Buddies and Monsters

Pete set his one-puffed cigar on the ashtray, withdrew from his pocket a squirt gun, and slammed the damn thing right on the center of the table, shattering the poker chip pile. Typical Pete. He always had some stupid toy — something “his buddies gave him” — to bet at poker night. For a while, some people found it entertaining and got some good laughs out of it, but last week and this week nobody else besides Amy and Pete showed up. Daren even started a new group text without Pete. They all texted that Pete would show up anyways. He showed up anyways.

Daren said, “Pete, come on.” He had told him when he got there no betting the toys his buddies had given him or else he wouldn’t be allowed to play.

Amy complained, “Christ, dude, seriously?”

“Fine,” Pete said, “fine,” tossing his hands up in surrender. He reached for the squirt gun as if he were going to put it away, but stopped. “This one is special. Let me just tell you what it does.” Then he snatched it and aimed there and there, one eye closed looking down the sights.

Daren sighed. Amy groaned.

Pete continued, “Just listen. One of my buddies — ”

Amy interrupted, “Dude.” She took a puff of her cigar. “Every week you go on about these goddamn ‘buddies’ and ‘pals’ of yours. How come I’ve never met them or seen them. Daren have you? I mean shit, you sound fucking delusional or like…” She circled her finger around her temple and added, “you know? Crazy” She pursed her lips, slouched back in her chair, then puffed once more.

Amy needed to just shut up. She was gonna get Pete riled up.

And Pete. He was already doing that fidgety thing where he taps his thumb and middle finger together. It’s this passive aggressive trait he had ever since he was a kid. It was more disturbing now because Pete had lost probably thirty or forty pounds since high school, was much more pale. His fingers were basically bone and skin.

“I’m not crazy, okay?” Pete said. “They’re real people. Real enough to give me this.” He whirled the gun around his pinkie, starring at it, half-grinning. “He told me that whoever shoots it can make the victim drop dead. Wham!” He smacked the table with a fist, quaking the table, the poker chips bouncing out of place. One green chip rolled from the table’s center over to Daren’s pile and mixed in with his. “Dead,” Pete laughed.

Amy rolled her eyes.

Daren said, “Pete, it’s just a water gun.”

Pete jerked towards Daren with a scowl. He aimed the stupid toy at him. The look in his eyes said this was payback for all those times Daren didn’t defend him against Randal in grade school, didn’t let him live at his place, didn’t stop Amy’s (and the others from previous weeks) dicky comments.

Pete fired. A stream of water spewed and wetted Daren’s shirt, right on his chest. It was somewhat cold.

Throwing his hands out, Daren said, “Well, I’m not dead.”

Pete said, “I didn’t want you to die so it didn’t work.” Of course, Pete.

Clapping her hands, Amy said, “Clever.”

“Amy. Come on,” Daren said. “Pete,” he continued, “this is nonsense.”

“You’re nonsense, Daren.” Pete crossed his arms.

Daren responded, “You’re acting childish.”

With every word, Pete smacked the table with a fist. “No. I’m. Not!”

Amy scooted from her chair, stood, used her fingers like horns, and jumped around. “Pete fucks monsters. Pete fucks monsters.”

“You’re a child,” he yelled, pointing with his gun. “And a bitch!”

Pete needed to calm down so Daren said, “Pete, relax, it’s a joke.”

“She’s saying I fuck monsters! It’s like this every week at poker night. You guys make fun of me. You treat me like I’ve got rats living in my head.” He was standing now, too. Then, he grumbled to himself, “I don’t even know why I still come.”

Amy stopped jumping around and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t come.” Maybe he shouldn’t. It would save Daren and all his friends a lot of trouble.

But, Daren owed it to Pete.

