“Ronnie, Ronnie”–flash fiction, Difficult People

Ronnie, Ronnie

 

 

          Ronnie took the gun from his glove compartment and stuck it in his belt and zipped up his football jacket. He needed that job and that new bastard sent in from Cincinnati, he didn’t know just how fuckin’ hard he’d tried, getting off the whiskey, getting down to beer, a fuckin’ beer a day. He ached so bad he thought his rib cave would explode and he quit yelling at Sue Ann and kept his promise not to draw back at her…and yeah, he did that. Ronnie, Ronnie, his Mama would say, sitting on the couch, mellow, ten a.m., a cigarette in the ashtray, lipstick and them damned sad sack soaps…some fag with plastic hair cooing in some broad’s ear. “Oh Tiffany, just wait till I finish (fuckin’) architecture school…then we’ll travel…” They never got down to it. Nobody did anything but bullshit. “It’s all fuckin’ bullshit!” Ronnie shouted and slammed the pickup’s door. “Fuck it!” And somebody yelled ‘cross the frozen parking lot in support, “fuckin A!” Ronnie, Ronnie, his mother would say, Whatcha gonna do, baby? Whatcha gonna do?” He strode on, passing through the lobby, nodding, the word hadn’t spread. The bastard was gonna change his mind, Mama, an outside from up on Ohio, don’t know what I’ve suffered, how hard I’ve tried, shitty schools, no father, poor drunk ass mother, evil sister, the whole fuckin’ white trash nightmare and Sue Ann she no better sometimes sipping during the day, high on weed, stumbling round the trailer. Ronnie…Ronnie…I’ll tell ya what I’m gonna do, he said, kicking open the office fuckin’ door…the light blazing into his mind like a violent hangover in day glow…he took point blank aim and howled…!


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