I.

“One of these days, I’ll gonna stab that motherfucker in the throat, know what I’m saying?” Grant dropped the crayon and picked up his cigarette. “I’m not saying I hate the guy but he just doesn’t shut up, you know?”

Phil shrugged. “I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess? You hang out with the guy. You’re telling me you like hearing the same stories over and over? Come on, Phil, don’t give me that bullshit. Don’t be a pussy.”

“I’m not. I’m not saying I like his stories but I just don’t think I feel as strongly about it as you do,” Phil said, choosing a crayon from the pile. He grabbed a paper and started to color Santa Claus.

Grant let the unlit cigarette hang out of the corner of his mouth. “Man, you always do this. You never want to take sides. No matter what, you always stay in the middle so you don’t piss anyone off. You’re like fucking Switzerland or something. Always have to be everyone’s friend.”

Phil shrugged, coloring slowly, giving Santa Claus a dark green hat. “Whatever you say, Grant.” He didn’t feel like discussing it anymore so he figured he’d just keep his head down and color until Grant gave up the topic. It seemed like everyday he’d bring up Davie and how much he hated his stories.

Five minutes passed and finally Grant said, “Anyone coming to see you today?”

“Don’t know. Maybe my mom, not sure.”

“Did you hear from your dad?”

“No, not since….you know.”

Grant nodded. “Well, he’s a piece of shit.”

“No, he’s not.”

“Sorry. But still….fuck that guy.”

“I guess,” Phil said. “What about you?”

“Jessica’s going to Florida with her parents. Disneyworld and all that shit. I’m glad someone will get to enjoy the outside world,” Grant said. “Speaking of which, I had a dream about Donald Duck last night.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, it was even weirder this time.”

“That’s makes this, like what, the third time this month?”

“Fourth.”

“Shit, Grant, that’s pretty screwed up.”

“I’m getting used to it which sounds weird but I guess that’s how my mind works, just adapts to all the fucked up shit so I don’t go crazy.”

Phil laughed. “Too late.”

Before Grant could reply, a fist landed in the middle of the table, cracking several crayons in a colorful, destructive blur.

“Hey fuckers.” Davie dug his fist into the table, smearing the wax around.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you, dude?” Grant said. He pushed Davie’s fist aside and started cleaning the crayon mess.

“Matter with me? Nothing. Why?”

Phil said, “You fucking scared us, man, that’s all he’s saying.”

Davie laughed. “You guys are jumpy as hell. Shit, think you need more meds or something.”

Grant kept his eyes down, knowing that if he let himself get pissed off at Davie, he might do something he’d end up paying for later. There was zero tolerance for physical aggression of any kind. He had learned that the hard way his first year in the hospital.

Phil said, “So what’s up, Davie? Anyone coming to see you today?”

“Why are you always so interested in who’s coming to see everyone? It’s creepy, man. You get off on seeing our moms or something?” Davie laughed, getting close to Phil’s face. “Just stay away from my mom. She’s vulnerable like a poor little lamb in a world of wolves and you’re one of them, Phil. You’re a fucking wolf like in that movie Wolfen. Ever see that?”

“No.”

“I think it has something to do with Indians walking on bridges or something, I don’t know. Anyway. Well, yeah, stay away from my mom, will ya? That reminds me. Did I ever tell you about the time my mom took me to Colorado?”

Grant groaned and pushed away from the table. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Davie said. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

“Nothing, man, nothing.”

“No, seriously. You have something to say, Grant?”

Phil got between the two of them. “ Davie, chill. Grant’s just fucked up today, alright?”

“Sure, I bet he is. I mean, who wouldn’t be after all those dreams about Daffy Duck.”

“Donald Duck,” Grant said.

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s NOT the same thing.” Grant stood up from the table. “It’s DONALD FUCKING DUCK!”

Davie shrugged. “So?”

“Donald Duck is WHITE. Daffy Duck is BLACK. Are you color blind, asshole?”

“That’s totally racist, dude,” Davie said. He turned to Phil. “Like I was saying, my mom took me to Colorado….”

Grant said, “Oh my god, Colorado, Colorado, Colorado! We know. Your mom took you to a whorehouse to find your sister but she wasn’t there and instead you found your first grade teacher. How many fucking times do we have to hear this story, Davie?” He tried to keep his cool, tried counting to ten like Dr. Silverman told him to do. Count to ten until the anger goes away. Count to ten. Count to ten. Count to ten.

One. Two. Three. Nope. Didn’t work this time.

“You and your stupid fucking stories,” Grant said. “How many times do we have to hear this shit?”

Davie’s smile melted. His face turned from plastic goofiness to hardened tension. “I’ll tell it as many times as I want.”

“Well go ahead but I’m not hearing it again,” Grant said, walking away.

Phil held his head in his hands. He’d always hated when he was stuck in the middle of a conflict. Under his breath he said, “Minnesota, Minnesota, Minnesota.”

Davie said, “Yeah, get the fuck outta here then, Grant, you fucking psycho.” He turned to Phil. “The hell’s wrong with you? You on his side?”

“I’m not on anybody’s side. Jesus Christ,” Phil said. Then under his breath again, “Minnesota, Minnesota, Minnesota.”

Davie sat down. “So can I tell my story or what?”