'Til Death Do Us Part (28 page)

“
It
’
s just like being born.
”
He smiled.

“
I don
’
t remember what it was like to be born
,
Trip.
”

“
You don
’
t? I thought everyone did. Well it
’
s just like it! No sense in thinking about it
…
you ready?
”

“
Not fucking really,
”
I said
,
starting to work on a world class panic attack.

“
It
’
ll be fun,
”
h
e said as he went over to a large plastic storage bin. He pulled out
a small drum-
shaped container.

At first I couldn
’
t register what he was doing;
my legs were bobbing up and down so fast I couldn
’
t focus on anything. 
T
hen he started to grab big handfuls of the white substance and start
ing
at his
tin foil hat
,
began to apply liberal amounts over his whole body.

“
Can you get my back?
”
John asked me.

“
What are you doing?
”
I asked.

“
Lard, it simulates the fluids in the placenta.
”

“
I think you
’
re taking this a little too far,
”
I told him.

“
First time I went through there I almost got stuck
. A
s it was
,
it took me four hours to get through. It goes by a lot quicker with the lard.
”

“
Trip
,
I can
’
t be in that hole for four hours! I
’
m bigger than you
,
how am I going to fit? Just go, get your wife, I
’
ll stay here until the
zombies leave and
go back up through the cabin.
”

“
That
’
s probably a good idea
.
”

Relief flowed through my system, but co-mingled with it was despair. I would be alone.

“
Let
’
s have one last lunch together,
”
John said as he wiped his hands clean of the heavy lubricant and d
ipped back into his storage bin;
he grabbed a couple of MRE
’
s and some c
hemical packets to heat them up.
Within
a few minutes
,
my packet of c
orned beef and hash was piping hot.
I grabbed the closed (and sealed) packet from him before he had a chance to
open it
.

“
If you don
’
t stir it around some
it
of stays cold.
”
He said as he popped a soda and handed it to me.

“
I
’
ll do it,
”
I said
with a shudder
, his hands gettin
g entirely too close to my food, even if there was nuclear safe material between him and the sustenance.
“
Thank you.
”

“
You
’
re welcome.
”
He grabbed his food, stirred it around
,
and began to eat heartily.

There was a comfort to the food, not in the taste mind you, that was more like rat stew, but it was the breaking of bread with a friend.

“
Want some hot sauce?
”
h
e asked.

“
No
,
I
’
m almost done.
”

“
Good stuff?
”

“
Edible
,
”
I answered honestly.
“
I
’
m going to miss you
,
John the Tripper.
”

“
I wouldn
’
t worry about that too much.
”
John took longer than normal to eat his meal, almo
st savoring every morsel; even
stopping f
or long moments to examine his S
pork.

“
Man
,
I
’
m tired.
”
I yawned.

“
I bet,
”
John said.
“
Want some crackers?
”
h
e asked
,
splitting the packet open.

“
No
,
and why would you bet that?
”

“
Valiums have that effect on people.
”

“
What?
”
I tried to ask with excitement
,
but I just couldn
’
t get enough adrenaline flowing.

“
I put a few in your
pop
.
”

“
Dude
,
y
ou have got to stop drugging me
without at
least taking me out for dinner,
”
I said sleepily.

He
grabbed my now empty can and shook it
in front of my face.

“
Right,
”
I replied.
“
So now what?
”

“
I
’
m going to wait until the pills k
ick in completely, the
n I
’
m going to take off that awesome poncho you
’
ve got and cover you in lard
,
then I
’
m going to d
rag you through the birth canal,
”
h
e said as he popped a handful of crackers into his mouth.

“
I
’
m scared
, Trip,
”
I
admitted
.

“
No need to b
e, yet.
Wait
until we
’
re in the helicopter…the
n you
’
ll have good reason.
”

“
Fucking swell,
”
I told him.

We sat there a few more minutes as he poured a mini bottle of Tabasco over the last couple of crackers and washed them down with some red
Kool-Aid-
looking drink.

“
Wouldn
’
t that be awesome if the Kool-Aid man just came and knocked a hole in the wall for us?
”
I asked John
,
looking longingly at the spot I sincerely hoped that would happen.

“
Does this Kool-Aid man have anything to do with Rocky Stallone?
”
John asked.

“
Where are you from
, Trip?
Those
are national
r
icons.
”

“
Up,
”
he said and motioned.
“
You just slurred
.
I think we
’
re ready.
”

“
I
’
m scared
, buddy,
”
I
repeated
as I got up and started to pull the poncho over my head, and then I couldn
’
t remember in which direction I needed to pull to get it over my head.

“
No
problema
, your life is in my hands.
”
He laughed as he finally got the heavy material off of me.

John dropped about a pound of the lard on the top of my head
sm
ashing my hat down onto my head;
it felt like a damn runny ostrich egg as he spread it around
my face and shoulders.

“
I
’
m not really liking the way this feels
,
John. Things will stick to me.
”

“
Naw
,
man
, this to help from sticking,
”
h
e said as he slathered copious amounts of the white goo on my ass.

Wow
!
I
’
m looking back at the words I
’
m writing and I
’
m having a hard time deciding whether to keep them there, this is starting to sound like a porno. If I had a bigger eraser I
’
d rub those words out. Yes I could keep going in that vein, as a guy it
’
s actually pretty easy. But since my wife will probably one day see this journal
,
I
’
m going to swing it back.

“
I don
’
t really like people touching me
,
Trip.
”

“
What
? Put your hands over your head,
”
w
as all he said.

I complied, any more lard and he could have shot me through a straw.
He patted down my legs better than any
cop frisking I had ever had.
I was afraid to move
,
so sure that I was going to stick to myself. I don
’
t even l
ike the sticky feel of humidity—this was excruciating.
I almost wanted to go through the damn hole now just so I could get this shit off of me.

“
Okay
, now do me,
”
John said as he put his hands over his head. He waited a few moments before turning around.
“
You said you didn
’
t like people touching
you
.
”

“
It goes both ways.
”

“
It
’
s this or
four
hours in the hole.
”
He smiled.

“
Fuck,
”
I said as I grabbed a giant handful of the lard.
“
This is so gross, why didn
’
t you use vegetable oil?
”

“
Wore off too quick.
”
After a few more moments
,
John seemed pleased with his new
uniform of rendered animal fat.
He
grabbed some rope and made a harness for me securing it together with a mountaineer
’
s clasp.
He then did the same to himself,
then tied us together with about a fifteen foot length of what I considered to be entirely too thin rope.

“
This gonna hold? It looks like dental floss. Or maybe a super model
’
s thong.
”

“
I
’
d
trust my life to this rope,
”
h
e told me.

“
What about mine?
”

“
You
’
ll be fine
,
man, I won
’
t leave you.
”

“
I
’
m more concerned you might forget.
”

“
You ready?
”
h
e asked as he
tugged hard on our connections.
My
body was so loose I almost fell over.
“
You look like you
’
re going to fall asleep. I
’
m sorry
,
we
’
re going to h
ave to leave your poncho behind…
that
’
s some rocking duds.
”