Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

40 - IT’S THAT FAMOUS FINAL SCENE

In the satin-lined haven of Fanny’s bedroom, we stood vigil.  Gassy squeaks erupted as she was seized in bouts of flatulence.

Even in the dim light it was easy to see perspiration glistening on the doctor’s forehead.  He had tears in his eyes.  (I assumed the tears was because my Great-Granny meant so much to him.)  I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not when he announced:  “May I have your attention, please.  Everyone is advised to extinguish all cigarettes, cigars and candles.”

An aroma of bleach hung over the room like a vapory blanket.  Apparently too overcome with emotion, Lars was nowhere to be seen; I guessed he was off somewhere faithfully washing out an enema bag.

“Hallelujah!”  Brother Hickpacker busted into the room and fell to his knees beside my ailing Great-Granny.  He immediately laid his hands upon her, and after firmly pushing the turban and platinum curls back on her head, he began uttering words of mystical comfort.  His hands massaged the jeweled rings on her tangled fingers.

Suddenly Fanny’s eyes opened wide, and she looked fiercely at the kneeling, inspirational helper by her side.

“Get away from me!”

Brother Hickpacker recoiled as if physically struck by the surprisingly forceful voice emanating from the old hag.

Fanny raised a gnarly hand over her eyes as though she was shading them from a bright light, a bright light the rest of us could not see.

“You, up there.  Be sure you get enough filter on that goddamn light this time.  I’m supposed to be a dying little girl, for God’s sake.  Last picture you made me look like Mary Pickford’s grandmother.  Feh!  Now move your ass and get some filter on that light.  What are you all standing around for?  Move it.  And where’s that ukulele plucker?  We got movies to make here.  Awwww, the whole bunch of you stink, you hear me?  You all stink.  You’d all be selling pencils on the street if it wasn’t for me.  Hey, where’s my cocktail?  Somebody get me a drink.  Acting?  You call this acting?  Feh, I’ve got to act to keep from puking when I French that little fruit-fly.”

Fanny seemed to be looking right past all of us, as her demented drama unfolded invisibly before our eyes.  “And you guys, what’s with all the white robes?  You extras from Birth of a Nation?”

Dumbfounded, we watched Fanny’s hand limply fall at her side while she strained to see something far beyond the walls of the room itself.

We all jumped when she bolted upright and yelped at her final curtain, “Wait, I know you!  You’re…you’re…hoooleee shiiiiiiit!”

With one final gassy blast the old hellcat gave up the ghost.

I restrained the strange urge to start applauding, and simply stared in reverent silence at the inert remains.  The room’s dead silence didn’t last long, as Lars came prancing in, fondling some papers in his hands, and singing out loud, “Jou can call her lawjer now, jou can call her lawjer now!

Popular posts from this blog

Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

  7 - THE CHASE IS OFF There I was, briefly enjoying a spell of peace and quiet while Little Billy laid out in that ditch with his one eye open for passing buzzards when, off the highway, there comes this beat-up Chevy kicking up a big ol’ cloud of dust.   The car circled around once and then skidded to a stop in front of my personal mobile home. Unlike Little Billy, both of my eyes was now wide open, which was not an easy accomplishment considering all the dust floating through the air.   I watched with curious interest as this sweaty feller all duded up in a pink shirt and pale blue pants and white shoes with matching white belt stepped out of his vehicle.   This stranger had the air of a man who’d found a fashion statement and was determined to keep it. “Howdy, sir,” he glad-handed me.   “The name’s Chase, Abel Chase, attorney-at-law, here to service your every legalistic need.”   He shoved his business card in my hand. Abel P. Chase, Esq. (Jr...
Read more

Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

  59 - TO BOLDLY GO WHERE MANY MEN HAVE GONE BEFORE   It was the coldness that brought her around, forcing lids to open despite the heavily mashed mascara mixed with a tequila and cheese crust.   Within seconds she realized her eyes were the only part of her body she was able to move, and she was also aware of her nakedness against an icy metal table. Shadows moved in front of bright lights.   Dark shapes surrounded her.   Then a face leaned in close.   Large, black, football-shaped eyes stared down at her.   She stared back, unable to scream.   The truth was she really didn’t feel like screaming; nothing about this felt unnatural to her; she’d been raised on this stuff. Then a more familiar face leaned in, a familiar face from her past. It was Flouncing-Walk.   And there was Fuchsia-Feather and Butter-Fist.   They were all here, all The Mary Men who’d disappeared on that night so long ago.   And they hadn’t changed a bit. ...
Read more

Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

  65 - MY FIRST STAFF MEETIN’ My cab pulled up in front of an old pool hall.   “Hey, what’s this?” I shouted at the back of the cab driver’s turban.   “I said I wanna go to Broken Heart Park, Inc.” “You are most definitely here, sir,” the cabbie pointed to the building.   “You will notice over there by the little door between the pool hall establishment and the Kit Kat Klub?   That’s the entrance that leads to the offices you desire.   That will be $7.50 before tip, please sir, thank you very much.” I handed him a ten.   As I waited for my change I checked around.   This was not what I expected.   Broken Heart Park may not be much to look at, but it sure beat the hell outta this dump.   I pocketed my change and headed toward my destiny. The building’s door stuck a little, so I pushed it open with a hard nudge from my shoulder.   As the door dragged across the floor I got dust all over Dookie’s pretty orange shirt, and I ho...
Read more