Every Burden Has a Version

“How come we are at the book store?” I asked, scrambling over Frank to peek my head out the window. “This road trip sucks major camel balls.”

“We are only dropping Mikey off. He can’t join us,” Frank announced, leaning over my shoulder.

“What? No,” I groaned.

“Violet, guess what?” Mikey turned around to face me, finding me in Frank’s lap. “Um, well, I’m hosting and putting together the Halloween party at the bookstore. We are going to have a haunted house that smells like musty books.”

Gerard parked in front of the store, unlocking the doors for Mikey to get out like a klutz.

“Take care of the house, Mikey,” Frank worried.

“No problem.” Mikey left the car. He smiled and waved to us.

“I can’t believe I trust your brother, Gee.” Frank hung his head. “He’s going to do something stupid when I’m gone. One time he couldn’t get toast out of the toaster so he stuck a fork in it… while it was still on. Man oh man.”

“Sounds like something I would do,” I laughed. “Correction: sounds like something I would not do. I hate toast. I would do it for waffles maybe. It depends if I was that desperate.”

“Where is that Ray?” Gerard checked for this Ray man out the window. “Look for a Jew fro, guys.”

“Is he Jewish?” I questioned, animated since I was Jewish.

“Yeah, he’s not. But look for a guy wearing a Metallica shirt.”

I gazed out the window then smelt cigarette smoke. Gerard had a cigarette between his fingers, closing his eyes as he smelt the new cigarette enclosed atmosphere.

I climbed to the front seat of the car. Gerard watched me as I reached for his hair, taking a massive whiff.

“When was the last time you washed your hair? It is redolent of Winston smokes.” I wiped the oils of his hair on Gerard’s car seats.

“Your mom,” he chuckled, thinking he offended me.

“Is that the best you can come up with? Nice.” My expression was dismayed. “I would have said it is sex hair; it’s meant to be oily. Or, hey, I’m trying out for the next Broadway musical of Grease. Forget it about,” I said in an Italian accent.

Gerard took a long lug on his cigarette.

“See,” Frank began, “Violet is very gregarious and says anything that is on her mind.” Frank rested his hand on my shoulder.

“There he is,” Gerard yelled, tossing his cigarette in the car’s ash tray.

I immediately stared out the window to see a man with a short Jew fro in a Metallica shirt and blue jeans.

Gerard honked his horn and shouted, “Ray!”

Ray got in the backseat of the car with a grin planted on his face.

“Is this her?” I heard him whisper to Frank.

“Hello, Ray! I’m Violet Murkowski. Put her there,” I held out my hand till he should it. “How are you, Ray? Or if you’re French, coma cava?”

“Good,” he said suspiciously, extending the O’s in the word. “How are you?”

“Je vais bien. Or if you’re not French, I’m fine. You like Frank’s shirt? I made it. I have crafty hands.”

“I bet you do,” Gerard blurted out.

“Nice! Good one, man.” I slapped my knee in laughter.

“It’s an awesome shirt.” Ray warily shifted his eyes around at Frank as if to say ‘this is her? This is the girl?’

Notes

I always love Ray. I picture him being like just as hyper as Frank.

Anyway, there ya have it. Another update will be in a few days. Thanks for reading!
-christy-