Honeybaked (Book Excerpt)

The line was out the door, through the parking lot and snaked behind the Honeybaked to San Pasqual, where the rancid smell from the dumpster almost made me vomit, several times. I could taste it in the back of my throat. Alexa and I had been in line for over an hour now (twenty of those minutes with our shirts over our noses) and finally made it inside the store. Five customers remained in front of us. Even though I only put in a half day at work, I was wiped out. I couldn’t wait to be done with this line and sit down for a long while. Two frazzled looking old women in ridiculous hairnets worked the counter. One fat one and one thin one. Dick und Doff.
  "Next!”
The line moved three feet and lost a body. Four more to go.

Alexa was skipping up and down the aisle smacking the frilly cornucopia decorations hanging off the counters with her open palm. The bigger of the two women, with heavy lids and huge mole between her eyebrows, plopped her ample chest on the counter as she leaned forward.
  “May I help the next person?”
A gaunt bald man approached the counter as Alexa reached out to smack the orange cornucopia in front of them both. She caromed into him, fell backwards and ripped down the entire string of decorations from the counter.
  “Who’s child is this?”
The three-eyed woman glared down at Alexa- who was on the floor, tangled in string and crepe paper, looking stunned. She furrowed her meaty brow and scrunched her sharp nose at every face in line from back to front and then demanded again:
  “Who’s child is this?”
I sheepishly stepped out of line to pick up Alexa, who hadn’t moved from the spot she fell.
  “I’m sorry ma’am. It was an accident. If you have some tape, we’ll fix this mess.”
  “You need to control your child, young man.”
I wanted to reply, ‘She’s not a dog you hateful triclops!’, but instead apologized some more.
  “Yes ma’am. We’re sorry.”
I picked Alexa up and untangled her. She’d ripped one of the decorations off the string and smashed another flat, which I attempted to restore to it’s former plumpness.
  “Please apologize to the lady, honey.”
Alexa looked up at me with misty eyes and squeeked:
  “I’m sorry.”
  “Not to me sweetie, to the lady.”
Alexa turned to the triclops who was still glaring down at her and let out a wail. Great.
  “Sshh, shh, sshh, baby. It’s ok, it’s ok. I’ll fix it. It’s ok.”
Triclops sighed loudly and handed me a tape dispenser from under the counter.
  “Thanks. I’ll fix this up in no time.”
  “Next!”

Sniffling, Alexa held the string over her head (on tiptoes) as I taped the decorations back to the counter. The line moved two spaces in the time it took us to restore the festive holiday mood.
  “Thanks sweetie.”
She wiped her moist red eyes. I put the tape dispenser back on the counter and returned to the spot we stood in line.
  “You lost your spot.”
  “What?”
  “I said you lost your spot.”
The greasy fat fuck with a skullet who’d stood behind us, pursed what would have been his lips. He wore stained sweatpants and a moth-eaten Green Lantern t-shirt and stank of armpit and ass. He highlighted his indignation by setting his meaty fists firmly on his protuberant womanly hips.
  “We only stepped out of line for a couple of minutes. Be a pal.”
He was unmoved.
  “You stepped out of line, so you lost your spot.”
I wasn’t about to go to the back of the line again and wait another hour because of this asshole, so I stepped back to my place in line.
  “Hey!”
Jabba grabbed my arm and tried to push me out of line.
  “You lost your spot!”
I grabbed his greasy wrist and bent it back.
  “Ow!”
Triclops glowered at us from behind the counter but said nothing and continued helping her customer. I leaned in as far as Jabba’s tart breath and rank body odor would allow and whispered in a low voice:
  “If you touch me again, I’ll fucking lay you out.”
Alexa looked scared, so I let him go. He rubbed his wrist and stepped in front of us in line. The smartly dressed woman standing behind us tapped my shoulder.
  “It’s alright. You can stand in front of me.”
She had a thick Armenian accent. Her r’s leapt off her tongue, hit her palette and ricocheted off her capped white teeth.
  “Thank you very much.”
Her bright hazel eyes, sunk into a thin angular face, searched mine from under a heavy canopy of tidy eyebrows.
  “Are you Joe’s son?”
  “Joe who?”
  “Satorian”
  “Yes.”
  “I knew it!”
She smiled wide.
  “Jeesht hyret gelmanees.”
Then she repeated in English, in case I didn’t understand.
  “You look just like your father.”
I politely smiled.
  “I hear that all the time.”
…and I fucking hated it.
  “It’s true! Exactly like Joe!… Hyret eench bess eh?”
And again in English in case I didn’t understand.
  “How’s your father? Better?”
  “Yes. He’s been out for a few months now and he’s doing much better. He started driving again and is working again, part time.”
  “Good. Good… is this your daughter?”
Alexa clove to my side with her arms wrapped around my leg and squeezed.
  “Yes. Alexa.”
The woman opened her eyes wide and pinched Alexa’s chin with her thumb and index finger.
  “Lochoom!… does she understand Armenian?”
  “No.”
Nor Turkish. Alexa squeezed my leg harder.
  “Ow, baby. Not so tight.”
The woman winked down at Alexa and smiled with her lips pressed together. Then at me with the same tight smile.
  “Tell your dad that Anahid from Hovig’s said hi. He’ll know me.”
  “I will.”

