Ridicula Read online

  Not taking any lip from his wife, Harrison went to her, shoved the palm of his hand to within centimeters of her nose, and shouted, “Stop!”

  Meanwhile, Freckles sat down to enjoy the theatrics, tongue hanging from his mouth as if waiting for Harrison to find the tennis balls but actually just enjoying the show performed by the ridiculous humans. Once settled, he was in time to see Lana swipe her husband’s hand away and begin scolding him.

  “How dare you?” she retorted, not one to back down from anyone, let alone her husband. “I’m only watching out for your safety. You’re not a spring chicken anymore, Harrison.”

  Freckles thought about finding a chicken to chase but then reconsidered. The humans were more entertaining than any chicken.

  “I can hit a damned tennis ball. Now where’s my bat?” Harrison looked around the vicinity as if his bat would suddenly appear in front of him.

  “Check your closet. It’s probably with the rest of your junk,” Lana surrendered to his stubbornness but not without one more remark, “You’re going to hurt your back. Mark my words.”

  Harrison harrumphed, dismissing her with the wave of his hand. He walked towards his closet where he kept most of his stuff that he couldn't bring himself to throw away. At least Freckles knew when a tennis ball had been chewed to the point of disuse. Harrison didn’t seem to learn this trivial lesson. He couldn’t distinguish new from relic, useful from unpractical, good junk from bad crap.

  And sure enough, as soon as he opened the closet door, an old crusty glove fell from the packed upper shelf and smote him on the head, dust careening from both the glove and his hair. Afterward, the glove fell harmlessly to the floor.

  Harrison sneezed one loud and powerful “Achew!” and then he followed the glove to the ground and clenched his lower back. “Sweetheart, I need help. My back!”

  Watching from the nearby doorway and seeing that he was not seriously hurt, Lana couldn’t help but laugh. “You didn’t even make it outside or find the bat yet. Come here, my old husband. Give your wife a hug.”

  Harrison picked himself back up, stretching until he realized that his back was all right. He limped to his wife anyway, although he clearly wasn’t injured. Freckles could tell because the man kept forgetting which leg it was that supposedly bothered him, not to mention that his original complaint was about his back. Thankfully, Harrison let the charade die in favor of hugging his wife and pecking her on the cheek. “I’m an old bumbling fool sometimes,” he said.

  “That’s why I still love you, Harry,” his wife replied, returning a kiss to his cheek.

  Freckles stood up then. When the humans got lovey-dovey with each other, it was time to leave.

  Chapter 4

  Mistaken Identity

  Maude grunted before spitting out her Skoal. Hippie watched her do so with both distaste and horror. How could anyone put that stuff into their mouths, chew on it like it were a big fat black gumball, and then spit it out with such gusto that the tobacco almost melted into the tar of the road? “Want some?” she asked, holding out the Skoal can as if she thought he’d consider the offer.

  “No, thank you,” he replied with as much courtesy as he could muster without throwing up. “I’ll take another beer, though, if you’re feeling charitable.”

  “Help yourself,” she said, pushing the cooler across the picnic table with her beefy arms. She could beat him to a pulp if she wanted. Hippie was aware of that so didn’t want to drink too much out of fear that he would say something that would offend her. Thus, he told himself that the can of Milwaukee’s Best he pulled from the container would be his last for the day.

  “How ‘bout some beef jerky?” Maude asked. “It washes down with this beer real good.”

  “Okay,” he found himself saying against every being in his nutrition-oriented mind. Were the four previous beers he had drunk starting to get to him? But this beer was mostly water. How could he be drunk already? Or was it that when his inhibitions were lowered, he actually liked unhealthy imitation crap, such as jerky?

  He reached out and grabbed the already opened bag of jerky and scarfed down a piece. “Ummm, good!” he said, not lying. This was the first time he ate the stuff in many years. He did rather like the taste.

  “It’s my own recipe,” Maude said proudly. “A dash of barbecue goes a long way.” She took a piece and chomped it like she did the Skoal.

  Oh, this is a woman of so much grace and eloquence! While his thoughts were sarcastic, he was fond of her straightforward crude manner.

