eagle, flying through snow filled grand mountains.
It was lunchtime when he woke up. His Grandma had cooked his favorite,
liver with guacamole, and a side of black beans. They sat at the kitchen
table, Marty with bib, slopping down massive gobbles, feeding the fat. His
Grandma nibbled on some dried peaches, and drank a Bloody Mary, using a
pickle to swirl the mixture up.
"You're a good boy Marty, but you need to eat slower, I've told you so
many times. If you lost a little weight maybe Jenny Berlap would go on a date
Marty looked up from his plate with hatred in his eyes.
"I dun told you, the birds are my girl date."
"Marty, birds are fine and all, but a man of your age needs a women."
"I wish you'd shut up Grandma."
"What have I told you about that mouth! What boy!" his Grandma yelled,
throwing her Bloody Mary in his face, pickle bouncing off his nose.
"Auuuuhhhhhggggg, noooooo!" Marty bellowed.
"Come here you little ungrateful shit, were going to wash that rude mouth
out with soap again," his Grandma said, grabbing him by the arm and leading
him to the bathroom.
"Now you stand here for half an hour and stare in the mirror, so you know
what a rude boy looks like," she said, sticking a bar of soap in his mouth.
Marty stood in front of the mirror staring at himself, sobbing sniffles.
His Grandma went in the living room, put an old bluegrass album on the record
player, and danced around with another Bloody Mary in hand.
Marty took the soap out of his mouth after about five minutes, and
managed to sneak by his dancing Grandma, to his room. He grabbed his
binoculars, all the money from his piggy bank, a favorite book of birds, and
scribbled a note to his Grandma in crayon. "Stupeed Bitche!" the note read.
He hobbled out the front door quietly, heading for the bus stop. His
saliva tasted like salty liver and soap. He had taken the bus many times with
Grandma to market, but never by himself. He paid his fair, and sat staring
out the bus window with his binoculars. He decided to get off the