Boys will be boys and moms are supposed to knock.
Then wait.
They are not supposed to knock as they walk in, then go all bug-eyed when they see a boy being a boy. The look on her face was almost worth it. But it would be okay with Kevin if they never had another Portnoy moment.
She didn't lecture, just put her hands up on either side of her highlighted brown bobbed hair, and looked at the floor, mouth open. No sound. He saw her head shake as she turned and left. He heard her voice downstairs saying something to Dad, who laughed and said, "You're supposed to knock. Then wait. He's 13, Carla. You can't just walk in on him."
Dad was okay.
And Kevin would be okay as well, now that the coast was clear. He shut the door to his bedroom and knelt in front of the closet. He pulled the Wolverine boot box out from the far right corner of the faux wood floor. He stood and set it on his bed. He tilted the lid back and saw the Tribune headline:
Sox Win World Series!
Garcia's gem
caps sweep
of Astros
Kevin lifted the broadsheet section out of the box and set it on the bed, then did the same with the Sun Times, The Sporting News and Sports Illustrated. He opened SI to Page 22 where he had taped a makeshift pouch like the ones inside the cover of library books, and out slid the Vampire Card.
The view was down from above a coffin in which lay Ezmerelda, eyes closed, arms folded flat across her chest, palms touching opposite shoulders.
He flipped the 4"-by-6"card over to reveal circular arrows centered on green cardboard. Kevin traced the index finger of his right hand along the arrows. A couple of circles to the right. Then the arrow appeard in the other direction for a circle and a half. It followed the pattern of a combination lock. Spin right, then a full turn left past the first number, then right again to align the final tumbler to allow the lock to release. Though the pattern was the same--right, left, right--the exact stopping point before changing direction was always slightly different. It was a padlock whose combination changed with every opening.
He followed the magical prompts, then carefully turned the card over to see the long-lashed lids over Ezmerelda's eyes pop open. It was awsome how the picture went from black and white to color when he finished the combination. He had tried to see the picture change by holding the card in his left hand while tracing the circles on the back with his right, but he couldn't see the arrows change direction. He had placed a mirror on the bed, so he could see the back of the card, but there were no arrows on the back of the card when viewed in a mirror.
Damn, Kevin thought, these guys think of everything. The geniuses who designed stuff like The Sims and the Guitar Hero avatars had put their talents to use toward the greater good of all mankind: Personal Porn. Kevin was amazed at how Ezmerelda reacted to his voice, conversed with him, flirted with him, teased him. And how did they get the picture to look like that? Even the really good 3-D movies looked kind of hokey, and you had to wear those cheesy glasses. Ezmerelda, though, was more real than real.
He flipped the card over to see her floating out of the coffin, which sat on a high table. It would have been an awkward move for a real human, but Ezmerelda just glided up and out and down onto the floor, so when her legs splayed for a moment, he knew it was just for him.
He set the card on the bed carefully, recalling one of the Three Rules: Never touch the surface of the card while Ezmirelda was active. The consequences of violating this rule weren't spelled out. Kevin figured it would just screw up the game. He slid the Sports Illustrated and the newspapers aside, giving Ezmerelda the stage to herself.
The image now had color, depth and warmth. Kevin smelled something musty. The tips of Ezmerelda's white fangs peeked over her bright red lips when she spoke.
"About damn time, lover! Where 'ya been?"
He blushed. Even a girl forced by the fates--and the designers of computer animitronics--to obey his every wish and command, even this girl made him stammer and stutter and squirm.
"Um...."
She made like she was playing Charades, making exagerated hand gestures.
"Umbrella, Umberto Eco, umbrage...sounds like umbrage...how many syllables?"
Kevin pursed his lips back and forth. He had to man up. She would follow his commands. All he had to do was issue one.
"Lemme see your tits."
Ezmeralda slouched and frowned.
"Gonna' be like that, are 'ya?"
"Like what? You gotta do it? It's a rule."
"Have I ever let you down, lover? I'm just sayin', it doesn't have to be all this 'me-Tarzan, you-Jane' shit. Me make fire, you show tits. We could be like fuckbuddies, 'ya know? You got a fuckbuddy?"
"Um, yeah," he said, embolden that he had thought of something to say. "You."
"Well that's great, how about treating me like one, okay? If you let a girl do what she wants, you're gonna double your fun and then some."
"All right," said Kevin. "That's cool."
