Mulegrinder
12-19-2014, 11:55 PM
Hey Community,
This is a story a wrote in 2010. I decided to pick it up again and start editing it down. Please post your comments and advice.
Thank you for your time,
Mulegrinder
Spence
“Miiiilk!” I cried. I rubbed his nipple. I rolled him onto his back. “Miiiilk!” I cried again. I licked the area. A wisp of grey hair coiled around my tongue. I inhaled through my nose the smells of the forest. Hints of dirt, torn green leaves, and autumn leaf litter filled my nose.
For the last two weeks I have tried to milk my dog. Spencer is a boy, but there have been reports of male humans producing milk, and I was inspired to at least try. The Internet says that with repeated stimulation mammals without immediate offspring can be “tricked” into producing a nutrient thick milk.
There was a knock on my bedroom door. “Eepple, do you want eggs and bacon?” My mom asked.
I took my mouth off his breast. “Cereal with milk,” I replied. I walked to the nightstand and pulled a cigarette from its pack. It reminded me of Nicole before she had to go away. I smoked my first cigarette with her. “Spencer. Come.” I opened the balcony door, and we stepped outside. I selected the unsnowed-upon spots to place my socked steps. I inserted my hand into my pocket. I blew on the earpiece of my cell phone. I called Nicole. She didn’t pick up. I put down my cigarette and looked down at Spence. “Boobies, boobies, boobies.” My voice sounds nothing like Justin Beiber, but it’s his beat.
Spencer propped his broad head on my knee. His breath smelled like cold coffee and sweat. I couldn’t stop the smile from breaking my mouth open. I bit the base of his ear and felt the rubbery shift and slide of his pulse. “It’s just you and me, Spence. For fun things, I mean.”
I was looking at my mom from the doorway of the kitchen. She thrust her hand into the open side of the turkey and came out with a piece of neck. I leveled my head with my waist and charged, yelling, “Aarrggg” all the way. I charged until my head reached the bottom of my mom’s butt cheeks. I reached for her thighs. “Momma, do you think I could fit my whole head in your butt?” I asked, still down there.
“Oh, hi.” She tossed the neck of the turkey into the sink. “Can you vacuum the slate in front of the fireplace before company comes?” She turned to me.
“What attachment should I use,” I replied.
Mom sat down at the table and I joined her to eat my Fruit Loops.
When our family arrived I was still in my underwear. When I’m scared what’s to come I dress at the last minute.
I didn’t shave but showered and got dressed.
I got a rubber band out my desk and walked into the living room. As soon as I joined everyone I wanted to run back into my room. That wasn’t an option though, because it would be rude and inappropriate. It was Thanksgiving Day, but for some reason they were already talking about Christmas.
My grandma said, “we had it in Paramus last year.”
“Well you guys could come here Christmas Day,” my dad responded.
I wrapped the rubber band around my fingering finger as tight as I could. “Dad,” I said. My finger was turning red. “Can we celebrate Hanukah this year?”
My father took a sip of his merlot. “I’m gonna sodomize you boy.”
It was true. We were never going to celebrate Hanukah. It was all so true. I tied the bottom of my shirt with the rubber band, forcing the cloth to knot mid-stomach. I was born in the eighties, but I was too young to dress myself in the contemporary styles of the time.
When dad moved in, Nicole moved out. I was wet with tears many nights because Nicole and I were the best brother-sister buddies you ever saw. Nicole told me she’d come back for me some time after she was ready to commit. I stopped waiting for her when she stopped responding to my Facebook messages. I still keep her picture on the spare pillow of my bed. She looks so pretty because she was taking diet pills that made her legs took like pretzels. When you combine the size of her legs with her tanned skin and salt taste—I guess I really miss her. But, dad’s not so bad. He goes to the river with me, and we keep the trout we catch. We blow leaves together too.
My cousin, Lara, undid the knot, and my shirt fell free. She looked like a monster that escaped a car explosion. “I’m taking this,” she said, putting the rubber band in her jacket pocket. She jerked her hand out. Her finger bled.
“Does your pocket have its period,” I said. I knew it was a ***** thing to say, but she was a girl, and girls remind me of Nicole, and Nicole used to come to me crying about cramps.
Lara bit her finger. I bit my finger. “Come on I’ll get you a band-aid,” I said, leading her into the bathroom. I reached for a band-aid. Lara was facing the other direction.
“Why do you wanna celebrate Hanukah, Eepple?”
I pulled the band-aid from the package. “Why are you facing the wall, Lara?”
Lara folded her arms. “Don’t like mirrors. Stay the frig away from mirrors.”
