Page 5 of Sac-rifice (RBMC: Cleveland, Ohio Chapter #7)

THE BOOB SMACK HEARD AROUND THE WORLD

COR

I grunted, rubbing my hand over my stiff neck, and dropped my bag onto a wooden slat of the porch.

“Another rough one, kid?” My neighbor and landlord asked, lifting her foot into the rocking chair and adding a fresh coat of paint onto her toenail.

I jumped at the sound of her voice and glanced to where she sat. This was only the second time I had seen her on my side of the fence, so I hadn’t expected her.

“Yep. I guess you could call it that,” I muttered, wondering how old she actually was and at what age dementia began.

Maybe she was lost, but I doubted it. I didn’t mention it was odd to find her sitting on my porch because, technically, even though I paid this month’s rent, the property still belonged to her.

If I was being honest, it was nice to come home to a happy greeting after the difficult week I’d had.

I rocked on my toes and chewed on the inside of my cheek, studying her.

“Hmm. Yeah. I would just call it a shitstorm, but I haven’t figured out if you’re a shitstorm type of person, or a person who falls under the stereotypical category,” she confidently spoke the statement.

I wanted to be more like her. She really didn’t give a shit.

She had to be well into her seventies but dressed more like she was at least fifty years younger.

Her clothes were always bright in color and often tie-dyed.

She wore a flower behind her ear most days; today’s choice was a neon green one.

I wanted to say it was an iris, but I didn’t have the first clue about which flower was which.

Screw it. I was calling it an iris regardless if it was one or not.

“C’mon, honey. Sit a spell with Auntie Rach. Tell me all about it.” She patted the empty rocking chair beside her.

“Eh. Last week was crap. This week hasn’t been much better.

The week before that, a winner with a weiner tried to wear me like a baseball mitt.

Being a typical man. You know, a normal Tuesday.

This week, I went job hunting, and people are just as rude and closed-minded as I remember them being.

Needless to say, I’m still unemployed.” I shrugged.

“The guy was being a typical man, I guess.” I shook my head and let out a deep breath as I sat down beside her. “Who knows?”

She glanced at me, dipping the brush down into the polish, and then moved on to the next toe.

“First off, you’ll find something soon. As for the rest, honey.

..” She paused, dunking the brush into the bottle one more time to paint her pinky toenail.

She placed the brush back into the bottle and screwed the lid on tightly.

“I don’t give men a pass any more than I give any woman a pass.

We’re all people, born to this planet. We all bleed…

although I’m pretty sure my ex-husband might leak a living black sludge like Hexxus from Ferngully out of his veins, that SOB.

” She giggled and then sighed. “Maybe he was Lucifer’s brother or something.

The only thing I know is that man was pure evil.

” Her eyes stared off into the distance for a moment as if she was lost in thought.

I didn’t say anything to distract her and bring her back from wherever she had gone.

I too had lived with the devil and had gotten away, but a person didn’t just live through something like that and escape with their innocence.

Living through something downright evil took its toll on a person’s soul, but it couldn’t be seen on the outside after the wounds healed.

One would think there would be blaring signs that were unmistakable, but that wasn’t how it worked.

A lot of times, a person’s soul and self-worth was what suffered the most. Bruises and scars eventually faded when they were on the outside, but you weren’t so lucky if tragedy scarred you from the inside out.

Even if years had passed since you were faced with the heaviest trauma of your life, there were moments that could drag you right back to that dreadful moment you were changed forever.

“Anyway. I want to give you some advice. The next time any self-righteous ass tries to touch you, I want you to give it to him.”

“Huh? Give what to him?” I arched my eyebrow as I made myself completely concentrate on our conversation. I absentmindedly picked at the jagged cuticle on my thumb, hiding it beneath my pointer finger once I realized my nervous habit had come to the surface again.

She smacked my hand lightly. “Stop that nonsense. You’ll end up having funky ass hands when you’re my age. And you give them people exactly what they deserve.”

