My girlfriend slept with this guy who worked at the Rainbow Foods up Snelling, and we waited for him in the parking lot. Me and Lyle. He talked me into it. I said, \u201cShit, I stepped out on her two or three times already, so I figure it\u2019s only fair, ain\u2019t it,\u201d but he said something about honor. The olden days. Barfights and switchblades, and they tell you the rules are changing, the ones about men and women and sex and desire, but maybe they\u2019re not, he said. Maybe they shouldn\u2019t be, and so there we were waiting. I didn\u2019t know what we were planning exactly, but maybe just scare the guy. Get a good look at him. Anyway, he comes out, and he\u2019s 6\u2019 5\u201d. Looks like a linebacker. He\u2019s carrying about four plastic bags all stuffed with shaved turkey and honey ham and the rest of the cheap shit, and we run up to him, and Lyle goes, \u201cHey, you know Rachel, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho\u2019s asking?\u201d the guy says, his voice all hoarse from something. A cold, maybe. Or else from talking over the machines.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis here\u2019s her boyfriend,\u201d says Lyle, and he looks at me expectant. You gotta remember this is broad daylight now. 3, 4 o\u2019clock on a Friday, and the lot\u2019s starting to fill up, and people are coming in with their kids, and everything\u2019s got that end of the day stress hanging on it, and I don\u2019t really know what to do, so I wave. I actually fucking wave. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey,\u201d says the guy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJesus Christ,\u201d says Lyle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou know, the thing with Rachel, I don\u2019t know if she told you, but we go back. Her brother and me, we used to play ball together, and I think it was one of those old-time nostalgia things, and it\u2019s none of my business, but she didn\u2019t tell me nothing, man. I swear. Not a goddamn word.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou got anything good there?\u201d I say, \u201cSome of that Boar\u2019s Head, maybe?\u201d I\u2019m smelling sodium, and I haven\u2019t eaten lunch, and this whole thing was Lyle\u2019s idea anyway.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn back,\u201d he says. \u201cLet me. You know what, man, hold on. Wait here. Peace offering.\u201d He bolts back inside, and we hear the auto doors, and Lyle and me sit on the curb.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd one of them little whiskey bottles too.\u201d Lyle yells, but the guy\u2019s already long gone. We don\u2019t have any cigarettes, so we just tap our feet and watch moms with too much makeup and people struggling to get on them motorized scooters and these high school kids all dressed like burnouts, and the guy\u2019s not coming back. We know this. Or, at least, Lyle thinks he does, and you can tell he\u2019s wanting to hit me, or to hit someone anyway, given we made the trip and all, and he says, \u201cYou know there\u2019s two of us, don\u2019t you? And one of him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat about it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTwo is more than one, numbnuts, fucking think about it, and do you even love her?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAw, Christ, do you?\u201d and Lyle looks stunned by this. Hurt even.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFuck you,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We\u2019re deadbeat silent for God knows how long after that, and I\u2019m thinking about this scar Rachel\u2019s got underneath her shoulder, and she says it\u2019s from a firecracker, Fourth of July 1996, and it looks a little like a star. An explosion out deep in space.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhatever.\u00a0 Let\u2019s get out of this shithole,\u201d Lyle says finally, and, as he does, we see the guy exiting way down by the pharmacy.\u00a0 The whole other end of the store.\u00a0 Lyle is livid.\u00a0 \u201cPussy,\u201d he screams, dragging it out at the top of his lungs, and you can see the guy stop.\u00a0 The whole goddamn parking lot.\u00a0 Everything is in freeze time, and the guy launches one of them deli bags, and we watch it flying.\u00a0 Everyone watches it.\u00a0 It arcs across the lot and over fast-food wrappers and pop bottles and carts and rusted SUVs clocking 100, 200K, and it looks like roast beef.\u00a0 Pink flapping inside plastic, and in an instant I know me and Lyle are both after it.\u00a0 We\u2019re salivating.\u00a0 Our heads are going to collide mid-air, and we\u2019ll be hopelessly tangled, and, when we hit the pavement, rocks and broken glass will stick in our skins and scratch up our legs, and we\u2019ll be two dogs, really.\u00a0 Tearing into scraps we maybe don\u2019t even want.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Brett Biebel teaches writing and literature at Augustana College in Rock Island, IL. His (mostly very) short fiction has appeared in Hobart, SmokeLong Quarterly, The Masters Review, Wigleaf, and elsewhere. It’s also been chosen for Best Small Fictions and as part of Wigleaf’s annual Top 50 Very Short Stories. 48 Blitz, his debut story collection, is available from Split\/Lip Press.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
My girlfriend slept with this guy who worked at the Rainbow Foods up Snelling, and we waited for him in the parking lot. Me and Lyle. He talked me into it. I said, \u201cShit, I stepped out on her two or three times already, so I figure it\u2019s only fair, ain\u2019t it,\u201d but he said … <\/p>\n