I bandaged her finger. I kissed it like a mommy. “Our mirror won’t hurt you, Lara. We’re Jewish. Dad doesn’t want anybody to know. I like your shirt. Is that a dragon or gryphon?”
Lara stretched her shirt tight. She smiled. “It’s an eagle, bird, or something. I don’t know.”
The dog jogged in.
“Spence! Hey champ. What are you doin champ? High five, Spence.” He gave me his paw. I scraped some dirt off his nail and bit his thigh.
Lara laughed. “Let’s get beer,” she said motioning towards the other room.
I picked up Spencer and walked to the kitchen. A spiral ham rested in its pan on the counter. I kissed Spencer’s head and let him go. My hand touched the brown, caramelized crust of the ham.
Mom kissed the back of my head. “Are you gonna want horseradish?”
“Um. Uh huh.” I peeled a piece off and it burnt the roof of my mouth.
Warren passed by and threw a plastic cup in the trash. “Jews don’t eat pig. You’re gonna melt.”
“Um,” I said, pulling another piece of meat off. “I’m a pretty orchid. I am whoever I want.”
“That’s right Eepple,” my mom interjected. “All you need is a little urethane and we could put you in a vase.”
“Thanks momma,” I said.
My cousin Warren doesn’t think I’m so pretty. He said, “You’re pretty ****ing strange. That’s about it.” He sort of talks like a Sith Lord.
“That’s rude,” I said. I felt uneasy.
Lara was in the other room. “Lara,” I said, “can I have my rubber band back? I need my rubber band back.” She gave it back to me, and I stretched it real fast in front of me. “Momma,” I yelled, “I need to cut the lawn Momma.”
“Eepple, honey,” she was washing a plate, “it’s snowing baby.”
I ran out on the porch anyway. The mower is a green, ride-on tractor. The cold panged my fingers, so I pretended I was covered in Spencer’s fur.
One side of my family is Jewish. When my family arrived in America they had no money for cigarettes or turkeys like we have today. In the summer my grandma grew tomatoes and warm weather squash. My grandpa pushed a grocery cart around Newark.
They had escaped Europe during World War II, and later lived through the Race Riots that plagued Newark in the sixties.
My dad used to tell me stories about how he was bullied and picked on and called Jewboy. So when my dad started his own family he stopped being Jewish. How can you stop being what you are? How can you change where your ancestors came from?
I mowed the snow for forty-five minutes. The contrast between the snow and the still green grass filled me with joy. Spencer came outside once to see me, and I told him we were going to practice lactating again tonight.
My mom stepped outside and said the turkey was out of the oven. Gee whiz, I thought, I’m so lucky that my momma would do anything for me. Anything.
I returned to the kitchen. I watched real close as grandma carved the turkey. The sliced breast meat fell into the drippings. I turned and looked for dad. He sat near the fire painting behind his easel. “Do you think Nicole will call?” I asked him.
“That would be nice,” he replied. “Put another log in the fire.”
We all took a seat at the table. Dad said the toast:
“We are thankful for the pilgrims who landed at Manasquan Rock early in the 1700’s and formed the United States of America, Canada, Mexico, Iraq, and Afghanistan. We thank God for the new Republican majority in the House. In the name of the Father, Ghost, invade Iran, Amen.”
After we finished our delicious meal I helped the ladies do the dishes. The dishwasher could not hold all the plates so we had to do them by hand. The boys were drinking shots of whiskey from small paper bathroom cups. When we finished the dishes Lara and I sat on the couch. There, we tried to talk, but Warren was saying gross things about a girl he “porked” two nights again. My ears felt like they were going to pack up their wax and move to another head. Lara and I went outside and smoked a cigarette.
Inside, Lara wasn’t a pretty flower. She was a dying squirrel with her insides spilling out upon ninety-six degree asphalt. I liked her though. I’d rather be around a nice train wreck than evilly guided Corvette. She told me she wanted to go to college. I told her, “That’s great!” She didn’t know how to do it. She had no confidence to grow into the decisive woman I knew she could be. I heard a bird in the tree and I cried out to her, “Hey Mrs. Bird, have you been at my sister’s bird feeder at all?
Lara explained that she cut her finger on a razor blade. I said, “Lara! What are doing with a razor blade in your pocket? Are we doing crafts and masks later?”
She rolled up her sleeve, and I felt hot and cold—I guess you could say warm—in the face. On her arm I saw scars that reminded me of a meteor shower streaking across flesh. I told her that I cared about her and she could come over any time she wanted to and drive the lawn tractor. I asked her for the blade, but she wouldn’t give it to me. How could I make anyone do anything if they don’t want to do it to begin with?
