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March 15, 2005
Coming Home from School Pt 4 (final)
I don't know how long we waited. The pool of drool got bigger. I know that.
"Fuck it. Those bastards. Let's go."
"I told you. I knew they'd leave. This is why I hate driving in the city. There are always accidents. No one has insurance. Damned junkies everywhere."
"It's a fucking hit and run now. And I'm going to the police. I have all their information. Idiots!"
The conversation kept going that way all the way to the police station. I was in a haze. I couldn't keep my eyes open. I could barely support my head, but I could still hear them yelling to each other. Neither was listening to what they other had to say, but they took turns talking in each other's direction.
We got to the police station and they dragged me out of the car to speak as a witness for the police report. "He was skinny, right? Tell them he was skinny."
"Yeah, he was skinny."
"Real skinny."
The police didn't seem to interested in how skinny the man was, "So how did you get all this stuff of theirs?"
"They gave it to me."
"Why would they give it to you."
"I don't know. They're idiots."
"But if it was a hit and run..."
"They got out, and gave me this stuff, but then they ran. They hit me and then ran."
"But you exchanged information. They gave you all this."
"Yeah. But I don't know how to reach them. They don't have insurance. The guy didn't have a driver's license."
"Oh. Ok. That's different. We can go ahead and call it a hit and run then."
Peter and my dad left the police station triumphant. "They're going to get it. Those fucking idiots."
"Junkies."
"What were they thinking?"
"They probably have outstanding warrants."
I just crawled into the back of the car, barely able to function, and we drove back to Peter's house. There we had to move everything from Peter's friend's car to my dad's car. "So why was it you took Peter's car?"
"This isn't even my car. It's my friend's."
"Why did you pick me up in your friend's car?"
"Mine is for sale. I didn't want to anything to happen to it."
"Ironic, huh?"
"What?"
"I said, 'that's ironic.' But, Dad, why din't you drive? No we have to move everything from one car to the other."
I guess he didn't think of that because it didn't matter to him. When we got to Peter's house they went in and left me to transfer all my belongings from one car to the other. Peter led my dad through his house offering him the belongings he either didn't want to move or didn't want his newly-divorced ex-wife to have.
When I finished packing the car I walked in on their conversation. "If you take the Magnum and the Ak-47 for a dollar each I can tell her I sold them, then you sell them back back later."
"Sure, I guess. Brian, ever see and AK-47?"
Peter also wanted my dad to take a persian rug. It wasn't too big, about 5x10, but it was heavy for me drugged up as I was. They gave it to me to carry from the third floor of Peter's house down to the car.
I carried it out, fumbling, to the back steps. They were open stairs, as he lived in an apratment on the top floor of a house. The carpet was awkward and I was in an allergy medication haze so bringing it down the stairs was going to be difficult. I could tell that much standing at the top of the stairs.
It was there I came up the an idea. It's just a rug. I can throw it over the side and it won't matter. So, I heaved it over the railing and watched it fall. Then somehow Peter emerged from the stairway.
He was just a step or two ahead of me when I decided to throw it. How did he get down there so fast? "Watch out."
He stopped.
The rug landed on his head.
"Holy shit! What the hell are you thinking?"
"He must have been running down the stairs."
"I wasn't running."
"Are you ok?"
"I'm fine. Idiot."
"Idiot."
This time they were in unison. "Sorry. I'm all messed up with this medication."
"Just get in the car, idiot."
I got in the car and slept, drooling I'm sure, all the way home.
Posted by calculatoronfire at March 15, 2005 10:51 AM