Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!
• • •
It’s been a few minutes. You’ve gotten up to creep over and press your ear against the door, but all you can hear is running water. You go back to the couch. Your phone’s lit up. There’s a text.
It’s from me.
You go into my studio apartument and find a once-toked bona fide fatboi sitting on my desk. Past that, you look out my window and see me squatting on the boulder near the end of the drive’. I’m looking pissed off as though I showed up uninvited to your birthday party, oh, and uh, speakin’a’which, where the fuck was my invite for that?
The text says hurry up and come outside, and rather than do that, you decided to stare out t–… out my window and gawk me like some kind’a fuckin’ eunuch. Y’know, it’s really no wonder I think what I do about you.
“Don’t worry about where I got the granola bar.”
I can tell you’re worrying about it, so I take another bite and then toss it to the birds who’ll eventually land in the woods next to the road. Then, I look over my shoulder, and then off to both our sides.
“Can’t be too… careful,” whisper’d as we stalk past the entrance of Eŧ’Hγd’r Farm. “Never know… who’s watchin’ out h’r’…”
You are no longer worrying about it.
You step on a leaf. We both freeze. You slowly look to me, and I’ve been looking at you the entire fucking time. A thought crosses your mind, and then I Language it:
We dash up The Hill of the Neverending Stride – that name is full of fucking shit and I’m fucking happy about it. Sweet Christ. I’m exhausted, actually..·. fuck off, would you? Just give me a goddamn second…
Four full minutes later, I take my hands off my knees and stand straight. I see the top of your head poking over the back of one of the gangreenous plastic chairs facing Greens Pond. You, are watergazing. You are watching the fucking leaves blow. You’re jogging a little bit to catch up with me on The Shifted Path now because your sorry ass decided to sit and stare at a still fucking pond.
“Welp, here we are,” as the canopy devours what little sunlight leaks through the cloudscape abov’. “The trail up the mountain.”
You don’t seem to care. I don’t seem to care that you’re here. That’s why I take off sprinting.
The fucking hat
almost blew off my head
I was going so fast
all over the place
and you, you… you fucking really? You’re still fucking walking, you didn’t even pick up your pace! What, am I supposed to wait for you? Homie, I have the weed in the pouch on my hip, a’ight, I don’t need to wait for shit!
You find the single piece of looseleaf paper and pencil I’ve been writing all of this down on sticking out of a big hunk’a log sitting on the one side of the trail. You sit on this hunk’a log. Little structures of prerot crunch beneath the girth of your human ass. You look at the paper, look at it, sittin’ here, sittin’ here, just sittin’ there… lookin’ at it and you have no fucking idea how I’m fitting
A single mosquito lands on the web of dermis ‘twixt your left thumb and index. You perceive this to be a sign that it is now time to go.
I called this part of the trail Purple Bend before all the weed started comin’ out, you remember me saying so, but you don’t remember what the reason was. Perhaps you’ll ask me. Perhaps you won’t, as I’ve the tendency to be loud in my doings. Either way you’ve hit the Branching Paths, the big four-way in the woods, and pardner, there’s only one way to go.
You prance with undaunting hatred down the middle of your three choices. The trail trials real quick, all Cs and Ss and drops weak and strong. At your two feet when you stop, when you finally stop you dirty fucking animal, is a whole pile of log and rot. You step over it because good ol’ bois don’t have shit better to do and the trail takes you along the side of a muddy slope. It’s a shittrail, it’s a real shitttrail, it’s such a shitttttrail that a fallen rotten-out red fucking log is a more stable alternative, and now you’re squatting on a rock like you forgot you’re not me trying to write this and fit it all on one single piece of looseleaf paper, but your worries are for nothing. There’s plenty of room on the page.
To… inform you, your worries are worth nothing but these goddamn mosquito bites. I’m waiting at The Island and you’re a big pain in my ass.
Oh wait, that pain’s in your ass.
Mosquitoes bore through ‘man denim, wha’d’y’know wha’d’y’know?
I’d be surprised if you tripped less than nine times in the forty feet of rocky terrain between the muddy slope and the flat ground. I didn’trip once, and I dashed the shit. I dashed this whole entire fucking trail and you’re taking your time walking it so you can soak it all in, all the dead trees and rotting wood and sopping bacterial Jesus Christ just LOOK at all that DECOMPOSITION, gaze at all of that DEATH all aROUN “THE SUN IS SETTING,” you hear me shrïek! “GET THE FUCK ON A’READY!”
I have to assume you got the fuck on a’ready, because here you are at The Island.
While you catch your breath like some kind’a breath-catcher, I go half-squat and begin to lecture you about a shallow gouge in the cleared ground of The Island.
“Now see this gouge here?!” I bat. “You see this? There was a stick here! Hey, hey you!
“Hey! You, you look here!” You are not looking. “Hey! I’m tryina tell you something!”
Finally you look.
“Look here!” as I jab at the ground. “There used to be a stick here! Big stick, kind’a like that log up on Horseshoe Trail, up at the summit of Purple Bend!”
See? You did remember me calling it that.
“But I moved it! Moved it right when I got here!”
You watch me half-squatwalk over to a large pile of rotting organic material just outside the campsite’s stone circle. Atop th’pile are two sticks, one vastly shorter than the other. The smaller looks like it broke off the bottom of the larger, likely during a windstorm.
“See,” I lecture, good lord the blood is SEEPING from my brain right now I am about to PASS THE FUCK OUt, “It fell off a tree, likely during a windstorm. The smaller piece – now I do not know this, cannot say this for sure, but I think – I think – the smaller piece broke off of the bigger one there.”
I walk to you, turn, sprint at the second river, leap all seven feet over the second river, and wouldn’t you know it, I land firmly on two feet. Then, I patiently wait for your ass to get over the long way. I wait so long, in fa
This has been the second subchapter of Boardtrip II: Can, Na, and Bis, You Bitch!, which is hidden in the front of the book Sto’tryp. Here is everything you need to know about it:
The Hillside Commons is an actual library of content. Click here to peruse.
If supporting The Hillside Commons is something you want to do, click here for the GoFundMe.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~