Shakespeare Ashes

By Chris DeBrie

"I did not want to like this book." --Jenera Healy

"A fine and humourous novel about the modern American quarter life crisis." --Midwest Book Review

"From the very first page readers will be captivated by the writing style and language." --Reader Views

Donna wonders how she can forgive and forget. Charlene doesn't quite know what she wants. Robbie is usually thinking about which honey he plans to bag. Mary has all of these issues in one package. And Erven just does his best to obliterate the world.... in "Shakespeare Ashes", a viciously funny novel about five twenty-somethings, Chris DeBrie explores the complexities of love, gender, and race in twenty-first century America.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris DeBrie
• Release date: Mar 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458135261

Chris DeBrie

Chris DeBrie is an American publisher, cartoonist, and musician.

Book preview

Shakespeare Ashes

Shakespeare Ashes

by Chris DeBrie

copyright 2009, by D. Stevens

-smashwords edition-

a ‘Wash Your Hands’ Production.

No part of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except brief quotations for review purposes.

Yo! Tenderoni!

Hi, Erven.

I’ve been listening to some old Bobby Brown.

Howdy doody Erven! Hitler is gabbing away on the phone and INSPIRATION struck me. Inspiration is my twin by the way ha! ha! ha!

Seriously however, I write to you because I need someone to humour. Scratch humour, add harass....

Have you got a car? Hitler does! I don’t even have a license! I’ve finally got my permit and I’m doing really well. I take corners in fourth gear at about 20 miles an hour. Hitler does ’em in 3rd at about 25 miles an hour.

I write this letter two months after my last to you.

Hitler and I went jogging today.

I ran, she walked.

We went down to the lake again. I was waiting for her, I mean it to start talking to the lake-gulls. She didn’t.

We ended up going to my place. (I was legitimately sick.) HITLER ended up waggling English. Two of our friends came over. Engill, Francesca Barbatano and we listened to one of Prince’s new albums. I remember when he was getting off by creaming himself with Diamonds + Pearls.

Has Hitler ever told you about how we stole an Ovlov? What’s an Ovlov you ask?? It’s Volvo spelled backwards. And yes we stole an Ovlov....

for about 50 minutes. the car belongs to a girl called Nina. She’s from Queensland and you know how those Queenslanders are slow (in understanding jokes).

Bull crap. Nina is just a bit naive when it comes to terms concerning sexual reproduction. Until she was 17 years old, just a few years ago, she didn’t even know what an orgasm was, plus just about everything else. She only knows the basics.

Nina is no exception. We asked to borrow her keys (stupid girl!) and we re-parked it in front of the chapel. Hitler drove. It was really funny afterwards (in a bizarre way) because Monique copped the flak for it.

All of Yr. 12 found out and we’re laughing still.

Later Nina complained Hitler, I mean Tyrannosaurus Rex, broke the handbrake. How? You broke my car. It shakes now when I am driving. You’re only meant to pull the handbrake up halfway. Isn’t that the most bizarre dorky geekish insane thing you ever heard? Queenslander all the way!

the car goes properly with the handbrake halfway up

Hey, have I told you about my English teacher or Nina’s bush pig boyfriend? Do you want to hear about it? I’m going to tell you anyway. First my English teacher. She’s Irish and despite that fact she’s been here for close to 20 years.... Well anyway, for seniors, they have a roll system (not bread wise) where we have a sign-on book and a certain line is reserved for your name on which we sign. My name is on the last line as such:

T. Rex

the Freak of Nature

here is where my name is

freak of nature: a girl who’s half-bald, has dentures and no eye brows.

Well anyway, she doesn’t seem to notice my name until the end of the month/term/semester when absences are tallied and reports are sent home. Hitler scowls at me for this but what I do is when I waggle class, the next lesson, I sign in. Usually slashes are put through absentees’ slots but so far, my teacher hasn’t noticed. One of the goody-two-shoes in class has noticed though.

There was this one time when I signed in and left. Stupid teacher didn’t notice and the lesson was 75 mins long.

Oh yes she did!

Hitler couldn’t find her teacher so we waggled together. No doubt you’re asking about Nina’s aforementioned bush pig boyfriend. Definition: Bush pig: A term you give to a real oinker of a guy.

Ha! Ha! Ha! What a stinker!

I know! I know! My jokes are complete porkers!!! And should be skewered over a barbeque!

