When S**t Flies

This is the tale of something which happened to my family and I on a trip we took the summer of 2015.

“I know this is super weird and probably a little creepy, but I wonder if we’ll see them,” I whispered to Meghan shyly.

“Aw you’re so cute,” she replied patronizingly.

Unshaped by her unintentional mockery, I returned to my position searching each and every passing car for the desired entities. I was searching these cars for celebrities I naively hoped to spot, specifically members of the YouTube channel Game Grumps who were based near LA. I haven’t the slightest idea why I was behaving in such a childish manner. In fact, on the off chance I did meet them I planned to play it cool, but as soon as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge heading for LA, all sanity went out the window. Perhaps it was the accumulated 260 hours of sitting in the back seat of a Ford F250, or lack of water, but I was searching those cars like a monkey on speed. What made this situation even more awkward was that I was perched on the hump between my younger brother and girlfriend. They seemed perfectly calm while I must have looked like a meerkat on guard duty, scanning the packed lanes on either side in some sort of a panicked and elated state.

We were in LA approaching Anaheim in the middle of the third week of five. We were on a trip. A trip across the west. My compadres where my brother Quaid, girlfriend Meghan, mother Mom, father Dad, and our dog Perdi . We had already been through Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Wyoming, Colorado, and Nebraska prior to mounting our clumsy 13 foot trailer at our home in Kansas a mere three and a half weeks ago.

Our destination was Disney land, and we were planning to head over there after we parked and unhitched the trailer in the Disney sponsored trailer park we had reserved a spot in months before. I had realized somewhere between the Oregon border and San Francisco, that I loved Disney immensely. At the time, I wasn't sure if it was a legitimate love or the love of it being a beacon of hope in this god forsaken trip hellfest my family called a vacation. (All jokes aside it was a fantastic once in a lifetime trip, which I cherish immensely.)

Anyways, we had Perdi, our 9 year old German shorthair pointer perched upon the hump in the front seat because the trailer was unhealthily hot in the Mars-like California air, and because there was no room for the dog anywhere else in the packed truck. As we neared our gleaming destination, the dog had become excited in the stop and go traffic and was looking about just as I was. We had been in this same traffic for about an hour and a half before the most ungodly smell unveiled itself. Over the trip we had grown somewhat used to the dog’s noxious gas with a finger ever perched on the window button at all times, but this, this was something else... something… much, much worse. It was an evil which surmounted the cruelty of Satin's lashing tongue, and made the great Lucifer its b***h. Call it what you like: abhorrent, reprehensible, bad, but all I know is that it was the worst smell I have ever come across.

The smell quickly grew in intensity and vulgarity as all widows went down. Five voices cried out “Perdi not again,” as we attempted to collect ourselves and wait out the passing. (of the gassing that is)  Due to my seating choice, there were no windows within reach, so I had to wait for the infected air within the cab to be flushed out. Reluctantly, I surmised that there was nothing I could do but plug my nose and continue my search. A longer amount of time passed than usual and the smell persisted so through watery eyes, I looked forward.

Ungodly it was. Pain. THE AGONY. My eyes, I still feel the flames of Alistair's crop brushing them with the hospitality of an angered nest of wasps. Feces began to eject from our dog’s rectum and collect upon the grey leather seat. The dog, seemingly unphased, continued to search about in an excited manner which caused her rear section to flick about in the most terrifying way. Instantly understanding my peril, as I sat behind the “loose cannon,”, I began to emit the most manly and courageous shriek as I took cover behind the seat ahead of me.

My father startled by the sudden noise turned to look at me, but the disaster which was taking pace inches away from his arm caught his attention first.

“S**t,” he said in a befuddled tone.

“What,” my mother replied, following his gaze, “s**t,” she claimed in conjecture.

Noticing the sudden excitement, the dog began to spin about, gawking at either parent causing the still dangling“t**d” to flick about in a way which I swear was threatening the integrity of my barrier. With each swing the volume in the car grew as my heroic warning shrieks filled the air. My mother sacrificed herself for the sake of the furniture and pulled the dog onto her lap so the disaster would be easier to clean up. The "boom boom" continued to pile onto my maker’s lap as the scent grew in intensity. Father, who is, and has always been a “gagger” was forced to drive with his head out the window to maintain his composure and fight off the urge to vomit while driving.

Honestly from this point to mid way through washing the dog, I don’t remember a thing. Some would say that it is simply the fading of old memories, but I’d like to think it’s my brain rejecting the memory for fear of recalling the smell I was forced to withstand. That, or the scarring pain of the evils I saw that day traumatized me to the point that I became catatonic and blacked out. Either way, we eventually made it to the camp site, cleaned up the dog as well as the truck, and had a lovely evening exploring downtown Disney.

Author's Note

What should I do to better the flow in general in this piece?