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Steak
A "Take Your Pick-Axe" Honorable Mention
Option Aby
Randall Lahrman
“Ten years, Norita. Ten goddamn years on the force and I’ve never had a scuffle like this one,” I try to tell my wife while running my arm under a cold tap.“It’s not a force honey, it’s just volunteer patrol,” she says, correcting me for the hundredth time. “When you’re on patrol you should expect to run into trouble. Half the time, I think you’re out there trying to get hurt.”
“It is a force. I’m out there protecting people, aren’t I? I can’t just sit around and wait to die, Norita. I need to do something with the rest of my life.” The water burns over the wound like acid sinking into my skin. Four identical gashes on the top and bottom dot my forearm, deep enough to almost create a tunnel. I don’t need to look out the bathroom door to know Norita is coming my way, the slap of her slippers against her heels act as a queen’s trumpets, alerting all of her presence. A cold, wrinkled hand slides up my back and surfs over each vertebrae, followed by a voice as soothing as the ocean.
“Everything’ll be ok, Shiny.” I hate that nick-name. She nudges on the shoulder, like a reassuring best friend. “I’ll go make you some soup.” With a kiss on the cheek she heads towards the kitchen, hair in curlers like a crown, robe fluttering behind her like a royal cape and slapping slippers fading in the distance.
Looking in the mirror my eyes tighten in pain, but I can’t decipher whether due to the holes in my arm or the years in my face. I always feel that I’m a fearless man, but my hair no longer matches the feeling. It is now white like a thick blanket of snow and in the middle, where some of the snow melted away, a large pink bald spot. For three years now, Rogaine has failed me. After washing the dirt from my face I head to the kitchen for dinner.
I hate soup. I hate soup more then I hate the skin that forms on top of the soup if not eaten right away. I poke at it and the brown blob of soup plasma engulfs my spoon. “I want a steak. I tell you time and time again, Norita, I need meat, not flavored water.” I push the bowl away and cross my arms over my chest.
“Bill, you know your colon can’t handle any more meat. Do you want to be stuck on the toilet again?” She pushes the bowl back towards me and grins at her dominance.
I slurp the soup noisily, hoping to annoy her. With a smile and a nod of victory, the queen retires to the west wing. Fragile teeth work slowly into the boiled vegetables and as I eat the soup, I drift back to the day’s previous events.
The evening had felt different then the others did and I was in the mood for excitement. So, after five minutes of debating with myself, I got on the freeway and drove fifteen miles south to Main Street, the artery that leads to the heart of downtown. The sun was slowly setting and I became overwhelmed with excitement. My head darted back and forth like watching a tennis match. Then I found it; found him, crawling down the alley on all fours like a dog. Wearing a trench coat that covered his body and he shook uncontrollably.
I aimed my car into the alleyway and flipped on the yellow lights. He looked towards me and his eyes shined bright red in the reflection of the headlights. I got out of the car slowly, armed with my flashlight and a can of mace.
My heart thundered in my chest like a drum solo. The yellow lights created a swirl of shadows down the alley. I contemplated calling the paramedics but was stopped when I heard soft rumble. I looked past the man, half expecting to see a car driving towards us. The rumbling grew louder and it was not until he looked towards me again that I realized where it was his stomach. I looked down beyond his face which was nearly covered in a thick brown beard and noticed his hands were swollen three times normal size and his nails were thick and stretched nearly two inches long.
I backed up quickly and his growling grew louder like the engine of a semi. I turned to run to my car and the next moments were a blur. All I recall is a loud grunt, a body dropping me to the ground, then pain in my arm. I awoke to the glare of the full moon and after collecting my thoughts I got in my car and left while also vowing to never venture out again.
By the last few sips the soup was cold and I swallow it accompanied with the bitter taste of defeat. I put the bowl and spoon into the sink and headed upstairs. Each stair creaks along with my joints and the two continue to argue until I reach the top. I enter my room and the queen breathes easily in bed while I quietly undress and slide in next to her.
*
I wake up the next morning with a ringing in my ears and a number of slaps to the head. Screaming her lungs out, Norita slaps the top of my head over and over while mumbling something about a squirrel. While half asleep, I smell something looming in the room before opening my eyes. It’s thick with no peculiar taste, but my stomach rumbles in hunger and I lick my lips.
“On your head Bill, it got in the room and it’s on your head!” Shaking the clouds of sleep from my mind, I run to the bathroom to check the mirror while scratching at my head and I discover she is right, there is something furry where my bald spot used to be. But upon reaching the mirror, my nerves calm themselves. There is no squirrel.