Everybody was drunk. I don’t know what they put in those pies, but everyone was acting real goofy. Everybody at the table was sitting there nodding off, everybody except Warren, that little bastard. When I took a seat at the table, Warren shifted his bulk towards me. He smelled like sauerkraut.
“Eepple I don’t really know what you are.”
“Oh.” I cut a piece of pie.
“Look at your hands. They’re hairy and yet you talk like a priss.”
“Do you know who won the football game?” I asked, attempting to sound masculine. Nobody answered. Spencer put his head on my knee.
“You’re the only red neck Jew I know.”
Please stop. Just stop.
“Jew.”
I didn’t answer.
Warren took another shot. “Jews, their noses just like a white nigger’s.”
I looked around at my family. Were these people really here? Warren poured a shot.
My phone vibrated with a text. It read, “Happy Thanksgiving, Eepple! Your favorite sister.” I closed my phone with no reply.
Warren drank. He put his finger in his mouth and scraped a tooth. Warren removed his finger and studied a half chewed bit of ham. “Spence,” he called, reaching his hand towards my best pal.
I reached a loose fist around his neck towards his other shoulder. I flipped him back, and the metal folding chair slid across the wood floor. I punched his chest and lower stomach three times before pressing my fist against his lips and teeth.
Everyone woke up.
I screamed, “Get him the **** out of my ****ing house.”
“What did I do?” Warren mumbled under the weight of my hand.
The family picked him up by the shoulders and led his stumbling body outside.
Thanksgiving ended. I poured two whiskeys and handed one to my father. I heard the kitchen door open and I stood up. Warren’s brother, my cousin, who’s so unassuming I didn’t really know he was at my house to begin with, ran towards me.
“Eepple!” was all he said. My cousin said goodbye with both arms around me lovingly tight.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said. I opened the fireplace door and added another log. I turned back to the table and knocked over dad’s easel. A pretzel legged girl fell to the floor. I stopped my body, but my inside swelled.
My dad approached me with the second glass. He handed it to me and looked down at the portrait.
Generations seemed to pass.
Then he spoke. He was addressing me, but he spoke to the empty room. “Eepple, you’re a good son.”
There’s something about time that never lets itself stop.
This is a story a wrote in 2010. I decided to pick it up again and start editing it down. Please post your comments and advice.
Thank you for your time,
Mulegrinder
Spence
“Miiiilk!” I cried. I rubbed his nipple. I rolled him onto his back. “Miiiilk!” I cried again. I licked the area. A wisp of grey hair coiled around my tongue. I inhaled through my nose the smells of the forest. Hints of dirt, torn green leaves, and autumn leaf litter filled my nose.
For the last two weeks I have tried to milk my dog. Spencer is a boy, but there have been reports of male humans producing milk, and I was inspired to at least try. The Internet says that with repeated stimulation mammals without immediate offspring can be “tricked” into producing a nutrient thick milk.
There was a knock on my bedroom door. “Eepple, do you want eggs and bacon?” My mom asked.
I took my mouth off his breast. “Cereal with milk,” I replied. I walked to the nightstand and pulled a cigarette from its pack. It reminded me of Nicole before she had to go away. I smoked my first cigarette with her. “Spencer. Come.” I opened the balcony door, and we stepped outside. I selected the unsnowed-upon spots to place my socked steps. I inserted my hand into my pocket. I blew on the earpiece of my cell phone. I called Nicole. She didn’t pick up. I put down my cigarette and looked down at Spence. “Boobies, boobies, boobies.” My voice sounds nothing like Justin Beiber, but it’s his beat.
Spencer propped his broad head on my knee. His breath smelled like cold coffee and sweat. I couldn’t stop the smile from breaking my mouth open. I bit the base of his ear and felt the rubbery shift and slide of his pulse. “It’s just you and me, Spence. For fun things, I mean.”
I was looking at my mom from the doorway of the kitchen. She thrust her hand into the open side of the turkey and came out with a piece of neck. I leveled my head with my waist and charged, yelling, “Aarrggg” all the way. I charged until my head reached the bottom of my mom’s butt cheeks. I reached for her thighs. “Momma, do you think I could fit my whole head in your butt?” I asked, still down there.
“Oh, hi.” She tossed the neck of the turkey into the sink. “Can you vacuum the slate in front of the fireplace before company comes?” She turned to me.
“What attachment should I use,” I replied.
Mom sat down at the table and I joined her to eat my Fruit Loops.
