We've all thought it... revenge against our brothers or sisters in humanity for giving us the cold shoulder, picking on us during our growing years, but what if revenge came and bit us in the ass?
revenge lover
paul handley
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Archie followed the silver Subaru, which had to be at least ten years old. He kept up a constant patter to himself, “Come on Chip, let’s get off this busy street where we can be alone and talk about things.” Instead, the Subaru took a left toward downtown. “No, no, no, no,” Archie said. That’s not helping me Chiparoo.” He looked helplessly as the neighborhood exponentially gained witnesses and he continued to chat himself up into a lather of lunacy. The Subaru signaled to parallel park and Archie eased into a drive behind it, blocking any possible incoming and outgoing traffic from a locksmith business.
Chip parallel parked with the confidence of someone driving a beater, assured that any accident would result in the insurance companying totaling out payment at minimal value. The lookout was for others who had something to lose; a collision, causing accelerated depreciation like time-lapse photography. The dumbass left the door open, standing in traffic while fiddling with a coffee mug or other items he needed. Archie wouldn’t doubt if Chip still smoked and was reaching for his cigarettes, spending $82.00 a carton to smell bad and ash his lungs until they crumpled in on themselves. * * *
Archie was leaving freshman English class. They were excused early on the first day of class. As he exited the door he was attacked. “Wilding” was the term that later stuck in Archie’s mind when he imagined the incident. A few feet beyond the doorway he was assaulted from behind by three or four boys from in the classroom wielding graphite shivs. He didn’t see all of them. Archie was 6’4” and his assailants struck from the waist with hypersonic bowling motions, jabbing him in the ass and thighs with sharpened pencils. Sent home by the nurse and refusing to say what happened, his Mom took Archie to the clinic to remove the graphite that had broken off under his skin.
Years later the only attacker he could remember was Chip. Archie remembered admiring Chip’s Sunoco work shirt on orientation day that made him look simultaneously tough and cool. He could see the logo skewered by a red arrow as he reflexively glanced back, not realizing at first what was occurring. He also recalled that the next day in class, Chip recoiled when Archie walked by his desk. Archie suddenly felt guilty it had never even occurred to him to retaliate. The strike had been executed with shock and awe and Archie felt helpless in the aftermath. Although Archie was very tall, he was also praying mantis thin; approximately 35 pounds underweight. Archie remembered the weight because the next year he lied on his first driver’s license, adding twenty pounds to get to what he felt was a respectable one-hundred sixty-five. The doctor could not remove all the graphite since much of it was embedded too deeply. “It will work its way out later. The body rejects foreign objects,” said the doctor knowledgably and as it turned out, falsely. Years later in light hearted post-coital moods Archie would show his partner his lead plugged ass and relate the story to display a combination of vulnerability and whimsy. |
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* * *
Archie was displeased that Chip didn’t exit off a busy street, but decided that stepping out into the road like it was his private office was opportunity knocking like a big brass knocker on the back of Chip’s head. It also happened to coincide with a fantasy Archie had held for years involving driving neighborhoods and hitting cars that violate laws. If a car didn’t use its turn signal, veered into his lane, tailgated to urge him to move faster even though there was freight yard lot of cars in front of him, then Archie would ram them or slam on the brakes given the circumstances. He could even keep a helmet in the front seat for such occasions. Maybe even install racing seat belts.
The roving vigilante demolition derby was just that last psychotic fantasy to which he had given voice that dislodged his wife from their home. She had always wanted to live in a warmer climate anyway, so Archie retained the house in the divorce. Archie had forgotten that sometimes it was smarter to keep his thoughts to himself.
Chip didn’t even see it coming. Archie began to intone the Jaws’ theme song to himself as he was able to accelerate to forty-eight miles per hour before contact. He didn’t even get the satisfaction of seeing the fear on Chip’s face.