Jabba was at the counter, waiting for his order to be filled by the thin woman. She couldn’t find a record of his order and was coming undone.
  “It’s Amos Sax. S-A-X. I placed my order on Thursday. Look again!”
  “Sir, I’ve checked five times. I don’t see your order anywhere. There’s no receipt and there’s no box in the back containing your order. You must have called another Honeybaked.”
  “No! I called this one! Check again!”
  “Next!”
  “Hey! I’m not leaving until I get my order!”
  “If you don’t get out of line, I’m gonna brain you with my Dr. Scholl’s!”
I let out a loud sharp laugh. Jabba turned around and gave me the stink eye. I taunted him; swinging my hand down, holding an imaginary cudgel. Anahid clucked her tongue three times.
  “Vie Eshek.”
  “Next!”
He returned his attention to the woman behind the counter.
  “I told you…”
  “Next!”
  “I’m not…”
  “Next!”
  “I’M NOT LEAVING UNTIL I GET MY ORDER!”
The store fell silent. Everyone, who wasn’t already riveted, spun around to gawk at the scene. Jabba repeated in a softer but still defiant tone:
  “I’m not leaving without my order.”
The thin woman stared coldly at him for a long hot minute. Jabba stood his ground so she bent over to take off her shoe; eyes locked on his puffy head, presumably weighing her target options. I was gleeful in anticipation of the delightful scene I was about to witness, but was gawk-blocked when Triclops stepped in.
  “You handle the next customer, Ada. I’ll take over here.”
Ada straightened up and went to the far end of the store, as far away from Jabba as she could.

