The Firefly Field Theory

|9| I Wish You'd Just Stop: Part IV

PART IV

“BANG! BANG!  INTO THE ROOM! I KNOW YOU WANT IT!” the screech of a Pterodactyl punctures my slumber.

“Shut that damned phone!” I hear Z yell.

Slowly drifting back to consciousness, my entire body feels like it was pegged onto a taffy making machine; stretched, distended and molded into the perfect gummy-taffy consistency. My eyelids are glued together and it takes me a concerning amount of effort to pull them apart. Once my eyes are open, I immediately slam them shut because they sting as the itchy rays of light enter them. I’m thinking this is slightly unfair, I don't drink and yet this level of being screwed up in the morning is the closest to a hangover I’ll ever experience.

Bravo is seated in the passenger seat in front of me; I’m sure after she’s done with her spastic dance she’ll come around to picking the phone up and sparing us the misery of hearing the arrhythmic affront to decent music; that is her ring tone.  A strained yawn escapes my mouth. It sends the tired muscles of my jaw into a mini spasm; shoots of pain arise along the length of my neck as I erect it to take in my surroundings.

Bravo finds her cell phone and answers it.

“Hello?” Her voice comes out rough and so-not-girly.

“…”

“She what?”

“…”

“Okay. Um, we’re in CSD’s parking lot.”

“…”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Who was it?” Z asks, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re not gonna believe it,” she lets out a really long yawn, “It was Omi.”

“What? When did he get back?” Z’s voice rises an octave, he sits up in the driver’s seat to face Bravo.

“I didn’t ask. Z, he said mom called him to ask where we were, since we weren’t picking up the landline number.”

“Oh God no!” He whispers in a ragged voice.

“He said he had no idea we were at FC’s concert, and mom started freaking out so he consoled her by saying he’ll get us back home safe.”

“But were perfectly fine.”

“Yeah but mom doesn’t know that. We’re in a ton of shit.”

“How come she didn’t call us up on our cell phones?”

“Oh.My.Sweet.Holy.Lord.” Bravo says, I nudge my head in between the two seats to see what that was about.

“What?” Z asks.

“Check your phone.”

Z shoves a hand in his back pocket and retrieves his phone.

“HOLY SHOOT! Eighty seven missed calls!” He clasps his hand around his mouth and his bloodshot eyes pop open.

Despite the fact that my tongue feels like sun baked flatworm and I'm sure I've got morning breath; I still contribute by saying, “Oh Boy.”

Bravo turns to look at me, then in her scruffy voice she says, “I probably didn’t hear it because of the loud music.”

“My cell was in silent mode.” Z says

“Shit.” The twins curse in sync.

“Where?” 

As an exercise for my cramped up neck I turn to look at Wall-e seated next to me in the back seat. He exhales like a walrus, while stretching out and clicking every vertebra in his back bone.