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Show Ferguson Lives Butch and Fenn Stories 20 "I've got Ferguson," Butch says. He's in trouble-I can tell by his voice that we're in for some kind of whole show. "I've had Ferguson for five years, and I still have him." "Hey, great," Fenn says. "Great. And I hope you can keep him five more. So, that means that it is not new pet time around here; it's taxidermy experiments, eh, Butch? Am I right?" Butch then takes a running jump at Fenn and lands both feet in Fenn's chest, and they go over the old couch into the bicycle stockpile; somebody is going to get hurt, and they are really fighting. It's a pretty good place to fight because all the junk muffles the sound, and there is a lot of good stuff with which to hit the other guy. They are mainly crawling over each other slugging, but I can see, from time to time, a flower pot swung in the half light, the muffled crash. Other things rise and catch light: part of a clarinet, a dictionary, an old iron. There are going to be more stitches it would seem. Finally, Butch pushes hard and disentangles himself from Fenn's slug-wrestle. Neither is crying. I know that Fenn cannot see Butch in the dark cellar, and so I say: "Don't hit me, Fenn. I'm over here." Butch is holding still against the fruit shelves, trying to still and cover his wheezing breath. He is holding a set of bicycle handlebars in his hand, and with two steps he could clock Fenn into space. "Don't do it, Butch," I say. "Let it go. Let's do something else. Something interesting. Besides," I lie, "I think I heard your father come home." |
