Burger Wuss (16 page)

“To stun a pig?” Shunt said. “Takes about one point three amps. Any less and they feel everything while they’re slaughtered. Paralyzed but not unconscious as they’re cut apart. O’Dermott’s meat suppliers for the sausage patties use about point forty-five amps. Our little porkers are able to feel the whole show.” He handed back the weiners. “Like some ketchup with that?”

Jenn and Rick played rock/paper/scissors. They
chugged. Several of the older employees who had lost their brains — dropped them or burned them up — sometime in the early seventies, were gathered in a group. They smiled at all us youth. They were toking. The heavy, sweet smell was everywhere. Shunt had frightened off the girls. He went into the woods to be alone.

Rick and Jenn were sweaty. They danced. I watched them. They grabbed hands and pumped their arms back and forth. Then they got sarcastic, which was fun to watch. They do-si-doed. They tried the hornpipe. They did a dangerous love train that kept crashing into everyone because they were blotto. He got behind her and waved his hands and she waved her hands like cobras and she sung out, “Do the Vishnu!” I was jealous. It looked like fun. I could picture Diana and I dancing. Cutting the rug. That’s the saying.

“Hey, man,” I said. “You two Vishnu like fiends.”

“You want to dance?” Jenn asked. She rubbed her wet hair back out of her face.

“Thanks,” I said. “Not right now. I’ve got something on my mind.” I asked Rick, “Can we talk?”

He nodded. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Jenn.

“I’ll be missing you, hula-breath.”

“I’ll be missing you too, corker-dog.”

“There will be a big empty place where you ought to be.”

They blew kisses. They parted. Rick walked with me over to the coolers. There were Old Milwaukees and Cokes in ice. I dug for Coke. I popped the top, and we went off to the side.

“Man, am I in love with her,” he said. “Sometimes it hurts.”

“That’s great,” I said.

“Isn’t she hot?”

“She is.”

He nodded. “Damn straight.”

I sipped my Coke. We sat on a rock. Our legs dangled. I wiped my mouth. Rick kicked his heels against the stone. He turned his head toward me.

“So what’s the skinny?”

“Here’s the deal. I want to move in on Stacey.”

“Turner’s girlfriend?”

“I think I really like her,” I said. It was only half a lie. I liked her sort of.

“That’s great. You like her.”

“She’s cool.”

“You are one dumb sap.”

“She’s been flirting.”

“He’ll toast you, boy. He’s done it before.”

“Look, Rick. This is embarrassing: I need advice.”

“Try ‘run away.’”

“On how to get her to make out.”

“What are we talking here?”

“Maybe like second or third base or something.”

“Could you not use a softball metaphor around me? In fact, could you never mention softball again in my presence?”

“Rick. I need advice. She doesn’t think I’m normal enough.”

“I can’t think why. Maybe because you’re one weird-ass freak.”

“Just tell me how. If I can carry off normal for an hour or so, she’s mine.”

“It’s your funeral, bud.”

“Rick,” I pleaded, trying to make my eyes as large and watery as possible. “I’m asking you a favor. You know all about this love stuff. I really, really like her. You know, I looked across that fire and thought,
She’s the one. I need her.
Being near you and Jenn, I see what that can be like, when you find that one right person. It could be love. What I’m asking you is to tell me how to win her heart.”

“Really? You really into her?”

“I am,” I said earnestly. “Wicked.”

Rick looked serious. “Okay, man. There’s only one secret. It isn’t too tough.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Shoot.”

“Get her drunk. It lowers the inhibitions.”

I stared at him. “That’s your advice? You? Dr. Love? Get her drunk?”

“Come to think of it, more important, you’d better get yourself drunk too. You have a little inhibition problem.”

“That’s the secret of love? Get both of us blitzed and start feeling her up?”

“Well, she’ll start feeling you up too,” he said in his defense. “It’s not that bad. You’ll both be really confused and won’t care. Honestly, man. That’s how Jenn and I got together.”

