Free Lizard Tales by Ron Shirley Page B

I could see one of them ol’ summer storms blowing in and I was actually hoping it would rain for a few minutes and cool everything off.
    When I came across the roof to drop some shingles, Jason started in on me about not having a shirt and shoes on. I said, “Bo, we’re roofers, not politicians—and nobody’s home anyway!” Then, before I knew it, he was up and all over me like a fat tick on a dead dog. I had finally had enough. I told him where he could stick his job and I headed to the ladder to get to the ground and leave. The last thing I remember was Jason yelling at me to go to hell, and I yelled back that I couldn’t ’cause they had a restraining order on me there.
    I had just started down the ladder when the lights went out. When I came to, my vision was real blurry and all I could see were bright lights and this beautiful face over me. I was just about to reach out to touch it and ask the lady if I was in heaven, when my eyesight started coming back. This lady was so ugly that if her face were her fortune she’d get a tax rebate. So I just figured I must be in hell. Then I heard the sirens and the lady was saying, “Mr. Shirley? Can you hear me?”
    I answered, “Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?” I realized I was in an ambulance—my brother must have hit me again with something and knocked me off that roof. I tried to get up but couldn’t move my leg, so I knew I was worse off than a blind rat in an outhouse maze. I asked her what my brother hit me with, and where he was. But about that time I smelled something burning like grease in the bottom of an oven.
    “What’s on fire?”
    The lady replied, “Mr. Shirley, that’s you. I need you to stay calm. You’ve been struck by lightning.”
    Seems when I stepped on that ladder, it wasn’t Jason that hit me, but a right hook from God Himself. The jolt had blown all the ladders off the house and knocked me all the way to the ground; in the process, it had blown off all my fingernails and toenails and burned off my eyebrows, my mustache, and all the hair in my armpits! The lady in the ambulance also told me that when I hit the ground, I jumped up and started running around in circles like a top spinning for a wrecked doughnut train. She said I kept yelling, “I’m on fire! I’m on fire!” Then I ran over to the pool and jumped in. Well, apparently I hit my head and went unconscious, and then Jason dove off the top of the house into the pool to save me. He pulled me out, did CPR to revive me, and got the ambulance there.
    I don’t know what made Jason take that jump. He must’ve been suffering from halitosis of the intellect, but he saved my life. I had to go into surgery to fix my knee, which was more twisted than a box of fishhooks.
    As I was lying in the hospital bed that night, my door opened and in came Jason, wheeling himself in a wheelchair. He had poured ketchup on his head and rubbed grease all over his face. Ol’ Jason looked worse than a one-legged cat at the dog pound. I was lying in that bed, feeling worse than death with a hangover, and I chuckled, “What are you doing?”
    Jason said, “I just wanted to make you laugh—and didn’t want to leave you here by yourself.”
    We laughed and talked and he got me a mirror so I could see all the burns and stitches in my face. I have to admit: I looked like my face had caught fire and someone had beat it out with a bag of bent nickels.
    We had a good talk that night. And when Jason got ready to leave, I knew I had to thank him and tell him I loved him—but we just never talked to each other like that. As he was heading out the door, I started trying to thank him, but my tongue kept tripping over my eyeteeth.
    Jason just smiled and said, “I know, brother. I’d fight a tiger in the dark with a switch for you, too, but you ain’t gotta say it. In fact, save your breath. You might need it to blow up your next date, looking like that.”
    And with that he closed the