I run myself hogging mad at times.

I better stop being pig-headed now.

Seriously. I’ll stop the pig jokes.

I’m not the one who should be talking about Nina’s boyfriend but there is (yet another) joke about him. Rex

Francesca

told me it.

Nina thinks the world of her boyfriend (of course!) But apparently there is much to said about his looks.

not to mention personality

Unfortunately, he’s a victim of severe acne. Well the story goes (vaguely) something like this: Nina gives him love-bites (vacuum cleaners) on his

zit-infested

neck. When Fra B. heard, she went Now that’s what I call sucking the pus!

Now all I hear when something goes wrong is SUCK PUS AND DIE! And you know what? I probably will die if I suck pus.

She always cracks disgusting jokes.

I shouldn’t be so disgusting or judgmental!

Has that ever occurred to you though? People have judged you by what they are told about you?

It happens to me all the time. I’m not kidding! At school, it is trendy to hate wonderful me.

I agree with what Rex said and that is that people are afraid of something different.

I like going from one moment to the next, not knowing what’s going to happen next. I like to be unpredictable. I thrive on spontaneity. I’d hate to become a predictable bush pig.

No danger of that happening, it’s already too late. JUST KIDDING! She hit me.

I know! I know! My jokes are getting porkier by the page.

Ha! Ha! Snort! Snort!

Have you ever been cow-pushing?

I have, and Tea almost fell in the bin. She hit me again.

No you don’t get behind a cow and push them. You do it at night. Apparently, cows sleep standing up. Cow-pushing is when you push the cow over (at night.) and they just fall over. I’ve never done it.

Shemar Moore has though. YUM. No. I’m kidding again. But he would even look sexy doing that.

Well, I’ve harassed you enough for tonight.

Talk, I mean write to you soon there, sonny boy

Tea

Chapter 1. Donna

a year ago to the day, when i removed nicio's ring, i had to scrub my hand with soap for a good fifteen minutes to get it off. why did i eat so much last weekend? i remember thinking. mikul was in the bathroom doorway holding his phone. my brother will be here around noon to get the rest of my things, i told him.

"he's coming?" mikul said.

he and a friend of his. joey says they borrowed a van.

does joey have a key to get in here? 'cause i'm not trying to be here to let that guy in. no offense.

it’s okay. he does have one.

good.

i know he can be hard to take...

mikul huffed. it always comes down to him wantin to fight. it gets old.

i told you what he was like. now you know why he and i don’t get together much. i held the ring up. i could see it and my face in the mirror. just looking at myself hurt.

one day he gonna run up on somebody who's badder than he is.

that's what his dad used to tell him.

that was nicio on the phone just now, he said. mikul was five-four, a petite man. he liked to dress in earth tones—browns, tans, reds. he had shoulder-length dreads and always left a trail of cocoa butter scent. he called so i could stop you from leaving until he gets off work. be an hour or so.

i'll be with mother by then.

wait a minute. i promised him.

i picked up my suitcase (two changes of clothes) and my bag dinner (leftover beans and rice). you're a good friend, mikul. tell him you tried.

he followed me into the kitchen. the unopened bottle of red wine was still floating in its ice bucket. nicio and i had been about to pop the cork the night before. i had just said Yes. we were supposed to celebrate that. i could get no higher, no happier.

except that girl called out of the blue, and i saw a name on his caller ID before he could grab it off the counter. i answered like a fool, she said what she said... nicio and i started fighting, and wine... well, we forgot about that.

"you're the love of his life, donna."

i think, i said, i've heard that one before.

i had the ring in my palm. holding all my stuff, i almost dropped my lunch and dropped the ring instead. i always was a klutz.

mikul picked the ring up on a bounce. he's gonna hate that you took this off. let me give it to him.

my organizer had a hidden pocket; i slid the ring into a side pocket. i touched the notebook's leather, tracing the round outline. i want to hand it to sissy myself. i'd feel better doing it that way.

look, he knows he messed up—

don't, please.

the wedding is in a few months, donna. give him a chance.

i put my things back together and stopped at the door. he's already said all this...

he closed his mouth and looked at me.

my grandma, i said. you know what she tells me? if you can't take everybody possibly knowing what you do, then don't do it. wow—my arms were already tired. i always forgot that clothes are so heavy. that stands up no matter what kind of person you are.

mikul's eyes shone. we'd grown up together in church, through bible study, sunday school, and youth council. i had a long way to go, but i wanted truth. i wanted righteousness—eventually. he understood.

goodbye mikul.

for now, donna.