“Holy fucking shit!” My voice cracks at the high point of shit.
“Watch your language, Bill.”
“I have hair again. Norita, I have hair again.” I leap into the room, a brush in my hand, stroking the hair backwards over and over. “That Rogaine shit finally worked.” I can feel my skin stretching to the brink of tearing as my smile continues to widen.
“Well good for you, Shiny. I’m proud all that money didn’t go to waste.” The queen puts on her pink robe and bunny slippers and heads downstairs, her voice trailing up as she goes. “Now take your shower and come down for breakfast.”
My excitement dies with the loss of her interest, but I smile again when I look into the shower and realize I can condition my hair for the first time in years.
Walking down the stairs with a towel around my waist, I smell eggs cooking on the stove. Norita leans over the skillet in full concentration, a queen doing a peasant’s duty. I tip toe into the kitchen and sneak up behind my wife. With a quick pinch on her butt cheek, I send the spatula flying from her hand and the red rushing to her cheeks.
“You watch you hands, Mister,” she says through a half smile while spinning around. “My word Bill, have you been working out without telling me?”
“Honey, you know I retired ‘cause of my bad back,” I remind her while sitting down at the table.
“Well, I don’t know, but you’re looking awfully healthy this morning.” She turns back to her eggs and beneath the cracking of the shells and the sizzling of the yolk she asks, “How is your arm today dear?”
“My arm?” I nearly forgot and, upon looking, for good reason. What was once a row of deep gashes was now small specks of scar tissue. “I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“Well, I told you that you always over react.” She smiles and slides some eggs onto my plate and then her own. Staring into the dry yellow clumps my stomach rumbles disapproval. Without a word, without asking, I stand up, toss the eggs into the garbage and search the freezer for a steak. “I worked all morning to make you those eggs.” Norita stands to confront me, crossing her arms over her chest. “I know you’re looking for steak, but you won’t find any in there. All you will find is sandwich meat in the refrigerator.”
“Fine, I’ll eat the lunch meat then.” Norita takes a step back as a growl escapes my throat. Gathering myself, I quickly clear my throat, grab the bag of sliced turkey breast from the fridge and walk to the living room. Grabbing the remote and joyfully running my fingers through my hair, I drop into my favorite chair and exhale slowly.
“Well, ok then, Shiny. You enjoy your day off, but I’m going to do some more laundry.” A spontaneous burst of slapping slippers and clinking dishes erupt from the kitchen. Norita then grabs the basket of clothes from the living room and the scuffling of her slippers dissipates down the basement stairs.
My thumb presses down on the remote while my other hand cranes slices of meat into my mouth. “No hockey, no football, no cops. What the hell am I supposed to watch?” My thumb beats upon the remote like a woodpecker on a tree. Then my thumb stops and I find myself in a trance, stuck on the Discovery channel, watching “Predators of the Wild.” On the TV, a lioness is chasing a zebra, full pursuit with the camera man on her tail. I lean forward in excitement and, like watching a running back break free and head for a touchdown; I began to cheer on the lioness. “Go. Go! Get em’. And with a final pounce, the zebra is dragged to the ground and its throat torn open.
At that moment turkey no longer satisfies my craving. The lioness chews into the zebra’s belly, tearing through the skin like knives through cloth. With her face covered in red she licks her lips eagerly and I do the same.
Suddenly, the air becomes thick, thick like I felt that morning. I feel my ear angle backwards and immediately after a scream erupts from the basement like a breeze escaping a cave. The smell is familiar then. I know the taste. It’s fear. Crawling from my chair, I make my way to the basement, hand over hand with knees following.
“Bill! Spider!” I normally run to her assistance during spider attacks, but I find myself taking my time, savoring the scent like a glutton of her fear. “Bill, hurry!”
I reach the steps and, still on all fours, proceed down. My hands then begin to lengthen. My jaw is uncomfortable, sore like chewing gum for too long and I open and close my mouth trying to stretch the muscles. I put my chin to my chest and see my torso elongating and my ribs reforming. The bones crackle like wood in a fire as my skeleton breaks apart and reforms.
“Coming, Sweetie,” I tell her with a voice rough like sandpaper. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my wife’s eyes widen with terror.
“William…” Her voice fails her and I see my nose extend in front of my eyes, black and moist like an olive. My fingernails scrape the concrete floor and I lick my lips, the taste of fear and sweat makes me drool, thick strands of saliva dripping from my jaw to the floor. Norita’s body tenses up and her muscles tighten beneath her skin and, with one last look into the queen’s eyes, I leap onto her with one thought possessing my mind - steak.
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© Lahrman, 2006