Smells Like Potatoes

Chapter 9

“What the--,” Erin's voice intruded on Trent's happy little world once again. He would have jumped had his reflexes not been so slow. “What'd you do?” Her voice nagged for no reason except habit.

The nagging failed to affect him, though, and he happily smiled back at his sleepy girlfriend. “I cooked for ya, honey. Ya want some taters?” He giggled at the word 'taters'.

She couldn't believe how stoned he was. His eyes were glowing red slits, and he leaned at such an angle that he was dangerously close to falling over. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like his foot had wiggled under a mound of potatoes spilling off a tupperware plate, and his chest and stomach were splattered with cooking oil. He was high as a kite, as was obvious when he missed biting a chip and dropped it in his lap without noticing.

“Holy crap...” She picked her way to the couch through the maze of plates and lids. She had to flick a fried potato ball out of her seat before sitting next to him.

He offered her a plate of potatoes, “There ya go.” He laughed as she skeptically eyed the weird-shaped objects.

She ignored the plate after her initial study and pulled the joint out of his hand. She took a hit while studying his foot; it was indeed buried beneath the potatoes on the floor.

“I don't think that's kosher.” She said, pointing to the buried appendage.

Trent stared at her, as if she was pulling some kind of trick on him. Or else his brain was struggling to connect the dots to figure out the word kosher. Then he looked down at whatever she was pointing at and saw his toes hidden beneath the hot mound of potatoes. He laughed, said, “It's warm,” then snatched the joint back from her just as she tried to take another hit.

“You b*****d!” She dove across his body, tumbling the plate of potatoes that had been sitting in his lap to the floor, and just missed the hand holding the joint. Trent tossed the joint away as he wrapped his cooking-oil covered arms around her and flipped so they lay along the couch.

Erin looked up in to his eyes, silent for once. Trent never did anything clever like that. Then he made up for the playful attempt at seduction and looked around, “Damn, I just threw the joint.” Erin didn't notice the oil soaking through her shirt.

His girlfriend scoffed and rolled out from under him. She liked to play, too, if he was up to it, but he had to know it was hopeless. She didn't lose. He fell off the couch with a squish on two or three plates of potatoes.

She laughed and tried to dart her way around the maze he had laid out, but his hand closed around one of her ankles. By the time her foot popped out of his slippery hand she had completely lost her balance.

Arms waving wildly, Erin's foot slammed down on one of the greasy piles of potato chips and slid out from under her. She crashed to the ground with a shriek, her body scattering grease and potatoes everywhere. Trent just howled in laughter as Erin cringed at the slimy feel of the grease.

He was just as covered as she was, but it didn't make much difference to him. He had a foot covered in the stuff just because it had gotten cold, what did he care for the three plates he had fallen on?

Erin leaped to her feet, teeth clenched so hard she could have chewed rocks and thought it was oatmeal. Trent didn't get himself under control until she stalked back in to his bedroom. He probably would have laughed at her look of murderous rage that seemed to scare his bedroom door open at her approach.

“Have fun with the ice bath!” He tried to keep his voice steady, but cracked and broke into renewed gales of laughter.

Erin didn't respond. Trent found his way to his feet and stumbled through the fifty-two card pick up of potatoes. He got to the open doorway just in time to see Erin snatch up her purse and walk toward him.

She already had her shoes on, and marched as if she intended to walk right through him. Only one or two grease-free patches remained on her shirt, and her pants weren't in much better shape. She looked mad enough to punch him.

Trent got out of her way and followed her in to the living room, fighting a laugh at the grease stains on her butt. When she reached his front door, she turned, her face thoughtful now, rather than mad, and Trent waited for what came next. He was too stoned to be annoyed that she was about to yell at him; it would give him something to laugh at.

“Ya know, Trent, you're a piece of s**t.” She began, and Trent almost giggled in excitement at the prospect of a good fight. “I've been patient with you, but you ain't worth it. Everything you do stinks of failure. And you don't even seem to care.” She paused, and her anger grew when his oblivious smile didn't fade. “Can you do anything right? Seriously, is there a single thing in the entire world that you can do? I'm not even talkin' about doin' something well. Just doing one thing that doesn't stink of you?”

“Yup,” Trent stopped. He didn't want her to get sidetracked snapping out about what he said.

