The Surprise Visitor

9 February 2010

361

R. Linda:

This happened a while back, but I could not bring meself to write about it until now. The memory is fading THANK GOD, and the images and voices that I still see and hear in me head are starting to recede, just barely, so now is the time to regale you with me a sudden visit and recuperating holiday the Weasil spent at me abode, arriving one dark and stormy night. 

It started with a mournful telephone call from the Weasil. I was off to me bed when he rang. Seems he bruised his big toe in a fit of anger that Manchester United lost its match, by his kicking the wall (which is sporting a nice-sized hole he tells me) and he could hardly walk for it. I was of the mind it served him right for being so stupid. He then proceeded to tell me he had to play footy with his friends the next day, sore toe and all.

"I thought you did your toe in?"

"I did but dey needies me ta play," he whined and he did, the next day he was on the pitch. Now he's hobbling around on crutches because he broke his toe by kicking the ball. And being the arse he was, he played the whole of the game, broken toe and all and now . . . now we are all paying for his stupidity.

"I be cumin ta visit ya and da wifie and all da lil kidlets cuz I needs me some peace and quiet dat I won't git wit me own," he said, and he laughed that awful Weasil laugh, the one filled with devious intent.

I was speechless, but me brain kicked in and I heard me voice ask when. He informed me he was at Manchester Boston airport so come and get him. WHAT? He was already HERE? I was to drop everything and go pick his arse up? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! It was just after 11 p.m. and I was the most unhappy man you ever did want to see, as well as stunned, BUT not surprised. What could I do? I could, as Tonya suggested, leave him there, but he'd get a taxi and arrive anyway, or I could bite the bullet and go get his sorry arse. She went to make up the guest room bed while I banged about looking for me boots and coat, muttering terrible things about him under me breath. Like, "I wish we lived in a trailer, we could move it so when he arrived he couldn't find us."

"Is he alone?" Tonya thought to ask me as I readied meself for the arctic drive to Manchester.

"Oh God, don't ask that. I didn't think to ask. I hope he is," I said, feeling me body tense at the thought of Mrs. Weasil and those two squirrely kids. I put me hands to me face in frustration at the thought. I could picture it, all of them in me car and the insanity of the conversations they'd have, and then I had a bright and shining image of me pulling up to me house and dropping them all off while I took me to a hotel. Tonya said something, shaking me from me lovely dream.

"I guess the only way to find out is to go get 'em' tiger," she said sarcastically. "You have some strange friends," she said over her shoulder as she left me to put an extra blanket on the guest room bed.

I have strange friends? I thought, what about your mother? Nothing more strange than that woman! But I kept it to meself as I went out the door.

It took all the way to the airport for me car to warm up. I was near a block of ice by the time I pulled up to the terminal and there he was, straight blond hair coiffed like a male model, long fitted overcoat, designer jeans, Dr. Marten boots, and designer crutch. Yes, one of those neon blue jobbies. Oh, he was all set and the women, young and old who happened to be coming off some flight looked at him like he was an Adonis. I thought as I pulled up, they should only know that underneath that groomed expensive exteriour is a nutcase of proportions the size of the moon. I sighed and pulled to a stop. I popped the boot and walked up to shake his well-gloved hand and help him into me motor. Then I had to slam all his designer luggage in me boot and get back in, where I was subject to the blow-by-blow of how he broke his toe in six places! How does someone do that? Don't ask, I got it in medical description enough that if I was given a pop quiz, I'd get it all correct I would.

The toe by the by, was bandaged in a big ball of red, white and blue, the latest in British flag bandage wear. It looked ridiculous, but what can I say? This is Weasil we are talking here. The foot was encased in a type of athletic boot bandage. Yup, and me thoughts were of accidentally on purpose stepping on that foot but I just amused meself with that, not that I'd really consider it. Uh-huh. All the way to the house I heard about the pain of the bruise, then the first break, then the second and how it was excruciating by the fifth and forget the sixth time. I truly wanted to hit him or wring his neck, I didn't care which, I did want to inflict bodily harm for the mental harm he was doing me and tell him I thought he was a horse's arse and he got what he deserved, and to inform him not to expect me nor me wife to wait on him, but I didn't have to, because, by the end of the next day, O'Hare was enjoying playing manservant to the Weasil. Yes, the young laddie is not beyond child slave labour for a penny a trip. Weasil would ask him to fetch a glass of juice for him and drop a penny in the little mercenary's hand, and off the child would go, coming back with a glass of juice. And what can you do when your own child is thinking it's cool and for me to say otherwise, I be breaking his little heart by taking the "fun" away. Is it any wonder I cringe when the Weasil visits? OH and to make this worse than it sounds already, me son got out his good Christmas tie, and he's been sporting that as he waits upon the invalid. Oi!