Archie wondered how Chip had looked before getting smashed by approximately two tons of steel at forty-eight miles per hour. A hit and run couldn’t have helped the aging process and also left a bad looking corpse. As he wheeled away, Archie thought Chip should have gone much younger. “Sorry Chipster. Chipper. Hey you Chip off the old block, Chip-n-Dale, Chim chim cheree,” Archie cracked himself up with his nonsensical patter as he exited the neighborhood as fast as possible, mocking that he wished he’d done to Chip’s live face years earlier. What kind of name is Chip anyway? thought Archie. Short for Charles? I would have gone with Chas. “Scratch that Mary Poppins bit,” he voiced out loud, since that “bit” had been out loud and seemed to require a vocal recantation.
Archie celebrated his revenge by getting lunch at a restaurant. He kept his head down as he attacked the meal. He knew from experience that food at this establishment was like a cheap cookie that tastes good while it’s hot, but as soon as the heat left his sandwich it would taste like the husked skin from a smoked catfish.
Archie loved revenge. Revenge movies were his favorite, although he thought the set-ups were repetitive. A happy family was usually wiped out leaving a survivor who then became a rebel with a cause tweaking Archie’s feelings of jealousy, but also discontent. They weren’t the only ones that deserved revenge and he actively sought out movies that expanded on the genre and became in his mind artistic works of an “auteur”. He identified with the main character and unconsciously mimicked mannerisms.
Archie’s Dad had adopted a story cliché. He explained that his resentment towards Archie was because “You killed your mother in child birth.” As he reached adolescence and was able to observe other fathers he assumed it was just a characteristic of his father’s generation to be generally grumpy unless he was drinking. Nonetheless, it provided Archie an opportunity to turn it around on him and nurse a childhood grievance.
Later on when his Dad was an invalid, Archie would visit him at the nursing home. Before leaving he would whisper to his Dad seated in a wheelchair, “You fucking idiot. I was born and she died and I had nothing to do with it. If anything, blame yourself for getting her pregnant you moron.” Archie’s Dad’s eyes would pop and he would start to grope for a drink or a button to push. Other times Archie felt affectionate toward the old man and would hire a prostitute. He was still fully capable as Archie witnessed when he had to peek in occasionally to make sure he was getting his money’s worth.
The roving vigilante demolition derby was just that last psychotic fantasy to which he had given voice that dislodged his wife from their home. She had always wanted to live in a warmer climate anyway, so Archie retained the house in the divorce. Archie had forgotten that sometimes it was smarter to keep his thoughts to himself.
Chip didn’t even see it coming. Archie began to intone the Jaws’ theme song to himself as he was able to accelerate to forty-eight miles per hour before contact. He didn’t even get the satisfaction of seeing the fear on Chip’s face.
Archie wondered how Chip had looked before getting smashed by approximately two tons of steel at forty-eight miles per hour. A hit and run couldn’t have helped the aging process and also left a bad looking corpse. As he wheeled away, Archie thought Chip should have gone much younger. “Sorry Chipster. Chipper. Hey you Chip off the old block, Chip-n-Dale, Chim chim cheree,” Archie cracked himself up with his nonsensical patter as he exited the neighborhood as fast as possible, mocking that he wished he’d done to Chip’s live face years earlier. What kind of name is Chip anyway? thought Archie. Short for Charles? I would have gone with Chas. “Scratch that Mary Poppins bit,” he voiced out loud, since that “bit” had been out loud and seemed to require a vocal recantation.
Archie celebrated his revenge by getting lunch at a restaurant. He kept his head down as he attacked the meal. He knew from experience that food at this establishment was like a cheap cookie that tastes good while it’s hot, but as soon as the heat left his sandwich it would taste like the husked skin from a smoked catfish.
Archie loved revenge. Revenge movies were his favorite, although he thought the set-ups were repetitive. A happy family was usually wiped out leaving a survivor who then became a rebel with a cause tweaking Archie’s feelings of jealousy, but also discontent. They weren’t the only ones that deserved revenge and he actively sought out movies that expanded on the genre and became in his mind artistic works of an “auteur”. He identified with the main character and unconsciously mimicked mannerisms.
Archie’s Dad had adopted a story cliché. He explained that his resentment towards Archie was because “You killed your mother in child birth.” As he reached adolescence and was able to observe other fathers he assumed it was just a characteristic of his father’s generation to be generally grumpy unless he was drinking. Nonetheless, it provided Archie an opportunity to turn it around on him and nurse a childhood grievance.
