Lingo Slinger

His parents were sort of like trashy rejects. Their idea of a nice night out was an evening at Denny’s having breakfast for dinner. His mom Jeannie had a sweater for every occasion, and someone clearly forgot to inform her about the recent advances in optometry, because her lenses were as thick as hockey pucks. I remember holding in my laughter while talking to her because her eyes looked like they belonged in a carnival fun house mirror.

And Jeffy… Poor Jeffy. Cursed from birth. Folks couldn’t just call him Jeff or Jefferson, or even Mike for that matter. No… it was Jeffy.

I started taking him under my wing around 4^th grade when he showed up to school wearing Orange tab Levi’s and his dad’s trucker jacket, 100 sizes too large for him. It wasn’t even the dreadful attire that made me feel bad for him, it was his total lack of social hierarchy prowess. For example, you don’t pick your wart and squirt blood at the most popular girl in school (Suzy) and expect that it will somehow win her over.

I approached him on my recess.

“Jeffy right?”

“Huh?”

“You live on my street, I saw you move in. Your dad’s a trucker.”

His voice was sort of nasally, as if he was getting over a very bad cold, but he wasn’t. “Yep, he drives an 18-wheeler with chromies, sometimes he lets me go around to the other trucks in the shipping yard steeling them.”

He invited me over to check out his father (Larry)’s truck, so I obliged and checked out the big rig sleeper. Even got to blow the horn.

His dad had a huge belly, probably one of the biggest in existence. I pictured him eating babies for lunch and dogs and children for dinner. I was relieved when I actually had dinner there and saw that they all ate macaroni with cut up wiener pieces, just like us… Only it wasn’t just the kids. The whole family ate that.

Jeffy actually survived middle school, with a lot of help from me. By the time 6^th grade came though, I could no longer help him with his clothes or his cool factor. He wasn’t interested. He started stealing liquor from his dad, who was usually too drunk to notice and even began his acid career. There were a few other unusually young burnouts who joined in, but most of us wanted to wait a year or two before completely losing our innocence.

I remember finding Jeffy passed out behind the rec center one day. I went to have a smoke I had bummed and he was passed out in that fake snow that comes out behind the arena.

“Jeffy? Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer

“Jeffy, what the fuck are you doing here you’re gonna get ammonia or something.”

He still didn’t answer.

I walked right over to him so I was staring down at him. His eyes were closed, but he was still breathing, so I knew he couldn’t be that bad. I kicked him with my steel toed Docs. He sort of groaned in quasi-agony but didn’t open his eyes.

It was the day before Halloween. I remember the smell in the air, it was crisp and clean and exciting. I still wanted to go out Trick or Treating, but had to act as if it wasn’t all that cool anymore.

Just after I butted out m smoke, out of the corner of my eye I saw an Orange & Black atrocity marching towards me. The helmet like shape of her tacky perm and the horrible fit of her Black stirrup pants told me all I needed to know… It was Jeffy’s mom.

I began kicking him aggressively “dude – your mom is coming. Get up.”

Jeffy was making noises, but not responding in the way that I had hoped.

Jeannie was getting closer. I could hear the high pitched screetch of her annoying East coast accent as she shouted “JEFFY , YOU BETTER DAMN WELL HAVE SOME KIND OF EXPLANATION FOR THIS!”

Upon seeing him on the ground, her first reaction wasn’t concern, but anger. She ran over and started shaking him violently, her twitchy White skin becoming irritated and Red and her carnival funhouse eyes bulging out of their hockey puck lenses.

I stood and watched for a minute but quickly turned in the other direction. I saw her pull him to his feet by his ears. I heard him groaning something awful.

She managed to get him into the back seat of her Powder Blue K Car. That Jeannie, she was small but mighty. I sometimes thought her helmet perm gave he super hero energy when it came to magnifying her voice, strength… and eyeballs.

I remember going home from school that night, waiting to hear what happened. Even though Jeffy and I weren’t as close any more, he would always give me the scoop when I wanted it.

I kept waiting for the K Car to pull in, but it never did. But cop cars did. And eventually, the next day, the K Car was there too. I went to knock on the door, to ask for Jeffy. Jeannie came to the door, her curls falling, her glasses off. She looked a mess. Her eyes weren’t even bulging anymore. She wasn’t animated or amusing. I knew something was wrong.

All Jeannie could say to me was “I’m sorry, Jeffy’s dead” and she slammed the door in my face.