Page 4 of The Situationship

We walked along in silence, the pig snuffling behind us.

Dicks continued to pop up as we went, like little breadcrumbs shaped like mushrooms.

“Who did all these?”

“Teenagers,” he said. “There’s not a lot to do around here.”

“Did you do this as a teenager?”

“Oh yeah. Totally. Time-honored tradition.”

He held a large branch back and revealed a clearing that ended against a bluff. In the middle of the thirty-foot rock wall, in pink and green spray paint, was the largest dick of the day.

Doug stepped aside and presented it to me. “Dick Rock.”

Impressive. The five- or six-foot phallus was framed with glued-on bottle caps, pennies, and hundreds of colorful wadded-up pieces of chewed gum.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I tilted my head, studying it like some famous work of art. “What do you think the artist was trying to say by having the ball hair be green?”

He looked back up at it. “I think they were trying to say they ran out of the pink spray paint they stole from the hardware store.”

I snorted.

There was a makeshift firepit in the middle of the clearing with a circle of logs around it. Lots of empty beer cans.

We both sat, facing the peen shrine. Kevin Bacon left us to shuffle around in the woods.

Doug leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “So how’s she doing? She doing okay?”

He didn’t need to tell me we were talking about Emma. “She will be.”

“Man, I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. But then I kinda could, you know? Amber.”

He said her name like we both knew what it meant. I guess we did. He knew her too. She used to come here to Wakan to dry out. In fact, Doug probably spent more time with Amber than I had, since she never made a point of visiting Emma. Good to know we mutually disliked her.

He and I had more in common than I thought.

I felt him staring at me.

I leveled my eyes on him. “What,” I said flatly.

“Nothing. It’s just you remind me of someone.”

I gave him a look. “Who.”

“Naw, you’ll get mad.”

“This better not be some fucking negging thing.”

He sat back and put up his hands. “Whoa, it’s not. I’m being serious.”

“Then who?”

“This rooster I have—”

I glared.