Darlene or Uni-Ball
©Scott McClanahan

Darlene&

Darlene&

Darlene...

For three months Darlene is all I think about. I dream about her; I fantasize about her. I masturbate to her name in the phone book. For three months now I haven't asked her out because of the job situation. The job situation is complicated by the fact that I am an African American. Actually I'm not an African American in the traditional sense, but I do believe in the Darwinian theory that humans originated in Africa, from the ancestor hominid. All I want is a job at Denny's. Darlene works at Denny's. My interview last week goes like this: when the manager, whose name by the way is Denny, decides not to hire me I threaten a lawsuit. The only threat I can think of is racism.

'But you're white as chalk!' He says confused. Of course I don't get the job. Luckily, Darlene attends church with Momma.

On Sunday my Momma introduces us at The Springdale Church of Christ where they are both members. She slaps me as we walk closer towards church, because my tie is not on straight. Momma's a Christian, which makes it easy for her to beat me, even though I'm 23. 'If God can send his only begotten son to earth, and crucify his ass; then I don't see why I can't hit my kid without it being called child abuse.'

I haven't been inside the Springdale Church of Christ since I drank 12 Mr. Pibbs before my baptism when I was 15, and christened the baptismal the S.S. Mr. Pibb. 'I know you tried to tell them it was holy water, but they've even put pee in the pool tablets in the water since you came,' Mom says before she introduces us. The church people stare at me. Thankfully, Darlene doesn't know about my nervous teenage bladder. As soon as I see her, I realize how much more beautiful she is face to face than on the video cameras I placed behind the ladies shit stall, at Denny's, where she works. I never should have held it against Momma that she was a Christian. Of course, I still hold it against her that she used to be a Jehovah Witness, but only on the major holidays and my birthday. Just seconds before I met Darlene Mom and I argue about it. 'It helped to save a lot on presents,' she said as I remembered one Christmas when I did without.

All I know is Darlene looks like a model, that is, if models have raccoon eyes and harelip scars. What I like most about her are the tiny wrists that hold her pocket book, and her dainty feet with toenails painted red, white, and blue. I suddenly realize I'm staring, so I stop. I like Darlene's feet, because I hate my own.

Actually, Darlene and I went to school together for one year. However, after the 3rd grade she moved away; but before she moved, she competed with me in the math field day contest. They awarded her the blue ribbon, after they caught me cheating. She didn't beat me, and I didn't cheat. The only thing that beat me was flip-flops. Momma told me not to wear them that day, but I didn't listen.

Together, Darlene and I went through fifteen straight rounds till we reached the finals. '158 divided by 28,' the judge shouted as we raced to complete the problem the fastest. I worked through it on the chalkboard as the dust shot through my nose and started choking me. 'I won!' That was until Darlene's Father saw my flip-flops. 'Hold it! Hold it! I think we have a cheater here,' he shouted as I tried to cross my toes. It was too late. He walked up to the stage. 'That boy has six toes on both feet, now that ain't fair. That's two extra digits to count on goddamnit. That's cheating.' As I look at Darlene I wonder if she remembers the cheater. I'm not bitter; I'm sure her math skills help her out at Denny's.

But until someone actually wants to sponsor my (obviously masochistic) crawl through the Continent, I cannot do justice to Europe's Most Crap Festivals. All proceeds are welcome . . . . and who knows what I could uncover in Belgium!

I make plans to pick her up the next night at 7:30. I put on extra Stetson before I drive over and pick her up. That morning, I make sure to push all my embarrassing tapes, like The Vapours, below the seat. I know that just because I like 'Turning Japanese' doesn't mean everybody digs it. As a precaution, I wash out a few used condoms in the toilet, and wrap them back up, just in case. I was gonna use them as balloons for my nephews birthday party, but I can always buy new ones. The only other precaution I make is call Forrest Lawn Nursing Home and make sure Grandpa is still locked up. I don't want Grandpa to get out and kill us.

The month before Grandpa shot me in the groin after he escaped from the nursing home. It was his 14th escape attempt in as many months. They amputated his feet after the 12th attempt, but he still fought for his freedom. He was pissed after the April Fool's Day joke. My friend, who worked at the local newspaper, helped me with the joke. I thought it might be funny and cheer Grandpa up a bit if he saw his name in the paper. I thought it might be even funnier if he saw his name in the paper in the obituary column. I spent all night writing it. 'Grandpa, age 78, died yesterday.' The next day the nursing home saw it in the paper and freaked. 'Zombie,' they screamed as they hit him on the back of the skull with a flashlight, bashed in his skull, and drug him out the door to the graveyard. 'But I'm not dead,' he shrieked as they threw dirt on him.

I guess I would be pissed too. Grandpa spent four and a half hours below ground before they realized the joke. The next day, not seeing the humor in it, Grandpa escaped, and shot me in the groin. Every day I relive it. Every morning I awake to a lopsided scrotum, hanging between my legs, and my one testicle that was severed from the slug. It's my uni-ball. When I look at it I remember the whole thing. The cops come. The sirens blare. My Grandpa laughs like Zarathustra. I hear the old fuck fake his way out of it. 'O god what have I done, I have Alzheimer's.' He screams.

