Sack of Potatoes

What was I thinking of when I dragged you through that neon-lit back alley? The one where the dogs pissed and the cats slept with all the old restaurant scraps like linens. What was I thinking carrying you over my shoulders like a corpse through the ugliest part of town?

You fell off.

Like us. Right into a puddle of...something unmentionable.

Maybe I was thinking that I didn't want you to scrap your knee downtown where it looked clean but was nothing more than a breeding ground for some untamable bug. Maybe I knew you'd fall down one way or another. Maybe I wanted it to be in the grass. The alley had grass. Tufts of it, anyway. And you did hit one. You just...also hit that puddle.

It was probably whiskey.

Kin Street was where the homeless went to get clean. Or at least pretend. They dumped their bottles there, tossed them in the recycle at the far end of the street, and slipped into the sober shelter.

Maybe I wanted to remind you that there was something worth fighting for.

Or maybe I needed the reminder, I don't know.

All I do know is that walking with your weight on my shoulders was a bigger burden than I expected. You just hung across me like a sack of potatoes, pressing the air right out of me. I tried to shift you once, but you cussed me out. So I kept you there, cozy and comfortable on my shoulders while you set something in my back and tweaked something in my hip. I managed a quarter of a mile before I realized I never wanted to carry you. Not drunk. Not sober. Not madly in love.

You pissed me off.

I wanted the potatoes.

It's all I could think about. Boiled potatoes. Mashed. Fried up with salt. Cut thick, cut skinny. Dipped in ketchup. Scalloped. Coated in seasoning. In cheese. In a milkshake. Double fried. Triple fried. Overpriced, underpriced. Goddamn, all I could think about were potatoes.

You were on my shoulders, but you stopped crossing my mind.

I tried to catch you when you slid off. Tried to help you up when you splashed into that puddle. But you cussed at me then too. And I just stood there. Listening. Because that's always what I did with you. I listened. This time, it was real hard not to hear.

The world was quiet.

You were loud.

I think I've got it this time, Ruby. You want to be saved...just not by me. Well, alright then, little lady. You enjoy your puddle of piss and I'll enjoy my baked potato.