I spent three days with the Weasil. The first he settled in, introduced me eldest to child labour, and the second day, he was feeling "so much better," he talked me into driving over to KFC for a bucket of that "abused chicken that comes in parts and they salt it . . . " eee-yah. I didn't know what he was talking about at first, but Tonya did. She informed him it would clog his young arteries and when she said that, his evil eyes lit up and he said, we most definitely needed to get us some. Because anything that did THAT was usually very tasty. I shake me head at this, it is just too painful to relive, but I will continue me self-punishment just to amuse YOU me muse with no hair.

THIS had an effect on me near to nuts wife (he had been slowly driving her up a wall) and she argued against the bucket of chicken. Well, he being he, waited for her to take the wee ones to daycare and then informed me we should go get a bucket for breakfast while she was away. And, stupid me by this time was hungry and I pulled the car around, then went to help him into his gear and stumble with him to the car, throw his arse and blue crutch in after him, and pulled away to find the nearest KFC for that greasy bucket of artery-clogging chicken.

Upon arrival he didn't want the drive-thru, no it would be better to hobble inside so there was no evidence for Tonya to come upon. I had to wonder if he did things like this to his own wife, and I be sure he does, the prat. So I get him inside KFC and all the women turn around and are of course sympathetic to the blond kid's injury and almost every single one of them asked him "What happened?" and he made up some story about ME falling through the ice on a snowmobile and how he had to rescue me stupid arse and how he got frostbite in the process and they had to amputate his toe. OH YES, HE DID. 

I stood there in line while this was going on, trying to keep me piehole shut because I knew it was useless to contradict him, and so I went into one of those dream while still awake trances, you know zoning out while "stuff" is happening around you. Hearing it and not reacting because you are in brain freeze and nothing seems to matter but you know it's not good what is going on. Yup. I kept telling myself that when he finally left, I'd just sit down while Sponge Bob was on (you know that cartoon annoys me), get meself one of Tonya's Slim Fast chocolate bars and a six-pack of Red Bull and every memory I have will blast out of me skull and I won't remember any of this.

I remember ordering a bucket of chicken by rote and sides and drinks and shuffling vaguely off to a table, the gimp still holding court behind me. I do think I helped sit him down with the help of three young ladies who felt the need to pitch in and then once they left us, I sat there looking at him across the table. He was lovin' it. I was hating on it. I don't know why but I suddenly felt guilty like I was cheating on me wife or something. I snapped out of the trance and looked around newly awake.

"I don't know why I let you talk me into these stupid hair-brained schemes. I don't know why I go along with them half the time or anytime! The consequences are always painful, I always get caught and YOU, YOU come out smelling like a rose and I simply don't get THAT!"

"Welly," he said taking some chicken from bucket to plate, "you needies ta calm it downie. Yer over reactin' and it be expected by da fairer sex dat we all a us iz morons, so we should acts it."

"Will you PLEASE SPEAK ENGLISH!"

"On the other hand, the goodly news iz yer will be relieved to know that you always cum off da adult, and me, on da other hand . . . well, you know . . ."

Yes, I did know.  He reversed what he had done with the chicken and put it back in the bucket and started packing up the rest of the meal.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"We iz gonner take da whole thingie home and eat it dere, cuz I can see yer not into dissy here."

"And when Tonya comes home and smells the chicken, what then?"

"We'll hide it under da babies changin' table an tell her it be da nappy pail she be inhalin'."

He started getting up, had bagged it all and leaning on his crutch looked down at me with an incredulous face. I got up, what else to do? Going along with it was the easiest and so back to the house we went and into the baby's room. We sat on the day bed and munched saying nothing. I was zoning again, it was easier than thinking how stupid all this was not to mention immature. Soon my gut was telling me brain to wake the feck up, this was wrong in so many ways. How old was I, I asked meself, old enough to know that hiding from me wife was like me being a small child eating candy before dinner, and hiding in a closet from me Mam. Gees Gabriel WAKE THE FECK UP! The inner turmoil had got to me I snapped out of it, "OKAY!" I shouted, making Weasil jump.

Weasil's eyebrows furrowed and he frowned at me like I had just lost me mind. I put the chicken wing down and looked hard at him, then the garishly bandaged toe. 

"I don't like us right now," I said.

"Oh geez," he groaned with his mouth full of slaw, "you aren't going all old person on me are ya?"

"I know somehow in that demented mind of yours, you think THIS is fun. But I, an old person, don't get the fun. It's ludicrous, stupid, silly, beyond comprehension!"

"You needies ta calm downie," he said pointing a chicken wing at me. 

"No, I won't! Are you on medication? You are purposely trying to clog me arteries because you know me wife will have trouble with THIS," I gestured to the bed full of food, the nursery, him in particular, "and this whole day is gone with us creeping around doing things behind Tonya's back, STUPID things, and getting no pleasure from it. At least me not getting any pleasure. YOU, on the other hand, this is your kinda thing, stupid stuff, always stupid stuff!"

He sat there munching, I thought reflectively, until he said, "Are ya finished?"

