100 DOLLARS
by jeffrey becklund
Daniel gazed up at the rotating cellophane moon above us.
“Anyway, I was just kind of in shock. I pulled over and got out of the car. There
was an ear and possibly some grey matter on the seat next to me and who knows what
else across my shirt and pants. I’ll spare you the details. Shit though, you should have
seen it.
“Yeah.”
“I was so thrown off, I had to just stand there for a minute to keep myself from
vomiting. I guess the woman must have realized something was wrong. She pulled over,
and when I walked to her window she looked horrified, couldn’t even speak to me. She
was a good looking lady, actually, had two kiddos in back all strapped in to their car
seats. God, I must have looked like the boogie man.”
“Did you ever notice those plastic monkeys up there in the moon?”
His eyes, fixated, seemed to change colors with the shifting light as it spun
slowly. He looked at peace, which was unusual for him.
“God damnit, you’re not listening.”
I looked up at the moon. Sure enough there were little monkeys crawling around
inside.
“She gave me a hundred bucks, anyway. I’m not sure why. It’s not like I was hurt
or anything. I think she just wanted me to go away. Didn’t want her kids to see what a
man covered in deer looked like.”
“Oh good, so you can pay me back.”
“I don’t owe you any money.”
The waitress brought our sandwiches.
all words copyright jeffrey becklund, 2009