He owed it to him because a few years ago Pete had come back after being gone since high school. He had showed at Daren’s house, crying, asking if he could come in. Daren had to let him in; he was crying. Pete had struggled with a lot. For a couple years he lived with his girlfriend. It was quite nice then. They would smoke weed every day after work, go out to Taco Bell or Freddy’s Burgers. Then, Pete met Anthony, a coworker at Home Depot. Anthony had gentle eyes and Pete said Anthony saw him the way Lila, his girlfriend, never could. But then Lila saw Anthony the way he never could. Pete started staying at Anthony’s on the weekends, telling Lila he was actually visiting a cousin or a brother or someone like that. Eventually, they Anthony found out Pete had a girlfriend, reached out to her, and together Lila and Anthony confronted Pete. His boyfriend, Anthony, kicked him right in the balls while Lila, the girlfriend, watched. City life, especially the ghetto, was always so much crazier than suburbia. Afterwards, as far as Pete thought, Anthony (the one who was gay) and Lila started dating each other. Pete blamed himself everything, including for pushing Anthony out of his gayness. He got into drugs: PCP, meth, acid, marijuana. He OD’ed on some stolen serotonin pills and ended up in the hospital for a while. The doctor advised him to go to rehab, but Pete — the way he described it — just wanted to slump into a ball, fit into a corner, and never see another goddamn human ever again. He did it too, for a while. First, he sold most of his things: the van, his clothes, his metal collection (metal music or metal metal, Daren wasn’t sure and never bothered to ask), and even his hair — and, as Pete said, “I guess you can only sell hair from your head,” whatever that meant. With the money, he bought as many days as he could in a motel and stayed there, slumped into a ball, in the corner, never to see another human again.

After Pete confessed it all to Daren, Daren let him sleep at his place for a while. Pete had never explained why he had decided to leave the corner and come visit Daren, his childhood…friend? Were they ever friends? Anyways, Daren finally asked him and Pete just said, “My buddies told me to.” Daren asked which buddies because Pete wasn’t supposed to have friends; he was avoiding humans. Pete answered, “I met them in the corner. They lived there with me.”

The next day, Daren had called his mom and ex-wife for some help. His mom thought it was something demonic. His ex-wife thought Daren couldn’t afford to feed another mouth. He did what they said. He kicked Pete out.

After that, Daren had avoided Pete. Sometimes when Daren was driving to the casino or the store he’d see Pete walking the sides of the road, usually talking to himself.

Then, just a little over a month ago, Daren had been walking into Vons when Pete appeared out of nowhere. He was holding two socks, one in each hand, one full of baking powder and the other tangled shoelaces; it was the first toy Pete had gotten from his buddies. While they talked, Pete never stopped smacking them together like one of those Newton cradle devices. Then, Pete followed Daren through Vons, crying, laughing, tripping, talking — mainly crying. He was crying so much. So, Daren invited Pete over for poker night.

Pete sat in his chair, the squirt gun sitting on the table now. He was crying again.

Daren softly said, “I think you should be coming to poker night, Pete. You haven’t got any friends.” Daren almost walked over beside Pete.

Pete grabbed the gun. “I do have friends,” he demanded.

“Pete.” Daren looked him directly in the eyes. “Those friends are not your friends. We’re you’re friends.” Pete put pointed to himself and Amy.

Amy chuckled. “I’m not,” she said with a smirk.

Daren said, “Amy stop. Just stop, damnit!”

She yelled, “No, Daren you stop. You know he shouldn’t be here. Fucking look at him.” She pointed to him. Pete was squeezing the squirt gun, his eyes red and wet.

“Exactly. Look at him. He needs us. He needs friends. People to care for him.”

Pete bolted to his feet, screamed so loud his voice was cracking. “None of you are my friends! None. None. None. I hate you. I hate you!”

Amy yelled back, “Good!”

Daren shouted, “Calm down,” to everyone.

But, Pete pointed the gun at Amy and fired. She playfully collapsed over in her chair and pretended to die. She was such a idiot. She was gonna make it worse.

Pete blinked. His breathing was heavy.

“Look, Pete. We’re your friends. Just put the gun down.

“These are my real friends,” Pete said and nodded sideways as if someone were standing there. Then, Pete, aimed at Daren’s face and fired, saying, “Dead.”