  “Next!” 
  “C’mon sweetie. That’s us.”
Alexa still clung to my leg, so I hobbled over to the counter and waved over my shoulder.
  “Nice to meet you.”
Anahid waved back.
  “You too.”
Ada was wearing a sour expression and an ‘It’s GREAT to be ALIVE!’ pin on her apron.
  “Yes?!”
  “We’d like to pick up our order, please.”
  “Name?!”
Alexa cut off the blood flow in my leg and my foot fell asleep.
  “Daddy?”
  “Hold on, baby. Satorian. The order’s under Satorian. S-A-T-O-…”
  “Daddy.”
  “One second sweetie. –R-I-A-…”
  “Daddy, I don’t like this place. Can we go please?”
  “We’re picking up pilgrim food for tomorrow, baby. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
  “I wanna go Daddy. Please!”
  “Alexa, you need to be a big girl right now, ok? Daddy’s almost done.”
Ada waited impatiently behind the counter, drumming her fingers on top of the display and sighing.
  “N.”
  “What?”
  “R-I-A-N. Satorian.”
Ada went in the back to get our order. Alexa pulled on my leg while we waited and began head-butting my hip.
  “Da-ddy… Da-ddy… Da-ddy… Da-ddy…”
I put my hand on my hip, palm up, to absorb the blows from her forehead. Both her feet were on my right foot. Her little fists clutched the seams of my jeans around my thigh, which she pushed off of and pulled back on, head lowered. She launched on the ‘Da…’ and landed on the ‘…ddy’.
  “Da-ddy… Da-ddy… Da-ddy… Da-ddy…”
The force of her head-butts grew with her impatience and a couple times she smacked the same (by now) tender spot on my hand.
  “Ow, Alexa. That hurt. Please stop.”
She ignored me.
  “Da-ddy… Da-ddy…”
  “Alexa! I asked you to stop.”
  “Why?”
She stopped chanting but continued head-butting.
  “Because you’re shaking your brain loose and the next time you sneeze, it’s gonna fly right out of your nose.”
She stopped.
  “Uh-uh!”
  “Mm-hmm! Then what are you gonna do without a brain?”
  “…… mommy sez you don’t have a brain, daddy.”
  “Z’at so?”
  “Mm-hmm. She sez you’re a care-grow because you don’t have a brain.”
  “A scarecrow.”
  “Mm-hmm, a care-grow… are you a care-grow daddy?”
  “Yes…… and your mother has flying monkeys in her closet.”
Alexa’s eyes opened wide.
  “Mon-gees?”
  “Mongees.”
Ada returned with our food in a big cardboard box and two big bags, which she set on the counter.
  “Startorminen.”
  “Satorian.”
She ignored me and read off a list while checking the box and bags for the items.
  “One whole roasted turkey, one half roasted chicken, one quart vegetable stuffing, one quart macaroni and cheese…”
Alexa tugged on my hand, still wide-eyed.
  “… one quart garlic mashed potatoes…”
Tug, tug, tug.
  “Daddy?”
Ada kept reading off the list.
  “… one family size chicken Caesar salad…”
  “Daddy?”
  “Hold on baby.”
  “… one sweet potato pie, one pumpkin pie and one cheesecake.”
  “Daddy?”
  “Excuse me one second.”
Ada sighed again while I bent down and turned my attention to Alexa.
  “Sweetie. Please give me two minutes here and then I’ll give you all of my attention when I’m done. OK?”
Alexa’s eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips, furrowed her brow and folded her arms across her chest in dramatic fashion while she harrumphed.
  “’Kay.”
  “Thanks angel.”
I kissed her forehead and straightened back up. My knees popped.
  “Sounds right. What’s the total?”
  “Seventy nine sixty eight.”
  “Ouch! Are you charging for the box and the plastic bags too?”
Ada was not amused.
  “Seventy nine sixty eight.”
She took my four twenties, handed me my change and smiled one of the fakest smiles I’d seen.
  “Have a nice day, sir.”
As I grabbed the box and the bags and Alexa’s hand (no easy task), I noticed that Jabba was still at the counter arguing with triclops. She looked like she was about to jump the counter and strangle him with her hair net.
  “You have a wonderful day now too, Ada. Toodle-pip.”