  They were sitting on a picnic table near the parking lot of the rest stop. Thus far, no one had bothered them, but Hippie noticed a few passersby briefly staring at them strangely. Why didn’t people just mind their business? Why should they care if a long-bearded hippy and a bulky miscreant-looking woman chose to hang out together?

  Just then, a pickup truck came to a halt on the grass near them. Two tattooed men were howling at the wind from the bed of the pickup as if they were threatening to turn into a werewolf. A third man, the driver, on the other hand, may have already been one. When he got out of the truck, Hippie could not tell if he had any skin on his arms, legs, or face underneath his hair. If not a werewolf, perhaps he was a bear.

  “What do we have here?” one of the men asked after he finished howling. He leaped off the side of the truck.

  “You got any of that jerky for us?” the second man said as he jumped off the tailgate.

  “Don’t you have some cat to chase?” Maude asked in reply, addressing both of them. “Or some cows to tip?”

  “He haw,” the first man said. “I think I may soon be tipping a cow. You’re about as big as one.”

  “You better watch it, boy,” Maude said, fists raised.

  This was escalating out of control for Hippie’s tastes, so he intervened. “We got plenty of jerky for everyone.”

  Maude turned and shushed him. “I got this,” she added and raised her fists back up.

  Meanwhile, the bear man had walked straight up to Hippie, seemingly just to stare at him. At first Hippie paid him no heed, focusing on what the others were up to, but soon this man’s incessant staring became too annoying to ignore. “May I help you?” he asked.

  “Are you Jesus?” Bearman questioned, seriously.

  Normally one would think that to be a really odd question, but Hippie was used to it. In his travels, there had been many people who compared his appearance to Jesus or John Lennon or a younger Willie Nelson. However, by the sincerity in Bearman’s voice and the fact that he looked like he was about to kneel and pray to him, this man was taking it to a whole new level. The fact that Hippie saw a gun underneath his jacket or fur (he wasn’t sure which it was) made it more unusual, but Aspen wasn’t worried about it. “Have you been watching too many repeats of Duck Dynasty?” he joked.

  “What’s that?” the man asked in reply.

  Hippie was set aback by this. Who had ever heard of a redneck and a seemingly religious person to boot not knowing what Duck Dynasty was? “Oh, never mind, my disciple,” he said with a smile.

  Bearman looked confused and did not speak or make any movements, so Hippie took that opportunity to see how Maude was doing. He was just in time to witness Maude slapping around one of the goons as if he were from a three stooges’ gag: a slap to the ear, a hit of the cheek, a pinch of his nose, and finally a punch to the chest. The punch sent the man staggering backwards until he tripped over the first goon whom Hippie now noticed was sprawled on the ground like a broken pretzel.

  Maude wiped her hands together, her work done. She then stared in his direction. “Hey, Aspen, what’s that guy doin’?” she asked, using his real name for effect.

  He whirled around to see Bearman kneeling in prayer at his feet. “Now this is too much,” Hippie said. “He really thinks I’m Jesus!”

  “Has he even noticed that his friends are down and out?” Maude replied, still proud of her pugilistic accomplishments.

  “Oh, my Lord, l
et me praise you in all your glory. You have returned to save us all!” Bearman continued his worship by attempting to kiss Hippie’s feet, but he quickly moved away so that Bearman smooched grass instead.

  “Maybe Jesus will come one day, but not right now. I’m not who you think I am,” Hippie responded, and then added, “Get a grip!”

  Bearman did get a grip—of Hippie’s ankle! “I’ve touched God!” he proclaimed.

  “Good God, stop this nonsense,” Hippie said, trying to break free from the other’s grip.

  “Oh, I apologize,” Bearman frantically yelled. “You are the son of God. I pray you forgive my mistake.”

  Hippie stopped struggling. This was useless. He would have to try a different tactic to escape this nut. “You are forgiven, my son.” Then he added just for the fun of acting omnipotent, “As long as you are true to yourself and send love to all animals and plants alike. And you shall forever obey anyone who is truly a hippy of heart and spirit.”

  “I will heed your every word, Messiah.”