Later on when his Dad was an invalid, Archie would visit him at the nursing home. Before leaving he would whisper to his Dad seated in a wheelchair, “You fucking idiot. I was born and she died and I had nothing to do with it. If anything, blame yourself for getting her pregnant you moron.” Archie’s Dad’s eyes would pop and he would start to grope for a drink or a button to push. Other times Archie felt affectionate toward the old man and would hire a prostitute. He was still fully capable as Archie witnessed when he had to peek in occasionally to make sure he was getting his money’s worth.
* * *
“Hi Mr. H.,” said the kid next door. Archie gave a friendly nod as he washed his car. “What’s that smell?” he asked wrinkling his nose as if the hummus spread over the crackers that he was always snacking on had gone rancid. What kind of kid ate hummus? Archie thought. He hadn’t even heard of it until he was in his thirties.
“Just a little touch up work,” Archie replied to the nosy kid. Archie had a still in the garage to create his personal stash that he had shared with his next door neighbor Todd who had complained about the odor from the cooking mash. Although he could barely drink it, Archie could tell he liked the idea of illicit consumption. Archie had heard somewhere that ethanol would remove all trace evidence. He was using it to wipe down the front of his car.
“Hey asshole! Neighbor!” Archie turned around to see Todd from next door wearing a smirk. This was Todd’s idea of jocularity, something that Archie had never gotten used to. “Is that moonshine? You’re going to get the whole neighborhood high and then set us on fire. Use your head, man.” His kid must have told. Little rat.
“It’s not marijuana, you can’t get a contact buzz,” he replied, though Archie wasn’t positive about this and often thought he felt slightly juiced when he cooked. “I’m just about done here,” he said forcing a smile.
“Well, wrap it up. Who’d of thought I’d be living next to a hillbilly. ” Archie nodded in acknowledgement and pointed a finger like a gun at Todd, squeezing off a shot with his thumb.
“Just a little touch up work,” Archie replied to the nosy kid. Archie had a still in the garage to create his personal stash that he had shared with his next door neighbor Todd who had complained about the odor from the cooking mash. Although he could barely drink it, Archie could tell he liked the idea of illicit consumption. Archie had heard somewhere that ethanol would remove all trace evidence. He was using it to wipe down the front of his car.
“Hey asshole! Neighbor!” Archie turned around to see Todd from next door wearing a smirk. This was Todd’s idea of jocularity, something that Archie had never gotten used to. “Is that moonshine? You’re going to get the whole neighborhood high and then set us on fire. Use your head, man.” His kid must have told. Little rat.
“It’s not marijuana, you can’t get a contact buzz,” he replied, though Archie wasn’t positive about this and often thought he felt slightly juiced when he cooked. “I’m just about done here,” he said forcing a smile.
“Well, wrap it up. Who’d of thought I’d be living next to a hillbilly. ” Archie nodded in acknowledgement and pointed a finger like a gun at Todd, squeezing off a shot with his thumb.
* * *
Archie was getting the shit kicked out of him in an alley. He’d had a premonition that this was going to happen. It happened the same way. He was in a bar and suddenly the brother of an old girlfriend sits next to him and buys him a drink. This is weird because the relationship with the girlfriend named Valentine had ended badly.
Archie sold LSD for expenses while in college. He had stolen the necessary implements from the school chemistry lab and made his own “soup”. Certain of the ingredients weren’t legal so sometimes Archie had to improvise with Hawaiian rose seeds or Colorado River toad belly.
One time, Valentine had come over after a late night and waited for Archie to come home. She got into a hybrid of seeds and belly scraping that Archie was experimenting with and was never the same. Soon afterwards, she dropped out of school. The last he had heard was that Valentine was living with her parents. She was unable to keep a job; left the gas stove on or just plain forgot to eat.
“Oh, yeah, she’s still with mom and dad,” confirmed Valentine’s brother after Archie made the obligatory inquiry, with a vague hope that she was better and he was finally off the hook. “I think they like it. It gives them someone to fuss over,” he added.
