Re: Big O and Dukes coming back?
Peekza takes it up the ass
Date: December 10, 2014 12:12AM
Hey Peekza is a bitch, what do you think of this shit?
My old friend Peekza was getting a divorce. A long time ago, before they were married, I lived with Peekza and Judith and a bunch of other people in a four-bedroom house owned by the college we all attended. Peekza was much older, old enough to be considered scandalous, and we kept it under wraps he was living there at all. But he was gentle in a pussy kind of way, the kind of mangina who played the acoustic guitar and volunteered to cook. These days, they lived in the mountains with their two sons, in a cabin heated only by a wood burning stove. I was dying to know what had precipitated their divorce.
“What happened to Judith?” I said. We were in a bookstore, in the weirdo section, the two of us keeping company with healing aromas and and Dr. Weil and crystals and mushrooms and shit. Peekza the pussy was always a big believer in this or that. I was a doubter. The clash between his made-up mysticism and my unwelcome mockery was, in my mind, one of the most enjoyable parts of our friendship.
“Judith suffers from multiple addictions,” he said. I thought multiple must have meant more than two. Probably she drank a lot and smoked pot and looked at pornography most of the time when she wasn’t at work. Gambling seemed out of character, not to mention strangely anachronistic as addictions went. Maybe he wanted to have too much sex or did something extra-weird like buy too many bongo drums or drink too much cough medicine or make out with strangers in bathroom stalls. Or maybe she took pills. But I’ll admit to disliking the language of addiction and 12-step programs; it seemed a bit pedestrian for someone as adventurous as Judith. I wanted to know what she’d done to Peekza the pussy.
“When did you know?” I said. “Describe the exact moment.”
“We were working in the garden,” he said, “And she fell asleep under a tree.”
“Yeah,” I said. I could imagine the scene: a row of seedlings waiting to be planted, the boys off catching frogs in the creek, Judith up to her elbows in loose tree roots and dirt. His indifference, her loneliness, the boys being boys.
“You ought to buy this,” I said, pointing to a display copy of Stuff Your Pillows with Human Hair. “Just kidding.”
“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he said, and, in a flash, I remembered something that had happened years ago, when we all lived together in the college-owned house. One of our housemates, a six-foot-something woman from Buffalo, brought home a pizza and didn’t share it with the rest of us. “You’re a big eater,” Judith had said to her. “Bun in the oven?” And at that moment, I’d watched as Peekza looked at her and said silently I do not love you I cannot love you I will not love you. He had the same look now, only brighter, and more full of ease.