Page 9 of They Call Me Wicked

“Yes, Nana.” I stand, grabbing my cane and moving to do as she says. When Gizmo and Snitch try to follow, I whistle sharply and they slide to a stop. “Stay here and watch the old bag of bones. She needs you more.” Nana bellows a laugh as Gizmo and Snitch squeak and chitter at me, but they stay. They’re good boys like that.

I manage to quickly navigate my way through the tables and people before ending up at the food counter. I know this bowling alley like the back of my hand by now, plus, it helps when you are so obviously blind that most people will scurry out of your path like you have leprosy. Do I care? Nah. If it makes my life easier, then who am I to stop them? Plus, what would I do? Start yelling that my blindness isn’t contagious?

“Wicked, back again so soon?” The aura of the boy behind the counter brightens as I step forward, pulsing with a mixture of admiration and infatuation.Someone’s got a crush.

“Well, you know me, Ryan. I can’t ever get enough of your yummy wieners!” I giggle as embarrassment and lust floods the poor guy.

I know what you’re thinking and yes, Iamthat awesome.

Having mercy on him, I set the record straight. “Your hotdogs, Ry, your hotdogs. Let’s get four of those loaded in chili and cheese, likereallyloaded. Don’t skimp on me now.”

“Alright, is that all?” He clears his throat, shaking off the remnants of the thoughts I put in his head with my dirty joke.

“What do you take me for? Of course not! Better be quick, ready?”

“Go for it!” Excitement bubbles from his direction, making me grin. This is a favorite pastime of ours. “Three cheeseburgers, pickles, lettuce, tomato, and bacon. No onions! Four orders of your cajun fries, extra cajun-y. Two orders of mozzarella sticks. A sheet tray of nachos, chili, cheese, lettuce, diced tomato, jalapenos, black olives, but cut the sour cream.Ew. Four soft pretzels with cheese. Two Ten-Pin sundaes with extra chocolate. And…a bottle of rosé. You know, because it’s made from grapes. Gotta get in all the basic food groups, am I right?”

“Got it! That’ll be-”

“Really, it’s best you don’t tell me.” I cut him off before handing him my card.

Completing my payment he takes a big, deep breath. “A bridge of bloodhounds, drag ’em through Wisconsin and stick ’em in the firehouse! A crowd of burnt ones, take ’em through the garden and pin a rose on ’em. Roll ’em with the pigs, but don’t cry over ’em! A bridge of frog sticks from the ethnic boys, drown ’em twice! Two lightning rods! A Superbowl, no whiting it up! Four twisted Vegas bagels with a yellow blanket. Two hail storms, double the mud! And a vine with a leak, but make it a flower! And give it all wings!”

“Ryan! How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t understand your lingo?!” Roger, Ryan’s manager, yells from the kitchen.

“Your talents are wasted here, Ry. You should totally start your own restaurant or something.” His aura vibrates with a proud sort of embarrassment and I smile widely.

“Thanks, Wicked. Tell your nana I said hi, will ya? And I’ll bring out your food when it’s ready. No need to come up.”

“Will do! Thanks!” I turn in place and start the journey to make it back to my seat, but five seconds in, my cane somehow misses something in front of me and my face makes contact with a hard surface, rebounding me on my ass with something extremely cold pouring down my head. The yeasty, disgusting smell tells me that I just got drowned in fucking beer. Cheap beer at that.

“Excuse you!” A nasally feminine voice snaps at me.

“Oops. Excuse me. I didn’t see you.” I know, I know. I can be polite too, you know? I stand up, using my cane for balance as I wipe the beer from my face.

“You spilled my fucking drinks.”

“I can tell,” I respond dryly, ducking my head down to hide my face as I take off my sunglasses, doing what I can to wipe them off with my shirt. “I’ll get you some more. Ry-”

I’m interrupted from yelling to Ryan when the bitch straight up shoulder checks me and I almost land on my ass again.

Okay, now I’m fucking pissed.

“Back the fuck up.” I sneer, replacing my aviators like they’re my shield in battle and grip my cane tightly.

“How about you?” Her obviously slurred voice drips with disdain and it takes everything in me not to just start throwing punches.

“I’m fucking blind, dumbass. Get some class.” Her aura vibrates with intense anger, jealousy, and sadness. So she’s having a bad fucking day, so what? “Just because your boyfriend cheated on you and you don’t have enough beer in the world to drown your sorrows, doesn’t mean you can shit on everyone else. Step off your high horse or you’re liable to fall off and break your neck!”

“Wha…what the fuck did you say?!” She screeches, rocketing my eardrums in their dainty perches and depositing them on the ground.

Fucking loud bitch!

“You heard me, you dusty fucking cunt!” I wring both hands around my cane as her mental state reaches an explosion of rage. And so…she chooses violence. I feel it when her arm winds back and starts its descent towards my face, her intentions more than broadcasted to my psyche, and I dodge to the left quickly, leaving her lunging in midair.

What I can’t do, is stop or avoid her as she attacks in a flurry, her anger quickly clouding any form of process or decision making she once possessed. Punches make contact with my jaw and nose, knocking my beloved aviators straight off my face. And when my arms come up to try and protect my head, kicks are quickly aimed at my legs and knees until I fall to the ground. Curling into a ball, I can do nothing but take the beating as it rains down on me.

That is, until a flurry of hisses and growls sound out around me right before the bitch starts screaming.

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