***

what i want to tell you, mother, is that i am not that picky anymore. or maybe i'm more picky than i've ever been.

mother tried not to laugh and did anyhow. donna, you are twenty-seven! not fifty-seven like me. and even if you were... please. you sound like such a fatalist.

that's what i say. ‘please.’ i want a real man.

you mean like a cowboy? what the hell is a real man anyway?

i mean... not a cowboy. not a ball player or a musician. no barbie fantasies. ken can go to hell.

"all men are screwed up, donna. not just ken. they’re kind of like those coupons that people leave on the shelf at the grocery. you think you’ve found something, you pick it up, and it’s either total garbage or the coupon has expired. never anything you really want to take home."

we were off point. bottom line: i'm not going to marry nicio. fifth street methodist was ten minutes away. not very long to get my courage up, but this had to be done in person. a phone call, of course, would not do. that's the way HE might have done this. i put mother's jaguar into drive. god knows why, but i was thinking about the the way nicio treated my body. my breasts. 'the niblets,' he called them. he was a good lover; he always seemed to enjoy the act and enjoy me. he was so good that i needed all this time to see that was the only thing he really felt.

bastard, i thought, and nearly started crying.

you're running all the way to atlanta to be a freelance writer... ridiculous.

life is ridiculous.

you got no real plans and you'll be sleeping on somebody's couch.

it'll build character.

don’t you love him? she said, turning in the passenger seat. she was talking in her loud whisper. mother used that dramatic tone when she wanted me to know i was ‘hurting’ her. up until i was about thirteen, that tone would cave me in. but thirteen was half a lifetime ago. did you ever?

mother.

he made a mistake. think about your future.

i know what that means, but i never planned to marry his bank account.

his bank account is a part of him. that's how it works. and it’s a big part.

a detachable part... the rest is no good, apparently.

what are you waiting for, donna? i thought this is what you wanted. i thought he said he'll support you both while you write your articles and books...

why is she trying to talk me out of this? i thought. stupid question. because she was who she was.

i hate when you do this, she said after a nice silence. she began eating her nails.

what? i knew what.

you get that simple little set to your jaw, fool girl, and when i see that, i know there's no helping you.

yea. well. maybe i don’t need help.

you need it, all right.

i was angry that she was making this about me instead of about nicio’s lies. it didn't matter if i was any good at writing, or that i loved it; not to her. the whole art thing just wasn't at all respectable to her. i suppose because there were very few wealthy writers. she didn't understand that i had to write. i didn't only want to.

we got to the parsonage driveway before she said another word. it's not too late, donna.

i opened my door and she grabbed my hand.

we don't have to tell reverend sweet yet, she said. at least wait until you have time to cool down.

i don't need more time. more time would only make me more sure. she was the confused one, acting as if i'd stolen something from her. i love him, i always will... but the trust is all gone now and i think he's even glad about it. are you going to let me go, mother?

she followed me up the walk, kicking a random paper cup like a child.

mrs. sissy sweet lifted the kitchen door curtain. the reverend's wife and nicio's aunt. she smiled that big smile. her church's next bride, or so she thought.

she never even looked me in the face again after that day. so much for forgiveness.

***

martinsville went by my window on US220. i was almost home... i should have been happy to be back.

you can begin again, i thought. this is what you wanted. this is why you left a year ago. and now that nicio's not in roanoke, a new start might even be possible.

yea, right. i was trying to be confident, but it wasn't working. for one, he wasn't exactly gone. not when i still had the occasional (very intense) dream about him. for two, there was a lot more to worry about than him. noting how nervous i was and that i hadn't stopped thinking about what was back in roanoke for the entire drive... obviously i was my mother's daughter. for sure. she had always obsessed over what might happen, too.

i missed her. i hadn't been back until now. but i was glad she wouldn't be home when i got there. i needed a night to depressurize before i could handle the questions. she was in washington for the inauguration. i found obama on an AM station giving his speech, trying to imagine mother in that crowd. she was probably in there striking up conversations with strangers and appraising their jewelry. the question we ask today is not whether our government is too big or too small, but whether it works, he was saying.