A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation (13 page)

There was a medicine cabinet and sink just outside the shower, and I was sure it had lots of blunt heavy objects in it or on it. I took a step backwards towards the shower door, and the spider took a step forwards, as if anticipating what I was going to do. Keep calm. Think calm thoughts and remember above all else that it was a creature of God. Treat it as such.

"Stay there, you little fucker!” Yeah, it was going to listen.

"Shit...” It was a face-off, its eight legs to my two and its numerous eyes to my two. I needed to show some bravery. I needed to stand up to my irrational fear and triumph in this battle. “You're going to die!” I sneered, and it started coming towards me at full speed. “Oh, shit!"

I flung the shower door open and took a flying leap out onto the floor that would have earned me a shot at being Bruce Willis's stunt double in
Die Hard
. Quickly, I searched the room for any object I could use to smash the little bastard and send it down the drain in little pieces.

"What's all that noise in there?” Uncle Chester's voice boomed out.

"I slipped,” I shouted back.

"Well, you should get some more meat on those girly little bones of yours.” I thought I heard him laughing. “Just be careful if you fall too close to the drain. I don't want to have to call a plumber if you slide down and clog it up."

I wanted to clog his breathing hole, that's what I wanted to do. First, however, I had to kill a spider.

I finally saw something I could use—a can of vanilla-scented air freshener. One of my relatives obviously had a problem with unsavory scents. I grabbed it and located my nemesis, which was trying to make its way up the wall to get a better jump at my face. Not today you won't. Not ever!

It didn't take much effort to aim, considering how big the damn thing was.

Crunch!

It felt so good to do—and very therapeutic—so I decided to live in the moment.

Crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch!

Also therapeutic was going to be my leaving the remains under Uncle Chester's pillow for him to find tonight when he went to bed.

I carefully peeled the can off the wall and tried to make sure that as much of the spider remain intact or in a lump as I could. After cleaning the bottom of the can off and replacing it back on the toilet, I dried my hands and carefully wrapped the remains on a piece of toilet paper. It would safely stay there for the remainder of the shower and until I was sure I wouldn't be seen putting it where I intended.

This entire procedure didn't take very long, and I was enjoying my shower within a minute or two. That didn't last very long, either, though, because I was also racing against Grandma, and I knew she'd be looking for me.

"You seem pretty excited there, Alvin,” Uncle Chester commented and gave me a quick look before turning his attention back to the traffic in front of him. “I imagine you don't get too much company out there in Michigan."

"You got that right,” I agreed. Little did he know just exactly what I was excited about, although he'd sure-enough find out tonight.

Closing their bedroom door to finish getting dressed didn't arouse suspicion, nor was figuring out which side of the bed was his. There was no real proof that I was the culprit, and I would never admit it. Hey, I did have some of my family traits in me, after all! It would be logical for him to assume he crushed the damn spider either when he laid his head down on the pillow or put his hand underneath it. Either way, he'd be getting one hell of a surprise tonight.

In the meantime, it was back to his comment about us not getting much company back in Michigan.

"Once in a while, a man travels through our village with his cart and sharpens our knives or sells us some new copper pots and pans.” I paused dramatically. “If we're really lucky, we even hear news from some of the other villages."

Uncle Chester eyed me curiously. Either he was considering the level of my sarcasm and general smartass nature, or he was recalling his own childhood, before the invention of motorized cars. I'd be willing to bet that Michael Crichton went to him for information and cross-referencing about dinosaurs when
Jurassic Park
was being written.

I really shouldn't have been so cruel as to think thoughts like that after what I'd done. Yes, the man who was technically my great-uncle, but whom I simply called uncle, was annoying, yet I had to give him some credit. He hadn't embarrassed me in public. It was only in front of my relatives, and I think that was considered acceptable in certain foreign cultures.

Things couldn't get any worse, but they could be maintained the way they were or get better. For one, we were having company later on and that had potential. I really needed to be optimistic.

