When the
bubble bursts it does so not with the abrupt bang of a popped party balloon,
rather its dry imploding snap is followed by a protracted deflation, collapsing
back against her face like a hot-air balloon surrendering its long-held breath
to gravity. She wads most of the gum together and returns it to her mouth.
Sitting
alongside her on the carpet, his back to the bed, Brother Skunk is unfolding
from inside the bubblegum’s wrapper a small colourful comic strip printed upon
glossy paper.
ache1:
And this one?
Skunk:
Jesus, okay. So, the guy in the red polo neck
ache1:
That would be Mort.
Skunk:
Sorry who’s reading this?
ache1:
Proceed.
Skunk.
Okay, the guy in, Mort, wait, as in death?
ache1:
Ahm, probably not, no. I can’t imagine that ah, Topps would, they’re not
going to feature Death as a character in their little comics for kids.
meeting
his raised eyebrows with
ache1:
What, you, you think maybe?
Skunk
(sighing): So in the first of three panels, Mort is saying to Bazooka
Joe “I got a tattoo” oh wait, it’s all in capitals. Should I do this in
capitals?
ache1:
God a’mighty READ IT OUT!
Skunk:
Okay, so in panel one Mort is saying to Bazooka Joe
swallowing
from his glass, then excitedly pointing at the comic
Skunk:
It’s in French at the side!
adopting
the vaguest approximation of a French accent
Skunk:
Would you like me to read thi- the French version?
The
look upon her face suggests not.
Skunk
(shaking his head): Mort to Bazooka Joe “I got a tattoo on my arm! It says
‘Mom’! Bazooka Joe to Mort “Wow – pretty slick! What’s” I can’t read this,
dammit.
ache1:
Why? Is there some-
Skunk:
No no, it’s, here
passing
it across
Skunk:
you read it yourself.
ache1:
No no no no no no no no no, you read it. You read it to me.
Please? Skunk?
Skunk:
But it’s rubbish, just… It’s pointless.
ache1:
Yeah I know, but I want to hear it all up.
Resigned,
he executes an exaggerated shaking of the strip up before his face, the flimsy
paper clenched between thumb and forefinger of both hands.
Skunk:
Okay, so if you recall, Mort has told Bazooka Joe that he has a tattoo that
says Mom. Bazooka Joe says,
ache1:
You can just call him Joe.
Skunk:
Um, that’s a little bit informal, isn’t it? I’ve, I mean, I’ve only just
met the guy.
He
wants to make her laugh, and not.
Skunk:
So, Bazooka Joe says “Wow – pretty slick! What’s your mom say?” to
which, in the final panel, panel three of three, Mort replies
neutering
the punchline by removing all emphasis and punctuation
Skunk:
“Nothing she just has a picture of an anchor.” Here
extending
it to her between pistol fingers.
ache1
(clapping her hands together): You know I think you could maybe have a career
reading these out on the radio. Like as a a a, as a commercial?
Examining
the comic she says
ache1:
These are ahm, these don’t even, they can’t… light a candle? Is that what I
want to say?
Skunk:
I don’t know, how would, what’s the gist of it?
ache1:
The the comics, they’re not ahm, they’re noplace near as good as the ones I
remember, not the dumb jokes, they’re, but just the drawings. Is it light a
candle? They don’t light a candle to
Skunk:
Hold a can-, wait, isn’t it hold a torch? Something holds a torch
to something?
ache1:
Couldn’t it be a candle?
She
collects up a discarded wrapper into which she folds the inert gum.
ache1
(lifting the hipflask): Where’s the ahm,
remarking
its missing cap and making a twisting gesture with the fingers of her other
hand
ache1:
where’s the cap for this?
before
drinking.
Brother
Skunk shakes his head.
ache1:
If you loved me, you’d buy a bunch of the old comics and stick ‘em in
these gums. That way
Skunk:
If I loved you?
ache1
(emphatically): If you loved me, yes, if you loved me.
picking
again at the now brittle pink membrane still clinging to her lips,
ache1:
If you loved me.
He
allows these words to remain echoing throughout the silence as now ensues.
All
sweetness gone, he is aware too of the gum losing its elasticity, every bubble
blown one less left it.
Thinning
the wad out repeatedly between his tongue and the back of his teeth, he
proceeds now to blow bubble after bubble, conscious of each as a small packet
filled with that breath peculiar to himself, each of these too one less left
him, until eventually making one he can remove from out his mouth, holding it
up with the thick base clump of gum by which it’s sealed. It stares back at him
like some small pale pink and sightless eyeball, the taut and shining surface
slowly becoming dry and wrinkled as his breath escapes.
Back
in his mouth he knows the bubblegum to be dead, but he works on at it
regardless.
Finally,
convinced of her hurt, he once more picks up the comic strip and begins
Skunk
(haltingly): “J’ai un nouveau tatouage…”
