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.

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