Chapter 4 – Sarah

The scene in front of Sarah was pure chaos. She leaned forward in the seat, placing her head in her lap and covering it with her arms. The flight attendant had instructed the passengers to take this position in the event of an emergency, and this certainly felt like an emergency.

Thus far she had managed to stay out of the way and not bring any attention to herself. Through her brothers’ fits, her father’s schemes, and her mother’s…mothering, she had kept to the background. Only doing or saying what was necessary to get through any given day (she had found, over the years, that very little was necessary). She preferred not being noticed. It was bad enough witnessing her family’s almost daily meltdowns. She had no desire to be a part of them.

She closed her eyes tightly, thinking back to earlier in the day. She had been the first one packed and ready to leave at the agreed upon time. She sat and waited as her brothers took garden hose showers and masturbated to reality TV. She had held her breath as she sat squished between them on the long ride to the airport. She hid in the bathroom while her father verbally assaulted several airport employees so they wouldn’t have to wait in line. She had endured it all with the hope that she might find some peace and quiet on this trip. She should have known better.

She could hear her mother’s gentle voice trying to explain the situation to bystanders. “He doesn’t know any better, and the toy keeps him calm,” she pleaded. “You know, 9-11, the terrorists…and…troops. The troops. Bless them all.”

Her brother John hadn’t stopped laughing since the screaming began.  She could still hear his cackling behind her. She slowly raised her head and turned to look at him. His entire face gleaned as his eyes seemed even wetter than usual. He lifted the front of his “Ass Man” t-shirt to dry himself. His stomach spilled out, revealing what looked to be part of a slim jim sticking straight from his belly button. David eyed it, grabbed it, and shoved it into his mouth all in the time it took John to wipe his face and lower the shirt again. Sarah really hoped that it was, in fact, a slim jim.

She looked to the aisle, scanning the rows of seats until she faced the front of the aircraft. It was at that moment she locked eyes with her mother.

Shit.

“Sarah! Oh Sarah, come! We have to leave the plane!” Janet exclaimed, almost a little too gleefully. Sarah knew her mother didn’t like flying, but surely she wasn’t actually happy about all of this.

She grabbed the nearly full Jack and coke from the hand of the old man sitting beside her and swallowed it back. He gave her a look somewhere between anger and confusion. She climbed over him to get to the aisle and used his face as support when she nearly fell. Not today, old man. Not today.

As soon as she stepped through the plane’s door, she saw John and David in a heated argument. John was shouting and pushing David’s breasts together. “David’s a scared little girl! A scared big boobied girl!” He attempted to motorboat them. David responded by shoving him against the wall. The entire jet bridge shook. A scrawny airport security officer looked on, terrified.

“HEY!” Sarah shouted. The boys, stunned to hear such an outburst from their normally reserved sister, froze in place. She walked straight to John and used two fingers to poke him in his eyes. He yelped and cowered back, defeated. Out of the corner of her eye she saw David draw the toy gun that he had somehow managed to hold on to. She easily pried it from his weak grip and whipped him across the face. He cried out in pain even though it was made of cheap plastic. She hit him again. Again. Again. She thought she heard someone clap.

She dropped the gun and walked towards the gate. She quickened her pace. She was almost running. She forced herself to stop when she came upon a Red Lobster. “This will have to do,” she told herself. She ignored the hostess and sat herself at the bar. “Three shots of Jameson,” she yelled to the bartender, trying to compose herself. She downed them in quick succession and let out a long, deep breath.

“Come here often?” she heard from her right side. When she looked she saw her father sitting three stools down. There were already four empty beer bottles in front of him. “How did you get out of there so quickly?” she asked. He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Easy,” he explained. “I never got on the plane.”

He never got on?  She tried to remember seeing him on the plane, but couldn’t place him there.

“Why…why…” Mike lifted a hand to silence her before she could finish. He moved to the stool on her right and put his arm around her. He slowly leaned into her ear and whispered “Because I fucking hate all of you.”

He dropped his arm and allowed space between them. He asked the bartender for their checks. He had an oddly peaceful look on his face.

By this point, Janet, John, and David were standing at the entrance to the restaurant. Mike rose from his seat and gripped Sarah’s shoulder. His fingers sunk into her skin with surprising strength. She let out a gasp. “After you,” he hissed.

Fun t-shirt just in time for THE holiday!

One of Janet’s Favorite Things!

