Earl appeared in the doorway.
“Sup,” he said.
“Hey,” I said.
We were sort of silent.
“You gonna come in?”
“No, I’m good,” I heard myself say. I had rejected a normal invitation to go into his house. This made it clear that we were about to have an argument.
“O-ho,” crowed Maxwell.
Earl went from Mega-Pissed to Genuinely Mega-Pissed and Not Just in Default Mode.
“The fuck’s your problem,” he spat.
“Uh, I was talking to Rachel, and she told me you told her about the, uh, the film.”
All Earl said to that was “Yeah.” Maybe he was just pretending that he didn’t know this was a big deal. Maybe he was so pissed that he wasn’t even registering it.
“It’s just,” I said, babbling, “you know, I mean, you told Rachel about the films in the first place, and then you brought them over to her, without asking me, and it’s just like, you’ll tell her anything, like, it doesn’t even matter what I want, I’m not saying she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t know, or get to see them, I’m just saying, I wish you had asked me, first, I wish—”
“You know what? Just shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.”
“I just—”
“I’m tired of this shit. I’m really fucking tired of it. You gotta quit with this shit, man. Because I’m about to lose my motherfucking shit with this.”
Briefly I contemplated lecturing Earl about trust. I decided pretty quickly, however, that that was not going to work, and might also bring about the apocalypse. Also, it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to say words. Instead, I stood there and—there’s no good way to put this—attempted not to cry.
“Naw, shut the fuck up. You care so fucking much bout what other people think, you gotta be secretive as shit, gotta go round sucking errybody’s dick pretendin like you they friend cuz you care so much bout what they think, lemme fucking tell you: Nobody gives a shit about you. Nobody think shit about you. You ain’t got no friends. You ain’t got nobody who give a fucking shit about you.”
“Oka , kay.”
“Fuckin nobody. Errybody at school could give a shit about you, man. Errybody you all friendly with and shit could give a shit. You all worried bout what they think about you, man, they don’t give a fuck. They don’t give a fuck if you live or die, you pussy-ass bitch. They don’t give a fuck. Look at me. They don’t. Give. A fuck.”
“Oka ay. J Jesu , us.”
“Man, just shut the fuck up, because I can’t be hearing no more of this. Yeah, I fucking told Rachel about the films, I fucking gave her some of them dumb-ass films to watch, because she like the only person that do give a fuck. Yeah. She don’t have big-ass titties, so you don’t fucking care, but that other bitch don’t give a shit about you and, and fucking Rachel do, and you don’t fucking give a shit cuz you’re a dumb little bitch.”
“I d , d do.”
“Stop your fucking crying, bitch-ass.”
“O, Ok kay.”
“Goddammit stop cryin.”
“OK.”
Did I mention Maxwell was there for this? He was enjoying it. I am pretty sure his presence was making Earl more crazy and aggressive than he would have been normally.
“Now go on get the fuck outta here. I’m tired a lookin at your pussy ass. Crying and shit.”
I didn’t say anything or move. This caused Earl to get up in my face.
“God damn I’m sick and fucking tired a watchin you treat this girl like she some kind of, some kinda burden, when she the closest thing you fucking have to a motherfucking friend and she about to die on top of that. You know that, right? You dumb motherfucker. She home now cuz she about to die. That girl lyin there on her goddamn deathbed and you come to my house all whinin and cryin and shit about some irrelevant bullshit. I want . . . to kick your ass. You hear me? I want . . . to beat the fuck out of you right now.”
“Go for it.”
“You want me to?”
“I don’t ca , care.”
“Motherfucker, you want me to?”
I was in the middle of sarcastically but also tearfully saying, “Yeah, Earl, I fucking want you to,” when he punched me in the stomach.
So. There I was, for the second time in a month, lying in the Jackson front yard doubled over in pain, with a diminutive warlike kid standing over me. But this time at least it wasn’t a kid with a socially unacceptable word tattooed on his neck. He also wasn’t repeatedly slapping my face as I attempted to relearn how breathing works.
Instead, he was muttering things like, “Man, get up,” and “I ain’t even hit you for real.”
Maxwell chimed in a few times with “Yeah! Hit him again!” and “BUST HIS CANDY ASS.” But his heart wasn’t really in it. I think he was disappointed that our fight was so lame. In fairness to us, the notion that we would have an interesting fight is absurd. It was like expecting a good fight between a wolverine and, I dunno, an animal made out of marshmallows.
Eventually, Maxwell went inside and it was just the two of us out there, and if Earl was still angry, it didn’t seem to be at me.
“Goddamn, you a pussy. Get hit once in the gut, act like you dyin. Goddamn.”
“Unngh.”
“There you go. Walk it off, son.”
“Jesus.”
“Come on, let’s go to your place. Get to work.”
“Unnnh shit.”
“That’s right. Come on. I’ll help you.”
For Plan E we didn’t even use Dad’s camera. We used the low-quality camera on my laptop. We were inspired by YouTube. God help us.
Like whiny boring people all over the world, we decided that the best way of expressing ourselves was just to stare into the camera and talk. No script, no camera movement, no special lighting. We decided to strip all the effects away and see what was left.
Was this a terrible idea? Please stand by while I forward your question to the President of Yestonia.
INT. GREG’S ROOM — DAY
GREG
So. Rachel.
EARL
Sup Rachel.
GREG
We’ve tried, uh, a bunch of different ways of making a film for you, and uh, none of them have really turned out the way we wanted.
If you don’t script your dialogue, first of all, you’re going to pause and say “uh” at least a billion times. So for starters, you’re talking as though you’ve just suffered a semi-serious head injury.
EARL
We tried to do somethin with sock puppets, and it didn’t seem to be very relevant to your, uh, situation.
GREG
Uh, we had everyone at school say get-well wishes for the camera, but uh, you’ve already had a bunch of get-well cards, and we, uh, wanted to do something more uh personal than that.
EARL
We tried to do a documentary about you. Uhh
GREG
Uhhhhh
EARL
There was a shortage of material, to, uh, work with.
GREG
We tried this, uh, complicated stop-motion, uh, animation thing, to get you fired up about beating cancer, but, uh. It ended up just really goofy and, uh, not what we wanted.
EARL
So, now we’re, uh, trying this.
BOTH
[garbled]
GREG
You go.