Antsy Does Time

I picked up one of her rags and polished the high part of the china cabinet that she had trouble reaching. She smiled at me, kinda glad, I guess, that I did it before she asked.

“So, do I gotta wear the shirt in public?”

“No,” she says. “Maybe,” she adds. “Probably,” she concludes.

I don’t argue, because what’s the use? When it comes to Aunt Mona, the odds of walking away a wi

Right around then the doorbell rang, and Mom looked up at me with wide eyes and froze. I know what she was thinking. Aunt Mona never showed up when scheduled. She would come early, she would come late, she would come on a different day altogether. But a whole week early?

“Naa,” I said to Mom. “It couldn’t be.”

I went to answer it, fully prepared for a blast of flesh-searing fragrance. But it wasn’t Aunt Mona—instead it was two kids—fourth or fifth graders by the look of them, holding out pieces of paper to me.

“Hi, we’re collecting spare time for a kid who’s dying or something—would you like to donate?” “Let me see that!” I snatched one of the papers from them. It was my own blank contract—second- or third-generation Xerox, by the look of it. Someone had taken one of my official contracts and was turning out counterfeits!

“Where’d you get this? Who said you could do this?”

“Our teacher,” said one kid.

“Our whole class is doing it,” said the other.

“So are you going to donate, or what?”

“Get lost.” I slammed the door in their faces.

So now collecting for Gu

I didn’t bother my parents with this—they had enough on their minds, and they’d probably just say “So what?” and they’d be right. It was petty and dumb to think that I owned the whole idea ... but the thing is, I liked being the Master of Time. Now there were people ru

“Think of those little kids as disciples,” Howie said, when I mentioned it to him the next day. “Jesus’ disciples did all the work for him after he wasn’t around no more.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still here—and besides, Jesus knew his disciples.”

“That’s only because the lack of technology in those days forced people to have to know each other. Now, because of computers, we really don’t gotta know anybody, really.”

Then he went on about how today the Sermon on the Mount would be a blog, and the ten plagues on Egypt would be reality TV. None of this addressed the issue, so I told Howie I was leaving, but by all means he should continue the conversation without me.

I think this whole prickly, offended feeling was the first warning. I was sensing things getting out of control—not just out of MY control, but out of control in general. My little idea of giving Gu

As it turns out, they’d be right this time. My monster didn’t have a soul... and I was about to find that out.

11 It’s Amazing What You Can Get for $49.95

There’s this junkyard off of Flatlands Avenue where they salvage anything they can from junked cars and dump the cars into massive piles before crushing them into metal squares about the size of coffee tables. It’s the kind of place you might invent in a dream, although in a dream, the metal squares would talk to you, on account of they’d be haunted by the people who got murdered and thrown into the trunk before the car got crushed.

Gu

I did most of the looking, because Gu

“Tell you what. Why don’t you make it a surprise?”

“Come on, Antsy, I need your opinion. I like this white one, but it’s a little too girlie. And then this one—I don’t know, the wood looks like my kitchen cabinets. That just feels weird.”

“It all feels weird,” I told him.

“It must be done.”

“So let someone else do it. Why should you care? You’re go

Now he was getting all miffed. “It’s about the image I want people to be left with, why can’t you understand that? It needs to express who I was, and how I want to be remembered. It’s about image—like buying your first car.”

I glanced at the catalog and pointed. “Fine—then go with the gunmetal-gray one,” I said, fairly disgusted. “It looks like a Mercedes.”

He looked at it and nodded. “Maybe I could even put a Mercedes emblem on it. That would be cool.”

The fact that Gu

He looked at me like there was something wrong with me instead of him. “Why would I want to do that?”

’You’re not supposed to be enjoying it. That’s all I’m trying to say. Enjoy other stuff... but don’t enjoy... that.” “Is it wrong to have a healthy attitude about mortality?”

Before I can even deal with the question, I hear from behind me—

“Yo! Dudes!”

I turn to see a familiar face coming out from behind a pile of taillights. It’s Skaterdud. He gives me his official Skaterdud handshake, which I’ve done enough to actually remember this time. He does it with Gu

“D’ya get my kick-butt donation?” Skaterdud asks.

“Huh?” says Gu

“Liquid nitrogen, man. We’re talking freeze-your-head-till-they-can-cure-you kind of cool, am I not right?”

“No ... I mean yes. Thank you.”

“Hey, ever consider that, man—the deep freeze? Cryonics? I hear they got Walt Disney all frozen underneath the Dumbo ride. The chilliest place on earth, right? Gotta love it!”

“Actually,” I said, “that’s made up.”

“Yeah,” admitted Skaterdud, “but don’t you wish it wasn’t?”

It’s then that I realize that I am the gum-band of sanity between these two jaws of death. On the one hand there’s Gu

Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else but in the mouth of madness.

“Listen, Skaterdud, I got somewhere I gotta be,” which was true—and for once I was grateful I was needed to pour water at my dad’s restaurant. “Do you know where we could find car parts so old and cruddy nobody actually wants them?”

Turns out Skaterdud knew the salvage yard well—his dad was the guy who crushed cars.

“Go straight, and turn left at the mufflers,” he told us. “Best be careful. Ain’t no rats don’t got steroid issues around here. We’re talking poodle-sized, comprende?”

“Rats don’t bother me,” Gu

I, on the other hand, have no love of furry things with non-furry tails. As I rummaged through the appropriate junk pile, afraid to put my hand in any dark hole, I began to wonder if I’d be more like Gu