When our family arrived I was still in my underwear. When I’m scared what’s to come I dress at the last minute.
I didn’t shave but showered and got dressed.
I got a rubber band out my desk and walked into the living room. As soon as I joined everyone I wanted to run back into my room. That wasn’t an option though, because it would be rude and inappropriate. It was Thanksgiving Day, but for some reason they were already talking about Christmas.
My grandma said, “we had it in Paramus last year.”
“Well you guys could come here Christmas Day,” my dad responded.
I wrapped the rubber band around my fingering finger as tight as I could. “Dad,” I said. My finger was turning red. “Can we celebrate Hanukah this year?”
My father took a sip of his merlot. “I’m gonna sodomize you boy.”
It was true. We were never going to celebrate Hanukah. It was all so true. I tied the bottom of my shirt with the rubber band, forcing the cloth to knot mid-stomach. I was born in the eighties, but I was too young to dress myself in the contemporary styles of the time.
When dad moved in, Nicole moved out. I was wet with tears many nights because Nicole and I were the best brother-sister buddies you ever saw. Nicole told me she’d come back for me some time after she was ready to commit. I stopped waiting for her when she stopped responding to my Facebook messages. I still keep her picture on the spare pillow of my bed. She looks so pretty because she was taking diet pills that made her legs took like pretzels. When you combine the size of her legs with her tanned skin and salt taste—I guess I really miss her. But, dad’s not so bad. He goes to the river with me, and we keep the trout we catch. We blow leaves together too.
My cousin, Lara, undid the knot, and my shirt fell free. She looked like a monster that escaped a car explosion. “I’m taking this,” she said, putting the rubber band in her jacket pocket. She jerked her hand out. Her finger bled.
“Does your pocket have its period,” I said. I knew it was a ***** thing to say, but she was a girl, and girls remind me of Nicole, and Nicole used to come to me crying about cramps.
Lara bit her finger. I bit my finger. “Come on I’ll get you a band-aid,” I said, leading her into the bathroom. I reached for a band-aid. Lara was facing the other direction.
“Why do you wanna celebrate Hanukah, Eepple?”
I pulled the band-aid from the package. “Why are you facing the wall, Lara?”
Lara folded her arms. “Don’t like mirrors. Stay the frig away from mirrors.”
I bandaged her finger. I kissed it like a mommy. “Our mirror won’t hurt you, Lara. We’re Jewish. Dad doesn’t want anybody to know. I like your shirt. Is that a dragon or gryphon?”
Lara stretched her shirt tight. She smiled. “It’s an eagle, bird, or something. I don’t know.”
The dog jogged in.
“Spence! Hey champ. What are you doin champ? High five, Spence.” He gave me his paw. I scraped some dirt off his nail and bit his thigh.
Lara laughed. “Let’s get beer,” she said motioning towards the other room.
I picked up Spencer and walked to the kitchen. A spiral ham rested in its pan on the counter. I kissed Spencer’s head and let him go. My hand touched the brown, caramelized crust of the ham.
Mom kissed the back of my head. “Are you gonna want horseradish?”
“Um. Uh huh.” I peeled a piece off and it burnt the roof of my mouth.
Warren passed by and threw a plastic cup in the trash. “Jews don’t eat pig. You’re gonna melt.”
“Um,” I said, pulling another piece of meat off. “I’m a pretty orchid. I am whoever I want.”
“That’s right Eepple,” my mom interjected. “All you need is a little urethane and we could put you in a vase.”
“Thanks momma,” I said.
My cousin Warren doesn’t think I’m so pretty. He said, “You’re pretty ****ing strange. That’s about it.” He sort of talks like a Sith Lord.
“That’s rude,” I said. I felt uneasy.
Lara was in the other room. “Lara,” I said, “can I have my rubber band back? I need my rubber band back.” She gave it back to me, and I stretched it real fast in front of me. “Momma,” I yelled, “I need to cut the lawn Momma.”
“Eepple, honey,” she was washing a plate, “it’s snowing baby.”
I ran out on the porch anyway. The mower is a green, ride-on tractor. The cold panged my fingers, so I pretended I was covered in Spencer’s fur.
One side of my family is Jewish. When my family arrived in America they had no money for cigarettes or turkeys like we have today. In the summer my grandma grew tomatoes and warm weather squash. My grandpa pushed a grocery cart around Newark.
They had escaped Europe during World War II, and later lived through the Race Riots that plagued Newark in the sixties.
My dad used to tell me stories about how he was bullied and picked on and called Jewboy. So when my dad started his own family he stopped being Jewish. How can you stop being what you are? How can you change where your ancestors came from?