“And what would that be exactly? I think I got my point across right before I stormed out and slammed the door,” I said and sighed, wishing I’d stayed to see the man’s face when he figured out the long convoluted insult I’d yelled at him was the equivalent of me telling him to eat a bag of dicks.

“That’s not enough. You have to shock them. Tell them something they’ll remember and challenge their puny little brains.” She pointed to her crotch. “Not this one, but the one up here.” She tapped her forehead with her fingertip.

“Pretty sure I did that. So, mission accomplished.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. What’d you do?”

“I told the guy to feast on a satchel of Richards until he cried.” Somehow, I managed to repeat my words with a straight face.

“Ha! Feast on a satchel of Richards. I love it! I’ll have to remember that one!

Next time, tell them to shut their damned mouth before you smack them with your boob.

That one always works well for me. Ha! Lemme tell you it was the boob smack heard around the world.

Not a pin dropped when I said that one to a grabby ass drunk.

” She smiled. “Of course, there might be someone to take you up on the offer. That’s how I became a mama.

Old Cecil was into that kind of thing.” She laughed, reminiscing.

“I miss him. If he hadn’t up and died on me, I’d call him tonight.

I have a few bats in my belfry that could use a nice long chimney sweep, if you get my drift.

” She winked, nudging my side with her elbow.

“Bats? Belfry? Oh!” I gulped as I slowly pieced together what she meant with her bats and chimney sweep analogy. “I’m usually pretty quick, but that one took me a minute.”

“For everything that’s holy, girl. I could use a good what did you say? A winner with a wiener. I need one of those to come give me the best wienering in the history of hoohaology.”

My eyes bulged. “Hoohaology?”

“Yes, honey. I want a man who is experienced enough that he has a Ph.D. in the study of the hooha. It takes away the hidden mystery of the clit and how to work it. Men act like it’s so hard to please a woman, and we get blamed for it!

Nope. I refuse to claim that nonsense just to give a man an ego boost. Not a woman’s fault when a man doesn’t know how to move his fingers.

I bet they teach Morse code in Hoohaology school, though.

I’m just sayin’.” She nodded once. “They, without a doubt, teach it. It would be a required final exam for anyone to graduate.”

I busted into laughing fits. “Auntie Rach, I think I want to be you when I grow up. Yep. No, I definitely want to be you,” I admitted, thanking her for the talk afterward, yawning midsentence.

I stood, giving her a quick smile, and motioned my head toward my door. “I think I’m going to go lay down.”

“Pfft. You don’t want to be me.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You need to be you. Everyone wants to be in someone else’s shoes until they have to deal with a dog pile left on the sole.”

“Meaning?” I asked, pretty sure I understood her but wanting to make sure I did.

“Meaning, it’s easy to say you want to be someone else, but everybody has a past and baggage that no one else wants to deal with.

Be you, Corine. Be so unapologetically you and don’t you dare be anybody else.

You hear me?” She pulled a hand-rolled joint off the windowsill behind her and lit it.

She took two puffs and held it up for me.

I waved my hand. “No, thank you. The stuff makes me paranoid. I’m one of the people who should never touch any kind of drugs. Ever!”

“Suit yourself. Tastes like shit weed anyway. It probably won’t even give me a buzz. I bought a ton of it off a teenager who had no business dealing to begin with. I bought every bit he had and told his ass he was lucky I didn’t mug him with my cane and call his mom.”

“Don’t you have a medical card for that stuff?”

“I do, but that kid seemed happy and promised he wouldn’t do it again after I told him I’d shove my hippie flowered sandal up his rear.

Besides, the law isn’t worried about what an old lady like me is up to.

Most of them grew up sitting at my kitchen table and eating my food.

I’d take every one of their asses in that precinct over my knee if they even so much as thought about writing me a ticket. ”

Silent laughter shook my sides, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing again. “You’re my hero,” I admitted, walking across the porch, my hand cupping my doorknob.

“Good talk, short stuff,” she said jokingly, plucking the joint from her mouth. Her head leaned back as she blew out a big cloud of smoke and belted out the beginning words of the song Crystal by Fleetwood Mac.