Blood Sugar

Mrs F

Doorbell dings super loud right under me and I jump off the door like its electrified. Me and Midget rung that bell a hundred times this afternoon and Im telling you it never made that wild animal screech. I behave like a piss pants bitch and look for Robbie like hes the Ranger sent to save my Hobbity ass. Fat boy comes out a the bathroom pimped like a player, hair slick, shirt tucked, looking pro except for the toilet paper spots all over his face. Robbie checks Dag and Midget, and Dag and Midget check me, and I check Robbie, and Robbie checks us, and I know what thought is firing simultaneous in all our heads.

* * *

<Go away.> Thats what our asses are thinking. <We are not ready.>

* * *

And it goes quiet. And that quiet is tense.

* * *

Doorbell dings again. This time it sounds like a siren. Theres a tornado coming, take cover. Third time it dings its too late, the tornados crashing up Yellow Street to smoosh us flat. Situation in the crib is panicked and Robbie has his blubber belly in his hands like hes fixing to diarrhea his guts out again, but no, not this time, hes the mature ass adult here and he knows hes got to step up, balls out, chrome up, and roll hard.

* * *

Robbie wheezes a noisy breath and tightens his tie like hes got a presentation to make at the office and acts fast before he can think twice. He lets go a his tummy and snatches up the dangerous candy bag and hurries by so speedy I take a elbow on the head and it stings. Up close Robbie dont look so pimp. His skins runny like wax and hes got shaving cream in his ears and theres damp spots all across his dope ass button shirt. First time Robbie grabs the knob his hand slips right off cuz the sweat. He has to calm down before he grabs it good.

* * *

Two tiny children in costumes. Hardly a surprise, right? So how come my hearts going so hard? Outfits arent superior like Dags but theyre easy to guess. Ones a rabbit cuz she has rabbit ears and the others a raccoon cuz she has black gunk around her eyes. Both a them are blond white girls with expensive costumes and that right theres a red colored flag cuz they sure as hell arent from Yellow Street and thats got me alarmed till I focus on their adult. I know this bitch. I know this nice old bitch with the round glasses and the brown and gray hair thats mostly gray now. Bitch is none other than Mrs Fullerton.

* * *

When Mrs F smiles shes got brown old people teeth. She gives a little pat to Rabbit and Raccoon and they go <Trick or treat>. It sounds weak though cuz theyre nervous about big huge Robbie looming tall like a chainsaw psycho and also the whole hood in general with all the broke glass and jimmy hats and drug baggies not to mention the hood rats giggling scary in the dark. Rabbit and Raccoon dont belong here. Theyre not dumb.

* * *

Mrs F laughs real good though just like Mrs F always does. Kind a laugh that makes a young killer wonder if shes gonna gift his ass a delicious strawberry pie. Im glad as hell to see the dried up old uppity up before I realize just what exactlys going down.

* * *

Rabbit and Raccoon are holding out their plastic pumpkin baskets for treats. Robbies standing there holding the bag full a dangerous candies. And Mrs Fs getting her a funny look cuz isnt nobody budging.

* * *

Old lady touches the top a her jugs like she forgot her manners. She goes <Robbie, dear, these are my granddaughters> and she taps their animal heads with her finger that has a big gold ring on it and says both their names. Real nice little white girl names no doubt but they dont make it to my brain cuz Im shook. Mrs F? Mrs Fs granddaughters? Hows this all happening? Mrs F goes <Arent they adorable?> and Robbie doesnt move and she goes <They are the lights of my life, these two pests> and Robbie doesnt move and she goes <Ive missed having little children around> and Robbie doesnt move.

* * *

Rabbit and Raccoons plastic pumpkins droop cuz theyre confused. Mrs F covers it up good though cuz one thing Mrs Fs skilled at is talking. She goes <These are Roys children, dear. I dont get to see them enough these days, not nearly enough for a pinchy fingered old woman like myself. Remember I told you Roy and his family moved to Virginia? Seems like yesterday, I know, but its been four years now. Of course I cant blame him, Merck made him a wonderful offer and you dont get offers like that every day. Its good for the children. Safe neighborhood, good schools. But Id be lying if I said it doesnt make a grandmother lonely.>

* * *

Robbies lips are moving. Just a little. If we were wagering Id wager hes trying to say <Yes, maam> just like he always says to Mrs F except right now fat boy cant make a peep.

* * *

Mrs F says <Roy and his wife are at a dinner party tonight with some of his old friends. They were going to skip it so these munchkins could have their trick or treating but I said, no, no, you two go ahead and have fun with your friends. Just leave old Nana the candy gathering duties, me and my sore knees will survive. Of course, I dont mind at all. I think its a gas. Everyone seems to have more fun when theyre wearing masks, dont they? And that includes the adults! Well, now Im prattling.>

* * *

A ball a sweats hanging suspenseful to Robbies nose and it alerts me how Im sweating too, bad sweat like Im pissing out through my skin all the ill junk Ive done. Dang. Howd I do so much ill junk in one day? I stole and lied and cussed and disrespected elders and killed a dog and did unnatural stuff with chemicals. When that evil business leaves your body it produces a cloud a odor. Thats evolution right there. You stink so bad you got to move your ass if you want out a the cloud.

