Where do fluff pieces go when they die? Here! My life has been sorta hectic as of late and will probably continue to be hectic for sometime. I'm not sure when I'll be able to focus on my chapter fics. I feel bad because I'm horrible when it comes to updates and I've been having some real trouble either writing my chapter fics or feeling satisfied with the results.
But, I saw this fluff piece I had on my computer, decided to expand it, and voila,here it is. It isn't my best, but it is what it is, and I do hope you enjoy it, and the awesome Billy Curtis.
For those who don't know, Karen, C.D. Billy and Tommy are Darry and Cathy's kids.
My brother Carlson-Darrel, whom we call C.D. is the most interesting guy I know. He's also the craziest guy I know, which goes long way to explain his first attribute.
One time, Mom and Dad told C.D. and Karen that they could pick a two-week sleep away camp. Tommy and me were already going to Boy Scout camp and had a summer of baseball to take up our time.
Karen decided right away she wanted to go to some fancy tennis camp, but that wasn't a surprise, Karen's a real talented tennis player. Ever since she watched a T.V. special about Billie Jean King beating Bobby Riggs she wanted nothing but to become a tennis player and hasn't looked back since. Even her pupils reflect tennis racquets.
My sister ain't what you would call a feminist, except when it comes to women in sports. Wanna make Karen mad, tell her she hits like a girl, then she'll really show you what 'hitting like a girl' means.
And man alive it ain't pretty!
My parents smiled and nodded when Karen told us her decision, it was easy, Karen is easy. Then came C.D.'s turn.
He grabbed his fork, twisted some spaghetti on it, drew it close to his mouth and before the silver prongs could touch his tongue, pulled the fork out of his mouth and the rug out from under Dad.
"Clown camp." He stared right at Dad, not blinking.
I immediately thought of my brother with a curly rainbow wig, a honkin' red nose and big floppy shoes, and I almost pissed myself laughing. Then I pictured him honking his nose like Dad honks the car when we're running late and that really almost made a mess outta me.
I had no freakin' clue they even had clown camps. I ain't trying to sound mean, but how the hell do you need a camp to learn how to be a clown? It ain't exactly rocket science.
The problem with what C.D. said wasn't exactly what he was proposing, but how he proposed it, with a shit eating grin. He can't help it, even when he's sincere about something he tends to wear this self-satisfied smirk which makes people either doubt his sincerity or makes them sincerely believe he's an ass.
Dad, his fork still in his hand looked straight at C.D. and told him, "hell no, I ain't spending my money to send you to a damn clown camp you don't even wanna go to."
Mom gave Dad her big, warm grin and reminded Dad of two things, one technically it was 'their' money, not just his and two, he owed the swear jar a dollar. Then she told C.D. in an even voice, 'we'll think about it.'
C.D. gave our father such a shit eating grin that I wanted to wipe it off his face. It was, a non-verbal 'fuck you' louder than any of Dad's bellowed shouts.
Dad ignored C.D. but grunted and muttered under his breath something that I couldn't quite make out, but I bet it woulda cost him way more than a dollar. But when he came back from the kitchen where the swear jar is kept, he leaned over Mom's shoulder and he gave her a long, deep kiss in her mouth. Garlic bread was exchanged.
That's the thing about my parents, they rarely display PDAs and even among our extended family, holding hands is the extent of it, but when it's just our family, they're all over each other.
They completely ignoring the gawking looks of disgust on three of their four offspring. Karen was too busy pouring herself more iced-tea.
"Ewww! I just lost my appetite." Tommy cried out, he was still at that age where kissing girls meant death by cooties. Dad only harshly ruffled his hair, "yeah kiddo, you say eww now but you wouldn't be here without some kissin' action, Tom Tom Club." He winked at Tommy, using Uncle Soda's pet nickname for my little brother.
Looking like he was gonna gag, and not that I could blame him, C.D. pushed his plate away from him, "well, that's it; I'm staying a virgin for life."
