back out of the room. I see the bathroom light go on and hear the window shut, then water running. So I walk over to her dresser and open up one of the drawers. And orale ese, it’s like I just hit the fuckin’ jackpot in Vegas. It’s like God wanted me to open that one drawer of all the ones I could open because sitting in there right underneath some crotch-stained polyester panties is a wad of hundred dollar bills. I’m so surprised, I drop my “Hello Kitty” backpack with all her cheap-ass jewelry in it and head for the front door.

But, I freeze in the living room for a second because I see this crazy poodle staring at me. I think “hijo de la chingado, it’s gonna jump me”, you know, sometimes the little ones are scarier than the big ones, and I trip over this velvet pillow. A fuckin’ pillow with the stuffing coming out. The water stops running. I can hear her listening to me.

Then the light goes off in the bathroom. She sounds like some big ol’ lumberjack walking back to her room and I crawl to the door as fast as I can. The weird dog never moves, it doesn’t even follow me with its little beady eyes. I think I’m really lucky. Then, just as my hand reaches for the doorknob, I hear a gunshot go off in the bedroom. Man, I start running so fast from that condo you could only see me if I was shot in slow motion. So, Rico’s waiting for me all slumped down in his brown Impala. I get in the passenger seat and say “Vamos! Apurase!” And he guns it. We head on down Pass Avenue and he asks me what I made out with. I said “Nothin’, pendejo. She didn’t have shit except a bunch of cheap-ass costume jewelry. Who the fuck tipped you guys off?”

He asked me about the gunshot. I said I didn’t know what happened back there. I told him about the weird dog and he just laughed at me like I was stupid. I asked “What?” He said, “That dog was probably stuffed, stupida.” And then we both started laughing. But I didn’t tell him about the cash. He rode my ass about fucking up the job and I just said “Yeah, whatever.”

Well, I made out with 2 grand, Manny. Ma doesn’t know about that. She just thinks I broke into that old lady’s place and even thinks I’m lying about the gunshot part. I told her I swear I don’t know what happened, cuz I don’t. But you know ma. She’ll believe a stranger before she’ll believe either one of us. Rico and his big fuckin’ mouth. So you want something? Better tell me now before I blow it on a pair of Nike’s and a Wii. Oh yeah, and I’m treating little Niko to Disneyland. I’ll be thinking about you when I go on the log ride. Ha ha, yeah, little sis has still got it.

Besos,

La Flaca

Kerry Lambert

Kerry Lambert has written over two decades for television, film, and the internet. Some of her diverse credits include “Time Warp” and “Raging Nature” for the Discovery Channel, “The Secret Life Of…” for Food Network, and “Three Thieves” for The Cooking Channel. She has written about science, nature, filmmaking, fitness, travel, and health – not necessarily together- for a myriad of different websites as well as directed and produced for stage, tv, and film. She is a regular contributor to Shea Magazine and Discover Outdoor Life. She enjoys teaching yoga, running, hiking, and raising two beautiful daughters. For more info on Kerry visit her at http://kerryannlambert.weebly.com or click on the "web" link below.

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