Dirty One
Michael Graves
Published by Chelsea Station Editions at Smashwords
New York
copyright © 2011 by Michael Graves
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review where appropriate credit is given; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, recording, or other—without specific written permission from the publisher.
All of the names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover and book design by Peachboy Distillery & Design
Published by Chelsea Station Editions
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New York, NY 10018
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Print ISBN: 978-0-9832851-0-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011930426
Some of the stories in this work were originally published, some in different versions, in the following: “Curls and Curls” in Velvet Mafia, “Dirty One” in Eclectica Magazine and Eclectica Magazine's Best Fiction Volume One, “Do It” in Cherry Bleeds, “From Kissing” in Best Gay Love Stories 2006 and Lodestar Quarterly and “Seahorse” in Cool Thing and Velvet Mafia.
Thanks To…
Scott, my husband, my heart, my everything. These words are so precious to me. I happily give them to you. I love you more than I could ever describe. Thank you for taking me. You are my whole galaxy.
My mother and father. Thanks for allowing me to be an odd duck. I love you.
My sister, and best friend, Tina…the ancient queen.
My brother, Tim…thanks for being in “Comb City.”
Maureen, Bobby, Dan and Steve: Thanks for welcoming me into your family. You all make me so happy.
Many thanks to my friends. Buki Papillion: My bestest girl in crime. I love you, twin. Mary D…I love you, mommy. Kim: K.A.M.? You’re an astounding pal. G. Andrew Collins…I’m so blessed that you’re in my life.
To my best teacher, Michael Lowenthal. Thank you for your unwavering kindness. And thank you for belief in me. I believe in you too.
To my mentors: Laurie Foos (you’re a starlet and my literary mom—“Stand Back”—I love you), Elizabeth Graver (let’s never light a kitchen on fire again), Steven Cramer (thanks for saying, “You’re the real deal.”), Doug Anderson (you were correct, some writers are total assholes), Mr. Ira Silverberg (you’re an inspiration and I thank you very much for giving me your time) and Sam Cornish (thanks for telling me what to do and for urging me to always keep writing).
“Badness is only spoiled goodness.”
—C.S. Lewis
I am not…
A) Black.
B) Good at Donkey Kong.
C) Living at the Argyle Hotel any longer.
D) A stick like my sixteen year old brother, Timmy.
E) Jewish.
F) Afraid of Gargamel.
G) Sure if I’ll find any cool friends around here.
I’m Philip Winston. I’m almost eight. I have blonde hair, I have two birthmarks on my arm, I have a loose tooth I can twist around all the way. Since the start of summer, we’ve been living in Massachusetts (which is hard to spell because of the double S’s and twin T’s). Our new house is in a town called Leominster (sounds like Lemon-stir). Just so you know…it’s not that great. It’s not that rad to me. But my father needed to leave California.
Today is Saturday and I’m watching TV, chugging on Tang. The Smurfs is almost over. It’s the one where evil Gargamel creates Smurfette. He brews a potion of crocodile tears and bird brains. His cat, Azreal, helps too. They send Smurfette to the village, hoping she’ll destroy everything. But Papa Smurf discovers Gargamel’s plan. He saves her with ‘plastic smurfery’ and, in the end, they all start to sing their La La song.
A thousand Chinese names cover the fingerprinted screen.
After a Fruit Roll-Up, maybe I’ll try to find those Smurfs.
=o=
I like…
A) Those boxes of french fries you can heat up in the microwave.
B) Playing house with Jenn Carr in the hotel lounge.
C) Summer vacation.
D) Being the monkey in the middle.
E) Making scary faces at the people who take my dad’s picture.
F) Snap Pops.
G) Hugging my Hefty Smurf figures.
Now I’m bored, though. There’s nothing left to do here. My brother’s at the mall and I can’t find any cartoons on cable. It’s hot, but we don’t have a pool (like a real one, not those dumb baby kinds).
I decide to go looking for their village. I sneak through the backyard, jumping over booby traps and trip wires.
Bet you didn’t know… but I’m an expert on the Smurfs. Once, my father called a man named Big Wig and he sent every episode to our suite. So I know almost all of them are blue. I know they live in a big secret mushroom patch. I know Azreal is always lurking, I know Brainy is a jerk, I know Papa is 543 years old.
As I search bushes and weeds, I hear Jokey Smurf laughing.
“Afternoon, Phil.”
It’s my dad. He stands on the banking. He wears a plastic jumpsuit, sunglasses, and his favorite hat from Burberry. Dad carries a large green can while he sprays each apple tree. I can still see the new stitches on his neck. My father looks like an alien, I think (close to the one from that space movie he did).
“How’s you cuts, dad?”
He shrugs. “Fantastic, Phil. I told you before. Just a few incisions here and there. Ten years gone.”
“Okay then.”
“In a few weeks, you’ll see. Sure, I look like somewhat of a ghoul now, but at least no one from the studios can see my recovery.”
“Well, I can see you.”
My dad looks like he’s frowning on the inside. “What are you doing anyway?” he asks.
“I’m not doing anything,” I tell him.
“Looks like you’re up to something. Did you get your beauty rest last night?”
“Not so much. I unpacked my room, though.”
“If you don’t sleep you’ll go bonkers, pal. Why can’t you get any Z’s?”
I give him a nasty face. “Aint my fault.”
“And did you do your jumping jacks today?”
“Yes.” I’m white-lying.
“Good. It’d be nice if you lost some of that gut.”
I can see that metal discs are tied to the tree branches. They’re swinging, shining and hurting my eyes. So I blink a lot. “What are those thingys?” I ask and point.
“They’re pie pans. They keep those damn birds away. I guess the light scares them. Mr. Tremaine from across the way told me about it. Thought I’d give them a try.” He sprays more.
In my head, I think, “That looks silly.” But I just tell my dad, “Oh.”
He says, “We’ll have the best trees in town.”
“Why you wetting ‘em?”
“This stuff… it’s poison. Gets rid of the bugs that munch on apples.”
“But we don’t have any apples.”
“Not yet. But soon. Bugs will eat the leaves too.”
“Well, kill ‘em all,” I say, “Because I hate bugs.”
He squirts a few leaves with white liquid. Dad says, “That kid Lee came over. But I told him to come back later. I know you’ll have a tantrum if anyone comes between you and your toons. Why don’t you go find him, pal? Lee wants to be your friend.”
Just so you know… Timmy says that Lee’s mother must be an alcoholic.
I tell my dad, “Lee’s always spying on me. I don’t want to play with him.”
My dad sprays more. “Then what’s your plan, Phil?” He sounds like he could be a little mad.
“I’m looking for mushrooms.”
“They’re not the kind from restaurants. They’re not the kind from the Ivy. If you eat them, you’ll have to go to the hospital and get your stomach pumped. It’ll hurt probably and the photogs will be there,” he says, all snappy.
I Kung Fu kick the brownish lawn. “I’m not going to eat them. I’m trying to find the Smurfs.”
“They’re not real, Phil. We already talked about this, maybe a million times, back in California.”
“Like you know.”
“Don’t get smart.”
Climbing the hill, I dodge deep quicksand. “Dad?”
“Don’t come too close.”
My father drops the can. He shakes off his gloves and slow-pokes over to me. “Go find something to do, Phil.”
I give him a meaner look.
“What’s up your crack? None of those faces.”
In my brain, I say, “I miss Jenn Carr.” In my mind, I say, “I miss Mr. Shaw and his multiple choice pop quizzes.” In my head, I yell, “I’d go to sleep if I could ride in mommy’s limo at night like I always did!” In real life, I just sort of tell my dad, “I hate it here.”