It was dark when Frank woke up. He looked at the
clock. 6:00. Still early, he thought. He climbed off the couch and walked into
the kitchen. His roommate, Reggie, was eating a TV dinner. Turkey. Mashed
potatoes. Gravy. Corn. Stuffing. Cranberry sauce. “What are you doing up so
early?” Frank asked him. “And why are you eating a turkey dinner for breakfast?”
“Jesus,
Frank, it’s six o’clock at night.” Reggie stuffed a fork full of mush into his
mouth. “You must have really tied one on last night.”
“Six
o’clock at night?” Franks said in a panicked voice. He ran back into the living
room and searched for his jacket. “Have you seen my jacket?” he yelled to
Reggie.
“Isn’t
it hanging on the back of the couch?”
Frank
checked the back of the couch. Nothing. Behind it. Nothing. Underneath. Bingo!
He wondered how it got there as he searched the pockets. Half a pack of smokes.
Two disposable lighters. A ripped piece of paper with a phone number on it. A
tiny plastic bag coated in white residue. A token for a free beverage at a
place called “Marty’s Hole in the Wall.” A nickel. Four dimes. His flip phone.
Bingo!
He
checked for missed calls. Seven. All from the same number. Junior! He had
promised his son that he would make him Thanksgiving dinner. His refrigerator
was filled with all the ingredients. Turkey.
Mashed potatoes. Gravy. Corn. Stuffing. Cranberry sauce. He said he would pick
him up at noon.
Frank
pressed the “Call” button on his phone. It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Goddamn
it Frank!” It wasn’t his son’s voice.
“I
can explain.”
“I
don’t want to hear it. This was the last time. Please don’t call here anymore.”
“Just
let me…”
The line went dead. Ring
tone. Frank flipped the phone shut. “Hey Reggie,” he yelled.
“Yeah?”
“What time does that
store open?”
“Which store?”
“The one with the big
Black Friday sale?”
“Eight o’clock, I think.
Why?”
Frank swung his jacket
over his shoulders and jolted out the door of the trailer. The rain pounded the
windshield of his Pontiac as drove across town. He arrived at the store an hour
before it opened. There were already over a hundred people in line. He waited.
In the pouring rain.
There was a mad rush to
the toy section when the doors opened. Everyone was after the same thing. Snatchimals.
Frank didn’t even know what the fuck a Snatchimal was. But he needed one.
The shelf was empty.
“Excuse me, miss.” Frank
approached an elderly woman who was holding one of the prized possessions. “I
know how this must sound, but I need that toy.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman
said. “But I can’t part with it.”
Frank pulled out his
wallet. “You don’t understand. I really need it. I’ll give you twenty dollars.”
“Twenty dollars? These
things are going for hundreds on the internet.”
“Please, just do me a
favor.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
The woman headed toward the cash register.
Frank walked out the
front door and waited. In the pouring rain. The woman came out. Frank followed
her to her car. “Excuse me, miss…”
“You again! I said no…”
Frank punched her in the
nose. She tried to yell. Frank punched her again. And again. And again. Until
she fell to the ground. He grabbed her shopping bag and walked to his car.
He drove to a spot he
knew next to the old mill. A spot that was secluded. He climbed into the back
seat. He crossed his arms. He closed his eyes.
When daylight broke, he
drove to his ex-wife’s house. He rang the doorbell. His son answered.
“Peter!”
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to bring
you this.” Frank handed his son the bag.
Peter opened it and
pulled out a Snatchimal. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s the new toy. The
one everybody wants.”
“I’m fifteen fucking
years old. Why the fuck would I want a Snatchimal?” The door slammed shut.
Frank left the toy on the
porch. He drove toward home. He pulled into the trailer park. Two cop cars were
idling in front of his home. He turned around. He drove away. In the pouring
rain.
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