Postmarked Zolvinskiland

Chapter 19, Blog 1

By Chuck Wells As Told To Ray Hochgesang

chuckwells2008@gmail.com

 

Then Ralphie dropped his own homemade bomb.

“Ya know whut? I think I might wunt to try, too,” he said.

“Try? Try what? Did I miss something here? Did you hit your head?”

Ralphie shifted forward. I could hear the sofa springs plead for mercy under the monstrous burden.

“ ’Member when we were kids, and we staged da Olympics in your backyard? Ya made ever’one march in with those dumb dime store flags your mom bought.”

“We must have been 6 or 7,” I said.

“Yup,” said Ralphie. “Seems like a hundred years ago, don’t it?”

“I’m surprised you even remember,” I said. “I forgot about it.”

“Dat’s back when I could outrun your ass,” said Ralphie. “That’s why.”

Now I sat up.

“Like hell you did.”

“Used to kick your ass on a regular basis.”

“I can’t recall one time you beat me, you big clod.”

“Sounds like repression ta me.”

With all those dead brain cells of his, it was amazing Ralphie could remember his own address. But he did remember our backyard Olympic Games.

“We made medals out of cardboard and ribbon and gave ’em ta da winners,” he said. “I still have a drawer of ’em at home.”

“And we would sing the ‘Star Spangled Banner’ because we Americans would always win,” I said. “We dominated the old neighborhood.”

“Except the long jump. Dat damned Zolvinski kid would win da long jump,” said Ralphie. “Ever’time. He’d win, and we’d sing sumthin’ dat sounded like a funeral march.”

“It was the theme from the old ‘Alfred Hitchcock Presents’ show. We said it was the national anthem of Zolvinskiland. That always pissed him off.”

Ralphie and I chuckled at the memory.

“We really picked on him, didn’t we?” said Ralphie.

“Yeah, but he deserved it.”

“Well, said Ralphie. “I’ve bin thinkin’ about all dat crap since ya got us hauled off to jail. Dat whole night I couldn’t sleep.”

“I heard you. You were snoring.”

Copyright © 2012 by Chuck H. Wells/Ray Hochgesang

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