I mowed the snow for forty-five minutes. The contrast between the snow and the still green grass filled me with joy. Spencer came outside once to see me, and I told him we were going to practice lactating again tonight.
My mom stepped outside and said the turkey was out of the oven. Gee whiz, I thought, I’m so lucky that my momma would do anything for me. Anything.
I returned to the kitchen. I watched real close as grandma carved the turkey. The sliced breast meat fell into the drippings. I turned and looked for dad. He sat near the fire painting behind his easel. “Do you think Nicole will call?” I asked him.
“That would be nice,” he replied. “Put another log in the fire.”
We all took a seat at the table. Dad said the toast:
“We are thankful for the pilgrims who landed at Manasquan Rock early in the 1700’s and formed the United States of America, Canada, Mexico, Iraq, and Afghanistan. We thank God for the new Republican majority in the House. In the name of the Father, Ghost, invade Iran, Amen.”
After we finished our delicious meal I helped the ladies do the dishes. The dishwasher could not hold all the plates so we had to do them by hand. The boys were drinking shots of whiskey from small paper bathroom cups. When we finished the dishes Lara and I sat on the couch. There, we tried to talk, but Warren was saying gross things about a girl he “porked” two nights again. My ears felt like they were going to pack up their wax and move to another head. Lara and I went outside and smoked a cigarette.
Inside, Lara wasn’t a pretty flower. She was a dying squirrel with her insides spilling out upon ninety-six degree asphalt. I liked her though. I’d rather be around a nice train wreck than evilly guided Corvette. She told me she wanted to go to college. I told her, “That’s great!” She didn’t know how to do it. She had no confidence to grow into the decisive woman I knew she could be. I heard a bird in the tree and I cried out to her, “Hey Mrs. Bird, have you been at my sister’s bird feeder at all?
Lara explained that she cut her finger on a razor blade. I said, “Lara! What are doing with a razor blade in your pocket? Are we doing crafts and masks later?”
She rolled up her sleeve, and I felt hot and cold—I guess you could say warm—in the face. On her arm I saw scars that reminded me of a meteor shower streaking across flesh. I told her that I cared about her and she could come over any time she wanted to and drive the lawn tractor. I asked her for the blade, but she wouldn’t give it to me. How could I make anyone do anything if they don’t want to do it to begin with?
Everybody was drunk. I don’t know what they put in those pies, but everyone was acting real goofy. Everybody at the table was sitting there nodding off, everybody except Warren, that little bastard. When I took a seat at the table, Warren shifted his bulk towards me. He smelled like sauerkraut.
“Eepple I don’t really know what you are.”
“Oh.” I cut a piece of pie.
“Look at your hands. They’re hairy and yet you talk like a priss.”
“Do you know who won the football game?” I asked, attempting to sound masculine. Nobody answered. Spencer put his head on my knee.
“You’re the only red neck Jew I know.”
Please stop. Just stop.
“Jew.”
I didn’t answer.
Warren took another shot. “Jews, their noses just like a white nigger’s.”
I looked around at my family. Were these people really here? Warren poured a shot.
My phone vibrated with a text. It read, “Happy Thanksgiving, Eepple! Your favorite sister.” I closed my phone with no reply.
Warren drank. He put his finger in his mouth and scraped a tooth. Warren removed his finger and studied a half chewed bit of ham. “Spence,” he called, reaching his hand towards my best pal.
I reached a loose fist around his neck towards his other shoulder. I flipped him back, and the metal folding chair slid across the wood floor. I punched his chest and lower stomach three times before pressing my fist against his lips and teeth.
Everyone woke up.
I screamed, “Get him the **** out of my ****ing house.”
“What did I do?” Warren mumbled under the weight of my hand.
The family picked him up by the shoulders and led his stumbling body outside.
Thanksgiving ended. I poured two whiskeys and handed one to my father. I heard the kitchen door open and I stood up. Warren’s brother, my cousin, who’s so unassuming I didn’t really know he was at my house to begin with, ran towards me.
“Eepple!” was all he said. My cousin said goodbye with both arms around me lovingly tight.
“I’ll see you soon,” I said. I opened the fireplace door and added another log. I turned back to the table and knocked over dad’s easel. A pretzel legged girl fell to the floor. I stopped my body, but my inside swelled.
My dad approached me with the second glass. He handed it to me and looked down at the portrait.
Generations seemed to pass.
Then he spoke. He was addressing me, but he spoke to the empty room. “Eepple, you’re a good son.”
There’s something about time that never lets itself stop.