  “Be free then but leave me and be gone,” Hippie decreed, stifling a chuckle.

  Bearman released him and stood up, his worshipping finished. “Thank you, Jesus!”

  And then he strode back to his pickup truck, started the ignition, and drove off. The two goons he came with still lay heaped on the ground, but he had not noticed and was unlikely to come back for them anytime soon, so enamored by seeing Jesus and all.

  “Let’s get back on the road,” Maude said after Bearman’s vehicle was out of sight. “Someone may come around and notice these clods soon.” She stepped on one of those clods on her way to her truck, and he only whimpered in response.

  Hippie followed Maude, bemused but happy at what had just happened to him. It wasn’t every day that he got mistaken for being the almighty one, although it wasn’t unprecedented.

  He just had that appeal!

  Chapter 5

  A Glut of SUVs

  Kenny couldn’t be THAT drunk. Sure, Jade and Maria were keeping their distance as he punched the cushion seat next to him. Sure, it was kind of a weird thing to do because there was no real reason to hit taxi seats. Sure, he could have been doing something better with his time. But at least he realized what he was doing. He was just having fun. The cushion felt good against his fists.

  In the middle of one of his punches, the cab suddenly stopped, throwing him under the passenger seat. Thus, his punch missed its mark, hitting the back of the front seat. George lurched forward, his seat belt tightened and cut against his neck. “Dammit, Kenny,” George yelled. “I’m bleeding here.”

  Meanwhile, Bobarino screamed at a sign. “Detour, this city with its detours! How the hell am I supposed to get cross town this way?” Expletives erupted then, which Kenny could barely make out, his ears being caught between the passenger’s seat and the backseat, which was hardly conducive to hearing.

  “Get up, Kenny. You’re crushing my legs,” Jade said, adding to the commotion.

  “I can’t. I’m stuck,” Kenny replied with his face jammed to the front seat, feeling mushed up like a bulldog.

  “Get me a tissue,” George said to no one.

  “Stupid traffic,” Bobarino complained.

  “My legs!” Jade exclaimed.

  “Mmmmmmm” was all Kenny could say as the cab lurched forward a couple of inches, forcing Kenny to kiss the passenger’s seat.

  “Help me, Maria,” Jade commanded. Kenny had forgotten Maria was even in the cab. She had been silent this whole time. Maria did not respond but must have helped her friend because the next thing Kenny felt was the kick of Jade’s sandal against his back as she pulled free.

  “That hurts,” Kenny whined.

  “It serves you right,” Jade responded.

  “I still can’t stop the bleeding,” George complained.

  “Screw you,” Bobarino yelled at the neighboring SUV, which was honking uproariously for what seemed an hour. Bobarino returned the sentiment with his own honking. That’s New York City for you!

  With Jade’s feet free, Kenny found room to free his face, but his butt was still wedged. “Please move your seat forward, Greg. I’m still stuck here.”

  “I’m bleeding because of you, so you’ll just have to wait to free your drunk fat ass!” George’s agitated voice demanded.

  The taxicab skewed to the right, skirting the honking SUV as well as the other traffic. Looking up at the rearview mirror, Kenny saw Bobarino flash his middle finger back at the driver of the SUV. He also saw that the cab had pulled onto Thirtieth Street. “You’re going the wrong direction,” Kenny blurted out. “You’re headed towards the Lincoln Tunnel.”

  Too late. Bobarino could not turn around before entering the tunnel. Thus, they were bound for New Jersey. Ugh!

  On the bright side, Kenny’s butt flew free when a tire slammed into a pothole just before entering the tunnel. Reacting to the bumps, however, he reflexively and accidentally kicked Maria’s chin. At first, he was impressed with his kick, because the reach of his kick had been outstanding, but then he realized that Maria might be hurt.

  “Oww! Watch it!” Maria screamed, her first words since Kenny entered this rollercoaster cab, but she looked uninjured.

  “Still bleeding here!” George remarked.

  “It’s just a little scratch, you wimp,” Jade announced back to George.

  “Jersey! Damn detours!” Bobarino truly sounded disgusted.