“You kidding?”

“I can’t even remember it. At some point I remember
reaching up her shirt. My nose was running and I used the shirt to wipe it.” He slid off the rock. He was on his feet. “Sometimes love needs a little push,” he said. He jerked his head toward Jenn. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back.”

We went back. Turner and some of the other guys were holding a boob-size contest. They ran back and forth with their hands outstretched and joined at the thumbs for measurement. “She’s out, man! Out!” they shouted to each other. “Itsy-bitsy teeny-weenie.” People around them crowed and clapped. Sometimes the girls laughed nervously. I watched Stacey. She smiled weakly when one of the boys came near her to measure. Then she went back to staring at the dirt. She was piercing a styrofoam plate with a fork again and again.

We found Jenn sitting by the edge of the fire. Rick said, “Hey there, woojy-coojy.”

“Hi, moo-moo froo-froo.”

“Liggly-giggly.”

“Ploodle-woodle.”

“Fubb-fubb-sudubb.”

The party was in full swing. Two guys were fighting. They couldn’t stand. One punched and sagged. The other pushed and fell. No one could tell what it was about. Kids circled them and shouted. The keg was empty. Guys were breaking out six-packs from the ice. Just outside the firelight, couples were grinding on the ground. Rick’s brother sat among them as their hands rose and fell. He was on a stump, curled like a fetus, with his head jammed between his knees. His hands gripped
his hair and kept twitching. All around him on the ground, they writhed. Their shorts were skewed. One girl was lying on top of a guy, her hands gripping his arms, her neck craned so she could take in her mouth another guy’s toe. The rest of his foot was padded with dirt. He had grabbed some girl’s hair. His mouth was open and he prayed silent words. Above them, Rick’s brother rocked from side to side.

It was a completely repulsive scene. It was going to take a lot of Old Milwaukee before I could join in with anything like gusto. People were spinning in circles. People were kicking shrubs. A boy’s shirt was wet with vomit that was not his own. The seventies leftovers were playing tom-toms and didgeridoos. One sang, “Your dreams are ours. Your dreams are ours. At O’Dermott’s.” And they all laughed. Someone had brought a kite.

“People!” said Turner. “People!” He clapped his hands. “Yo! Shut up!”

The music stopped. People looked up.

Turner was standing in the middle of the circle, near the fire. His hands were clasped behind his back. He was trying to be serious. His eyes were half-closed, and his face was red. “I think we should now take just a moment to . . . for a toast. I believe we should toast the corporation that made tonight possible.”

There were a few cheers and whoops from around the fire.

And then I heard it. Farther off. Way beyond the bounds of the firelight. Down the hill, in the woods.
Someone else whooping. Many people. Distantly.

I looked quickly at Shunt. He was standing alone by the other side of the fire. He nodded at me.

Turner hadn’t noticed. He kept on talking. “O’Dermott’s is an American institution. It’s as American as . . .” He thought for a second. He was getting tears in his eyes. He was drunk. “It’s as American as the open road. It’s as American as freedom. It’s like driving across the highways of this country with your roof down. I love you guys. You’re my coworkers. I love you. We’re part of something big. You drive across the country, where there are like . . . what are those called? Those tall . . .” He made a sign with his hand.

People tried, “Silos?”

“Mesas?”

“Rockets?”

Nobody noticed the sound of a distant engine in the woods, where no engine should have been.

“Last year, I’m driving across the country. Everywhere I look, I see O’Dermott’s. Sometimes in the middle of a field. Sometimes on a cliff over the sea. That’s what America is about, man. It’s about big. It’s about the open road. It’s about exploring, like . . . you know, those explorers. It’s about a big new country that’s always getting bigger. It’s about,” he cried, raising his beer toward heaven, “the emerald oval stretching from the mountains to the prairies, to the oceans wet with foam. To O’Der —”

In the dark woods, there was a splash too loud to ignore. Turner stopped. He said, “Wha?”