It was Karen, who had been quiet this entire time, looked up from her drink and said "I'll call the newspaper."
Mom hid a smirk, Dad led out a small chuckle, C.D. scowled.
My brother is short, one guy called my brother, 'a scrappy little fella' and that 'scrappy little fella' landed all over that guy. That poor guy probably thinks my brother is insane, but C.D. would probably take that as a compliment!
The worse was our sweet, kindhearted Grandma calling C.D. 'petite.' C.D. couldn't open a can of a whoop ass on sweet Grandma Carlson, so he spent the entire visit sulking. He's stubborn. He forgave her after she gave us a tin full of her oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to take home with us. She's a real good baker.
While we're on the subject I gotta say, Grandma Carlson is wonderful. Some years ago us kids went to the TG&Y to buy Grandma a mother's day gift, and boy did we pick one. We got her this housecoat with sequined flamencos all over it, and a huge pink fluffy feather collar. The best part? Right on the chest in hot pink piping it read in cursive, "Florida or Bust."
Mom's mouth dropped open. Dad nodded and told us that he was sure Grandma would love it, quickly excused himself and we could hear his loud laugh all the way in the kitchenware aisle.
I don't need to tell you that it was C.D. who picked out the housecoat and strong armed the rest of us to agreeing with him. It was up to Karen we would have bought her a "World's Greatest Grandma" mug.
But you know what? Years later Grandma still wears that tacky monstrosity every time we visit her, even though the feathers are practically molting off.
If that's not love, I don't know what is.
I don't want to embarrass my brother, but I gotta tell y'all this story. A while back Great-Grandma Baker was living with Grandpa and Grandma. Well, Great-Grandma Baker had dementia and she kept on messing up all of our names. Some of it wasn't bad, she called Dad Darren, Tommy became Timmy, I was Willard and she confused Cathy and Karen all the time. But C.D.? Well for the life of her the poor woman couldn't remember his name even though his name was by far the easiest to remember.
No, for some reason she thought his name was Huey. I learned two things: one, our cousins loved calling him 'Baby Huey' and two, C.D. has no reservations about beating the snot out of family members.
My brother's size is a sore subject for him. But it doesn't stop him from having a whole bunch of girls follow him around like he's a rock star and they're his groupies. And, I gotta say, when it comes to and sex, despite his joke about being a virgin for life, he lives the rock n' roll lifestyle. Which is funny cause not long ago he was barely interested in girls and hardly even kissed one.
Now he's got himself as rep for being a player.
I get whiplash from all the girls he dates. Course some of them are more one-night 'study sessions' where the only thing being studied is advanced anatomy, if ya'll get my drift.
Now you'd think that would send our Dad through one of the roofs he used to build, but nope, he actually took C.D. to the drug store to buy a box of condoms. I know that was far more humiliating for C.D. than if Dad blew up at him.
And if C.D. knocks up some girl? Then Dad will really open a can of whoop ass on Baby Huey.
But Grandma is right, C.D. is petite and most people will assume that he doesn't have a snowball chance in hell of not getting his ass pulverized in a fight. They're dead wrong. He's got no form, no technique, but he's crazy out there. He's so crazy that he's thrown much bigger guys for a loop and can usually get in a few good blows before the other guy can figure out what the hell is going on.
You could almost say that he's scrappy.
Like my brother, there's no middle ground with his fights. There are some times where he pummels the other guy, really makes them go through the wash and rinse cycle, you know? While C.D. emerges from the fight looking no more worn out than if he did a good run through Woodward Park; red in the face and breathing hard, but no worse for wear.
And they'll look at my brother, who is showing off his trademark shit eating grin and shake their head in bafflement that such a little guy could knock them silly.
But he doesn't know when to back away and eventually the other guy will see his weakness and jump on top (yeah, on top, C.D. would totally make a joke right here) and C.D. is shit out of luck, his clothes torn, nose half busted, two black eyes and that ain't even the worst of it.
Unfortunately for C.D. the latter scenario happens with alarming frequency.