We pulled into the parking lot of some super-market called Ralph's. There weren't many other people there that early, with the exception of the staff and a few other elderly shoppers. Uncle Chester pulled a handwritten list out of his pocket as we walked through the doors and scanned it. A few employees were hanging around the aisle closest to us and talking to someone I assumed was their supervisor or the store manager. They were basically being given a pep talk about making a greater contribution to the store by doing their job to the best of their abilities.

That gave me an idea. I felt it would be a positive gesture on my part if I offered to go pick out some chips and other snacks and then pay for them as my contribution to the lunch and dinner Chester was providing, and stated as much.

"Why, that's a fine idea, Albert!” he exclaimed rather loudly, catching the attention of the employees and supervisor. “Why don't you go see what you can find, and I'll catch up with you in a few minutes."

I started to walk away feeling like we had really reached some kind of truce when he called back after me, “Just don't let me catch you shoplifting again because I won't be bailing you out of jail this time."

"Son of a...” I turned around, but he was already gone in search of the items on his list. The staff people standing close by were looking at me with expressions that told me they didn't know what to expect. Was it true or wasn't it? I shook my head and faced them. “He was joking."

To try and explain any further would only make the situation worse, but I decided to try.

"He's senile."

It only got worse.

I went to search for some chips and pretzels, and there was always one of them close by. At least they took turns to try and make it look a little less obvious. I appreciated that and held my head high, as if nothing was wrong or going on. Maybe I had been too nice to him. Maybe I would have to go down to his level just to make him understand that I didn't want to be messed with anymore. Maybe...

"Did you get everything you wanted?” Uncle Chester asked me when I joined him at the checkouts. I nodded and got my wallet out. “You really don't have to do this, you know. I figured you'd make it up to us when we take Hotdog to Disneyland."

"Disneyland?” They were taking Grandma to Disneyland? Nothing was mentioned about that before I left home, and it seemed obvious I wasn't invited, so how, exactly, was I going to make my meals up to them if I wasn't going? “What, exactly, did you have in mind for me to do while you were all off yanking Mickey's mouse?"

"Well...” He paused. “...you recall those dirt piles in front of the house?” I did. “They're quite an eyesore and could really stand to be moved down the block at one of the houses that's still being built. It shouldn't take more than a day."

That, apparently, made all the difference in the world to him. The only thing it did for me was increase my desire to commit a felony or somehow escape. Even spending an uncertain week with Jordan was starting to sound better than this. At least there I'd know where I stood and where I was expected to lie—like that would happen anyway.

I wasn't afraid of work like doing dishes or even moving dirt, but I did resent why I was doing them. This really had nothing to do with earning my way through my vacation at all. It was because I was young, should be seen and not heard, couldn't understand complex issues in life like how to pack suitcases in a car or how to operate an air con-ditioner, and that was simply the way Uncle Chester's reality existed. All of this somehow got by me in life, at least in his eyes. It wouldn't matter if I was already out of college and making millions of dollars, because then I would just be part of that “corrupt capitalist system” and therefore part of the problem. No one could know better than he did, and that put me in a no-win situation.

Except, I don't like no-win situations.

If I stayed with him, that would mean I'd probably never get out to the beach, and that meant losing my chances of giving myself up to the bikini vixens. I couldn't have that.

Uncle Chester immediately started preparing the backyard to entertain guests when we got back. Grandma didn't say a word to me, though she looked a great deal better after her shower and recently applied new face. At least it wasn't running into other areas of itself anymore.

Instead, she took out some tablecloths and stacks of plastic silverware and paper plates and began to organize all of that. I, in the meantime, started on the dishes.

As I was stacking everything into piles of what I wanted to wash first to last, Aunt Virginia came out of her bedroom with something in her hand and wearing a hairnet over curlers in her hair. With the other two pains-in-my-ass outside, this seemed the perfect opportunity to speak with her. Of all the relatives I'd met, she seemed to have the best head on her shoulders, or at least the quietest one.

