Giving Shit

Friday at Almost 6 p.m.

The high school has a basketball net.
It was the first thought Edward Julian Watson had, when his eyes rested upon the basketballs stuck in the large cage. Edward Julian Watson was in the sports department of the K-Mart.
What Edward Julian Watson really wanted to purchase was a pair of kneepads. He liked to wear them when he scrubbed his white kitchen floor.
So, Edward Julian Watson bought a blue pair of kneepads, along with a basketball. He was the last person to leave the store; an employee, of some-sort, locking the door behind him.
Edward Julian Watson threw the kneepads, towards the couch, when he walked into the front door of his house, and Edward Julian threw on his sneakers, immediately after.
He had not played basketball in a good five years.
Along with his sneakers, Edward Julian Watson also wore a what-the-fuck-does-Larry-Byrd-have-on-me-? attitude, when he ran back out his front door, towards his blue Datsun.

Edward Julian Watson approached the driveway, on South Street, where the high school was located. The driveway leading into the parking lot that only teachers were allowed to park in.
There was a chain along with the tar, breaking up the fence and grass, preventing him from entering school grounds. A big chain, with a big lock. Edward Julian Watson decided to go around the block, to the back of the school, where there was another enterance.
A minute later, Edward Julian Watson was putting his car into park and jumping out. To look at another fence; face puzzled. He sighed. This fence was twice his height.
Perhaps the science geeks have nuclear weapons inside, he thought to himself.
He looked all up and down, side-to-side, along the wire.
And then thought to himself:
What would Larry Byrd do?
Edward Julian Watson went back to his car, to shut it off, sliding the keys into his pants. He made the throw, with the basketball; it landed over the fence. He hauled himself onto the fence, and Edward Julian Watson climbed. Using his elbow, when he was near the top of the fence as a hoist. Small barbs were embedded on the top of this fence, in fact, tearing Edward Julian Watson's shirt. And his elbow. Despite the damage, Edward Julian Watson, did indeed, make it over the fence and onto the ground, without further incident. Edward Julian Watson had long legs, after all. Quite admiral Edward Julian Watson could climb a fence at all, considering he was wearing his work clothes.
Edward Julian Watson was also un-decent, while he had carried himself over and onto high school property. "Fuck....shit....what the fuck....fuck," he sputtered like boiling water.
"That's quite the mouth on you, sonny," said the voice, before Edward Julian Watson noticed the body attached.
.And what a body, he thought, while he chuckled outl loud. Touched his elbow.
"There is a hole in the fence, down beside that bush, you know?" the tanned woman, in pink sweat pants, pointed with one hand; her other holding a can of pop.
Edward Julian Watson chuckled more. "What are you doing here?"
"I run the track. What are you doing here?" she tossed back.
Reaching down, Edward Julian Watson grabbed onto his new basketball, tried to spin in on his finger.
And failed miserably, doing so.
The woman chuckled then, too. "How about some one-on-one?"
"Sure," Edward Julian Watson shrugged. "I am Eddie. Who are you?"
This made the woman laugh more. "I am Kim. It is nice to meet you Edward."
Kim took a drink, from the can of Dr. Pepper.

Giving Shit

Earlier That Day

It was eleven-thirty in the morning. Edward Julian Watson always woke up on Saturdays, at eleven-thirty in the morning.
Edward Julian Watson was in a white bedroom.
It was Edward Julian Watson's bedroom.
Edward Julian Watson had a elbow-ache because he was on the bed, in his white room, and it was a white room because Edward Julian Watson had not painted it. He rubbed his elbow and that is when he noticed he was wearing the same clothes that he had on the night before. Then, he noticed his watch on the pillow beside him.
Edward Julian Watson could taste the grit on his teeth, soured salsa and hamburger.
"I have to go," Edward Julian Watson said, out loud.
"Okay," his body answered him, weary and aching as he upped himself onto his carpeted floor.
Edward Julian Watson always met Bob for lunch, at noon, on Saturdays.