I shake the trauma out of my head as I pick up Darlene at her apartment. Darlene lives in a big 3 story apartment building, with air conditioning, that her mother left her when she died. Before I enter, I breathe in my hand and check the breath. The receptionist at the door sounds a little like my star 69 girl. I wonder if Darlene likes phone sex as much as I do. I met the star 69 girl like this. The week before I randomly call a number and start my dirty talking routine. 'Do guys with only one testicle make you wet?' This is followed by my usual. 'What are you wearing?' Then, on the other line, the weird bitch proceeds to tell me. I hang up, afraid. It totally breaks the moment and my one eyed monster goes limp. She star 69's me for the rest of the night trying to tell me what she is wearing. I call the cops, after she won't stop, and try explaining it; but they won't listen. I wonder if Darlene likes guys with one testicle?

I forget all about it as soon as I see Darlene. She is dressed in a flowery skirt with curly pubic like hair. She looks anorexic, but I'm sure it saves on grocery bills. My grocery bills are always so expensive, and if I had a girlfriend I'd want an anorexic one. I lean close and hug her so she can smell the Stetson. Momma gave me a few extra dollars so I decide to take her to Wendy's instead of Burger King. The air feels nice as we go through the drive thru, and park beneath a pine tree, so we can relax in the evening shade. Busily, we eat our burgers when she notices, 'Hey it's The Vapours! I love those guys,' and slaps in the tape. 'Turning Japanese' blares through my Subaru as we wash down our fries with watered down soda. My fingers smell like hamburger grease as I slide my arm around her. It extends around her tiny shoulders like a boa constrictor.

The only thing bad about Darlene is she never shuts up. 'You know I cheated on my boyfriend one time.' She says and chuckles. 'He caught me fucking the mailman so I pretended I had multiple personalities. Since I had multiple personalities he decided to become a Mormon. I guess he thought since I had multiple wives now why not.' We giggle, and kiss, and I decide to drive her back home. All the way back she won't shut up. She goes on and on about her feminist issues. 'Really the word sexual her-ass-ment really is discrimination. I mean you are saying her-ass when you pronounce it.' She nods her head and looks deeply into my eyes. Then another light bulb goes off in her head. 'I think it's just horrible that cats are used in pornography.' I don't understand what she is talking about. 'What?' 'Why kiddy porn you idiot.' I want to explain it all, but I figure the one testicle will freak her out enough. I oughta whip out my uni-ball right now just to shut her up.

Back at the apartment it surprises me when Darlene asks me up. I wrap my arms around her like a fly trap in the elevator. I don't know if it's the Stetson or the 'Turning Japanese' that gets her.

1&..

2&..

3&.. The elevator rises as she reaches her hand down in the front of my pants and wiggles it around like a gerbil in Richard Gere's ass. We tongue kiss in front of her door. In the darkness of her apartment her eyes glare like a raccoon. 'Let me get more comfortable. You go make us some drinks,' she says, and kicks off her jelly shoes in the corner with the other's. I turn to the fridge, and open up a two-liter bottle of Mr. Pibb that sits on the counter like a trophy. I take out glasses and open the freezer in search of ice cubes. Immediately, I vomit from what I see. There is a clubfoot, a human hand, a baby arm, and a bag of eyeballs in zip lock bags. They are labeled neatly with stickers that say clubfoot, human hand, baby arm, and bag of eyeballs. With my clip-on tie I try wiping all my vomit off the fridge; because I know if someone vomited on my fridge I'd never go out on another date with them again. Above all, I need another date.

Suddenly I see Darlene as she walks back into the room with only her bra on. On her stomach is a caesarian scar that looks like a smiley face from a baby she gave up years ago, or so she says. 'I hope you don't mind the scar. The Baby Doctor says a smiley caesarian scar helps alleviate post partum depression'. Then she smiles. She notices my vomit covered tie as I try removing it. Darlene looks at the freezer and bursts into tears. 'O god you probably think so bad of me. It has such a negative connotation.' I walk away slowly trying not to piss her off. 'What?' I ask playing dumb, and walking towards the door.

'What has such a negative connotation?'

'Cannibal,' she screams. The caesarian scar opens and bleeds like a stigmata. 'That damn Jeffrey Dahmer ruined it for us all. People immediately think just because you like a little human flesh every now and then that you're a bad person. Well I'm not a bad person. I'm not a murderer. They all volunteered, honest they did.' I reach for the doorknob as she reaches for me. It's locked. She whips her arms around me and begins crying. With one hand she clutches my throat and with the other grabs my crotch. There is a zip lock bag on the counter labeled 'uni-ball.' I feel her gnawing on my neck. I don't say anything. I am a lonely man. I want to be a volunteer.