Magical Thinking - Augusten Burroughs [64]
“God damn it, Hank. Hold that umbrella over me. The rain keeps puttin’ out my cigarette.”
“So chew your damn cigarette gum,” the gigantic man—Hank, I assume—replied.
“I am chewing my cigarette gum, Einstein. And I got a patch on, too. But I’d like to enjoy my cigarette while we wait in line.”
I have always loved eavesdropping. But even more, I love knowing that somebody is eavesdropping on my own conversation. My former art director, Greer, and I had a lot of fun playing games with people. We’d be traveling on business, off to L.A. to shoot a commercial, and we’d be sitting near the gate waiting for our flight and chatting. Then we would become aware that somebody else was listening, so I would say, “Honey, tell me you arranged for your parents to stay with the baby.” And she would feign horror. “Oh my fucking God, I totally forgot. The baby is alone. Shit. Do you think she can last on her own for two days?” And I would reply, “Well, I guess. Babies are supposed to be pretty durable.”
As the couple bickered about her smoking, his umbrella, and the line for the boat, I could not stop myself from staring at them. The woman’s forehead was dented, as though she had bullet fragments in her skull that the surgeon had been unable to remove. She seemed like a woman who could become dangerous without warning, like one of the creatures I enjoyed watching on Animal Planet. Clearly, she already had enough nicotine in her system to kill a laboratory of rats.
“Why don’t we just go back to the room,” I whispered to Dennis.
He was enjoying this, my misery. “Oh come on . . . we’re almost there.” He winked. Dennis is the only person I have ever known who can wink and get away with it. When Dennis winks, the world is safe.
A child kicked me.
“What the fuck?” I said, looking down and seeing a young Chinese girl with a vinyl Hello Kitty knapsack.
She laughed, and then she kicked me again, harder.
I looked at her parents, but they both had dead, distant faces. The resigned expressions of older parents who had accidentally had a child, late in life. No doubt their little girl had kicked them both senseless, and now they were oblivious.
But I was not oblivious. And I was not amused.
“Stop that,” I said, leaning down and speaking into the top of her head. “Don’t kick.”
She kicked again.
The little fucker. I bent down. “Do you speak English?” I asked, sweetly. I smiled. “Do you speak English, you little cutie pie?”
She nodded, gave a little giggle, and then stepped on my toes, which were exposed through the straps of my sandals.
I immediately stopped smiling and narrowed my eyes. I whispered, “You kick me one more time you little cocksucker, and once we get on the boat, I’ll push your mother into the ocean, and she’ll die. And then I’ll hurt your daddy. And then I’ll be your new daddy, and I’ll take you home with me.”
She moved quickly to the other side of her parents, where she kept a wary, silent eye on me.
“Next time people ask if we’re ever going to have kids, I think I’ll tell them this little story,” Dennis said.
“What?” I said, indignant. “She’s a horrible, spoiled little bitch.”
“She’s just a little girl,” he said.
I laughed. “Little girl, my ass. She’s a little Chinese dragon.”
Dennis rolled his eyes, and we finally boarded the glass-bottom boat.
“Pepsi!” shouted a kid sitting near us. The kid pointed to the glass below us and sure enough, a Pepsi can.
“Maybe we’ll see a body! What would you think of that?” the kid’s dad said. “Maybe a swimmer who was attacked by a shark!”
“Doug, stop,” the mother said, slapping her husband’s meaty shoulder.
Dennis and I looked at each other. The true curiosities were not outside the glass bottom of the boat; they were sitting in the chairs next to us.
A guide’s voice crackled through the speakers, explaining the various fish that swam past us. But by far,