Mom hates fighting, but Dad's from a different school of thought, as long as you fight fair and honest and have no choice, he sees nothing wrong with throwing a few punches. Even told Mom, "the way I see it honey, you gotta let the boys land and take a few punches, or else it might fester."
Mom, putting a box of frozen peas on one of C.D.'s black eyes muttered that right now her baby could barely see anything.
He tried to teach us boys how to fight, he's got some good moves, but C.D. refuses to heed his advice. Even though a love of fighting is one of the few things they have in common. Like everything, my brother does it his own way.
I'm a big guy. Okay, I'm gonna be honest with y'all, I'm fat. It's usually not that big of deal. It bothers me sometimes. A year ago or so Dad asked me I wanted to work out with him at the gym, I said yes since I don't like letting people down, but the whole drive I felt like a real chump. A fat chump.
Great, I thought glumly, Dad wants his fat ass son to lose a few pounds, that's why he invited me and only me to go the gym with him.
I looked at my dad who still had washboard abs and the physique of the high school quarterback he was once, and down at the blubber of fat around my mid-section.
Dad though, knew exactly what to say, "You know Billy, I invited your brother and your sister to join us at the gym too."
Sometimes I find it real weird that Dad knows exactly what to say to me but has no idea how to speak to my brother.
Anyways people assume because of my size, I'm also tall, I must love fighting. But I don't. I'll never chicken out, but I still hate fighting. If someone has a beef with me, I usually just ignore them, that annoys them more than anything. But, if someone messes with my family? That's a whole different ballgame. But I don't intervene in C.D.'s fights cause he'd be embarrassed as hell that his little brother had to get him out of a jam.
The best is watching him argue with someone, cause damn do those firecrackers go off then! C.D. is smart, has no scruples and he's as hot headed as they come. Oh yeah, he's also funny as hell. I'm serious.
All those qualities, even his humor, get him in a lot of trouble. Hell, I ain't gonna deny that on rare occasions I've been on the receiving end of his insults. It's a blast, and I'm not being sarcastic either. My favorite: "aborted Southern pig-tailed macaque turd." The best part, was how he snuck turd on at the end, like an afterthought.
I cracked up so hard, I accidently knocked him over and both of us crashed into the bathroom, busting the door. Boy, were my parents pissed. Of course, they had every right to be. I offered to pay for it, cause it was my fault, but Dad made us both pay up.
My brother, he likes making people laugh, but he doesn't laugh much himself. He also really hates it if other people laugh at him.
But all I gotta do is just say 'macaque' and his face will turn almost purple trying not to burst out laughing. C.D., as stubborn as he is, can't resist and he'll crack up like a nut job. It's funny as hell watching him.
Karen will look at us like we're off our freakin' rockers. Tommy will laugh cause he doesn't like being left out. I'll try to remember to share a joke just between us later, so he doesn't feel so bad. Mom and Dad will shake their heads, grateful that no one swore or told a dirty joke. Oh yeah, my brother is an expert on both those topics.
Some of the jokes he tells, well believe me, I ain't no prude, but man, he's got a dirty mind!
Tommy of course is always tattlin' on C.D. he thinks everything is a swear. Man, I love him to death, but little kids can be real uptight about everything, "mom C.D. is cursing! He said abortion!"
C.D. yelled right back at Tommy, "abortion isn't a swear, doofus, besides all I said was that you look like a botched abortion, that's a scientific fact, Uncle Tom."
Now, I'm not exactly being fair to Tommy, yeah he tattles, but he's gotten a lot better. He's a real fun kid. I mean it. He loves playing practical jokes on people, especially our cousins Daphne and Paige. When he was real little he used to chase Daphne around the yard, throwing worms at her. But when it comes to crazy, Daffy has got him beat, before we knew it, Daphne even though she's smaller had him in a choke hold and had double dog dared him to swallow a live worm.
And you can't say no to a double dog dare, you just can't.
