Crank Series: Crank Part 11

Straight A's, huh? Got your brains from your old man.

I was starting to doubt it.

No air-con, windows down, oil flavored the air.

Conversation took an ugly turn.

Never been laid? Tell the truth little girl.

Like it was his business. He reached for his Marlboros, took one, offered the pack. My lip curled. He lit up anyway.

Quit once. Your mother b.i.t.c.hed me out of the habit.

I watched him inhale, blow smoke signals. Exhale. Beyond the ochre haze, city turned to suburbs. Not pretty suburbs.

She was the b.i.t.c.h queen. I started again soon as I moved out.

The Geo limped into a weather-chewed parking lot. I escaped the front seat. Aired out in blistering heat.

Here we are. Home sweet home.

What's mine is yours.

I'd made an awful mistake.

Daddy wasn't the Prince of Albuquerque. He was the King of Cliche.

You Call This a Castle?

Not My Type

No s.h.i.+rt hot bod.

His, that is.

So why did /break out in a sweat?

No shoes barefoot, bare chest, with a bare, baby face to make the angels sing.

Nothing but ragged cut-offs, hugging a tawny six pack, and a smile.

No pin-up pretty boy could touch, a smile that zapped every cell.

He was definitely not my type.

At Least I Had Something

to think about besides my dad's less than palatial apartment.

If he qualified as royalty in this true blue collar kingdom, I had zero desire to see how the working cla.s.s lived.

Dad Had to Go to Work

Work?

You've heard a work.

You couldn't take one day off?

You don't know my boss.

Does he know about me?

She knows you're here.

Your daughter comes to visit ...

She does'nt know.

Know what?

That you're my daughter.

Who am I, then?

A long lost relative.

He Worked in a Bowling Alley

Under the table, so I don't screw up my disability.

Unsticking stuck b.a.l.l.s, fitting stinky shoes, collecting cash from the crop du jour of the great unwashed.

No one there's gonna tell. They got their own secrets, No worries about bubblegum, athlete's foot, or the current flu, pa.s.sed bill to bill, ball to ball, shoe to shoe.

Like who's making out in the back room, who's striking out.

Geo unlocked in a parking lot where the color of your jacket might mean your life, wrong night, wrong time.

It's not the best neighborhood, but hey, come along.

I Opted Out

Long trip, long day, no thanks, I'll stay.

Okay.

Not Quite Silent

The empty boxes Dad imagined rooms.

Glurp ... glurp ... glurp Hot drops into deep kitchen stainless.

Plunk.....plunk Cool drips on chipped bathroom porcelain.

Chh-ka-chh Sleepy branches scratching bedroom gla.s.s.

You crazy sonofab.i.t.c.h!

Neighbors through thin plaster walls.

The Screaming

Of Course, When I Was Little

I didn't understand the terminology of words like infidelity.

Nor the implications of my father's sundry addictions.

I only knew my wicked mother took us far away, kept us far apart.

Time pa.s.sed, with little word from Dad.

But, having experienced Mom's growing frustration at a stalled career and family life's daily limitations I put the blame squarely on her. As for Dad, I could have forgiven him pretty much anything, even his silence.

As long as I could forever stay his little princess.

Okay, Over the Last Few Years