Becki was running through the downtown streets, the same streets she walked everyday to work. They sky was grey and there were bricks everywhere; the building material of a downtown. Trees reached to the skies. She looked down to make sure her white sneakers were still laced. Not that Becki was much of a runner. She would run, only when she woke-up feeling groogy. Only on weekends.
Becki hated running.
But she did love the things she saw on her run, including the outdoor display of lovely and bright red apples, stuck in-between the lemons and the lettuce, at Mr. McGregor's grocery store.
"These apples are of the lovliest red, Mr. McGregor," Becki said to him, when she purchased three of the bright pieces of fruit, and as Mr. McGregor placed them into a clear plastic bag for her.
These lovely and bright red apples helped Becki fall, when she dropped them, not too long after she started running again.
Flat-legged, landing on the sidewalk, Becki grabbed at her ankle, when she heard a voice in front of her question, "Becki? Oh, my God. Are you okay?"
"I think it is my ankle," she said. "These apples tripped me."
"I will save you from those evil apples!" Bob said. "We can take refuge from them in my apartment. It is right here, right above Jenson's, where the brown door is."
And when Becki smiled at him, Bob just jumped right over to her and hoisted her right up over his shoulder.
She was so unprepared for such, she could not help but laugh.
"Bob, put me down," she asked.
And of course, Bob did not put her down, instead carrying her over and through the brown door and up his green stairwell, to his apartment, with the green couch.
And because when Bob, who lacked the skills of the caveman that she called him, went to place her onto his green couch, Bob did not mean to bounce her onto it with such sloppiness. Or have her ankle bounced off the his white tiled floor.
"Becki-", he said.
"It is okay," she said, and nodded at him.
"I will get you some ice," he said.
Okay. Thank you, Bob," Becki replied.
Bob flipped on his stereo, on the way through, to his kitchen

Wohoh, Black Betty, bam-e-lam
Wohoh, Black Betty, bam-e-lam
Black Betty had a baby, bam-e-lam
Black Betty had a baby, bam-e-lam...

came through the speakers and it was not Ram Jam singing.
The knock on the door startled Becki, but the door actually opening startled her more.
"Holy fuck, Bob, I have been waiting for like ten minutes down-" Edward Julain Watson stopped, when he noticed Becki, on the couch, apparently keeping Bob occupied.

Giving Shit

Later That Day

Edward Julian Watson took things for granted.
Edward Julian Watson was on his way home from Saturday lunch, driving in his blue Datsun. The oil light was on, flashing red.
Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought, as he ploughed through the streets.
But the gas station close to home was closed and he did not understand why. The gas station was always open.
So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his blue Datsun home.
And watched the baseball game on the television.


Becki was standing staring at the bank teller. In her yellow skirt.
“I cannot give you advice on this,” John, the man behind the desk, said to her, as he handed her the green folder back; fast.
“Thank you, anyway” Becki smiled up at John.
“You deserve some help,” John replied. "I will call over to the main branch. I am sure they can help clear this up for you."
And Becki smiled at him, again.
But she wondered what it was she was so deserving of this help? She wondered if it was important; whatever she had done? And why was it so deserving, that it deserved this nice man going out of his way for her?
Becki just stood there in front of the bank teller and Becki just plain wondered what she had done.
And she did not hear John clear his throat.
“Are you okay?" John’s voice finally broke through her thoughts.
And Becki smiled at John, one more time, but it was weak.
“I would be, if you could tell me what is the most important thing to be okay about,” she answered, as she handed him back the green folder and added, "You might need this."

The oil light was flashing red still, as Edward Julian Watson pulled his blue Datsun out of his driveway. It was 1:30 at night.
Edward Julian Watson was going to see Becki.
After he parked his car on the stone driveway, and after he had grabbed a few of those stones from the driveway, Edward Julian Watson cut across some grass, to the side of the house, where Becki's window was.
He threw the stones at her window.
But Becki never came to the window. Edward Julian Watson had thrown five stones, so Edward Julian Watson cut back across the grass and he got into his car.
He noticed the flashing red oil light.
Edward Julian Watson would stop at the gas station, close to home, he thought.
But the gas station was still closed.
So, Edward Julian Watson just drove his car home.
And watched the baseball highlights on the television.
Edward Julian Watson had the suspicion that Becki had been home; ignoring him.
Again.