Chapter 3 – Janet

Janet hated airplanes. The thought of leaving the ball of dirt God had so meticulously crafted for humans felt unnatural.

We should just stay down here! 

She repeated this over and over inside her head every time she had to board a plane with her politician husband. The husband who had chosen a career that required them to go places. To travel. To take to the sky like premature angels. It just isn’t right.

She took her seat and dug through her bottomless purse. A top layer of onion rings for John (still crispy!), a toy gun for David (in case he got scared), and finally, the new Nicholas Sparks novel for herself. She needed a distraction. She needed escape. 

She had just started reading when David announced to everyone in first class that he had to “make a deposit at Fifth Turd bank” before takeoff. He was always worried the change in air pressure while ascending would empty his bowels. The declaration startled her, and immediately took her mind back to an incident that occurred at their home earlier that day.

~~~~~~~~~~

Janet unrolled nearly half the toilet paper, folding and weaving it into a sturdy, round design that would cover the surface of the still waters below. This would ensure a soft and silent landing for her droppings. It’s not a sin for women to poop, of course. It’s only sin if others know a woman is pooping. She didn’t want to take too long. Her family would start to suspect something. Why did I choose the only bathroom with a shower? They’ll need in here soon. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She sat down facing the rear of the toilet, wrapped her arms around the back for support, and laid her right cheek against the cool, smooth surface of its tank.

Three minutes and eleven seconds passed. It was time to leave. “Darn it!” she cursed, realizing she hadn’t left herself enough time to wash her hands. She said a prayer before flushing, sprayed air freshener, and opened the door.

John was waiting.

“What were you doing?” he asked, somewhat suspiciously.

He knew.

“Just freshening up!” she lied. She struggled to determine the greater offense; lying or pooping.

John squinted his watery eyes and stared at her as he slowly entered the bathroom, smacking his head on the doorframe in the process. “Don’t tell your father,” she pleaded, “I’ll buy you something later today!”

He moved to face her, hand rubbing his forehead. He sighed, clearly annoyed. “You know I don’t like things!”

No. Oh no. Please.

John relaxed his stance. “How about I ask you for a favor, mother? Sometime later in the trip? Hm?” A single tear streamed down Janet’s face. “Oh, absolutely! Anything for my good boy!”

John put his hands on his hips as he surveyed the room. “Wow! This bathroom smells GOOD!” he exclaimed. “Glad I get to be the first one to poop in it today!” He winked at his mother, dropped his pants, and shuffled to the toilet.

~~~~~~~~~~

Janet returned to her book. David trudged slowly down the aisle, aggressively grabbing and pulling on every seat back along the way. Her eyes followed his path to the front of the plane. A pretty, young flight attendant smiled at David before he entered the stall. Janet sank her blood red nails into her jean skirt.

Just as her nails began to tear into the denim, Janet felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. It was John. “I need to do a poop, too. David said to go before we leave. He said our butts will automatically empty if we get too close to heaven.”

She gritted her teeth. Not wanting John to start questioning the Lord, she decided to play along. “Alright,” she conceded, “I’ll come with you to coach”.

Coach. The family had been fortunate enough to avoid the Kennel of Poors up until this very moment. She took a deep breath.

John wrapped the curtain that separated the two cabins around his face and neck and shouted “Look! I’m King of the Jews!” She quickly pulled the fabric from his body and pointed a finger to his face. “No, John! That. Is. A. Muslim.” Every word was punctuated with a shake of her bony digit. “Do you want to frighten your baby brother?”

John used the curtain to dry his eyes. He inched closer and closer to his mother, until her still pointed finger rested on his cheek. “Maybe,” he whispered. He slowly turned and began his clumsy march towards the rear of the plane.

Janet and John had made it about halfway to the back when she heard a commotion in first class. Her thoughts began to race. David. No. Surely he didn’t…

Her fears were confirmed as she rushed back to first class. At David’s feet was her overturned and emptied purse. She couldn’t see the toy gun she knew he had retrieved from her bag. 

A nearby woman gasped. David appeared to have a massive erection, but Janet knew the truth. He looked at the woman and winked. “I know. Can’t believe they let me bring it on the plane.” She gagged.

The flight attendant from before arrived and politely asked David to return to his seat. “No ma’am,” he responded, “not when I’ve got to protect all of you from the Moose-lim”.  He pulled the toy gun from his pants.

Janet closed her eyes. She imagined herself at a thousand different places. A calm beach. Brunch with Joyce Meyer. An isolated bathroom.

