Not a Poop

"It's a poop, isn't it? It better not be a poop." Gus is in his doorway, staring at the bag on the porch, a brown paper bag. Not a large grocery bag, or the kind fancy brunch places use as doggie bags. Just a lunch bag. The kind you fill with poop and leave on someone's porch.

"It's not a poop, I promise." My countenance betrays nothing. I am Steven Wright. I am Buster Keaton. My face is like stone. Like Ben Stone, Michael Moriarty's stone-faced character from Law & Order. Sam Waterson can kiss both our asses with his telltale smirk.

"Pick it up and look inside. It's not a poop."

I can tell Gus wants to believe me. We've been friends for more than 30 years. He should know better.

"Why did you leave it there? If it's a gift, why didn't you just hand it to me?"

"I didn't think you were home."

"Then why'd you ring the doorbell?"

"Just in case."

Gus thinks about it. He's not quite there yet. But I can feel him pulsing. He wants so badly to see what's in the bag, he's electric. He steps toward the bag. His present. Something clicks.

"If it's a gift, why isn't it in a gift bag? Why is it in a plain brown paper bag?"

"It's not your birthday gift or anything, I just saw something and thought of you, so I got it. The bag was handy," I say, all nonchalant. Maybe too nonchalant. He backs away from the bag, just a half step, but in the wrong direction.

“It is my birthday, though.”

“But it’s not your birthday gift. I’ll give you that at the BBQ. This is something else.”

"Yeah, a poop. You saw a poop and thought of me. Is that the joke?"

"I swear to god, Gus," as I walk toward the porch. "I'll just take it back if you don't want..."

"NO! I never said I didn't want it!"

"You sure aren't acting like you want it!"

"Jesus, give me a second, man! It's not every day a bag just appears on my porch."

"It didn't just appear, I put it there."

"Exactly! That's my point!" Gus thinks he has a point. He doesn't.

"What's your point?"

"It's a poop!"

"That’s not a point! If it’s a poop, then why isn't it on fire? Why would I just leave a bag of poop on your porch? The fire is the point of that joke! The point is to get you to stomp on the burning bag of poop - no fire, no point, no joke!" Now he thinks I have a point.

"Like in the movie, right?" He is so plaintive with that, so childlike and pure, remembering the classic we saw together at the Eagle Theater 34 years ago.

"Can't Buy Me Love."

"You shit on my house!" he yells in his best Courtney Gaines. He's laughing now. I almost have him. Nostalgia is a bullet.

Courtney Gains was our guy. We saw all the great CG movies together. Hardbodies. Colors. We saw Children of the Corn five times at the Highland 3 Theaters - we’d see another movie, then sneak in and re-watch CotC. My confirmation name was Malachi. I was He Who Walks behind the Rows for Halloween that year.

We were Gainsheads. Gainiacs. We saw all his movies, right up through The 'Burbs. Then Gus's family moved to Fontana, Gus moved with them. My family moved to Apple Valley, I stayed in L.A. Gus had a car, but Fontucky was a trek, so I saw Memphis Belle alone. After that Courtney Gains did mostly TV anyway. Coincidence? Maybe.

"No fire, no joke" he says softly. He’s hooked. He goes for the bag, picks it up. Opens it, looks inside.

“You asshole,” he says, but he’s still laughing. He steps off the porch and pours the bag’s contents onto his lawn. A pristine, still wrapped cassette of The Blow Monkeys second album, Animal Magic. The one with “Digging Your Scene,” featuring a glam shot of lead singer Dr. Robert on the cover, all glorious cheekbones, piercing blue eyes and sophisti-pop pompadour.

Gus dumps out the cassette, and also a poop.

“You saw it and thought of me.”

“Yeah, it's the hair. How you wore it back then. You’re like a boy among men. You'd like a permanent friend."

"I'd like to think that I was just myself again,” he sings in his best Dr. Robert.

"Plus you're my favorite turd," I say. "Happy birthday, buddy.”

“Thanks, buddy.”