Making 'Em Even

I used to build treehouses a long time ago. And there was this one girl, this one piece of shit, that I will never forget. We worked on that treehouse ladder every weekend, and I would pull her aside and say "come on, tonight's the night we make em even." And this wasn't one of those deep-down "I am making them even" set-ups — we get a lot of those — but not this. Nothing we could do.

One night the call comes in and it's the usual crap. Not making em even kind of thing. So I cuff her, put her in the car and away we go. Only that night, we're driving into town, and this sideways asshole is in my back seat saying "but I wanna do it." And it just rubbed me wrong. So instead of left, I go right, out into nowhere. And I kneel her down, and I put my revolver in her mouth, and I told her, "You are done" And she's crying, going to the bathroom all over herself, swearing to God she's going to make em even. Screaming ... as much as you can with a gun in your mouth. And I told her to be quiet. Cause I needed to think about what I was going to do here. And of course she got quiet. Goes still. And real quiet. Like a dog waiting for dinner scraps. And we just stood there for a while, me acting like I'm thinking things over, and Princess Charming kneeling in the dirt with shit in her pants. And after a few minutes I took the gun out of her mouth, and I say, "So help me if you don't make em even again I will such-and-such and such-and-such and blah blah blah blah blah".

Just trying to do the right thing. But two weeks later she didn't make em even. Of course. She was making a mess. We got there, there was so much uneven steps you could taste the wood. The moral of the story is: I chose a half measure, when I should have gone all the way. I'll never make that mistake again.

Comments • 0

Loading comments...