My Dixie Dear

You pick up the phone, say hello, and she’s in the middle of a story before you know it. This one is the time she got lost outside of Springfield, right off the highway but lost, her and some asshole named Stuart.

Stuart, as you remember although you could be wrong, was the one given over to baby blue cardigans that smelled of acetone and body odor. He was the kind of guy, you could hand him a hundred dollar bill and he’d look you in the eye, then go dead fish on you and slink around looking for the nearest woman to say, hey thanks for giving me this hundred dollar bill but I don’t really deserve it, you should use it for grocery money. And then four weeks later he’s living on that woman’s couch getting her to make him Rice-A-Roni for dinner and take him to shows.

The kind of dude who leaps over other dudes to say, my God what has my gender done to you, my God they don’t know what they’re doing. With the big fucking glasses and the Prince Valiant hair.

These are the ones you should worry about too, you tell her. She’s your sister, and she’s smart as a whip but she’s got one or two very particular blind spots. Guys like Stuart..that’s one area of weakness.

And then guys like Seth. These cosseted, bottle-fed shitstains. Undisturbed by life, making speeches and proclamations within ten seconds of entering the room. Hair usually parted in the middle. Mama’s little angel.

Jesus Serena, you tell her, that fucking guy is dangerous. To himself. To you. He’s going to introduce himself into an apocalypse one day and you’re going to get mowed down in the crossfire.

That’s not Seth, she tells you. He’s nothing like Stuart, and maybe you’re the asshole big brother.

So it’s like, what the hell do you know after all? You sit back in the bucket of your shitbox Buick and shake out another cigarette. Guys like Stuart. Guys like Seth. You say goodbye to your baby sister and toss your phone onto the dash. Someday things will change. Maybe they’ll change for you.