  Into the Lincoln Tunnel the cab zoomed, but keeping in one lane was difficult for Bobarino. He briefly swerved into the other lane, where he cut off another SUV with a Jersey license plate.

  How ironic, Kenny thought. Someone was cutting off a Jersey driver. Kenny always seemed to see New Jersey drivers doing the cutting off.

  However, the Jersey driver didn’t even honk. What was going on here? Did the Lincoln Tunnel’s lights make Jersey people react differently than usual?

  Exiting the tunnel, Bobarino accidentally swerved again into the SUV’s lane. This time, the other driver honked. And loudly at that. Indeed, it must have been the lights. Thus, for now, everything was back to normal.

  Except that they were in New Jersey in the middle of the night in a cab driving ninety miles an hour. Bobarino certainly couldn’t drive the speed limit. After all, he was a cab driver by profession.

  Every cab driver always had something that made them stop the vehicle before it was necessary. A stop sign or a red light might do the trick, but Bobarino preferred to roll a stop sign and edge his way closer to a red light so that he would already be on the gas when the light turned green. Heavy traffic might work, but Bobarino would not stop unless there was absolutely nothing else to do. For instance, he had not completely stopped with the earlier Manhattan traffic and had entered the tunnel. Thus, the New Jersey Turnpike was looming.

  What finally stopped this particular cab driver (but not necessarily a different one) was blowing a tire out due to a spike in the road. Before that eventuality, he had to swerve and then do a 360 before coming to a stop at the shoulder of the road inches from hitting a guard rail. At least the cab was no longer spinning out of control.

  Even so, Kenny’s stomach couldn’t take the motion, and he vomited on Jade’s sandals.

  In return, Jade kicked him in the face, vomit flying onto his nose. “Jesus, Kenny, have respect for my shoes!”

  Kenny did not react well, for the kicked vomit made him sneeze. The mucus from the sneeze reached Jade’s other sandal.

  “Disgusting!” Jade responded.

  “I’m bleeding again,” said George.

  “That was fun!” announced Bobarino.

  George got out of the cab, holding his cut neck like an infant might touch his mouth. The bleeding had clotted but George still seemed horrorstruck by the whole experience. Then, something else got his attention. “What’s that stink?”

  “Jersey!” all the others said at the same time.

  “Enough,” cried Maria as she opened the door and s
tepped out of the taxi. “What are we going to do now?” She finished her question right when another SUV sped past them, whipping dirt onto Maria’s clothes. Unladylike, she flashed the SUV the middle finger.

  “Beats me,” Kenny yelled.

  “Don’t know,” George admitted.

  “Trashing my sandals, for one,” Jade said, taking off her sandals and throwing them into the road.

  Everyone looked at the highway and watched as a third SUV ran over one of the sandals. The shoe skidded down the highway along with the SUV like a ping-pong paddle smacking a ball on the ground. Fifty feet up, it broke away from the tire of the SUV and flew onto the shoulder of the highway.

  “You do realize that you have nothing else to wear,” Maria reminded Jade as they continued to watch the sandal spin like a top before finally coming to a halt. “And that you are standing on asphalt on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike on a relatively hot night.”

  If Jade hadn’t realized the repercussions of what she had done immediately, she did so now. She hopped around as if she were walking on hot coal. Kenny guessed it wasn’t far from the truth. She settled down when she jumped onto grass beside the road.

  “Do you have a spare tire?” George asked Bobarino. “We usually have a donut in the trunk.”

  Bobarino shrugged, pulled the latch of the trunk, looked under the cushioning, and then shrugged again. “Guess not.”

  “Let’s just call a tow truck,” Maria said, always the rational one. She pulled out her phone. “What’s your insurance’s number?”

  Bobarino shrugged again.

  “You do have insurance?” Maria asked, incredulously.

  Kenny expected Bobarino to shrug again and was not disappointed.

  “George, call your father for the information,” Maria said, taking control of the situation.

  “He’s not home. On a business trip. May be hard to reach. And it’s late.” George certainly appeared unwilling to call his dad, for he made no inclination to grab his phone from the cab. Kenny was not sure why since George’s father, Paul, seemed friendly enough when he and Kenny had met.