Actually, it was her silence that led me to believe she might be very nonjudgmental, and I really needed to talk to somebody right now with that quality.

"Just getting started,” I told her and held up a plate. She gazed at me ever so meekly and nodded. “I was really hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you."

I turned back around and started filling up the sink with water and soap.

"Last night was kind of hectic, and I didn't want you getting the wrong idea about me. That whole bit with me pretending to pound on Grandma's door ... it, uh, wasn't what it looked like.” I paused and chuckled at what I must have looked like. “To tell you the truth, this vacation isn't exactly turn-ing out like I thought it would.” I took another glance her way to be sure she was listening and not in the process of leaving the room and saw that she was sitting at the kitchen table.

"I shouldn't be saying this to you at all, and I mean no disrespect to you as a hostess,” I continued, “but this vacation has been completely fu—screwed up. Nobody told me what to expect, and quite honestly, I was really looking forward to this.” I started with the glasses. “Things aren't really so complicated back home, but sometimes you need a break from everything that goes on to actually be able to see that. Sometimes, we get set in a pattern or way of living that we don't know how to break. In the end, it doesn't allow us to expand and grow as people. If anybody really needs to grow, it's probably me."

Was I being too harsh on myself? One thing was for sure—Aunt Virginia was really easy to talk to.

"This may sound silly, but I'm not very good at relating to women my age. I don't understand them very well. Actually...” I chuckled. “...I'm not very good at relating to people at
any
age. Heck, just last night I tried talking to this one guy who was at the party and he ended up..."

I caught myself just in time!

"Let's not go where that one went. Suffice to say, it was confusing, at best.

"Anyway, I think it helps—really helps—to talk about this stuff because then I don't feel like I'm feeling sorry for myself."

Aunt Virginia was being a very good sport about listening to me babble. Talking to her was really a pleasure because she listened.

"Nobody wants to listen to anybody anymore. They aren't like you. I mean, Uncle Chester cer-tainly wouldn't let me talk to him about anything other than how my life is going to serve him during my stay here."

He was damn frustrating, but how could I say that to her tactfully?

"I'm sure he's a good man, especially to you. The two of you have a new home, I don't see any bruises on you at all, and I haven't heard you complain, so he must be doing something right and that's great.” I really was happy for her. “Unless he cut out your tongue, which would explain why I never hear you talk, but that's beside the point.

"I really want this trip to be special. Actually, I was kind of hoping that I would meet someone special."

Flashes of the previous night with Jordan came readily to mind and seemed to be invading my waking thoughts on a regular basis, but he wasn't who I wanted to be with. I wanted to mate with the women on the beach, which brought back the memory of the dream and its very bizarre twist.

"Unfortunately, it hasn't happened yet, but I'm hopeful.” I finished the few bowls and spoons that were left next to the sink. “Sometimes I have to wonder if my problem is just me or if I'm meeting the wrong women. Am I really that bad?"

She remained respectfully quiet, letting me sort it out for myself.

"Am I really worth knowing?” I was fishing for a response this time. “Or am I just being too hard on myself here?"

Nothing.
You can jump in here at any time!
“If I can find someone who listens to me even half as much as you do, then I'll consider myself lucky.” I turned and faced her. “What do you think?"

"What?” Aunt Virginia looked up at me and removed her hair net along with a tiny pair of earphones that were connected to a Walkman sitting on her lap. That must have been the object in her hand, and she apparently hadn't realized I'd been talking to her the entire time. “Did you cut yourself, dear? Chester said you had sensitive skin ... or did he say you were the sensitive type?” She thought about it for a moment. “I don't remember. In any case, did you need something?"

"No,” I replied, “nothing at all."

The guests turned out to be Uncle Chester's son Kenny, his wife Jenny and their two boys, Benny, age nine, and Lenny, age seven. Yes, I thought it was a joke at first, too.