Play Out Our Lives

The yellow bike was everything. When Tommy was four years old, riding across Chapel Park, he had looked down and back, watching his training wheels cut through the grass and molding the dandelions to the earth. Tommy had felt happy, when the weeds did not pop back up.

Now Tommy was six years old and Tommy was racing himself. Up and down the sidewalk, in front of his house.
Where Momma was having the yard sale.
Tommy would switch the gears on the yellow bike often. Tommy liked doing that best. He did not understand why he could pedal backwards and the bike would still go forwards. He felt like he was from a different planet every time he switched the gears, so Tommy would pretend that his skin was green and that he had yellow eyes, to match his yellow bike. Which was really his spaceship.
Tommy was a well-liked alien on the planet Earth because Tommy The Alien could go fast.
Tommy was pedalling fast around the corner, head down, crushing down the sidewalk, up along the side of his house, when a voice shrieked.
"Tommyyy!"
Tommy looked up and he saw Mari-Anne and Todd and Gordie and Grayston, standing on the sidewalk, so Tommy threw his sneakered feet to the ground fast. He almost fell, but did not, when the bike stopped quick, forcing his whole body to be thrown forward.
"You scared me again, Tommy," Mari-Anne snivelled.
Tommy told her to shut-up.
"I don't wanna," came Mari-Anee's high-pitched whine.
"Just shut-up," Tommy said louder, crossing his arms over his chest, standing beside his yellow bike; propping it up with his knee.
When Mari-Anne began to pout, Todd and Gordie and Grayston laughed. "Yeah, shut-up, Mari-Anne," they chorused together.
Mari-Anne was about to cry, the tears just threatening to come over the edge of her lower lids, when the sound of the Dickie-Dee Man's bells came within earshot, and when all the children's heads turned, they found within viewshot, too.
"My mom said she would buy everyone ice cream," Tommy spoke fast, mostly to make sure Mari-Anne did not whine and cry anymore. Tommy was rewarded with a wide smile from the girl, who jumped up and down, along with her blonde pigtails tied in red elastic.
"Yay!" she simply said.
So, Tommy slipped onto his bike, speeding away, with a "Come on!' thrown over his shoulder, to the three that had to walk.
Poor people, Tommy thought. People do not own spaceships.

"No, Tommy," said Momma.
"But I told them you were going to."
"You should not have. I did not say I would buy any children ice cream from the Dickie-Dee Man."
"Momma, I told them-"
"I do not care, Tommy," Momma interrupted him.
Just as Grayston was the first of the walkers to show-up. Mostly because Grayston had chosen to be a runner.
"Because you are going to buy us ice cream; thank-you," spoke Grayston to Momma; ever-always polite with adults.
Momma was tight-lipped, while the children danced around her, as they picked out the ice creams they wanted. $6.75, in quarters, is what she handed the boy with the crooked smile, who was not a man.
Sissy screamed, from the playpen, too hot, despite her soft yellow dress. Too hot from her too wet diaper.
Too hot despite the goddamn tree.
"MOOOMMMMA! MOOOMMMMA!"
Momma bought the rainbow popsicle for her.
But Sissy threw it into the grass, too mad and without reason, when Momma handed her the carefully wrapped in wrapper-ed stick.
Momma only sighed, as she picked up the popsicle. She was picking off the dirt, when she noticed the ants in the playpen.
"Can we go to the park with our ice cream?" Tommy asked, from behind her.
"Yeah," said Momma, without looking at him, but Tommy had turned to go with the others before she spoke, anyway.

A blue car pulled up, rusted fenders; door bottoms. A Ford. The man wore a white shirt. Blue jeans. His gut spilt over.
"That yella bike," he said. "How much fer it?"
Momma looked at the bike.
She looked at the man; his unshaven face. The case of beer, on the backseat of the car.
"Six dollars and seventy-five cents," she kept her voice neutral. Even.
The man looked at her queerly and reached into his back pocket, for his brown wallet.
Black, greased hands touched hers, a silent exchange. The man picked up the bike, tossed carelessly in the grass. He left.
And Momma thought to herself. I have enough.
I have enough for the moving truck.
Diapers for Sissy.
Two bottles of vodka.
And the bike.
Tommy's favorite colour was blue.
And since it was almost four o'clock, Momma decided to pack-up the yard sale.