The Geek Forum
Misc Forums => Writer's Block => Topic started by: Leonidas on January 18, 2009, 03:41:48 AM
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George looked out the window, spying Joe out on the balcony. The evening drizzle lent the atmosphere a hazy grey appearance, but George decided nonetheless to go outside and engage his old friend in conversation for old time's sake.
"Hey, Joe, what's going on man?"
Joe tilted his head slightly left to address George's presence, the reddish ember from his newly-lit cigarette lightly illuminating his face.
"Hey, George."
"C'mon man, this is a bachelor party. You're supposed to be inside enjoying yourself with the strippers and booze, not out here being antisocial. It's kind of messing with everyone else's festive attitudes."
"Sorry George, but none of that stuff really appeals to me for some reason. To be honest, I'm having doubts about Lisa, and your motives for marrying her."
"Seriously Joe? What do you mean? I thought you liked her."
Joe took a deep drag on his cigarette. "She's a conditional friend, you know that. I'm only friendly with her because she's your fiancee. You know as well as I do that if she were to do something to you, she and I would be nothing to each other."
"Okay, so you're conditional friends. Big deal. It still doesn't explain your coldness, if I may be blunt here.
Joe sighed, the ember from his cigarette lending his face a dim orange glow. "Well, it's all rather complicated. I don't know, I just guess..."
[...]
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Joe sighed, the ember from his cigarette lending his face a dim orange glow. "Well, it's all rather complicated. I don't know, I just guess I can't get past that carbon footprint of hers."
George rolled his eyes and slapped the back of his neck in mock exasperation. "Aw, Christ, not that crap again. I thought we settled that."
"That crap," hissed Joe. He sprang to his feet and flicked the cigarette into the gloom. "That crap, as you put it, is my life. You know the sacrifices I've made, the labor of love and tears and sweat I've poured into the cause! The humility I've endured as my friends, my lovers, my co-workers mocked and scorned my passion! My own..." Joe broke off, turning away. "My own mother..."
George extended a hand. "Look, Joe..."
Joe swung around, an angry glint in his eyes. "And now you... You... My best friend, my comrade in arms, my Horatio, my Sancho Panza! You turn your back on everything we've gone through and marry her." Joe turned away, his chin quivering.
"Dude... She drives a SUV... Big deal."
"And she doesn't recycle..."
"So I'll make sure she does. I'll make sure we recycle everything."
"And she won't use the canvas shopping bags I gave her..."
"No problem, Dude! I'll do all the shopping! I'll walk to the fucking store and buy organic and use reusable bags and send money to Greenpeace! Just stop this... I don't know. Just come in and watch the strippers."
Joe sniffed. "That's another thing."
"What's another thing?"
"The strippers. I don't like them."
"Dude, I know they're a little gnarly..."
"No, George. They're the wrong kind."
George stared at his friend, uncomprehending. Sensing his confusion, Joe turned to him and sighed.
"George, George, my dear sweet George." Joe tapped out a cigarette and stared thoughtfully at the tip. "Remember, when we were kids, and we pretended we were the A-Team? You were Hannibal, Sammy was BA, that weird kid from Tarzana was Murdoch and I was the Faceman? And we pretended like we all lived together in one house?"
George smiled. "And I wanted Lisa to be Amy... But you said..." George's smile waned. "You said..."
Joe lit the cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled. "No Amies."
"No Amies..."
"That's right, George. No... Amies."
George nodded thoughtfully. "No Amies..."
[...]
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"So, are you going to come back in or what?"
"Or what, indeed," mumbled Joe in exasperation. "It's like you're brushing aside my grievances as if they weren't important."
"Don't be silly, Joe. You're my best friend. I wouldn't just simply brush your opinion aside. I'm still marrying Lisa, however, whether you like it or not. Maybe you don't think I'm making the right decision here, but this woman means the world to me, and I'm not going to not marry her unless there was convincing evidence presented convincing me to not marry her."
Joe sighed, lighting himself another cigarette. "I can't quite put my finger on it. She's not right for you."
"Well, I need some concrete evidence if you're going to convince me, Joe."
"I just told you. She has this wicked ugly birthmark on her forehead that looks like God took a bite out of her as if she were an apple. She won't let me satisfy my curiosity by touching it, though. I can't even simply put my finger on it, she's so ridiculously self-conscious about it." Joe darted his eyes towards George's. "Besides, what was your dating motto?"
George shifted his eyes downward, unable to meet his friend's gaze. "No fuglies," he timidly mumbled.
Joe nodded, his rhetorical question answered. "That's right. No fuglies, and that birthmark is ugly as fuck. Ditch that shit if you have any sense of self-pride."
George puffed his chest out in anger, determined to defend the honor of his love. "It's not as simple as that. She has a lot more going for her that outweigh the birthmark."
Joe looked at him puzzled. "Really? Like what, Romeo?"
"Well..."
[...]
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"Well. . . She, uh . . ."
"Yees?" Joe pushed with a hint of accomplishment and satisfaction in his voice.
"Listen," replied George. "I've matured since that time in my life. It isn't all about who is or isn't fugly. Lisa is smart; she's Adventurous; motivated. She's made something of herself. I mean, she makes up for the birthmark ten-fold."
"Oh yeah. Real mature." replied Joe sarcastically as his famous shit-eating grin became apparent on his narrow face.
George's ears and forehead begin to show a bright shade of red. Blood filled with anger and thinned with alcohol rushed his frustrations to the surface as he began to search wildly for a rebuttal.
It was then that George remembered his beer and snatched the half-full Shiner Bock off the dirty balcony floor. He immediately finished off the beer in one drink and threw the bottle off the balcony toward the street.
Joe and George watched in silence as the bottle flew through the air and flickered off the light of the street lamp.
The bottle crashed in the gutter and created a glorious shatter to George's satisfaction.
"How's that for maturity!" George yelled at Joe's awe-struck face knowing more than most how much littering bothered Joe.
George turned and went back inside leaving Joe on the balcony to soak in the traumatic event.
[. . .]