I nodded. I had nothing more to say, what was there to say? I shrugged feeling like an arse suddenly. I had lost it in front of WEASIL of all people and that scene was already being processed in that steel trap memory of his for bringing out and dusting off later, for embarrassing use. 

In silence we cleaned everything up, him sighing like I had done him some wrong, me throwing things in the bag like a girl in a hissy. We didn't hear the front door open, nor did we hear the footsteps coming our way, but just as I had the last dirty fork thrown in the bag, I saw a shadow and movement through the crack in the door. Quickly I shoved the bucket and bag under the changing table and Weasil knew instantly what was up. We sat on the daybed and I realised as I heard the footsteps approaching how gay we must look. All we needed to do was hold hands and well, you get the picture. 

The door opened cautiously and Tonya peeked inside. She looked slightly amazed then disturbed. 

"You do know what this looks like, don't you? The two of you?"

If anything it was crystal clear we WERE in trouble.

"I knew it!" I exclaimed not meaning to say anything out loud.

"Well, dat's dat," Weasil said smiling at me. "You gonna tell her or me?"

I was like what? What am I to tell her? I was stumped. No clue. About the chicken? Seriously? I just looked back at him with the WHAT expression.

He sighed.

"Well, since Gabriel here aint gotty no wordies, I guess . . ."

But Tonya cut him off with, "Please speak English, I don't understand Weasil."

She had her hands on her hips and that stance you know not to mess with her, so amazing to both Ton and meself, in his best toffey English Weaz said, "Mrs. O I won't name any names but someone you know and love was against this from the start. It was me that talked him into it." And he sighed heavily.

I was sitting there waiting for him to go on, but he didn't and the little he did say made it look bad, like whatever awful thing we were doing, was his idea! Well, that was a good start. I kicked him in the shin gently to get him to continue.

"Oh," he said alive again, "Mrs. O sometimes it gets into all of us to do something we know we shouldn't, like experiment a bit."

OH, this was not good. I shook me head, closed me eyes and fell back onto the pillows, feining unconsciousness.

"Really?" Tonya moved in closing the door. "Just what were you both experimenting with?"

I opened one eye to see Weasil, the prat, put on a guilty-looking countenance and I wanted to smack him. 

"It is with extreme humility that I honestly say you cannot blame Mr. O this time."

THIS TIME? I was not liking the way this was going.

"You see, Mr. O is so laid back at times he doesn't know that fun is passing him by."

"Oh really?" She said.

"Really," he said sadly. "So I feel it is my duty, yes Mrs. O, my duty as his friend, to pull him out of his mundane existence and get a little life in the old boy."

"Old boy?" I blurted.

'Hush," Tonya commanded me.

Another big sigh from the forlorn Weasil.

"Yes, I am afraid that when I think of our poor old Gabriel, stuck up in the wilderness, no mailbox, no road to his house, no chance at fun, well, I just have to come to his assistance."

"Get to the point," she said.

Another sigh and a loving look at me. This widened me eyes to saucers, for I really was afraid of what could be coming next.

"Not to beat about the bush Mrs. O, but it was my idea and really who can blame me, I grew up in such a happy home, that capital punishment did not exist, nor a disparaging word ever uttered, that for me to come here and find me bestest bud living in this gloom and doom he's made for himself, well Mrs. O, I felt I had to do something!"

OH GOD, I knew whatever it was he was about to spill, I wasn't going to like it, and worse Tonya wouldn't either.

"So I entered Mr. O in a Chinese checkers tournament," he said grinning like a kid that did a good deed.

I sat up, neither Tonya nor I said anything as the words Chinese checkers bounded around our brains for a few minutes looking for a place to sink in.  She mouthed the words to herself and then she frowned, frowned in Weasil's direction. As for me, I was trying to remember what Chinese checkers were, and then I thought, marbles stupid. 

"Waaat?" I said like couldn't quite believe me hearing, which I couldn't.

"Welly, dere iz dissy here Chinese checkers tournie-mint and I entered us in it. It's in Needham, Mass." He sat there brightly satisfied with his glowing self. "AND, it's today."

"Ah," Tonya said, and turned to go, "you all enjoy yourselves."

We were alone, he hauled out the bucket of finished-off chicken and stuffed it in the nappy pail as I sat there watching, unable to stop him, me mind wrapping itself around this lie of his and wondering why Tonya bought it.

"Very funny," I said as he commenced the trashing of the KFC. "You're a mental moron. Certifiable! What the hell was that about?"

"Yer dint wants her to findie outz bout da chickin did ya? And anywayz I needies me a partner fer da tournie."

"Oh, ha ha ha," I said. "Funny man."

"Nah ha, really. We be entered. I entered us we are all set. So git ready cuz we be leavin' in an hour," he said leaving me.

Can I just tear my heart out now? Can I scream like a lunatic and dance around like a horse's arse? Can I just run away from home? No, I can't because I am entered in a Chinese checkers tournament, BECAUSE I have such a good friend and I am the luckiest person alive. NOT!

Gabe

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