'Don’t worry, I don’t think eating a giant bean will make me go crazy.'
Story by a friend, identify his type, take pleasure in the story:
So, I had this friend who was the first real astronaut who was shot into space. Forget the record books, his name was Quincy J. Bones and we met casually in the produce aisle where he solicited me for fruit smelling. With my giant ego in tact I took to the challenge and got him the juiciest cantaloupe I could find. Then he invited me to bear witness of its ripeness (but not too ripe!) at his place of residence. Of course, I accepted immediately, for what sane person would not?
From then on we were friends and he told me about his profession as a space engineer. When I asked him what that meant he said the meaning was inherent in the name. I laughed when he told me that and said, “ok, come on just tell me. What do space engineers do?” He said it was top secret and promptly changed the subject. I took that to mean that he sat behind a boring desk all day.
So, one day I was enjoying a finely picked pomegranate with him and he laid it square on my shoulders that he was to be the first man shot into space. Of course, back then, no one knew what exactly ‘space’ was. When he first told me I imagined him being shot out of a cannon, but he explained it was more like a giant rocket that people could ride in.
“Kind of like an airplane,” I observed.
“Yeah, except it goes up through the atmosphere into space.”
“What is this ‘space’ you keep referring to? Like the space under the table?” I kicked at it.
He laughed at my idiocy, “I can’t believe you don’t know what space is.”
“Oh, I know what space is, I am just wondering which space you are talking about…that is only reachable by some guided missile.”
“Surely, your school teachers mentioned something about it!”
“I was home schooled. My mother was a maniac and my dad was dead. Now they’re both dead, but when she was alive, my mother taught me that nothing in books could be trusted because it was only the world that I could see with my eyes that could be trusted.”
“Oh…” Quincy looked down, ate a scoop of pomegranate.
“Then, one day, I watched her light herself on fire. I was watching tv, she believed in tv, by the way, and she came into the room with kerosene and matches and sat in her favorite rocking chair and started dousing herself. I didn’t know how to feel about it, so I just watched, stunned, as she melted right in front of my face.”
“How bizarre…” Quincy pulled his shirt over his face. “I don’t know what to say….except….” I saw his eyes glow through his shirt, “TOO MUCH INFORMATION!” he yelled sassily.
I laughed. “Well, you got me started. And if we’re going to be friends, you’re going to hear a lot more fucked up stories about my life….which may or may not be true.”
“That’s fine, that’s fine. Now, do you want to know about space or not?
“Sure.”
So Quincy J. Bones told me about the wonders of space and the infinite amount of galaxies and all the blackness and junk. Truly, it was all a bit confusing to be hearing about it, but I supposed it was sort of insignificant anyway, like sitting at a boring desk. Quincy assured me, though, that this was one of the most important things in history, (which I don’t think I could have sanely said about any of my jobs).
The night rambled on and I was having a good time enjoying the fruits of the supermarket. And just like any other night
So, the next time I wandered through the produce aisle on the usual Wednesday’s eve, I didn’t spot Quincy by any of the fruits. It was very strange not seeing him there and I kind of went berserk. Out of nowhere, a gun flew into my hand and I started to blast watermelons and one exploded onto a baby carriage and a woman screamed. Then I took my exit, but not without dipping my lucky hand in the cash register.
When I stepped into the store on the next Wednesday, no one bothered to acknowledge my existence. My madness was turning out to be an interesting social experiment, indeed, and much more profitable than I could have ever expected.
But what good is money when you have not a friend in the world who will enjoy a nice delicious piece of fruit with you? This was the second week in a row that Quincy wasn’t there and I was becoming thoroughly disappointed. Sure, I could’ve brought a luscious watermelon to Weewog’s house, but he’d probably just want to smash it. With a name like Weewog, why wouldn’t he want to smash things?
When I arrived with my ceremonial kicking open the front door, Weewog was lying on the couch smoking a cigarette because that’s what bad people do. And by bad, I mean good.
“I knew you’d be back…” he smiled.
“Well, this is the last time hopefully.”
“You wish.”
I set the watermelon on his table and sat down. There was a beer in my hand instantly.
“Tell me what ails you, friend.” He sat up in a serious manner. “Is the space man still in space?”
“Seems like it. I wonder if he’ll ever come back…”
“And what if he doesn’t? What difference will it make?”
“I don’t know…I liked the guy. He shared my passion for fruit like no one I’ve ever known. Though, I guess people change. I don’t suppose you’d enjoy this watermelon with me,” I said factually.
