Free Baby Geisha by Trinie Dalton Page B

Eugene that had gelled over the years into something like an allergy to cowboys. All that attraction and repulsion, including his old, supposedly cured hate for
rivers and their murderous ways were packed into his reaction to the panties. Eugene was so offended by what he decided was a cowboy panty-slinging move that he was almost turned on by it. He pictured this very cowboy bending him over a river branch and…
    Eugene stood facing Eugene. Bobby algae-grazed while Eugene’s emotions went haywire. Eugene’s face felt hot; he didn’t know what would happen if he called the man on his fake cowboy-hippie attitude and dipstick-like qualities. He was a hater, in part, but not a fighter.
    â€œI’m trying to feel peaceful right now, man, but it’s really hard with your intrusive vibes,” Eugene said to the white-dreaded wizard bejeweled with green bows and seedpods. Eugene himself had lustrous curly brown locks tamed by a bandana and was wearing a tie-dyed t-shirt and threadbare cargo shorts, but didn’t want to admit that they shared a certain hobo style.
    â€œWhat vibes, my son?” Eugene asked in a pious voice.
    My son. Eugene had suspected for a few years following the tragedy that his dad had merely escaped . Gone away someplace real but intangibly distant, like Eugene’s dreams. He couldn’t send mail or call, but suspected his dad was doing all right somewhere far away. His dad never felt dead to him. He talked to his dad in dreams at least once a week. Hey dad, why don’t we have a smoke sometime? Do you date girls? Did you know I’m queer? There was so much he yearned to tell his dad, not in his dreams or in a marijuana-induced hallucination, which is what this was if he was even allowing himself for one second to wonder if this was his father, his father’s ghost, or Santa. But what the hell.
    â€œDad?” Eugene asked bluntly.
    Eugene Sr. winked and tossed some more panties into Slidey’s pool like a true forest faerie. Eugene’s father wasn’t dating girls either, it appeared, and Eugene gagged at the thought that he’d been aroused by… Bob wagged his tail and went up to Eugene Sr. for a grandpa chin scratch. The sun was setting now,
and the trees turned black in silhouette against a periwinkle sky. They could see the Big Dipper. Outer space made its way into Eugene’s life once again.
    Â 
    When you see a person who isn’t definitely flesh, it’s hard to end the moment because ending it means risking goodbye. Eugene was so moved that he didn’t care if his dad was a ghost or if the Eugene-Sr.-rafting-death story was a farce. Eugene’s mind roamed as the men sat still together on Slidey, letting night come. There were many ancestral appearances amongst the region’s Native Americans, and supposedly lots of apparitions in general. He had always wished ancestors would visit him—thus the sage obsession—but this was the first time. His dad was the kind of person who would’ve disappeared because he had always been an undeniable recluse. Eugene wanted to embrace his father but was too scared that if he were a ghost, Eugene would hug air and their visit would end in a cloud poof.
    Bob, unhindered by such lofty thoughts, sauntered up to Eugene Sr. and nudged him to let the men know that it was getting too dark to see and that they should all go back home for a celebratory chicken dinner. Eugene Sr. did not evaporate, and his son realized that indeed, his father had left him for a solitary life in the woodlands. Instead of feeling resentment or abandonment, Eugene couldn’t believe his good luck at having a live dad again.
    â€œDo you eat chicken?” Eugene asked his dad.
    â€œDoes Slidey have algae?” his dad answered, meaning obviously yes, to which Bob licked his chops, and the men headed home.
    Â 
    But chicken dinners don’t last forever. The men and their dog roasted and devoured