Free Skipped Parts: A Heartbreaking, Wild, and Raunchy Comedy by Tim Sandlin

loud snuffling noises. “She won’t let me watch Rocky.”
    Mrs. Pierce gathered the kid into her arms and glared across the top of his head at Maurey. “You know he watches Rocky every afternoon, what’s the matter with you?”
    “It’s not on today. The Texans killed President Kennedy.”
    Petey howled. “It is so on, she won’t let me see it.”
    “Look, brat.” Maurey stepped to the TV and slowly turned the selector knob all the way around the dial.
    See, the deal back then was that if a family had a really tall outside antenna they could pick up two Idaho stations, CBS and NBC. No one in northwest Wyoming saw ABC until the cable came in twenty years later. A person without an outside antenna, say Lydia, could only watch a snowy CBS. Not a bad place to raise kids.
    Anyhow, Maurey went clear around the dial twice while Petey snuffled into Mrs. Pierce’s breasts and she cooed in his ear.
    “She’s hiding the station,” Petey whimpered.
    “Why isn’t Rocky on?” Mrs. Pierce said.
    Maurey was at a peak of exasperation. “The president of the country is dead. Some things are more important than Rocky the Flying Squirrel.”
    Petey took this as the lie it obviously was, and his mother blinked dubiously. “Come on to the kitchen, baby Pete, I made some Toll House cookies and I’ll pour us some fresh milk.”
    “I hate Toll House cookies.”
    There’s a certain type of mother who calls chocolate chip cookies Toll House, and I’ve never liked that type. They’re the same women who call gravy sauce.
    Mrs. Pierce turned to me. “Would you care to stay for dinner, Sam? We’re having tuna croquettes.” I checked Maurey to see if she caught the bizarre irony, but I guess she’d missed lunch at school. She was glaring at Petey with that same look she used to give me before today.
    “No, thank you, ma’am. My mother will be expecting me soon. She’ll have supper on by now.”
    “You could call her and tell her you’re eating here.”
    “We don’t have a telephone, ma’am.” There’s a Southern defense mechanism where whenever someone makes you uncomfortable, you fall back on antebellum politeness. I saw poverty pity in Maurey’s mother’s eyes, so I figured I better explain the phone deal. “It’s not that we’re poor, we just don’t know anyone to call.”
    “Why, you’ve been in town two months. Hasn’t your mother met anyone yet?”
    “Lydia’s not all that outgoing.”
    Mrs. Pierce gently moved Petey off her lap. He moved back on. “Well, we’ll just have to have you and your mother over for dinner soon.”
    I tried to picture Lydia in this house full of trinkets and dust-free knickknacks. Mrs. Pierce was the sort of woman Lydia always said “Fuck me silly” in front of.
    I shook my head. “My mom doesn’t get out much. She’s having trouble adjusting to the dry air.”
    “I’ll just have to drop in on her with my welcome wagon basket. My baskets are very popular this time of year.”
    “I’d think awhile before I did that, ma’am.”
    ***
    All the rules must have been off that day because when I tramped home through the snow, Lydia wasn’t there. Surprised the heck out of me. I took advantage of the situation to dump overflowing ashtrays and clean out the Dr Pepper stash beneath the couch. At least Lydia was consistent—two and a half packs of cigarettes, variety of brands, six pops, Dr Pepper, and a pint of gin, Gilbey’s, a day. A boy needs consistency in his life.
    The Olds 88 sat in the rut that passed for our driveway, which meant Lydia walked away into the storm or somebody came and got her. Either one would be unique unto itself, but presidential assassinations are unique unto themselves and other little uniques tend to spin off their wake. Look at my afternoon with Maurey.
    I drank from my own Dr Pepper and sat on the couch reading Catch-22 and Marty’s Big Season . Marty’s Big Season is about a Little League team whose coach walks out and this kid, Marty,