* * *

<When we spoke on the phone earlier.> This is Mrs F talking. <That wasnt like you, dear. You were so short with me. Im an old lady without much to do so Ive been dwelling on it all day. And the conclusion I came to was that you havent sounded happy in a long time. In fact, I think its been getting worse. Am I imagining it? Oh, I know its no business of mine. I know I can be a busybody. Believe me, I hear it from Roy all the time. Perhaps Ive doted on you for too long. Youre not a child, of course, you can take care of yourself. If you feel Ive overstepped my boundaries here, feel free to tell me off. Go ahead, give me a piece of your mind. It wouldnt be the first time I hear it and wont be the last, I can promise you that.>

* * *

This lady. This old white lady here. That visits Yellow Street in the dark like it isnt a thing. That talks to Robbie like hes not fat and pimply. Like he doesnt sweat gross. Like hes not a freak the whole town hopes just crawls off and dies. Is something broke with her little round glasses? Has her brain alzheimered? Man, I dont know, but next thing the crazy old nice bitch does is put her knuckly old lady hand around Robbies bicep.

* * *

Whys she got to touch him and make things humiliating? How many times did Robbie use his pullup bar to muscle out some a that flab? It didnt work. Isnt ever gonna work either. Robbies gonna be fat dumb Robbie forever. All a us gonna be all a us forever. No old lady no matter how friendly she is has special powers to change none a those unfortunate facts. Mrs F digs in her claws, though, and she tries. Dang if she doesnt try good.

* * *

* * *

Mrs F moves her hand to where Robbies neck lards fatted out over his pimp collar. Mrs F blinks and blinks and her eyes are shining.

* * *

* * *

Robbies head tilts down like he cant look at any old persons face anymore. He looks at Rabbit and Raccoon and he looks at their plastic pumpkins and he looks at his bag a evil candies and he looks at the floor. Mrs F scratches the back a his greasy hair the same as how me and Dag scratched Gwendolyn before we sent her to doggie heaven and then Mrs F takes her hand back and it lands right between Rabbits rabbit ears. I think up a joke to crack cuz jokes are what Im skilled at and jokes help lighten the mood, and it goes something like how Ive never seen a rabbit or raccoon on Yellow Street that wasnt roadkilled. Its funny up in my head but it wont drag its jokey ass across my tongue.

* * *

<Now.> Mrs F straights up her back like shes school teaching. <If its all right with you Im going to ignore what you said on the phone and Im going to continue calling you at the end of each month the same as Ive always done. Furthermore, this Nana here plans to keep calling you until the day they turn off my life support. Is that understood?>

* * *

Robbie nods. He doesnt look at her but he nods.

* * *

She goes <Well, now, I see you have some young guests. Hello, Jody, its very nice to see you again. Hello, friends of Jodys.>

* * *

<Hello, maam> I say.

* * *

<Hello, maam> Dag says.

* * *

Midget doesnt talk.

* * *

* * *

Mrs F. Such a nice old uppity up. At least Ive always figured she was nice. Now Im thinking of all the folks on Yellow Street, or in the whole town, or in the whole world that screwed up but dont have a nice bitch to forgive them cuz theyre not pitiful enough like Robbie and no ones giving them a second and third and fourth and hundredth chance like Mrs F does. Maybe none of its got sharkweek to do with Robbie. Maybe Mrs F does it to make herself feel better about being a rich old white bitch.

* * *

I got lots of questions but then Mrs F does the worst thing she could ever do. She pokes her bony knuckles into Rabbit and Raccoon and they do like good girls and lift up their plastic pumpkins. Theyre shy, you know? But their shy ass smiles are the genuine article cuz kids are kids no matter what hood they come from, and kids crave candies even if they come from a laundry bag of a big scary dude on Yellow Street.

* * *

Robbie peeks in the bag. Its deep and dark inside and he cant see nothing but I know for a fact how it smells. Smells like beer bottle and bug spray and bleach and metal but also chocolate and cherry and sour apple and grape. Robbie holds the bag right under his fat chin and breathes it in real slow. Look, man. You can tell yourself whatever bull you want. You can pretend how later on youre gonna break inside Rabbit and Raccoons bedroom and pick out the bad candies so no grief comes to Mrs F or her kin. But thats fictional lies. Once you drop those candies into those plastic pumpkins, nobodys ever gonna know what candies came from where. Gonna get all mixed up inside those little girl bellies.

* * *

Dont even mean to but I start moving. I dont know what Im planning, but somethings got to happen and its got to happen now cuz in my mind I see a video of Midget seizuring in the tub that one day after supermilk and I cant put it on pause. I reach for the laundry bag but somebodys holding me by my jean jacket. Got to be Dag, right? Six fly legs make her hold six times stronger. Or maybe its Midget, you know? Maybe her flypaper outfit flypapered my jacket and I got stuck. Or maybe its not either of my bitches. Maybe I just come to my senses cuz dang. This isnt my story to end. This is Robbies story. End a the day, its his play to make, not mine.

* * *

Robbie puffs his cheeks like hes still gots puke to puke and his teeth rattle around like a bunch a loose marbles and stink drops squeeze out a his skin so thick they fall like rocks. He does it slow. He reaches out with that stank ass old laundry bag and Rabbit and Raccoons smiles are sparkling big and white, and there it goes, there goes the whole world in one second, that bag dipping low and them plastic pumpkins rising high and theres no going back, theres no bus pass thats gonna bus us back from this place Robbie took us.

* * *

The fist holding the laundry bag changes path. It grabs the knob. Little girls faces go dumb like what? Mrs Fs face goes surprised like what? Its painful and hurtful cuz theres some serious relationship things going down with Robbie and Mrs F. At the same time though the hurt punches quick like a needle and then its over, Robbie shuts the door right in their friendly ass faces and the whole things over, and to me it feels like we all cried real hard just once at the same exact time except havent none a us made a single pipsqueak mouse or bug or man or little ass child sound.