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The Learning Channel
By
Rusty Barnes, Oct 08, 2008
Silas makes a run to the package store and comes back with a fifth of cheap vodka. He sets it on the table
between Courtney and I. We’ve been drinking since four when we got out of work. Silas barely made it to the
package store before it closed. Along the way back he’d picked up a sort of benevolent glow.
“Drink up,” he says. He’s fiddling with the two pieces of a broken pencil, using them like drumsticks.
“But there’s no mixer,” Courtney says and bites the side of her knuckle like a little girl.
“You two are primed already. You don’t need mixer.” He leans back and studies us, tipping his head like a curious
dog.
“I’ve got a 7-Up out in the car left over from work,” I say. I go out to get it and stumble a little. Silas’s
trailer has a little depression in the floor from all the feet right at the front door. I grab my Big Gulp from
the cup holder of my car and lean back for a moment to compose myself. The sky isn’t really dark if you look at
it the right way. It’s more a dim gray like old Styrofoam.
Inside Silas has turned the couch into a roll away bed. Courtney is tugging off her panties already. I put some
of the 7-Up into her cup and slog some vodka into it. She takes it from me and drains it in two coughing
swallows. Silas is fiddling with the blankets. He pats the side of the bed. “Come on, Susan,” he says.
“I can’t. I’m on my period.” I’m not really, but I don’t expect him to push for the girl-on-girl tonight. He’s
lazy drunk and doesn’t want to do convincing.
“You like watching,” he says, and winks. Courtney’s slid into position already, her ass at his thighs, her hair
still in its ponytail hanging over her face.
“Yeah, she does.” Courtney giggles as he slides into place. “She’s a watch-er.” I fill the rest of my cup with
vodka and stare past them into the dead TV. I imagine a show is on. I can see the muscles of Silas’s ass in the
reflection on the glass. I hear flesh smacking and it’s getting later and later, time is speeding up now and I am
slowing, a pinprick of light in the dark room where Silas and Courtney have sex, and I think of this show one
time I saw. How the sea opened up on these people, an earthquake not measurable by any machine, a rift like the
Grand Canyon. I sit and listen, and watch their reflection on the TV, and I hit the remote button once, twice,
but nothing happens.
Rusty Barnes lives and writes from Revere, MA. His work has appeared in many places. Visit him at his
website.
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