Man goes, again

He had just come up from Key West with a trunk full of mangoes. He talked like Bogey on meth.
“Twenny-four hours straight of driving. You believe that? Twenny. And four. No stops. Ok, maybe two or three. Strictly to piss and gas up. Believe that? Only had one tape. Played the hell out of it…Louder Than Bombs by the Smiths. I never wanna hear Vicar in a Tutu again I’m telling you. Goddamned Morrissey. Willi-aaam, Willi-aam it waaas reeaaaly nothing. Never wanna hear that either. Ever. Some girls are bigger than others. Some girls are bigger than others. Some girls’ mothers are bigger than other girls’ mothers. Haha. I’m sick of it though. All of it. Really. Twenny-four hours straight. You get it. Want a drink? Make a mean daiquiri. Got enough fruit to last me a year. Ok maybe a month, the rate you and I down ‘em. Old man has a mango tree out front. I tell you that? Last time he got pinched by…what’s her name…what’s her name? Come on. What’s the last one that hit Key West? You know all that jazz.”
“Wilma.”
“Right, Wilma. When was that?”
“Oh-Five.”
“Right, Wilma, ‘05. Last time he got hit, my old man, damned hurricane straps gave out and the trailer was blown fifteen yards off the property. Believe that? Into the mango tree out front. Almost took it out, but didn’t. Anyway. Got about forty pounds. Should last me a year. Ok, ok…a month. Wanna drink? Seriously.”
He chopped the concoction inside the blender and told tales of tagging marlin and sailfish out by Bimini with his father, Roddy, and his weird uncle.
“He kept trying to shove his thumb up my ass. Thought it was funny or something. Made a weird noise with his lips every time he tried to do it. You know how those country people are. Anyway. Next time you go out…you goin’ down anytime soon? Well then, if you do go down, soon, next time…take the catamaran from in front of Jilly’s downtown, out to Garden Key in the Tortugas. Go check out Fort Jefferson. Killer snorkeling, besides. Clown fish and all that goddamned tropical junk. Fort Jefferson, you get that? It was originally erected to be the largest fort in the coastal defense system during the Civil War, only the goddamn thing was never attacked and its value to coastal defense was rendered almost useless by the invention of the rifled cannon. After the Civil War, the fort served as a prison for who? For who? You know?”
“For whom.”
“For? Bueller? Bueller? Voodoo Economics. Haha. I love that guy. You know that guy? The red eyes guy. You know him?”
“Ben Stein.”
“That his name?”
“Yea. He was a speechwriter for Nixon.”
“Nixon?”
“Yea.”
“Goddamned rat. Haldeman and that whole crooked crew. No. Seriously. Fort Jefferson. It was a prison for Dr. Samuel A. Mudd. You know him?”
“Yea. That was the guy who set the broken leg of James Wilkes Booth.”
“Assassin extraordinaire of senor President Love Daddy Lincoln. Binga-roni, Trebek! Always knew you had it in ya. Gotta figure out the buzzer though. You know, that’s the key. You know that, right? I mean everybody knows those goddamned questions. Answers. Whatever. It’s the buzzer that’s the bitch. Too early, it locks you out. Too late…well then…too late.”
He chopped up more fruit and went on about Martin, the Haitian doorman downstairs, and how he foiled a DEA bust of some apartment on the 15th floor, by calling up the residents and announcing the imminent “jackbooted fascist bumrush.”
“Black helicopters and all that jazz my brother. For what? For what. Seriously. For a goddamned few ounces of doobie. I’m serious. In the name of Jaja. I swear…Marley must be turning in his grave.”
Sometime around daybreak he disappeared into the other room to fetch another bottle of Myer’s Rum. He was going on about the last one that hit the Keys in ‘30 and how it missed Hemingway by this much.

Micah

“The shittiest and hardest thing is making yourself take a gulp, you know? Swallow the goddamned thing once and for all and get it overwith.”
“Mikey, come on. Come down from there, will ya?”
The boy in the tree shifted his weight and craned his neck up toward the window.
“Goddamit, you can’t see anything from this angle. It’s too goddamned low.”
“Come on Mikey, you’re getting me all nervous. Come down.”
“Listen, Richie Mangano said this girl walks around the house naked all the goddamned time. I’m not missing out on that deal.”
He shifted again and the branch on which he was squatting cracked and gave a little under his weight.
“Jesus, come on Mikey. The fucking tree is…”
“Hold up. I think I see…
“Come on. Come down now. This is illegal anyway. Or perverted, or something. Isn’t it illegal?”
“Oh and since when somebody died and left you head of the moral police, heh? Gestapo. That’s what you are. You prude.”
“I’m just saying…it’s wrong. Like you’re some kind of peeping tom or something…”
“And what the hell’s wrong with that. Who cares. Listen, anyway, as I was trying to tell you before. The bitch of it all is going against the grain and swallowing. You know? ‘Cause the body and the brain don’t want you to do that. They’ll actually hold you back and make it longer. Torture you.”
“Ah shit Mikey, I don’t wanna hear that…”
The boy lowered himself down the peeling, dry bark, scraping his skin.
“Crap,” he said, “couldn’t see nothing. Mangano sucks balls.”
“Forget it, I’m telling you, it’s just perverted.”
“Oh please Mother Fucking Teresa. Lay off will ya? I’m trying to tell you how to drown properly.”
“Come on Mikey…”
“Come nothin’. I’m just telling you in case you ever find yourself up against that shit. You know? Who the hell knows. One moment you’re on a goddamned catamaran, enjoying the hell out of yourself, next thing you know, the bloody thing tips and traps your sappy ass under. Do yourself a favor and just fucking swallow, otherwise you’re prolonging it and making it harder on yourself. But see the catch is, how do you go against your instinct, right? Heh? The fucking survival instinct.”
The boy tapped himself on the sternum and smiled.
“I don’t know Mikey, this…I mean, I hate this…”
“Hey. I didn’t go through this shit for n0thing, you hear me you fucking faggot. What’d I say?”
“Swallow…”
“That’s right. Just swallow. Get it overwith. Overrule your goddamn brain…”
“Mikey, Jesus…”
“Jesus won’t help you in that spot. Swallowing will. You understand? Let the water fill up your lungs.”
“Yea.”
“Do you?”
“Yea, yea.”
“Don’t fucking yea yea. There’s no goddamn light, no goddamn tunnel. There’s none of that shit. That’s just movie bullshit. There’s only you and the water. And the faster you tell your brain to shut the fuck up and swallow, the faster it all ends. You understand?”
The redheaded boy plunged his hands into his pockets.
“Jesus…”
“Yea. Jesus.”
“No, I mean…”
“I know what you mean. Gimme a cigarette will ya?”
“I don’t have any.”
“Oh come on you stingy Sid.”
“That shit’s bad for you anyway.”
“Jesus Christ, I’m fucking drowned three months now, that shit’s bad for me…the moral police, for Chrissakes…”
The redheaded boy laughed and dug out a crumpled pack from his pocket.
“Listen, we gotta get a look at this girl. I’m serious. Richie Mangano said she walks around naked all the time.”
“Oh yea?”
“Yea. And she has the biggest bush. That’s what Richie Mangano says.  Faggot ass perverted peeping tom…”