A Happy Story

“I’m going to write a happy story,” Andrew proclaimed.

“What?” Jackson threw a card down on the small card table. “Hit me.” He grunted as he took a big hit on his shrinking cigarette.

“I’m going to write a happy story.” Andrew repeated. His pale skin seemed to glow under the naked bulb hanging a foot above the card table. He ran a hand through his dark, thick, and curly hair. His deep, brown, oddly circular eyes were wide and appeared unblinking as he stared at Jackson.

Jackson looked up from his cards, from under his dirty, every day worn baseball cap. His eyes were more of a milk chocolate color that stared uncomfortably hard into Andrew’s. Jackson straightened his hunched back and rubbed his working man’s hand against his tanned neck. He refused to wear sunscreen, despite Andrew’s insistence, which was quickly turning his constantly sunburnt skin into a playground for future cancer sites. His dark, golden-brown-red eyebrows furrowed and he grunted. He scrunched his heavily freckled nose. “What did ya say?”

“I. Am. Going. Towriteahappystory.”

“A what story?”

“What the fuck, Jacks? Someone throw a brick at your head and took out your hearing?”

“Oh fuck off, Drew.” He snatched his cigarette butt out of his chapped lips and smashed it into the ashtray to the right of his beer. He dug into his right, front pocket of his blue jeans and withdrew a dirty tube of carmex. “You gonna hit me or not?” He squeezed the tube and aggressively rubbed it onto his lips.

“Oh.” Andrew said quickly, remembering they were playing cards. He tossed in an other card.

“You’re going to write a… Hungry story?” Jackson asked slowly.

“For a nineteen year old you sure have bad fucking hearing.”

“For a twenty year old you sure have weak lungs… Did you quit smoking?”

“Nah.” Andrew pulled out a cigarette from Jackson’s pack on the table. “I’ll pay you back.” Jackson nodded up in agreement and stared a hole through the cards in his hands.

“Is the guy on a hunger strike?”

“Who?” Andrew asked while taking a puff. He had already looked at his cards and didn’t give a shit that he had two Kings and an Ace.

“In your story.”

“What story? What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jackson lowered his cards and shouted at Andrew. “In your gottdamn story! Someone throw a brick at your head?”

“WHY?” Andrew paused. “Would I write a story about a hunger strike?”

“You just! You just fucking said you were writing a hungry story!”

“Happy!” Andrew shouted. “A HAPPY story!”

“Happy?” Jackson looked as though someone had just told him the worse news imagenable.

“Yes. Yes, Jackson. Happy. I am going to write a happy story.”

Slowly, Jackson lifted his cards back to his eye level and mumbl. “What do you know about being happy?”