Everyone started to scream.

Chapter 2 – John Mark

John watched in awe as they pulled into the airport parking garage. He was always amazed when he saw a building more than a couple stories high. He couldn’t begin to imagine the time, effort, and lack of playing with oneself a structure like this took to build. It was a car palace. John pictured the Car Prince himself giving the order to let them in as the arm on the barrier gate lifted. He pretended to wave to the imaginary Chrysler Court of Prince Pontiac as they ascended each level. 

His vision blurred. He stopped waving and wiped a hand across his eyes. They were constantly watering. He had forgotten by this point if it was the result of a medical condition, or if he was always crying.

His father parked. It was a little too far away for John’s liking, but he knew better than to say anything. He helped his family by standing clear of the car and not getting his Cheeto-dusted fingers all over their fine luggage. Janet ran through a final checklist to make sure all was in order, and they began walking to the terminal.

It was busy. Very busy. And they were running late. David had fallen asleep during one of his Top Chef viewings and it had taken nearly 45 minutes to wake him. They were further delayed by his refusal to leave his “date” early, joking that if he did, “Sheila would never shut up about it”.  He raised and shook his right hand as he said “Sheila”. This made their father laugh.

The airport was crowded and Mike was clearly frustrated. “Come on!” he shouted, grabbing John by the arm. “Come with me. And don’t stop to talk to anyone along the way!” He followed his father past the endless, curving line of people, fighting urge after urge to ask every other person what day it was, where they were going, and if given three guesses could they find the rabbit’s foot hidden on his body (left leg pit). They finally reached the ticket counter.

“Excuse me,” his father said to the airline employee. “We need to check-in now so my boy here can have some extra time to get through security and eat a little something before we board.” He attempted a smile. The employee apologized, “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else.”

The words “everyone else” echoed and lingered in the air. John peed a little.

Mike took in a deep breath. He seemed to suck the life force out of those around him, and grow stronger from it. He closed his eyes and waited for what felt like an eternity. What followed was a noise John could only describe as a cross between a snort and a hiss. It was a noise John heard many times throughout his childhood. It had inspired “Bullcat”, a fictional monster from his own personal lore. It usually awaited unsuspecting maidens at the center of mazes or the end of a Golden Corral buffet.

John tried not to stare at the poor, distressed ticket agent. His father had been expecting her response, and was ready for it (perhaps hoping for it). “I don’t think you underSTAND,” Mike began to explain, a crescendo forming over every sentence, the final word a climax of anger and authority. “My boy here needs more TIME! We are checking in NOW you dense and degenerate BITCH. Now start typing with your tax-payer funded manicure and get me my goddamn mothershitting TICKETS!” He smacked both hands on the counter and let out one final growl.

Gasps escaped from several bystanders. Mike kicked the counter three times. His face had turned scarlet, a purple vein throbbing down his temple. John had always imagined this vein as a tiny crimson river connecting his father’s brain to his butt. He spent many days praying Rick Moranis would shrink him to cellular size so he could go on a boat ride down it’s cold, still waters, destroying every landmark inside his father’s meaty body. He fantasized about it so often that he wrote a short novel detailing his journey. His mother was overjoyed when she heard about his work, but promptly burned all the pages after reading only the first three. “Don’t ever mention this again,” she had pleaded.

He returned his attention to the scene in front of him.

“What…what is his disability?” the ticket agent asked, clearly flustered, on the verge of tears. She gave John a look filled with fear and sympathy. “Well, he’s not able to do much, really. We have to keep a lot of the doors closed in our house…he’ll relieve himself almost anywhere. Can’t let him on the furniture. He…” Mike turned to him, “Wipe your fucking eyes!” he ordered. “You’re creepin’ people out!” John obeyed. He pulled a handkerchief from his left armpit and dried his face. Before he could return it, his father snatched it away. “Here, let me hold on to that for you. In my pants POCKET. We have money, son! You don’t have to use your body as storage! Leave that to the poors!”

Mike collected the family’s tickets and quickly moved the group through security in the same manner as check-in, this time David playing victim. John absentmindedly passed through the checkpoint. His mother did everything for him. She took off his velcro shoes, placed his luggage on the conveyor belt, and even held his arms above his head while inside the full body scanner.

After everyone made it through the Freedom Violation Station, they learned from a nearby screen that their flight had been delayed. The family immediately began to scatter.