“Well, I don’t know…how do YOU usually enjoy it?” He already had a baseball bat patting against his palm.
“Please, man. Just this once. Don’t smash my fruit.”
“Well, how about we smash George instead?”
“Who is George?”
“George, the watermelon-headed freak!” he broke out a permanent marker and assailed the fruit.
“Fuck off.” I got up, throwing my quarter-full beer can at him. We both grabbed the fruit at the same time, but I grabbed harder and curled it to my chest .
“Why can’t you just eat fruit like a normal person?”
“Fruit is healthy so smashing it is badass.”
“Can’t you stop being a badass for one second? Is that all you want in life? Some cheap personage?”
“Why not? Every life has to pick its own course.” He looked so sad at that moment, but it was probably just the alcohol.
“You’re right,” I said and walked out the door.
While loading the melon into my back seat Weewog called from the porch, “You’ll be back you son of a bitch.”
I hesitated, didn’t know if I was angry. “Probably…” I whispered, “You piece of shit!”
I think I saw him smile out of the corner of my eye and he slammed the door.
And where could I go now but the bar I knew and loved? I loved it because it wasn’t like other bars in the sense that it was an abandoned boxcar. It wasn’t a bar where strangers went. I knew everyone as soon as I walked in and gave the casual wave of indifference. I sat down at my individually reserved table where there was always a glass of whiskey waiting. We all had our own table so we could talk as a collective group. It gave us the freedom to be silent if we choose. Tonight was a silent night…kinda:
“You and you fucking fruit!” chided Kelso, drunkenly.
“I know, I know…” I started carving it with my trusty knife, took a sip of whiskey. “It’s a good blend of nutrition and deliciousness.”
Tomboy turned around with a pint in his hand. “Here’s to bad health and an early death.”
I took a gulp of whiskey, avoiding his eye contact which I could feel burning a hole inside of me. Then I crammed the biggest possible piece of watermelon into my mouth and started to choke. I saw a real look of concern in his eyes, something I hadn’t seen for a long time…maybe ever. He kicked his chair over and punched me in the stomach. The watermelon flew from my throat onto his shoe. He stayed standing, heavy his shoulders and staring at a faraway and darkened place.. He shrugged his shoulders and sat down.
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to do that.”
“Thanks…” I said and sat down.
The night ended casually.
The usual week passed and I did the usual things like go to my part-time job and hang around in my house. It was an uneventful life like any other, but I feel that I dealt with its mediocrity fairly well…even though I could feel it hanging in the air around me quite frequently. That is why I meet people like Quincy J. Bones. I was sure there is a reason he picked me out of everyone else. He could feel my yearning for fruit and friendship.
As I perused about the fruits this week, I made sure to look at all the other fruit shoppers. But none of them had that spark. They treated their fruit like slaves, tossing them in the basket, just thinking about their dinners. The fruits were just too hard to look at when there was no Quincy around. And that is when I decided I needed something fresh and new.
Vegetables were too obvious and sucked way too much anyway. Their biggest flaw was their utter and disgusting greenness, if you know what I mean. The rice looked nice at first, but there really wasn’t enough variety to keep my interest. I kept walking and the tortillas looked like a possibility, but they were too empty and meaningless within themselves. Then I contemplated whether or not my obsession with a certain food was healthy or not.. What I ate not mattered who I was! And I swear I was close to bringing out the gun again, but then I saw him: Quincy J. Bones!
He was standing by the beans mumbling quietly. I approached him with an utmost delicacy, getting very close to him.
“Quincy…” I whispered.
He turned his head nearly hitting me. He glared at me.
“Quincy J.,” I gasped, “where the hell have you been?”
He stepped back, holding his can of beans. “I knew you were coming,” he paused…”and somehow I am surprised.” And before I knew what was happening, he had me by the shirt and was dragging me out of the store. He didn’t bother paying for his groceries nor did he stop to rob the cash register. We stepped out calmly into the parking lot and got into his spaceship and took off into the clouds. Not a word was said, until…
“What do you think of my spaceship?” he asked.
“It’s nice. Did they reward it to you for your space mission?”
“Not exactly…”
“For a few weeks there I thought you might have been dead and I’m really glad you’re back.”
“Yeah, its nice to be back, thanks. We have a lot to talk about.”
“Yeah, we sure do.”
We sat in silence for ten minutes, gliding through the air.
