Get Out of My Emergency Room.
So they injected him with a sedative, rolled him to the curb and told me, “Good luck.” Good luck indeed. Coleman is an unwieldy shape without convenient handholds, and getting him in the trailer when he’s dead weight is an engineering feat. I found an old block-and-tackle behind the dive shop and rigged it to the roof of his porch. Then I got a Styrofoam cooler, cut a U-shape in one side for his neck to go through and set his head in it. I poked some airholes in the lid and taped it on, so his face wouldn’t get smashed in case he rolled. I tied the pulley to one of his ankles, and everything’s going as planned. The ratio is down to fifty pounds. Suddenly, these dogs that roam our neighborhood pick up Coleman’s scent and start nipping his arms. I yell for them to get away, but I don’t want to drop the rope. That’s when Coleman wakes up and finds his head entombed and freaks out. He grabs the white block on his head with both hands and starts running all over the yard screaming, which made the whole cooler hum. You know that Styrofoam hum? That part was actually funny. Then he’s trying to get that dog whistle of his into his mouth, but he can’t because of the cooler and all. Anyway, the rope is still tied to his ankle, which is how the porch roof got ripped down, and he finally runs full speed into the side of the trailer, knocking himself cold. He’s sleeping like a baby now, but I’m completely awake, sitting here listening to my biological clock tick. I think I need to start working out. That’s it, exercise. Perfect timing, too. The big annual footrace over the Seven-Mile Bridge is this weekend. That’ll be my first workout. Tomorrow’s word:
roman à clef.
Part Three
16
PSSST!
Yeah, you. Over here. Remember me?… Maybe if I take my shades off. See? It’s me, the narrator. Ex-narrator actually. I’m thinking of suing. I’m at the Slushie Hut. Not the one in Key West. The one in Marathon. They’ve got franchises all down the Keys now. Coleman turned me on to the place, told me to try the Torpedo Juice. Knew I shouldn’t have listened. So I need to hurry — I wanted to talk to you before the replacement narrator shows up. He’s not a bad kid, just a little on the green side. It’s totally unfair. Listen, I’m not the only one upset about how this is going. Think I’ve been screwed over? You should hear the guy sitting next to me. What’s your name again?
“Jack Buckley.”
Tell them what happened.
“I won this charity auction in Tampa. You know, to have my name used as a character in the book. Paid a bundle, but it was for the art museum. So I show up today like they told me, all ready to go. Then at the last second they say my part’s been cut.”
Classy outfit, ain’t it?
“I want my money back!”
Good luck.
“Who do I talk to?”
It won’t do any good. My advice is to let it go and move on.
“No, really. They can’t treat Jack Buckley like this! You hear me? I’m Jack Buckley!…”