"Oh waitaminut, waitaminute! There is a girl. I didn't see her last time, but I sensed her. A woman. You do have a girlfriend."
"Ugh. That was my mom."
"Your mom! Doesn't she know she has to knock? Then wait? Was she proud to see her baby all grown up?"
"Stop! I command you."
"Okay, Tarzan. Whatever you say."
The clothes vanished. She danced, and did a pirouette, and a plie', and a handstand with leg splits. She floated up to the chandelier and swung with one hand, a witchy, bitchy Peter Pan, before landing center stage peering out at him.
"Isn't that nice?" she cooed. "Now what can I do for you, my funkin', hunkin' boner boy? Your wish is my command ."
She did an exagerated stage bow and he felt warm shivers rise up from his Ked's through his cowlick.
"Do like last time," he said. "That was cool."
"I'm all yours. Hey, do me a fave. How about propping me up so I can see better? I like to watch, too, you know."
"Well, I guess."
Kevin was anxious to get started. He reached past the picture and slid the Wolverine boot box closer. He set the Vampire Card against it. He could still see, and now so could she.
"Oooohhh, that's better! Is that a crucifix in your pocket, or are 'ya just glad to see me?"
Kevin didn't know what that was about, but he unzipped and began.
"Bring it closer," Ezmerelda moaned, "Lemme touch it."
"I'mmmm I'm not s'pposed to."
"Says who?"
"Drake. He sold me the card."
"Well that's 'cause I told Drake he couldn't touch. I didn't like him, Kevin. And I like you a lot. That's my boy. Just a little closer. That's it."
Kevin felt pinpricks. Then ice.
*******
Carla parked her Rav-4 in the garage and entered the house through the laundry room, stopping to fill a basket with a clean load. More sheets. A never-ending chore with all these boys in the house. She hauled it upstairs and set it down in front of the door to Kevin's room. She raised her hand to knock when she heard a gasp, then a moan.
"Not again," she thought, scampering down the hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen. "That boy's just gonna have to learn to do his own laundry."
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OS Weekend Fiction Club
Keka
Leonde Delmare
L in the Southeast
aliciasaxearts
Bellwether Vance
Salon.com
Comments
Very creative, Excellent story--will there be more?
Psssst, I had one, her name was Kimmy.
chas
Owl--It's a lotta work for me to keep it short and free of sub-plots and backstories. I usually like to wander all over.
Chuck--You can catch those shows still, and while they look cheap, they had clever plotting and surprises.
Jesse--I recall porno cards when I was a kid. Black and whites the size of a baseball card. Doubt they'd have much appeal for today's jaded youth.
AtHomePilgrim--It appears to be an avatar, but is it more likely Ezzy was kidnapped by Transylvanian slave traders in the 16th century and plans to use poor Kevin as her Renfeld to get back and free herself from the demonic spell and destroy the evil Count who has imprisoned her only to discover, gasp, that--like I said before, I have a real hard time keeping stories short.
femme--I wasn't familiar with some of the other writers in this little corner last week, and enjoyed their work. I guess there is a lot of fiction all over OS, but maybe some of these kinds of posts will get better traffic if they're all in the same section. Posting on Friday may encourage readers to give some of the longer entries a look over the weekend.
Duaneart--Kimmy? That's not very Transylvanian. But whatever works for 'ya.
Ronnieray--Thanks. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Life Is Good--Yahoo!
Chas--End! Stories are supposed to end? I must have ditched Lit class that day. Yes, it was fun. Glad you enjoyed it.
Rated.
Monte
Monte--I find it a lot easier to start stories than to finish them. But yours is not a bad idea.
Trudge--You nasty boy!
By the way, authorities in Japan note that the incidence of venereal disease is down among under-25 males, and they attribute that to young men having two-dimensional love interests
Smithery--A hint, indeed. Unless they've designed animatronics that bite.
Psychomama--Am I giving away my age by asking, Who is Josh Wheedon? Love 'ya just the same.
Tom--Did they count computer viruses?
Surprises, I like.
Scifi/horror, I love.
Perfect combination.
(And obviously, on the other side of the door, is one of two things:
1. Ezzie, alive and corporeal; Kevin now on the card, eyes agog, or
2. Kevin dead, or a shattered ash corpse, or an iceman, melting; the window open, curtain fluttering.
It's supPosed to be that kind of story. It's perfect.
R