In light of the holiday season, Mister Yuck is bringing all of our fans a special treat. This submission comes to you from a special guest writer, a guy who isn’t one of the three who bring you the blog, but he’s got some interesting things to say and a lot of skill. I used to hang out with this kid on the playground in grade school, and now he’s done me the honor of allowing me to share his writing with all of you. So, without further a due, here he is, the man, Vince Davila. Read him here, and now, and look for more submissions in the near future.
-Shane
-Shane
Goin' All The Way
By: Vince Davila
The boy in the back seat, do you see him? The one in the farthest back row. One, two, three seats in a line. He can count them. Stretched across the back of the blurry green station wagon. The green station wagon, burnin' up rubber! And, blowin' dust! The man behind the wheel says so. He leans out the window too. And he slaps the roof of the car with his palm. "WE BLOWIN' BITCHES SKIRTS UP NAH BOY!"
Two people in this car. The child counts them. He can see his face in the mirror. Not the mans face. He wants the man to turn around, or look in the mirror, then he could see what he looks like. In his head he says it. Turn around. look in the mirror. He can't remember what he looks like. Right now he can smell him. Smells mold and cigarettes like mother burns. He counts how many people in the other cars. His eyes bobbing just over the door panel.
One person in that car.
One person in that car.
Four people.
Two people.
One person.
He tries to remember their faces.
"Kid!" The man turns to him, his arm stretched miraculously long, all the way back to the boy, feet dangling off the edge of the seat. "Git a Brewskie!"
That's a can from the box on the floor. There were 24 of them. One for the man. 19 left. He looks at his face when he hands it to him. His chin is a gravel road. It looks rough. His skin is not holding on very tightly and makes little pools under his eyeballs. Those are round and yellow, and look as if they were made for closing.
"A'right Charles! Know where we goin' boy?"
Charles doesn't know. Not the man. Not goin'.
Not the blurry green wagon. He could count the numbers. Not the goin', not the wagon. He thought about jumping out of the car. His door was unlocked. They were going pretty fast. It hurt when the man threw him in. The ground looked like it hurt too. Hurt more than the seat of the wagon. So he stayed put.
"We goin all the way boy! that's where we fuckin' goin! WOOHOO!"
Charles fills up his head with the numbers. All the things outside the windows, going woosh. And gone. They don't slow down. All the way.
Two people in this car. The child counts them. He can see his face in the mirror. Not the mans face. He wants the man to turn around, or look in the mirror, then he could see what he looks like. In his head he says it. Turn around. look in the mirror. He can't remember what he looks like. Right now he can smell him. Smells mold and cigarettes like mother burns. He counts how many people in the other cars. His eyes bobbing just over the door panel.
One person in that car.
One person in that car.
Four people.
Two people.
One person.
He tries to remember their faces.
"Kid!" The man turns to him, his arm stretched miraculously long, all the way back to the boy, feet dangling off the edge of the seat. "Git a Brewskie!"
That's a can from the box on the floor. There were 24 of them. One for the man. 19 left. He looks at his face when he hands it to him. His chin is a gravel road. It looks rough. His skin is not holding on very tightly and makes little pools under his eyeballs. Those are round and yellow, and look as if they were made for closing.
"A'right Charles! Know where we goin' boy?"
Charles doesn't know. Not the man. Not goin'.
Not the blurry green wagon. He could count the numbers. Not the goin', not the wagon. He thought about jumping out of the car. His door was unlocked. They were going pretty fast. It hurt when the man threw him in. The ground looked like it hurt too. Hurt more than the seat of the wagon. So he stayed put.
"We goin all the way boy! that's where we fuckin' goin! WOOHOO!"
Charles fills up his head with the numbers. All the things outside the windows, going woosh. And gone. They don't slow down. All the way.
