How Jeff And Patty Died

Ooh, it's a killing machine
It's got everything:
Highway Star--Deep Purple

Jeff and Patty had a bad day; it ended when someone snuck into their mobile home at three in the morning and crept into their bedroom. He cautiously, one measured footstep at a time, approached their bed, and, at the edge of the bed, a mere gap back from it, he stood looking down at two forms before him, which were concealed under a blanket. The form directly before him was Patty, on the other side of her was Jeff. Patty lay on her back, where her face stared blindly at the ceiling and a cat-like purring sound emitted from the back of her throat as she breathed, her mouth opened in an O shape, and Jeff lay on his side, his arm under his head, with his back to Patty staring blindly into the bedroom window, in a dream, mumbling inaudibly. As a wind outside the bedroom window suddenly gained momentum, and the leaves of a tree started to nervously clap, the intruder raised a metal baseball bat, both hands firmly grasping the handle, above his head, as though he had an ax and was chopping wood into kindling, and at the moment when the bat came crashing into Patty’s forehead, she abruptly opened her eyes: O O. It was a bad sound, like a ripe watermelon split violently open in a sick fissure, for Jeff darted upward and cried out, “Patty?” and turned about to see the disturbance behind his back, but the baseball bat was already flying through the air, like a plane speeding into the side of a mountain. Boom! Jeff never knew what hit him.

Yesterday, close to noontime, a bright spring day, things went bad for both of them. Their attempts to gain narcotics were flatly denied; for they had no money or credit. They went about the streets searching for any medical sources like a gambler at a Gambler Anonymous meeting begging for money. Jeff’s credit was shot when he attempted to negotiate now with promises to pay later. The street hustlers were very aware he was a liar and a thief, and under no circumstances one to be trusted. Patty had a similar strategy, but wrapped in a feminine charm, for her credit rating was like zero, and under that female mystique lured a charming deceiver. Rather than go without, they resorted to prostitution to get what they wanted. Patty wasn’t above selling her body; Jeff too was willing to pervert himself; however, no one seemed interested; he had an unwell persona about him; dotted about his face were raspberry-like things. A street hustler Patty called Doc, shook his head at Patty's salacious offer because he was running a business, he told her; therefore, he didn’t barter for his feel-good products as he wanted the real deal: cold hard cash.

The next logical step was stealing what they so urgently needed. But the street hustlers wanted money up front before even considering disappearing behind a two story apartment and slipping into a sort of no-mans land of overgrown vegetation and mixed in with throw-away stuff belonging in a dump, like soiled mattresses, broken furniture, rotten timber, huge chunks of roof shingles, etc., only to reappear with the goodies. And their pleas they had money, lots of money, in fact, they just wanted to see the product first before purchase, didn’t wash, at all.

Their world crumbling about them, alone in misery, they had little else but to get something to eat. Patty checked their funds, which consisted of coins in a coffee can, mostly quarters and dimes, and she figured their entire net worth was exactly seven dollars and thirty seven cents, enough for two hamburgers and fries.

Jeff and Patty had dinnertime down to a science; McDonalds was across from their mobile home, and Jeff had told Patty a week ago or so that he had counted his footsteps from the front door of the mobile home directly to the front door of the McDonalds, this was when Jeff was high on meth, so his brain sent the words he was to say slowly, but his mouth was shaping them before he knew what to say, quickly: “One, one, one, one, one . . . ” he said, which was the first word, contorting his face in anticipation for the next word to be spoken; and Patty stared at Jeff, a frown on her face, her legs tucked under her on the couch, the television murmuring about war and comedians killing themselves, biting her nails. “I got it: one!” she said.

She was annoyed because he had gone out and bought pharmaceutics with the money meant for the electric, which was two months in arrears. A phone call from the electric company’s collection side of billing told her if the account fell 90 days behind, they’d come out and close the account, i.e., cut off the juice. But what really pissed her off was he didn’t share with her; the greedy bastard stole the electric money and got mental by himself.

In short, the McDonalds was not far from their mobile home, and exactly at four thirty, Patty walked over there and ordered two number ones, which was a meal consisting of a Quarter Pounder with cheese, French fries with lots of those feely-wiggly packages of ketchup and tons of salt, and drinks; Patty liked Sprite and Jeff liked Dr. Pepper. When she arrived home with the meals, Jeff already had tidied up the place as best he could, there was no vacuum or even a broom, and cleared the coffee table of junk, and had the television going with Patty’s favorite program: Dr.Phil, where they sat on the couch, eating, drinking, and watching Dr. Phil, where Dr. Phil was interviewing Charlie Manson from prison. They ate in total silence. It all changed when Charlie went nuts when Dr. Phil asked him about women. Jeff laughed and hamburger meat coughed out of his laughing mouth and splashed onto the carpet, he picked it off the carpet with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. “Charlie Manson’s crazy,” he said.

“U know, that’s fukin' gross!” said Patty.

“Whut?”

“Food falls out of ur mouth and u pick it up and put it back in ur mouth, that’s gross; remember yesterday?”

Jeff shook his head, loudly smacking his lips as he ate. “Jevon yesterday was sittin' right there, remember, and yella gook was dripping out his nose, right there!” she said, pointing to the place on the carpet where the food he had picked up and put back into his mouth was. Jeff shook his head, chewing his food slowly, meditatively.

“Hello! it wus just yesterday; u can’t remember yesterday?” she said, almost in disbelieve, folding up her empty food bag, and shaking the ice in her empty drink, making a sound like an angry rattlesnake. “Jevon?” he said, with sort of a mystery.

She went to the bathroom, where Jeff could hear her pee. “Oh, yeah,” said Jeff in a tone of victory, “he add thad good tuff; yeah, I rememer!” She reappeared. She had taken off her jeans, and she stood before Jeff in her underwear, which were white panties. “That wasn’t good stuff, that was aspirin,” she said, in a professional tone. “And u sold a lot of aspirin, to a lot of people thinking they were buying what u said it wusn't, u remember that? There wus a note on the door, by the way, first thing this morning, sayin' some dude named Bill wants to talk to u.”

She went to a shoe box that once held Nike running shoes, which was on a dresser, and took out what appeared like a slim grocery receipt, and handed the note to Jeff. He studied it with a grim look, a tight nit on his forehead. “He's bretty hangry,” said Jeff, turning the note over, then giving it back to Patty. "No kiddin'," she said, tossing the note back into the shoe box.

"Look, I gotta go to bed early, I've got a job interview first thin' in the mornin'," she said. Jeff turned off the television. "Me too," said Jeff. Patty stared at him like she had suddenly seen a spaceship land in the living room and a little green space man climb out of it. "U got a job?" He coughed into the palm of his hand. "Damn," he said, yawning, studying a red stain running off his palm, dripping to the floor, "blood?" he sniffed it and licked it off his palm. "No, no, no, I just get to got some sleep is all."



The End





w/c: 1450