  “Daddy?”
One of the plastic bags was slowly slipping from my fingers as we walked past the putrid dumpster and the long line of people back to the car.
  “Da-ddy!”
  “Yes baby.”
  “Does mommy really have flying mon-gees in her closet?”
  “Yes, sweetie.”
One handle slipped off my finger.
  “Whoops. Can you hold this bag please, Alexa?”
Alexa grabbed the bag and held it straight out in front of her between two tightly clenched fists.
  “Thanks, baby.”
Alexa’s brow was still furrowed. I could tell that she was still trying to process the flying monkeys in the closet. The look on her face and the bag swinging from her fully extended arms made me laugh. Alexa looked up at me.
  “Daddy?”
  “Yes, my angel?”
  “Will the mon-gees bite me?”
  “On no sweetie. They would never hurt you… or mommy.”
  “How come I’ve never seen them?”
  “Because they hide in the pockets of mommy’s old dresses and only come out at night. If you look for them, you won’t see them because they turn invisible when they’re scared.”
  “Are they friendly?”
  “Just to you and mommy. Mommy sends them after people she’s mad at.”
Alexa looked thoughtful.
  “Mommy’s mad at you a lot a lot, daddy.”
  “I know, sweetie.”
  “Won’t they hurt you, daddy?”
  “They’re afraid of Senf and Muttley, sweetie, so they don’t come around.”
Alexa smiled but then frowned again.
  “What if Zef and Mumley are sleeping or in the bathroom?”
  “I have super monkey spray, angel. I’ll be ok.”
Alexa’s wheels were still spinning when she asked in a hushed tone:
  “Daddy? Do you think mommy would let me send the mon-gees against peoples who maked me mad?”
  “Made you mad. Mommy keeps them pretty busy baby, but I’m sure she’d let you borrow them.”
Alexa perked up and started marching happily with the bag swinging wildly, straight out in front of her. The bottom tore open. The sweet potato pie fell out and splat all over her shoes. I hated sweet potato pie anyway.

Breath

Was our love too strong to die, or were we just to weak to kill it? The lyrics repeated in my head like a skipping record. Accusing… I guess it was the latter. I looked down at her chest. Her labored breathing. In. Out. It was hypnotizing. I tried to recall how many times I laid my head on that chest. Rising and descending in rhythm with her breaths. Lulled into a hazy trance. I tried to recall how many times I saw that chest heave in the staccato rhythm of crying. Her chest communicated more than here eyes or her lips ever could. Her disappointments manifest in her heavy breathing. I looked at my watch. 10 minutes. Her breathing had slowed then stopped. I removed the pillow and shoved it under my head as I lay down and breathed slowly…

Snap, Crackle and Pop

I was late again today. 10 minutes. The boss’ll have my ass for sure, I thought. Fuck him. I took off my jacket and threw on my smock. “Hey Pete! Can you tie me up in the back?” I washed up and went into the next room. The fire was already blazing. The body on the slab was naked and the fire was famished. It had a never-ending appetite and was hotter than hell. I pushed the body in and closed the hatch. The fire roared and turned orange. I remember the one time Pete locked me in here for kicks, while a body was burning. The snaps and the pops of the flesh and fat sizzling; the crack of the bones snapping in the intense heat. It stuck with me, bothered me… but not as much as when I had to slide that beautiful girl in. Gorgeous little girl. Couldn’t have been more than 7. So still on the slab. She almost looked asleep; her arms crossing her chest. I couldn’t do it. The boss called Pete in to do it. After she “reduced”, as that asshole liked to call it, he told me to sweep her up and put her ashes into an empty urn. I didn’t. The fuck suspended me for a week without pay. This was my second day back. Two days. Twice late.

It’d been about 45 minutes. He should be “reduced” by now. I went in and swept him up into a waiting urn. The shards of bone that didn’t burn down and glowed a bright red would be thrown out with the rest of the trash at the end of our shift, after they cooled. If the city ever found out, there’d be heads rolling. The boss didn’t care. He wanted them gone. The trash-man already hated picking up our trash without knowing what it contained. He said it gave him the creeps to pick up trash from the “grim reapers”.

The disquieting thought once again came to mind. I thought of how my own body would burn; history rendered beneath scorched skin. The hot memories of love and hate sizzling and bursting open. The snap and crackle of all I’d ever done, concluded. The hiss of all I’d ever wished for, released. The happiness, the fears pooling bittersweet beneath charred flesh. All those years, the sum of it all- reduces to ash. A large sandwich baggie worth of dust in the bottom of a cold urn.