Gonna leave a scar

"Bzzzt..."

"Text. From. Keli." says the monotone genie in my phone. 

I don't know which is worse.

Her or that perverse little imp riding my shoulder.

I check the time. 5 pm on the dot. My Keli is nothing if not punctual.

Check her text:

"We're at the Holiday Inn Express. Room 37. Park by the 6th St back door. Are you coming now?"

Cool. Hope she brought some grub.

I text back:

"B ther in 7 mins. Meet me at back door."

10 seconds later:

"Bzzzt..."

"Text when you get here."

I text back:

"I said 7 mins. Just be there."

Freaking Keli.

And I stagger out the door.

I arrive exactly 7 minutes later.

Sage let’s me in.

I say, “Hi Sagie-poo.”

She says, “Hi,” turns and walks away.

That’s about all I ever get from Sagie-poo.

Teenaged Queen of the F#@$ing Furbies.

I follow her. “Sage. Where’s your mom?”

“Keli is in dere.”

She points at room 37, then goes to room 38 and lets herself in.

"Adios Sage, say hi to Sev for me." I'm talking to her door as it clicks solidly shut.

Never heard her call Keli anything but Keli.

I knock on Kel's door.

"Come in!"

"Ungh... hey Kel? Why is this door so hard to open?"

For real.

Pushing ain't really my thing.

Doesn’t mix well with the rods in my back.

Or the plate in my neck.

Or bursitis.

Or…

I push harder.

The door opens.

Grudgingly.

Keli lies on her stomach on the bed, gray-green eyes open wide and staring up at me, long auburn hair all shiny and clean.

A big smile pasted on her freckled face.

She'd dressed casually comfortable, like always.

Daisy Dukes and an ancient, tattered Zeppelin t-shirt.

Is that a nipple?

Yep. That is definitely a nipple.

Keli is barefoot, like most of the time.

Calloused feet aren’t exactly sexy.

But then… neither am I.

She’s braless and panty-less.

No make-up.

Seldom ever.

She rolls over on her side, beckons with a crooked finger. "It's good to see you, baby.”

Huffing and puffing, I crawl up on the bed, then crawl up Mt. Keli.

Serious mountaineering for a bent and twisted old cripple.

Damn COPD just won’t cut me no slack.

Almost emphysematic.

F#$@!!!!

That damn imp *poofs* into existence on my shoulder.

Her long, unbound, strawberry blonde hair flutters as with a breeze. Freckles cover every inch of visible skin--- and God knows I love red-haired, freckled chicks.

Looked like she'd been standing by a mud puddle when a truck ran through it. She’s wearing red patent leather knee-high boots and an orange and yellow plaid mini dress.

“Very fetching, Imp.” 

I try to blow her up with my eyes, both in size and… well… just to blow the bitch up.

And if I can enlarge her, I can catch her.

Then all bets are off.

I really want a piece of her.

In more ways than one...

One of those “thin line between love and hate” things.

Then she’s singing in a wheezing, mocking, liquid gurgle right in my ear, “Aqualung my friend--- don’t you start away uneasy. You poor old sod, you see… it’s only me. Do you still remember, December’s foggy freeze, when the ice that clings onto your beard was screaming agony. And you snatch your rattling last breaths with deep sea diver sounds, and the flowers bloom like madness in the spri-i-ing…. Whoa-oh-whoa… Aqua… luu-uu-uu-nnng.”

Red faced and coughing, the little imp snaps her fingers and *poof*…

She’s gone.

Freaking cigarettes.

Freaking Imp.

Kel holds out a dish filled with chocolate covered strawberries. Don’t know where it came from.

She pops one in my mouth.

She pops one in hers.

She puts a hand behind my head…

Then smashes our faces together.

Juice running through my chin whiskers.

Maybe some blood.

This is how it always starts.

And it’s gonna leave a scar… always, always, always….

And ev'ry scar is a mem'ry aid when it comes time to tell the story.