Another chapter in the second book of the "Trip" trilogy. This book is called "Dog Trip" and like the first book, Drug Trip, is told in a style of line of consciousness. Here I am reminded of an earlier time and share some special moments with you. Enjoy!
First I’d quickly jab her in the side after asking her if she knew of the TV series “Gumby and Pokey”, then I’d use my knee to knock inward the knee of her leg that was supporting her weight. She’d buckle down, catching herself by grabbing onto the Formica counter top.
The Formica was relatively new, and it bore just one scar. Our parents were proud of the new counter top, for it was as très chic in the late 60’s as granite is today. One night, during another of Mom’s home cooked suppers, they had mentioned how strong and durable the glimmering new countertop was. Naturally, that piqued Monica’s interest. While doing dishes that night, after thoroughly cleaning the meat clever, she swung down on the corner of the Formica right in front of the sink. That scar stayed there over a dozen years. Our folks were non-to pleased to learn of her amateur testing of the speckled Formica with the custom brown edge work. I think they left it there extra long, just to remind her to think before swinging.
After the kneeing, a chase would incur, and eventually I’d always lose: but it was worth it. She would punish me by pinning me down and tickling me till I was on the verge of puking. She’d laugh, and then walk away while exclaiming, “That’ll teach you” It never did.
Perhaps fate was trying to teach me a lesson one night. After giving her the knee for the umpteenth time, I ran up the creaky old staircase to try and escape her punishment. The previous day the worn holy carpet had been removed from the stairs. Unbeknownst to all, one nail remained. It was the type with an extra large head, like a roofing nail. It was protruding on the top of the thirteenth stair, the top step. Old New England often had exactly thirteen steps and our Dad was quick to point this out to visitors. “Know why old homes have thirteen steps?” “No” “To get to one floor from another” For him, the joke never wore thin, even as the carpet did.
So I slipped and fell on the luckiest of steps and my knee made a nice graceful arch on top of that remaining nail. Immediately I sensed something was wrong beyond the normal ouch. With my hand pressed firmly against my knee, I went back downstairs to find our Dad. Monica instinctively knew something was wrong, and quietly followed me to the black leather chair that clutched our father. “Dad, I think I need to go to the hospital” “Oh, why is that?” For the first time since falling, I removed my hand from knee. There wasn’t much blood, but a thick long piece of flesh dropped down alongside my leg, dangling there like the proverbial fish out of water. The large chunk of pink flesh was attached by just a sliver of skin, and after looking at it in awe, I mean, it was just soooo cool, I popped it back into place and replaced my hand over my knee. “See?” While he quickly put his pipe down in the little car shaped pipe holder I had bought him for his birthday, Monica was running into the kitchen to give our Mom the latest news bulletin.
Great read Clay, just like your former work……it had me gripped from the start, well done and look forward to reading more,
P.S why cant i find you on facebook anymore????
very best seasonal greetings,
Aaron 
I liked the bit where one boy vomited on sister agnus
Funny
Wow a really engaging story it was such a enjoyable read that I wait in anticipation for what’s next.
A very good story! I’d like to know more..
Im back again! Reading it for the 2nd time.
Great and a very beautiful and inspiring article with full of beautiful thoughts my friend,Please do share more
Welcome to Authspot, the spot for creative writing.
Read some stories and poems, and be sure to subscribe to our feed!