Janet ran after John when she noticed him trying to buy a couple hundred dollars worth of souvenirs from the first airport shop he came upon. “Now, now, John. You should save your spending money for the trip! We live here, remember!” Shopping was stressful for John. He would rather use all of his money here and not have to worry about spending it later. It was a burden to him.

He shot his mother a knowing look. “Maybe I should tell father about what happened earlier. About what you were doing at… the house.” He narrowed his eyes. His mother looked frightened. “Oh son, there’s no need for that. If…if you want all of these Florida magnets, go ahead! It’s your money!” He paid the cashier.

John walked to their gate, his cleavage filled with magnets. When he arrived, he noticed a Red Lobster directly across from it. He closed his eyes, imagining himself bathing in the sun on the shores of Cheddar Bay. Migrant laborers scurried around, bringing him recently harvested cheddar and picking up his droppings. He did body shots of mashed potatoes out of his own belly button. David pissed in the ocean as his mother and sister let loose by drinking regular Coke instead of diet. This very daydream played through his head often. For whatever reason, his father had always died in a car accident on the way to the Bay vacation, but they went on without him. He opened his wet eyes and noticed his erection pointing straight at the restaurant. A compass leading him home.

He took a step in its direction when his father shouted at him from the gate. “We’re boarding right goddamn now, JOHN! Hurry up or I’ll give your first class seat to a troop and you’ll ride coach! I’ll do it! Look! There are like four friggin’ troops back there!”

John wiped his eyes, lowered his head, and boarded the plane.

Chapter 1 – David

David pulled apart his crusted eyelids. His older brother was mere inches from his face. He shoved John back towards the other side of the bed, wiping away the drool his kiss had left behind on his forehead. This surprised John, causing him to accidentally release a fart he had been holding in since remembering they were about to leave for vacation. David instinctively began to time the fart to see how many seconds it lasted. They kept a log so they could have a rough estimate of how much their bodies helped contribute to global warming each year. Their father sent the results in a letter to Al Gore every Christmas.

He climbed out of bed while John retreated under the covers to enjoy a few more seconds of the odor, a ritual David didn’t understand, but respected. He quietly exited the room to allow his brother a moment of peace.

He knew he had to hurry. He still needed to finish packing, bathe and masturbate to the most recent episode of Top Chef all before the family’s 3p.m. departure. The time had been pushed back from their ambitious 11 a.m. goal after Janet successfully argued that the boys would be grouchy without their usual twelve hours of sleep. It still wasn’t enough time, he realized, as he traversed the house at a hurried pace.

Their home consisted of many rooms, but only one bathroom included a shower. The door to this particular room was locked. There was no time to wait for whoever was inside to finish. Teeming with frustration, he rushed down the stairs, out the patio door, straight to the garden.

One by one he peeled off his many layers of clothing, removing everything save his socks, and turned the knob for the garden hose. He took a long drink, savoring the metallic flavor of the hose’s water. He stuck his tongue down through its opening, making a circular motion as water dribbled down his chin. He felt wild and unpredictable. Vacation had truly begun.

He turned the hose to his body, rinsing each section in the same order his mother has bathed him in from birth until age 21. About halfway through his routine, he noticed a squirrel staring at him from across the yard. He stopped and lowered the hose to his groin. This caused the water to roll directly down his penis. “It looks like I’m peeing when I hold it like this!” he yelled at the squirrel. “Looks like I’m peeing, don’t it!” The squirrel, as if somehow aware of what it had just witnessed, quickly climbed a tree.

David left his clothes in a pile outside and trampled several of his mother’s plants as he reentered the house. His first stop was the kitchen for a quick breakfast. He was upset to see that his mother hadn’t prepared anything for the family that day. Just what had she been doing all morning? He slammed the refrigerator door a few times, letting out over-exaggerated sighs and moans.  When that didn’t work, he moved on to the cabinets. Opening and closing and opening and closing. He rattled some dishes for good measure. No one came to his aid. “I guess I will just feed MYSELF!” he shouted, to no one in particular.

Cereal was about as advanced a meal that he could handle. His cooking shows were for pleasure, not learning. He started to grab a bowl from the dishwasher when his mother entered the room, distracted and clearly searching for something. He pretended holding the bowl was cumbersome, letting his arms sag as he strained to place it on the counter. He did the same for the cereal, spilling as much on the floor as he managed to get in the bowl. He gritted his teeth and shook his head as he struggled with the task. He wiped the sweat from his brow in dramatic fashion. Then did the same to his tits. After throwing most of the silverware on the ground, Janet finally took notice.

