Das Roommate
A Short Story by Lise McClendon
Georgie struggled to smooth the yellow curls. "This humidity is ruining my hair."
Dolf rattled his newspaper. "And here I thought it was the breath of that crocodile. That fat one that didn't like you examining his tonsils."
"At least I have hobbies."
It was hot, so hot the skin on your neck burned -- inside the house. Georgie stepped back and straightened. The reflection never changed, except for occasional fogging. That, at least, was a good thing about the Afterlife. "And they aren't crocodiles. How many times do I have to tell you? Alligators. This is America! The great state of Florida! They're gators here."
"Scaly, toothy halitosis ads. They're green, for hades's sake. They're not like us. Who cares what you call them?"
Georgie ignored him and looked around the room, eyeing the piles of magazines and newspapers and books on either side of Dolf's chair with disdain. The man was incorrigible, a hoarder without a disaster, a strategist without an enemy. A rebel without a cause? Nowadays, anyway. Besides Dolf's mess, the trailer looked good, squared away. Tidy as a tick.
Dolf stayed behind the paper, reading about the Miami Dolphins. He identified with them in some visceral way, explainable to no one. The Dolphin madness went on and on — Dolf was in a mood like no other when the Dolphins won — no matter how often Georgie explained about the big smiling fish. Dolf had no concept of the animal world. Or any other world except Dolf's World. Everything was about Dolf.
Hands on hips, Georgie announced a foray to the flower garden. The flower show was only a day away. Buds had been nurtured, stroked, staked, netted, watered, and fertilized. Even Dolf had gotten out of his chair a few times to help. Georgie was getting anxious now, checking the garden once an hour. Sometimes more. Things had a way of getting fucked up around here, especially when you got your hopes up.
Dolf got up and went to his room. Georgie heard the door click. Locking his door again. The man was a paranoid. What did he do in there?
Outside, the sky was black and smoky. No wind, no sign of rain. But in the garden everything looked good. The dahlias were especially lovely, just bursting out, big and bold in yellows and pinks and oranges. Brassy, that was what Georgie liked. Those kick-ass dahlias knew how to strut their stuff.
The water can was empty. Georgie picked it up and walked around to the end of the trailer where a spigot came out of the ground. With a turn of the handle the water sputtered then shot into the metal can. The sound was fresh and so welcome, like hail on the prairie. A good honest sound. But the water, Georgie knew, was warm and putrid. Luckily the dahlias didn't mind.
Georgie was two steps back to the garden when he saw the man. It was the Big Guy. The one with a neck like a railroad tie and an alligator on a leash.
"Hey!" Georgie leaped forward, sloshing the water onto the parched ground. "Get away from there."
Big Guy stood rock solid next to the short garden fence. On most people it wasn't so short. He kicked the gator up to the white pickets.
"Look at the munchies, Scurvy," he growled. "Yummy."
"Get that gator off my property." George dropped the water can near the animal's enormous head. "Unless you want me to wrestle it for you."
Big Guy laughed, a thunderous sound. "I do that every night."
Georgie blinked, craning his neck up at the man. He sure was big. Maybe it would pay to be polite, just this once.
"Can I help you? Lose something?" Georgie tried to smile.
"Yeah." Big Guy dropped the leash from his dirty, fat paw. "Oops."
The alligator felt the change immediately, swinging its powerful tail toward Georgie and knocking over the water can. Water hissed as it sank into the earth.
Georgie eyed the gator. The gator eyed the dahlias, all rosy and fresh and delectable. Georgie's heart froze. All that work, those beautiful flowers. The alligator would either stampede over them, or eat them straight up, like oysters. Georgie had oysters once in the White House with President Grant. Or was it Taft? Strange. All he could remember now was the slimy, salty, gritty taste of raw oysters. His mouth began to water.
The gator didn't move. His jaws were open a couple inches, showing sharp daggers of teeth, upper and lower. Good dental health. Big Guy must brush for him.
"Look," Georgie said, a sort of pleading in his voice. He cleared his throat and straightened. He wasn't that type. "I'm sure we can work this out. Does your friend here — Scurvy, is it? Does Master Scurvy want a tomato or maybe an apple? I have something inside. What do you think, Mr. — "
The words clogged in his throat. That was how it began. Georgie couldn't call the enormous fella just Big Guy.
"Mister what?" Big Guy thundered from under a heavy brow. Rumors in the trailer court that he had been a Barnum & Bailey strongman and killed three people in a drunken brawl in the elephant pens came rushing back to Georgie. "Say my name, shrimp."
"But — "
"Say it, asshole."
Georgie stepped back from the man and his beast, glad he was wearing moccasins. He calculated the number of steps to the door. The flower garden began to droop under the harsh glare. The dahlias needed water. Petals began to brown before his eyes. Georgie felt surrounded, outnumbered, out-toothed.
"Get him, Scurvy!"
The gator lunged as Georgie spun toward the door. The powerful jaws caught his breeches above the ankle, sinking the ivories deep into the flesh, and whipping the man himself like a rag doll onto the dirt.
"You think this hurts? Huh? Is that what you think?" Georgie hissed through clenched teeth. It hurt like hell, but it wasn't going to kill him. He was past that. But he'd hate to go through eternity with only one foot. Somebody had paid a little something for him to get here with his hair intact. Losing a foot would be too ironic.
"Say my name and Scurvy will let you water your pretty little flowers, pansy boy."
"Why should I? You don't know my name."
"Sure, I do. You led your men, thousands of them, to get their scalps taken because you couldn't wait for your mates. You're famous. All the assholes along here are famous."
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