“The Movement of Horses” by Adam Cushman
--page 10
You probably know the rest of the story.
My retarded joke of a mother comes barreling into the plaza in the Corvette she’ll spend the rest of her worthless life paying for and not only that, she’s got Coach Schamus in the car with her. She slams on the brakes when she sees me sitting in the driver’s seat of the Lincoln and doesn’t even bother to park, just gets out and runs at me like I’m some soldier getting off the plane, except she’s not so happy. She’s not even wearing anything, just some black top that only covers her boobs and her belly and even those jiggle when she runs. It’s too gross to talk about, which is why I look away. She runs up to the door and starts banging on the window. After about a minute is when the time seems right to roll it down.
“Josh,” she’s all out of breath, “Jesus Christ.”
Schamus is standing by the Corvette with his arms folded, still wearing his PE uniform like he thinks he could take me or something.
“You’re not hurt are you?” she asks and leaves her mouth open, like I want to see those gums that come all the way down to where her teeth should end.
“What’s he doing here?”
“Someone has to drive the car home.”
“We had an agreement. You weren’t supposed to see him anymore.”
“No. Josh. We didn’t. We had an agreement that it wasn’t fair to you, because he’s your teacher. Scott’s my friend, that’s why he’s here.”
This is clearly the right time to show her the new extension of my selfhood. I lift my shirt for her benefit.
“Josh! Fuck! Is that a tattoo? Of a sandwich?” She knows better than to give me the whole, “Your body is a stupid temple,” thing, like she’s even religious. Please. “What am I going to do with you, Josh?” she asks no one in particular as she covers her mouth all drama-queenish like she’s trying out for Oprah.
“When did he call?” is my question.
She looks at me like that time my dog got sick and died and she didn’t want to tell me, almost grinning, but not. She’s all, “He hasn’t called in nine years, Josh. I just said it so you would stop.” Then she looks away and says, “I didn’t know what else to say.”
It’s just like her to blow things all out of contortion because she’s stressed out and can’t deal with being a parent. Please. Like that’s why I waited here for her dumb ass. What a jackoff. Nine years. That’s too funny.
Let me explain.
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