Friday, November 26, 2010

Frozen Loved Ones (And How To Dispose Of Their Remains)

Honey? Don't forget to brush the horses...

"Arbitrary rules teach kids discipline. If every rule made sense, they wouldn't be learning respect for authority. They be learning logic." 
~ Stephen Colbert

Dad called on his way home Tuesday night, when I was still sick in bed, intermittently vomiting my guts out. (Against my will. It's different. Ah, shut your whore mouth.)

“You’d better run outside and check on Trent, hun,” he said, and I groaned. “I know you’re sick, Kagie, but it’s minus 27 out there, and you haven’t checked on him in a few days.”

I cried and moaned, and even tried a few 'Can’t you do it, Daddy?’s, but to no avail. He was my baby, ergo my responsibility. I reluctantly crawled out of bed and got dressed.

I stumbled out into the back yard, leaving the dogs inside the house, so I would only have to deal with one frozen pet at a time. “Trent,” I called out as I approached him. “It’s...hack! hack! Ugh...It’s Mummy!”

I opened the side gate and walked through.

And there was my poor baby Trent, frozen in the snow.

“Trent?” I said, and approached him. “Trent?” I said a little louder, and gave him a gentle kick with my boot.


Uh oh. Uh, fuck.

I tried to turn him over, but he didn’t budge. “Please, baby, please, you cannot die on me,” I moaned, and tried desperately to turn him over again. I just wasn’t strong enough, though, and I started to cry.

“Please, Trent, don’t leave me!” I begged him, and desperately ran my hands all over his body, trying to warm him up. “Please, baby, please! Wake up!”

Headlights suddenly caught my eye, and I saw my dad pulling into the lane. “Dad!” I screamed. “Dad, help me! I think Trent’s dead. What do I do? What do I DO?”

Dad jumped out of his truck and ran over to Trent’s lifeless form, and tried to turn him over too, but he couldn’t do it either. I stood beside him, and cried helplessly.

“We’d better get him into the garage, where it’s warm,” Dad said grimly.

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” I cried. “We can’t even turn him over! How are we gonna get him in the garage, push him?”

Dad gave me a look that said I didn’t leave him outside, and I shut up. We actually did try to push his lifeless bulk into the garage, but of course, it didn’t work.

“What now?” I asked sulkily.

“We’re gonna have to push him in with my truck,” Dad said.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. Dad went back to his truck, and I went to sit in the snow and cry. I watched as Dad backed his truck straight into Trent, and I screamed when I heard the sickening crunch of the truck colliding with my baby. Dad’s tires were spinning and spraying snow everywhere, but eventually, he got Trent into the garage.

When the job was done, he came and pulled me out of the snow. “I’ll finish here, Kagie,” he said quietly. “You get back to bed.”

I walked away in a daze, and walked back into the house, where I kicked off my winter boots and then just crawled into bed, still dressed in my winter jacket, scarf and mitts.

I couldn’t believe it. Trent was gone. My baby was dead, and it was ALL MY FAULT.

“Trent,” I cried into my pillow. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I didn’t get out of bed for two days. What was the point, if I didn’t have Trent?

I had to get up today, though, to go see Dr. Cram-It-In and explain why I am the weakest (and the rudest) member of the Eating Disorders Program. I could barely move this afternoon, my depression was so great, but I knew I would be booted from the program if I didn’t show.

“Kage,” Mum said when I finally shuffled out of my room.

“What?” I said miserably.

“Your Dad wants to see you in the garage,” she said, and motioned for me to go outside.

I sighed, but walked out the front door, and into the garage.

As I stepped into the garage, Dad turned Trent over, and my baby roared back into life. I screamed in terror, and almost ran out of the garage.

“Trent!” I yelled and turned back into the garage, then jumped up and down on the spot like the moron that I SO AM. “Trent! Trent! Trent! Trent! My baby! You’re alive!”

My dad grinned from behind the steering wheel. “Only just,” he grumbled.

“Whatever,” I snorted, and threw myself dramatically over Trent’s hood, and began kissing it gratefully. "Oh, my baby. Did you miss your Mummy? Did you? DID you?"

“Ew,” I said, and wiped the city’s grime from my mouth. “Puh! Gross. Hey, do you see the significance of what has happened here, Dad? Do you? Huh? Huh?”

“Uh, no,” he said, and slid out of the driver’s seat. “What is the significance of what has happened here, Kage?”

“My passion for Trent Reznor has breathed life back into this car,” I said sagely.

“What? No, it hasn't! I have!” Dad cried.

But I would not be swayed. “My passion for Trent Reznor has breathed life back into this car,” I whispered manically.

“Oh God,” Dad rolled his eyes, tossed me the keys, and walked out of the garage.

Ha ha! Long live my never-ending, definitely-bordering-on-unhealthy obsession with Nine Inch Nails!

Oooops, I mean...long live my Chevy Tracker.

And long live my Dad!
Cuz you WANNA put your FEEEET on my RUGGGG, don't ya? You really WANNA put your FEEEET on my RUGGGG, don't ya? PIMP JUICE.

1 comment:

  1. LOVE IT! I seriously thought you were going to tell me that your dad cut Trent up into a dozen little pieces with his chainsaw while you slept. This is a MUCH better ending. Here's something for you:


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