Page 21 of Merry Christmas, You Filthy Animal
“Well, I dimmed the lights, closed the curtain to the bathroom, and then waited. I perched myself in a position where I could see what was going on. And as I waited, I grabbed the one thing I knew that I could easily chuck at someone and do damage... a bottle of Pepsi.”
Uncle Dwight leans in, concern etched on his expression.
“And as I heard the footsteps approach closer and closer, I moved toward the door.”
“Wait, was there really a person out there?”
“Yup,” I say with a nod. “And he had a crowbar. He was trying to get in my window, but before he could, I jumped out of the house with a swing of the door and chucked the bottle at his head, nailing him and knocking him out cold.”
“Seriously?” Uncle Dwight says in disbelief.
“Yup. I then called the cops, and he was handcuffed and taken away.” I dust off my hands. “Took care of the creep, but it left me a little shaken. I was thinking this morning about how I need to have better protection. I don’t really want a gun, becausethey scare me, but maybe a BB gun or something like that would do me some good.”
Uncle Dwight scratches the top of his head. “I’m sorry, I’m still trying to process the fact that someone was trying to get into your window with a crowbar. Did they say who it was?”
“Uh... Heimer or something,” I say. “I was too shaken to really remember.”
Uncle Dwight sits taller. “Do you mean... Maxheimer?”
“Yes,” I yell. “That was the name. They kept calling him Maxheimer. Do you know who that is?”
Uncle Dwight’s nostrils flare as he stares off at a space behind me. “Yes, I know exactly who that is.”
“Is he dangerous?”
He wets his lips and mutters, “Very.”
Max
“What the hell happened to you?” Felix asks as he examines the cut above my eyebrow along with the bruising.
“Ran into a pole,” I say as I sharpen my axe, trying to avoid all conversation about what happened last night. Most likely the real story will start circulating the town, because no one can keep their mouth shut, but I have no problem lying until it does.
I’ll be honest; in the moment, I felt like a crusader, solving the crimes for the innocent. But now, the day after, as I nurse my wounds and attempt to use my left hand to wield my axe, I just feel... foolish.
And yes, it takes a lot to set my pride to the side and admit that, but it’s true. Who did I really think I was last night, traipsing around with a crowbar, sniffing out new territory? Imight have felt like Tom Cruise at the time, but man, oh man, I was more like a wet bandit looking for trouble. And I know this because Cole gave me a lecture last night about it as he drove me back home. And he lectured me this morning as well when I was complaining about my hand hurting.
So, yes, embarrassment and humiliation have set in.
“Ran into a pole?” Felix asks, not believing it. “Then how did you hurt your hand?”
“Nail,” I answer. “Nail in the pole.”
“Uh-huh, and what pole was this?”
“One by the tree shack,” I say as I put down my sharpening tool and examine the axe blade. The sharper the blade, the less whacks I’ll need to take, therefore saving my hand.
“And what made you run into the pole?” Felix continues.
“Spider,” I answer. “Huge one. On my leg. I let out a scream only dogs could hear, ran without looking, and thensmack. Pole.”
I thought about this.
I thought about it long and hard this morning while drinking my protein shake at the kitchen island. There would be questions about my wounds. And I wasn’t about to tell them the truth. Therefore, I came up with a different story, one that is just self-deprecating enough that it’s believable but far away enough from the truth that nothing could be linked.
“Were you knocked unconscious?”
“Yup,” I say and then rest my axe against my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some?—”
