That’s Not My Name
(stories about other people’s photos)
There was a time I couldn’t say no to you. There was a time when I believed anything that came out of your lying mouth. This was one of those times.
Part 1
That was how I found myself shivering in the cold neighborhood park on a foggy evening with a shovel in my hand. I was dozing off and you shook me awake with panic-stricken eyes and I pulled some pants over my PJs, not bothering to take off the pajama bottoms.
What were we supposed to be digging for? Ah, a hard drive you stole from your ex-boss. What was so important that you buried them six feet under? What? Bitcoins? You said your ex-boss had given you two hours after he texted to dig it up before he comes after you with two goons and twice that number of bats.
And so we began shoveling the soft muddy soil. I got annoyed that you kept pulling out your phone to check for messages, then dropping it, then wasting minutes hunting for it in the dark. You couldn’t even grip it all that well because three fingers were preoccupied with keeping your cigarette steady. Finally you agreed to keep it on top of the trunk lid.
I kept asking why you had to bury it and you kept mumbling paranoid bullshit. I don’t know why you couldn’t have put it in a baggie and stashed it in the toilet’s water tank like normal people. And if it was worth so much, you should have brought these Bitcoins to the pawnshop right away instead of stashing it underground like a squirrel with his nuts.
I started to get annoyed with your condescending explanations about Bitcoin crypto wallets and godforsaken talk on Star Trek money. I walked back to the car to grab a snack. I saw your phone screen light up, maybe it’s your stupid nerd boss hurrying us up. I seriously doubted his capacity for coming through with his threat. I picked up the phone to text back that we’d return his stupid computer equipment, just stop harassing us with talk of baseball bats and his nerd army.
It turns out it wasn’t your ex-boss but your ex-ex girlfriend. With skanky texts more disgusting than the soft loam I’m stepping on.
Part 2.
There was a time I couldn’t say no to you. There was a time when I believed anything that came out of your lying mouth. This would be the last time.
That was how I found myself weaving my way under tree leaves dripping with dew and bird poop back to the car, hard drive under my left arm, and two shovels under my right.
I drove away, and drowned out echoes of you screaming “I’m sorry, babe!” as I was burying you alive. I turned on the radio, it was The Ting Tings rocking That’s Not My Name. How apt, I thought.
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I would like to write a story about any picture you’ve shot. Please send me one. I can link to your site and credit your full name, or I can also credit only your initials/ alias if you’d like to remain private.
gem is my name AT gmail DOT com
