Thirty

Daniel Addas





Cooper glares at me. I don't glare back. I opt instead to state at my trembling hands on my lap.
The door opens.
It's Freddy, the family fifty-two-year-old lawyer, that wears his hair to his shoulders. He's the only Chinese lawyer I know of. His skin is too white against the dark navy suit he's wearing. Style is something Freddy takes seriously. As all lawyers should.
He dresses how a lawyer should dress, in tailored suits that fit with impeccable tightness and on a good day he might throw in some sunglasses so that he looks like those men from The Matrix. Because his body has never been to the gym (steroids wouldn't help either), Freddy looks like an underfed Matrix agent. He's carrying a briefcase that shows my reflection. Got to appreciate a man that values neatness.
"Michael," he says to Cooper . "You had no right to talk to my client without me present."
"We gave your clients the opportunity to call you, they had no qualms about talking to us."
Michael gives Cooper this look. I call it the T'Fuck Look. He wears his face with raised eyebrows, parted lips and accusing eyes. "Of course not, they're teenagers. Couldn't their Aunt be present at least."
Cooper is not affected by this look. He doesn't even look apologetic. Yes, I can see it now. The conviction in his eyes. He believes Clara and I are guilty. "Teenagers that killed their own father?"
Freddy stands beside me so that he can partake in a prissy pissing contest with Cooper. "Do you have evidence against any of them?"
Cooper blinks, he's lost and he groans. He combs his thin hair with his fingers. When he retrieves his hand, it shines. Baby oil. "No."
"I hear they have been here for hours. I'm taking them home."
"Fred, look—"
I interrupt him. I suddenly need to shit. Strongly. Hell, I've never heard of anyone who'd wanted to take a shit in a police station, but how could I not?
The worst thing is that I'm sitting down, which is not the worst position to hold poop in because it applies pressure on the abdomen. I stand and pinch my ass cheeks. This is so embarrassing. I tense my butt so hard that I shake. "I need—"
"Don't say anything. The only time they'll speak to you now is through me. Let's go." Of course my lawyer thinks I want to say something that'll incriminate me.
"Now Fred, you don't get it. I need to..." I trail off because the room is suddenly too quiet. They all look at me, expect me to carry on. How can I? How do I tell them I have something special brewing? It's probably that chunk of pork ribs, eggs and chilli soup I had last night at Brandy's house. Dammit, I knew it was a bad idea.
I can't hold it in anymore. There's too much air in my stomach. So, me thinking if I let out just a little bit of gas then I can prolong the need to poop. I try to do the sneaky-lean-to-the-side-silent-fart. Oh but I let loose a killer. A tremendous BA-BA-RUUUPPP! Long and loud, I know immediately it's going to be bad. It bursts out of me so bad that it causes the three other faces in the room to swivel their heads around in a frantic quest to put a face behind the murderous sound.
Suddenly they all turn to me when another final "deep" echoes through the room.
It isn't until about ten seconds later that we all realise it's actually much worse than we thought. This noxious mixture of rotten eggs and dead rats swirls around us.
Before Ms. Pretty starts gagging she goes: "The fuck is wrong with you?"
"I am so sorry." For farting. And quickly walk away. Holding my breath.
When I break outside I exhale loudly and inhale clean fresh air. I sigh in gratitude.
Fuck! It smelled like death in there. Gastroenterologists would have my ass on the stove for such a stinker.
I call a cab and text Cindy: I'm coming over. She responds when the cab is half way to her house with a very enthusiastic call. She's waiting for me. Excellent.
When I walk in Cindy is dressed in her usual attire; baggy jeans and an old T-shirt. She's not very fashionable.
She's pushing dirty clothes under the unmade bed. At least she maintains great personal hygiene. Which, I must admit, is quite questionable at times.
She spots me, quickly sits at the edge of the bed looking out of the window, acting uninterested, pretending she hasn't seen me. I pretend like I don't see the clothes peeking under the bed, the empty pizza box on her otherwise empty bookshelf.
Nerves eat at my conscious and I tremble. Why am I so nervous all of a sudden? Cindy isn't the type of girl that expects much in sex. I don't even have to try that hard to get her "in the mood". She never goes down on me, I certainly return the favour. Obviously. I'm a selfish lover, yeah, yeah, yeah. Most men are too. I'm nothing special.
Cindy is not the usual girl I go our with. She's geeky without an ounce of sexy thrown in. Pretty but dangerously bordering on plain. Small ass titties and a butt so small that I can't even grab onto. She's built like a stem fridge.
Her mind is gorgeous. Intriguing even. Sometimes I want to burst her head open (in a non-violent way) and study it. She challenges me in an unusual way.
Cindy wears thick glasses. She's worn her hair curly and to her shoulders long before we met (I've seen pictures of when she was younger). She looks the same everyday, come rain come sunshine. She's predictable. She's boring. Reliable. She never asks questions nor does she go after my heart. She barely talks, the result of social awkwardness. Even when she does engage in conversation it's usually about something that happened in biology class. I tune her out. Which is why (I think) I feel safe with her. Just being near her sometimes gives me a measure of comfort. I always feel secure.
And, true to cause, she begins talking about the reproduction of animals. I die. I can't hear what she's saying, her voice, which is rather high pitched and unpleasant, gets in on one ear and doesn't even make it to the brain before it comes out on the same ear. I can't hear her over my thoughts. My gaze lingers on those moist full lips and I gulp. They look warm, delicious. I shake my head. The last thing I want to do right now is to talk about reproduction of animals.