Free Suckerpunch by David Hernandez Page B

one of Oliver’s rocks gonged against the 747.
    Ashley pointed at the ground. Lizard, lizard! she cried out, all excited.
    The lizard was small, about six inches long from head to tail. Its scaly skin was made of miniature octagons in different shades of gray. He lay very still on the ground with his reptilian head cocked in our direction. When Enrique and I were kids, I used to catch lizards in our backyard. I’d pull off their tail and we’d watch it move by itself, side to side like a windshield wiper. Are you sure he’ll grow another tail? Enrique wanted to know.
    Positive, I said.
    It would be cool if people could do that too.
    Later on that day I fetched a pair of rusty scissors from the garage. I looked inside the green bucket where I held the lizard captive and reached in. The lizard scrambled around, frantic, but still I managed to snip off one of its arms. I wanted to see if it would grow another one. I wanted to see if the severed arm would move all by itself the way its tail had, but it just lay there, useless. The next day I looked inside the bucket to see if the lizard had a new arm, but he wasn’t moving. A fly crawled up his back.
    A few weeks later I had the accident and lost my finger and I knew better than to hope that it might grow back.
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    I have to take a leak, Oliver said as we headed back to the Picklewagon, kicking up dust. He jogged a few yards out into a field while Ashley and I climbed in the car. Enrique was still zonked out in the backseat, his mouth half open. Drool glistened on the side of his chin. Ashley aimed her camera inches from his face and pressed the shutter button and then she turned to me and smiled. I gave her the thumbs-up sign.
    Oliver stood in the field with his back toward us, hishands at his crotch, looking down, then up at the herd of fluffy clouds in the deep blue sky.
    Catface jumped on my lap and swayed her tail from side to side. Hey you, I said. Before I could start scratching her head she jumped into the backseat and onto Ashley’s lap. You have to pee too, Catface? Ashley cooed. She saw me looking at her and then winked at me again. It was confusing me—all her winking.
    Oliver trotted back, relieved. Hey, did you know that Gandhi used to drink his own piss?
    Eww, Ashley said, her mouth twisted in disgust.
    So did John Lennon, I added.
    Shut up, Digit, Oliver said.
    It’s true, man. What do you think that yellow submarine song is all about?
    You’re full of it.
    Whatever, I said. I know what I’m talking about.
    Oliver released the hand brake and stepped on the accelerator.
    Enrique’s eyes fluttered open. He was still out of it and his voice came to us as if from underwater: Are we there yet?

8
    A W, MAN, WHO FARTED? Oliver wanted to know.
    Don’t look at me, I said. Enrique?
    Wasn’t me.
    Then we saw the field of cows to our right, stretching out into the horizon. Black cows and beige cows, white cows and spotted cows. The scent of manure filled the Buick like cigarette smoke blown into a beer bottle.
    Ashley covered her mouth and nose with one hand. Gross!
    Oh, Jesus, Enrique moaned.
    Roll up the windows, Oliver said.
    I lifted my shirt from the collar, covering my facefrom the eyes down. I looked at the cows. Some were standing and some were lying down. Some were chewing bales of hay stacked side by side along the fence. The ones that faced the highway and watched us zoom past looked bored. It took a good five, ten minutes before the stench left the car but an hour more before we stopped talking about the cows. Ashley vowed to become a vegetarian. Enrique vowed to eat more hamburgers. Oliver said his uncle in Texas works at a slaughterhouse, that he has to wear goggles and rubber gloves and galoshes because there’s so much blood splashing around.
    I can’t believe how many cows there were, I said.
    It was like Lollapalooza for cows, Oliver said. The Flaming Cows were playing.
    And Modest Cow, I