Over the bar, through the window it looked like some teenagers were harassing a homeless person camped in a doorway. It was difficult to see due to the distance and lighting, but Archie thought he saw a kick and then spittle flying through the air. Archie had always hated people taking advantage of a superior position. “I’m going out there,” he said.
“Finish your liquid courage, at least,” said the brother.
Archie downed the rest of his drink in a gulp, got up and said, “Feel free to join in.”
Valentine’s brother called after him, “My sister used to talk about this, your impulses.”
Archie exited the bar and walked across the street toward the beating. He thought he heard the footsteps of Valentine’s brother behind him. He saw the assailants drag the homeless person down an alley. It looked like the victim was a woman. No, now it looked like a man.
Archie started to feel dizzy. He reached for his pistol, but he couldn’t get it free from his ankle holster. He knelt down heavily like an old man. The woman’s cries for help punctuated the wildings’ exhortations.
Suddenly, Archie pitched forward from a punch to the back of his neck. He slowly climbed to his feet and grabbed one of the assailants from behind. When the goon gaped back over his shoulder he looked like Chip. Archie looked at the other goons and then back at Chip. All three looked like Archie. Were they wearing masks? Oh, he realized, he was having a wide awake dream. What was that the staff called it? A hallucination. That’s right. The attackers and the woman started to kick the shit out of him. Archie heard one of them mouth the Psycho knife sound of violinists striking the same note over and over. They took to it with religious zeal, as if they were converting Archie before their eyes.
Valentine’s brother leaned over him and said “Watch out for the brown acid, man.”
Archie sold LSD for expenses while in college. He had stolen the necessary implements from the school chemistry lab and made his own “soup”. Certain of the ingredients weren’t legal so sometimes Archie had to improvise with Hawaiian rose seeds or Colorado River toad belly.
One time, Valentine had come over after a late night and waited for Archie to come home. She got into a hybrid of seeds and belly scraping that Archie was experimenting with and was never the same. Soon afterwards, she dropped out of school. The last he had heard was that Valentine was living with her parents. She was unable to keep a job; left the gas stove on or just plain forgot to eat.
“Oh, yeah, she’s still with mom and dad,” confirmed Valentine’s brother after Archie made the obligatory inquiry, with a vague hope that she was better and he was finally off the hook. “I think they like it. It gives them someone to fuss over,” he added.
Over the bar, through the window it looked like some teenagers were harassing a homeless person camped in a doorway. It was difficult to see due to the distance and lighting, but Archie thought he saw a kick and then spittle flying through the air. Archie had always hated people taking advantage of a superior position. “I’m going out there,” he said.
“Finish your liquid courage, at least,” said the brother.
Archie downed the rest of his drink in a gulp, got up and said, “Feel free to join in.”
Valentine’s brother called after him, “My sister used to talk about this, your impulses.”
Archie exited the bar and walked across the street toward the beating. He thought he heard the footsteps of Valentine’s brother behind him. He saw the assailants drag the homeless person down an alley. It looked like the victim was a woman. No, now it looked like a man.
Archie started to feel dizzy. He reached for his pistol, but he couldn’t get it free from his ankle holster. He knelt down heavily like an old man. The woman’s cries for help punctuated the wildings’ exhortations.
Suddenly, Archie pitched forward from a punch to the back of his neck. He slowly climbed to his feet and grabbed one of the assailants from behind. When the goon gaped back over his shoulder he looked like Chip. Archie looked at the other goons and then back at Chip. All three looked like Archie. Were they wearing masks? Oh, he realized, he was having a wide awake dream. What was that the staff called it? A hallucination. That’s right. The attackers and the woman started to kick the shit out of him. Archie heard one of them mouth the Psycho knife sound of violinists striking the same note over and over. They took to it with religious zeal, as if they were converting Archie before their eyes.
Valentine’s brother leaned over him and said “Watch out for the brown acid, man.”
END
© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Paul Handley’s work has appeared in Hobart, Metazen, Gone Lawn, Monkeybicycle, Pulp Diction III, Apt, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency and is forthcoming in Gargoyle Magazine.
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