Then Daphne did the same thing, rubbed her stomach and said, 'hmmm it's absolutely delightful, don't you think so, Thomas?'
Well, Tommy hated the taste of the worm, but he wasn't about to be outdone by Daphne, so he too plopped a second juicy worm straight down his throat. This one though wasn't a small itty-bitty thing, but a big honking juicy worm. The Mack truck of worms.
Unfortunately for Tommy that worm didn't agree with him and he puked worm guts all over his shirt.
Daphne looked like she was gonna get sick, and that's when Tommy saw his opening, he took off his worm-puke covered shirt and began chasing Daphne around the yard, flinging it at her, spraying our cousin with tiny particles of worm guts and Uncle Pony's potato salad.
Daffy might be crazier, but when it comes to being the gross out king, that title is all Tommy's.
Watching my brother argue with classmates, guys from school, even authority figures, can be fun. What isn't fun? Watching my brother and my Dad argue. Cause if my brother is the most interesting guy I know and the guy I've idolized ever since I was a little kid, my Dad is my hero.
My dad's parents died when he was twenty and he raised my uncles, which I think is real heroic of him, but even beyond that, he's a real good guy. Yeah, he's strict, a lot stricter than my Uncles are with their kids, but if you're respectful and listen to him, he's a lotta fun. He'll do anything for us.
I gotta take a break here and say to be fair, my cousin Paige insists her dad can be strict with her and Daphne at times, and my cousin Patrick says Uncle Soda has a huge temper at times as well. But having spent time with both my dad and their dads, I gotta say when it comes to old school parenting, Dad is the undisputed champion.
He also takes us camping or fishing, or out to see his construction sites, although I'm the only one who really likes it.
The problem is C.D. doesn't like to listen and Dad is too stubborn to see that a lot of times C.D. has a point.
It's only when they argue that my stomach will sometimes turn in knots. They both go after each other like Kamikaze pilots, neither one giving up an inch. I never tell them that though. Like so much in my life, I keep my secrets locked up for no one but me.
Even though they don't always see eye to eye they both have the same stubbornness, same temper the same inability to yield a point. And I love both of 'em to death. It would be easier for me if I could pick sides, but I can't. They both make a lot of sense, even when they're arguing from two opposite sides.
Dad was almost about to concede the point and let C.D. go to clown camp, even though, as he pointed out, C.D. never expressed any interest in being a clown before, when Mom found how much clown camp was gonna cost and almost blew a gasket. "C.D. we're not spending all of this money for you to learn how to squeeze yourself in a VW Bug with twenty other people."
But C.D. wouldn't budge. Mom came up with a compromise, they would spend as much money on C.D.'s camp as they were on Karen's and he would have to pay for the rest. For the next month my brother, who is kinda a lazy ass, busted his lazy ass by mowing lawns, delivering papers, doing errands. Even Dad was impressed. Smiling and shaking his head with admiration watching my brother try to lug a bag of mulch bigger than him across the neighbor's yard. It was nice not seeing them tear each other apart for once.
I just wish Dad would tell C.D. that he was proud of him, even if C.D. wouldn't have believed him.
I offered him some money I had saved up, but he wouldn't take it. He's got pride, but he also knew I was saving up to buy a new catcher's glove. He's a good guy.
C.D. went to camp and sent all of us, even Tommy and Dad, postcards. Of course his postcards were really inappropriate and really, really funny. Man! Did I bust my ass laughing. I still got them somewhere. When he came home it only took about a day and half until him and Dad were at it again. I asked him about clown camp and whether he could juggle or make those balloon animals, he just shrugged. "Nah, I didn't even want to go, it was more about winning the argument against Francisco Franco downstairs."
Like I said, my brother is stubborn fucker.
The next day when I woke up I saw a crudely made, but recognizable balloon monkey staring at me. "Rise and Shine Aborted Southern Pig-Tailed Macaque TURD" written across its chest.
I don't own The Outsiders, I'm sorry. I do own C.D , I'm sorry. ;)