“Oh dear, let me finish that for you. You sit. You sit.” She guided him to his worn “Very Good Active Boy” recliner in the next room. His mother had changed its name from La-Z-Boy, since laziness is a sin. She would not allow a sin chair in her home. She placed a tray table in front of him, and a blanket over his still naked body. He sunk back into the familiar seat, a satisfied grin on his face. The stress from almost having to prepare his own meal slowly melted away.

Janet returned with the cereal, along with a Budweiser and his Glock. He knew that if the government were ever to take his guns, it would be while he was eating. It was when he was most vulnerable. But he was ready. He would always be ready.

He finished rather quickly, relieved that another meal had passed without incident. There was no real plan in place for the day the President came for his guns. David just felt confident he would know what to do when the time came. He fingered the Glock’s muzzle. Barack SADDAM Obama will regret the day he enters this house. He underestimates me. Doesn’t think I’m prepared. Doesn’t know how many times I’ve watched The Matrix. I’ll be the last armed man in America.

He returned to his room to pack his empty suitcase. As he was digging through his closet for clothes to wear, he stumbled across an old, green binder. He hadn’t seen his collection in years. He blew dust off the cover, revealing the label “My Meats”. Page after page of vacuum sealed lunch meat, bacons, opossum jerky and more. It was every meat he had ever tried, documented for posterity.  He would be bringing this along. Traveling to a new place likely meant new meats. He slid it inside his suitcase, along with a balisong and his large collection of Arby’s coupons.

He packed the rest of his belongings, zipped the suitcase and carried it downstairs. He resumed his post in the recliner. It was apparent he was the first person ready to leave. John was just now walking in from his turn with the hose shower, and the rest of the family were no where to be found. He decided to turn on the TV in the meantime. Padma Lakshmi’s familiar face filled the screen. He laid back, slid his hand down his pants and waited.

Huckabee Vacation – Prologue

A powerful grunt rings out across the Huckabee estate. A final warning from Mike to his family that it’s time to start the day. His wife Janet, already awake for hours, descends the stairs to wake the children.

Despite the number of unused bedrooms in their large Floridian home, the fully-grown Huckabee brothers still insist on not only sharing a room, but a bed. Janet sits on its right side and begins to gently stroke the balding head of her eldest son, John.

No response.

She leans forward and whispers the names of his favorite foods to ease him into the waking world. Bacon. Thickburgers. Sriracha-coated drywall.

Nothing.

The boys’ California Raisins wall clock reads one in the afternoon, yet he still did not stir.

She begins to panic before reminding herself that this is an almost daily occurrence. She places her fingers inside the lowest fold of his neck, believing this to be the location of his carotid artery and where she could determine if his overworked and under appreciated heart had finally given up for good. She finds and removes two skittles (red, his favorite) and places them on the bedside table he had once made for a school project. It was the first project he had completed entirely on his own. It consisted of several Hungry-Man frozen dinner boxes neatly stacked and glued together. She had never been more proud.

She wipes her hand on her jean skirt, preparing to continue the search when John starts to choke. Presumably on his own spit or perhaps a snack that had been left in his mouth from the night before. She helps him sit. Her frail arms tremble. They nearly betray her. It is then that John lets out a loud, hacking cough, forcing him upright. Whatever had been lodged in his throat had broken free. He swallows it before she is able to investigate.

“It’s time to wake up,” Janet says softly, careful not to rouse her other adult son. “Do you remember what today is?” John Mark turns to his mother and slowly answers, “Wednesday. Today is… Wednesday.” “Yes. Yes that’s good, John. Very good,” she replies, even though it’s Sunday. “What I meant was,” she added, “do you remember what’s special about today?”

Silence. He stares at the two skittles on his Hungry-Man table and appears angry. Janet realizes he’s probably upset with her for looking in his neck wallet without permission. He’s likely considering an anger nap.

Then his eyes widen.

A slow realization creeps across his face.  His breathing becomes louder, increasingly labored. He rolls in the opposite direction of his mother towards the still sleeping David. He places a hand on each side of his brother’s sweat-drenched face. They slip, one of them racing back to his own face, poking him in the eye. He reaches out again, this time each hand able to grip one of David’s cheeks.

He pulls him closer. Kisses him on the forehead. He whispers “Brother. Wake up. Today is Vacation.”