Philosophy by Gary Percesepe

Philosophy by Gary Percesepe

Fiction, Vol. 4.2, June 2010

The paratroopers fall and as they fall
They mow the lawn.
Wallace Stevens

Everyone was talking about a philosophy of life. It seemed important and the kind of thing that could stand one in good stead for years to come. I needed to take a good long meeting with myself but I was booked solid. It was: Get in line. The ex, money again. No news there. My best friend Flipper was freaking out on me again. Two kids in need of school clothes and new footwear. And I had a brother in rehab. Then the dog died. I swear, I couldn’t believe what was happening. Every time I turned around, atomic. The kids made me write a funeral service. We threw the goldfish in the dog hole; you guessed it, they came up dead too. All of this was wearing on me. I needed to get ready for an important job interview and I hadn’t a thing to wear. Flipper offered me his suit, which was a kind but stupid gesture, since he is a 52 long. The sky stretched thin and pale. I couldn’t notice, I was up to my neck. I told Flipper that if I couldn’t write it up I wouldn’t know what has happening to me? I said it just like that with a question mark at the end? You know? The way I learned from my ex, who learned from Oprah? And he laughed and passed gas and told me to forget about it. And I said, I am serious, I do not know what I am thinking until I write it out. And he says, that is one scary mothafucker. Which I had to agree with. Right here was when I caught my mother screwing some man in her apartment. I walked in with her Chiclets and she was on the couch putting out for this guy, he looked like Marv Albert. With the hair piece, the big voice! SPREEWELL IS ON FIRE! The guy from 1050 ESPN radio is screwing my mom for all he’s worth, and she’s holding on for dear life. All I could do was look. It was like my own private Sopranos episode. Her dentures are popping. Oh God, it was disgusting. They’re going at it like a pair of pit bulls and Flipper comes over from next door to see what is the racket? When he sees what’s up he leaves the room like it’s the most normal thing of the week, he nonchalants it. I am glued to the floor. Neither of them notice me. My mom’s hearing aid is loose and flapping. SPREEWELL AT THE TOP OF THE KEY, CIRCUS SHOT! Flipper returns carrying a fire extinguisher. I tell him, my heart. I’d like to die. Marv is covered in white. He has a stripe on his back from the foam on his black T, and let’s face it, he looks like an angry Pepé Le Pew. I hand him a towel, nod at mother. My mother! for chrissake. Later I will write my mother a strongly worded letter. She never believed a word of it.

La Salle de Départ by Melissa Tandiwe Myambo

Fontanel by Ron Riekki

Leave a Response