“What delectable fruit will we enjoy this week?” I asked.
“Really?” Quincy looked at me and kicked backed in his space chair, letting go of the controls. “That’s the first question you ask?”
“The second actually.”
“Very good, that was a test.“ Quincy laughed. “Actually….I’m not really into fruit anymore. I’m more into beans.”
“You know,” I gasped with a laugh, “I was thinking the same thing…except the whole thing about the beans. I mean, I was thinking fruit is just completely a thing of the past. But when I saw those beans something in my mind connected.”
“Hmmm, that’s funny, I wonder why….”
“Funny, like, strange?” I asked.
“I don’t know, you decide,” he said smiling.
“I guess it’s a little bit of both,” I said.
His smile couldn’t have been bigger. “I want to show you something that I think would find even funnier. How does that sound?”
“I guess…well, maybe. Can we eat some beans while we do it?”
“Oh, those beans really mean a lot to you, don’t they? I mean, here we are in this spaceship hovering over the clouds and you’re more interested in beans.”
“Fine, show it to me, I am really interested now.”
“I don’t know, it doesn’t really look like you have your interested face on. No, maybe you’re right, I am quite hungry. We should just fly to my house.”
“Yeah, sure, and I mean, how interesting could it have been?” I laughed.
He put his serious face on, seriously. “I think you really have no idea.” He snapped his fingers and we were in his kitchen. “And now we have landed.”
So, we sat and ate the beans and he told me about his space trip. I wasn’t really listening, though. I think he might have mentioned floating upside down, but I’m not sure, because what really stuck in my mind about that certain moment was when he brought outside the biggest bean I had ever seen.
“This is the bean to end all beans,” he claimed.
“That’s a bean?” I asked.
“Yes…go ahead and touch it if you’d like. I will warn you that is has strange powers.”
I touched it and it felt as warm as a baked potato. However, there was no doubt in my mind that it was a bean. It was too obvious.
“I ate one of these beans,” he proclaimed.
“I bet it was pretty filling,” I said, salivating, “I wouldn’t mind eating a bit myself.”
“NO!” he shouted, rising from his seat. “You don’t want to end up like me.”
“What are you talking about?”
He smiled at this. “Wow…” he slapped himself. “What am I talking about?” he laughed for ten minutes. “What am I talking about?” The laughter was infectious and I had to laugh, too, because I was having a good time.
“Oh oh oh, I see. You don’t want me to end up crazy like you. Don’t worry, I don’t think eating a giant bean will make me go crazy.”
“Ok,” he said, standing up slowly, snapping his fingers lightly. The giant bean disappeared and I couldn‘t have been more disappointed. He started to pace and turn a translucent red and I really had no idea what he could be so mad about. Two sparks spit from his head and hovered in the air.
“So, I was thinking maybe we should go bowling later,” I suggested.
He turned to face me. “I thought I knew everything.”
“Yeah, and I can throw a biscuit throw a stone brick wall.”
“But my powers seem to be oblivious to you…”
“Powers….?”
“I guess I expect you to be more surprised and enchanted…” his shadow turned a deep dark blue.
“Yep, everything is normal to me and frankly, I think we should speak of the weather.”
“I have a better idea.” He pointed his finger in the air and it blasted off like a missile. And the next thing I knew, he had turned me into a basketball and was bouncing me across town like a madman. He did spin moves to unsuspecting pedestrians, which made them feel very rejected. He ran through a red light once and was nearly hit. When he did it again a giant truck was racing right at him and, of course, he jumped one hundred feet in the air and slam dunked me into their windshield. Surely, no one can protest that being slam dunked is one of the most fun activities one can do.
The driver of the truck was somewhat upset, jumping from his truck to complain. He grabbed me and booted me about a hundred feet (because he had been practicing basketball booting). Quincy waved his thanks to the driver, caught me in midair and in a second we were back to dribbling down the street.
We arrived suddenly at Weewog’s and the prophecy was true: I would be back and I was a son of a bitch.
“Ok,” Quincy said, “resume human form and pretend like nothing strange is happening.”
I laughed. “You’re a fun guy, you know that, Quincy J? I am almost glad we are at this son of a bitch’s house.”
“Yeah…we need to prove something.” Quincy took the honor of jump-kicking Weewog’s door in, which I knew to be a mistake. Weewog didn’t take kindly to strangers kicking in his doos able to see a glimpse of Weewog charging
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