Her face flushed, “No, I don't think you can. Look at you!” She stopped and looked him up and down, but he did the same to her and ruined the gravity of her move by giggling. “I'm not the junkie that can't even keep a damn job!! I'm not the one that can't go more than an hour without having to smoke, snort, or drink something just to get through the day. You're a loser, Trent. Nothing more, and you'll never be anything more. No one likes you, and no one gives a s**t what happens to you. I used to think you'd grow up and try to do something with your life, but you seem content to just sit in this basement and rot. Well, I'm not gonna rot with you!” Erin's scream faded, and she settled for glaring at him in the odd silence that comes only in the wake of extremely loud noises.

The last few sentences seeped through the green haze clouding Trent's mind, and the ramifications of what she was saying hit him: Was she trying to break up with him?

The thought triggered something in him, it was the same instinct that would make him fight back against someone trying to kill him. He relished the sensation of the rage that slowly swelled into existence. He never got angry, and he found himself wondering why not, when it felt so good...When it came to fight or flight, he always chose the second option, but this seemed like a perfect opportunity for fight.

His voice was rough, but it fit the moment, “You don't think I'm goin' anywhere? Maybe you're right.” Trent could feel the words he so often committed to paper prepare to spill from his mouth. “You wanna sit there so high and mighty, actin' as if you're somehow better than the rest of us. Well, baby, I hate to break it to ya, but you're the worst of us! We're at least here through the circumstances of our lives. You wanted to live in this hellhole. Drudging through bullshit day after day. You want it! You coulda had a better life, but here you are, actin' like you're one of us. Cut it out! You ain't one of us! You're a goddam fake. And what's worse is you're working to be broke!” Trent leaned back against the couch and sneered at her. “You attached yourself to me because you thought I'd be some kinda author. You're golddiggin' in the slums, you dumb b***h! None of us around her are goin' anywhere. Least of all you! You talk about how everyone hates me, well at least they hate me. They don't even give you a second thought, if you're lucky enough to get the first.”

Trent could pick out a person's deepest insecurities without a second thought, and with Erin he had three year's experience to know that being a nobody was her worst fear.

“That's not true and you know it. I hate havin' to listen to everyone talkin' about how useless you are, and knowin' I can't defend you because it's true. I know even better than they do just how useless you are. People around here hate you because you don't even want to do better. Most people spend their entire lives tryin' to get outta here. But not you, you just love it here. You love the lack of responsibility. You love that no matter what you do, it'll never be too low or too lazy for this place.”

“Who gives a s**t?! At least I live with myself. You want so bad to get out of here on your own, but you can't do it. Where're you at, after more than three years? Huh? No closer than when you started. You're a mental midget, just tryin' to ride someone else's nuts to success because you can't do s**t for yourself. Well, you won't ride with me. I would fail, just so a skank like you couldn't foul up the air somewhere nicer!” Trent finished with a shout and found that his fists were shaking, and his breath came in frantic gasps. He had the urge to break something, but couldn't see anything but Erin.

She was too angry to notice the shock that slipped into her mind. Her normally timid and terrified boyfriend was standing up for himself, and doing a better job of it than anyone would have considered possible. It would have impressed her once.

“Ya know,” her voice was quiet; the change in volume threw Trent off balance, but she was beyond ready to be done. “I used to have hope for you. Now...I don't think you'll make it another year. There's nothin' in you that deserves to live, much less survive while better people struggle to make it.” Her hand waved blindly for the knob behind her.

He watched her take a single step out the door and stop. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “We're done.” With that she swung the door shut.

Trent screamed. “That's right! Kick rocks! You set foot in here again and I'll toss you right back out on your a*s!”

He knew she was far enough away to not hear the last sentence, but it felt good to yell. He turned and violently began kicking his way through the crates and potatoes and anything else he could reach. He never stopped to consider what he was breaking, and tore apart anything within reach.

His anger eventually wore thin, and he sobbed with impotent rage at the things he couldn't break, and the things that couldn't be broken any further. Finally he sat down against the gray panel wall, staring at the glass that had exploded from his TV. Drugs, exhaustion, and pain finally overtook anger. His head fell back and he passed out.

Author's Note

Absolutely brutal fight, I love it. Any recommendations welcome.