A Debt Repaid

Beverly’s father decided to build a two room addition onto the back of his house in Staten Island, and asked if I could come by to help. Normally I would make a malingering excuse about the flu or a sprained ankle, but I’ve been dating Beverly for three years now. During that time, I accidently smashed-up her father’s Oldsmobile, caused a small grease fire in their kitchen, and once cracked Beverly in the head with a bowling bowl while practicing my newly invented double-arm-loop-technique of bowling. Somehow the ball slipped from my fingers and went backwards and caught Beverly in the forehead, resulting in an injury from which she has still not recovered­­. That is to say, she still talks funny­ — so in order to make up for these mishaps, and a few others, I arrived at her father’s house at 9 am, as requested.

Frank had also hired a few migrant workers to help out. Also, three buddies from his army reserve unit had come by. These guys were around sixty years old, but had lots of muscles, tattoos, and nicknames like Cannibal, Mad Dog, and Apache. They were skilled in carpentry, and since I wasn’t, I carried the sheets of 4’ x 8’ plywood from the truck to the back yard, where it was cut, measured, and nailed into place

“Listen Fuck Head,” said Cannibal. “You can’t carry plywood like that. You got to grab it below and on top, and carry it at your side, so you can see where you’re going.”

Cannibal seemed friendly when he said this, even the Fuck Head part. And true, I was carrying the panel like a wall before me, my arms stretched wide like someone trying to hug a redwood. And true, I couldn’t see where I was going, but I wasn’t strong enough to carry the plywood at my side as Cannibal suggested. I didn’t want the others to think I was weak, so I didn’t explain. I just ignored Cannibal’s advice, and kept carrying the boards blindsided before me, and twice, I crashed into the guys by the table saw.

Pretty soon everyone was calling me Fuck Head. “Look out, here comes Fuck Head with another sheet of plywood!” And things went from bad to worse when I tripped and fell face-forward onto the board I had been carrying. I couldn’t get up, because my fingers were pinched beneath the lumber, so I had to call for help, but nobody helped me.

“Guys, come take a look at this!” said Mad Dog.

In a few moments, they were all gathered around to laugh at my predicament. They took pictures and said, “Let that be a lesson to ya,” and to drive home their point, they left me on the ground for an hour, until Frank and Beverly came back with supplies and pizza.

“All right fellas,” said Frank, “the jokes over. Let’s get him up.”

“Where are his p-pants!” said Beverly.

She was stuttering because of the bowling ball accident, and because the stuttering got worse when she was angry.

“Relax,” said Cannibal. “The boys were just having a little fun.”

“Meaning you raped him!”

“Naw, we just ran his underwear up your neighbors flag pole.”

Being bare-assed made my predicament even more humiliating. From the corner of my eye, I could see Beverly going across the street to get my boxer shorts. Meanwhile, two guys finally lifted the board I was laying on so I could pull my fingers out. I was so indignant, that I refused to work anymore. Of course, I grabbed some pizza before I left, and the next day, Frank called twice to apologize. I had hoped to atone for wrecking his car through honest labor, but if amends came by the bad behavior of his old buddies, well, so be it.