Shunt stepped into the ring. It was time to create a diversion. “Freedom?” he said loudly. There was another
distant cheer far off in the darkness. Turner blinked. Shunt yelled, “I’ll tell you about freedom! Hey, Turner!” Turner stumbled to face him. Shunt said as noisily as he could, “I’ll tell you about freedom! Cattle in a cycle of continuous forced pregnancies until they’re killed for meat. Animals living their lives in boxes no larger than their bodies. Where’s freedom there? Where is it? I’m talking about the simple freedom,” he said, pounding one hand on the other, “to make a ninety-degree turn once in your life! To turn like this! Animals who never once in their lives
turn around
!
Where’s the freedom there?
I ask you — where’s the freedom in advertising that —”

“Shut up,” said Turner. He was listening hard to the forest. He waved his hand impatiently at Shunt.

“Freedom in advertising aimed to get kids —”

“Shut up! I said, shut up!”

People were sitting up. Couples stopped holding on to each other. People were blinking.

“Look,” said Shunt, throwing himself in Turner’s way. “I’m talking about artificial ingredients that make us the most obese nation in the world!”

Turner shoved him to the side. Turner was headed out of the ring of light. “What was that?” he said. “What was that?”

People peered into the darkness of the forest. People were following him. There was a long silence. We could hear his footsteps on leaves and sticks. They got softer. They faded away completely.

Then suddenly, “Oh my God!” we heard him sob. “Oh my God!”

We started running down the hill after him. We were a
big group. Branches snapped and cracked. We hurtled through the woods. The fire cast our shadows in front of us. I saw pale flashes of bark. We jumped over someone who’d passed out. It felt good, the night breeze whipping through my hair. The air against my ankles. Running with a crowd. Our feet flying through leaves.

“What is it?” someone yelled. And another: “I can’t see! I can’t see!”

I felt confident. I knew it was all working out. I laughed as I ran.
Now, Turner, let’s see what you’re made of. Let’s see who’s laughing now.

People tripped and fell, got up and ran. People hollered advice without meaning. People yelled that they were lost. People scrambled in the pines. We were one big mob. I could feel the excitement. We poured out of the woods, between our cars.

Turner wasn’t there.

He was down by the pond. He stood there with his hands on his head. I almost laughed again. He was standing by his car.

The car was door-deep in water.

The back was higher than the front. The engine was almost submerged. Even from where I was standing, I could see the pleather of the roof was slashed. There was writing in the paint.

I was not surprised. I hadn’t known exactly what the BQ crew would do, but I’d had my suspicions. They’d gotten an anonymous call. It said that Turner had stolen the troll. It told them where to find it. Here, in his car, the night of this party. I’d growled, “You don’t get here soon enough, and we’re burning it in effigy.”

They’d gotten here soon enough. The troll-shaped promotional condiment dump had been sitting in the back seat of Turner’s car. Shunt and I had left it there.

So what had they done? I was proud of them. They had removed the troll. They had drowned the car. I suspected they’d pushed it with a truck. They’d keyed the paint job. They’d scratched:

on the doors. And they didn’t lie. In the back seat, where the troll had sat, they had left a dump. It must have been several people’s. You could tell it was a BQ dump. O’Dermott’s doesn’t serve onion rings.

I didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted. It was so completely disgusting it was almost impressive.

Turner had fallen to one knee. The other knee couldn’t decide whether it was standing or sitting. It tried to straighten. It made him hop. He made a strange noise which I guess could be called a baying. He started to pound the dirt with his fists. At first it was left, right, left, right, left-right-left-right-left-right slamming the earth, and then together. Again. Again. Again. Again.

It felt very good. It was like someone had taken my heart and smeared it with a lotion smooth and cool.

Turner rose to his feet. He was slumped like a Neanderthal. He waded out beside his car. The water
got deeper and deeper. It was up to his thighs. The picture was touching. He caressed the finish. He bent down low and whispered tearful things.