Butter

I’d like to say I hadn’t pictured my life going like this but, honestly, it’s pretty damn close. Peaches and I grew up in the boons where kids threw rocks at windows or stole hood ornaments off cars for something to do. Thinking back now, it was stupid to expect anything else from that crap hole town.

Our parents did the best they could. Our pops Juda was a mechanic at a local shop. He worked hard to feed the family and it couldn’t have been easy, since the four of us ate like it was a contest. Ironically enough, pops was crushed to death at work by an 89’ Ford Fiesta “Hot Dog”.

I was twelve and Peaches was fourteen when mamma died. She was watching ‘Days of Our Lives’ and had a massive heart attack. She didn’t even make it past the opening with the hourglass. After the funeral we had to move in with our mom’s sister, aunt Francis.

Aunt Francis was a nice enough woman. She clothed us and fed us, and boy could we eat. She never complained. I think after mamma and pops died she didn’t want to keep us from anything we wanted. But aunt Francis was a very odd woman. She lived in a small blue house with about twenty cats and I’m pretty sure she thought she was a witch.

One afternoon when I got home from school, I saw aunt Francis in a small room off the kitchen. The door was cracked open and she was dancing naked around a large pot. Her titties flopping all about. After that, it was hard not to picture those huge sweater cans swinging in the breeze.

Peaches isn’t even my sisters name. Pops gave us nicknames of his favorite foods. She got Peaches from peach cobbler, which everyone thought was cute and me… well old pops called me Butter, on account of him saying I looked like a butterball turkey. I begged him not to call me Butter, but it stuck and followed me my whole life. I always thought my actual name Willa would have been better.

We were never the thinnest of families anyway. There were two things my mom loved more than my dad and that was Crisco and her stories. I swear if she had the chance, she would’ve been happy spending her days with her butt on the sofa, spooning fat into her kid’s mouths, pretending it was chewable Flintstone vitamins. But, neither of our parents lived long enough to see their kids hit extremes in the fat department.

And now here we are, running from a burning factory and on to the next hopeful crime scene. I look over my shoulder at Peaches, beads of sweat dripping down her flushed, round cheeks, frizzy brown hair matted to her forehead and the whole time, when I should be thinking about the 5-O who’ll be here any second, all I can think is… Damn, she’s a fat bitch.

Let me explain. In order to understand why we are running from a burning factory full of potted meat, you have to understand where we started.

I was fifteen the first time I saw one of those old crime movies where someone witnesses a murder and they get put in that witness protection thing. You know the one I’m talking about. Someone sees a dead body and bam! It’s an episode of Oprah. “Everyone look under your seats! YOU get a new identity and YOU get a new identity.”

As we got older, Peaches and I dreamed of ways to get out of the neighborhood. She was supposed to be older, but it was always me taking care of her. When it came to us getting jobs, I got Peaches a job wherever I worked. But the whole time, we would joke with aunt Francis about getting new identities.

When I hit eighteen and I got work at a movie theater, sure enough, the next day Peaches started. Of course, it was a porno theater called “Hard Harry’s”, but in our neighborhood, it was the only place that stayed busy enough to guarantee hours.

Then again, when you weigh as much as we do, it’s not great that you’re surrounded by pervs all day and no one hits on you. I attribute that to the “Goliath” popcorn, free for employees. It had so much butter on it, we used to bring it home and empty it into Tupperware for toast. Ok, more like a loaf of bread. Don’t judge.

By the time I hit my twenty-second birthday, I thought all hope of skipping town was lost and accepted my position at Harry’s. I got promoted to manager, which meant I didn’t have to “clean” the theater after a viewing and that was the biggest perk. My rule was ‘If your feet stick to the floor, head for the door’. Peaches and I finally had our own apartment and we were doing well.

And that friends, is when everything went to shit…

Peaches called me one evening when I was finishing up my shift at the theater. I couldn’t answer because I was dealing with an asshole that wanted to argue with me about a refund. As he put it, ‘I didn’t ask for a film with bitches that look like you.’ I replied, “Then don’t buy a ticket for a movie called, ‘Moby Dicks: One Whale with a Tale’…

When I called Peaches back, she told me aunt Francis died. The landlord said we had to clean out her things by the weekend or she would throw them out. I told Peaches I would meet her there after my shift and we could get started.

We spent hours combing through her clothes and stacks of Enquirer magazines about “Alien babies swapped with infants at hospital”. I was about to leave when I tripped over an old box behind aunt Francis’ recliner.

“Fine, one more box and I’m done for tonight.” I told Peaches.

We sat on the floor, bellies hanging over our knees. When we opened the box, we were surprised to find only a little black notebook.

“What is this?” Peaches asked opening the notebook and flipping the pages.

Only the first few pages were written on. A list of names, dates and places. They seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d heard them. Then Peaches shook the notebook and two papers fell to the floor. When I opened the first, I couldn’t breathe.

In my hands, a check made out to Peaches and me for twenty-thousand dollars. Peaches quickly snatched the second paper and opened it. A letter from aunt Francis. I’d known that witchy scrawl most of my life.

“My dearest little darlings,” Little? Ok aunt Francis. “In case of my death, I have left you some insurance. I know that you have hated this life form the time you were girls. Think of this as my final gift to you. The names listed in my book are people who will soon be dead. Please do not inquire where I gathered this information. But, should you be there to witness one of these ‘questionable’ deaths, you will in fact get your new lives. Please take this $20,000-dollar check to get started! Move from this town and get your new lives. All my many blessings, aunt Francis”.

I glanced at Peaches, trying to read her face. She was grinning, her huge cheeks swallowing her eyes. After hours of discussing what we would do, we finally settled on trying to pull this off like we did when we were young. For us and for aunt Francis.

That friends, is how we are now running from a burning potted meat factory. After several tries at tracking these people down, we settled on Willie Mathers. Willie was an old hippie with black hair and a bent thumb. He was known around town as the best gossip and an incredible drunk. He also owed the wrong people a LOT of money.

Until we showed up at the factory, none of the names on aunt Francis’ list were a success. We just assumed this was a silly past time or wishful thinking. Not that we wanted anyone to get murdered, but if it was going to be anyone, Willie wasn’t a bad choice.

Willie once yelled to me, “Butter Butter, puddin’ thighs, sat on boys and crushed their sides”. He would do things like that to me all the time. Bastard.

After depositing the check, Peaches and I dressed in all black, (isn’t it supposed to be… slimming?) and showed up just before the time listed in aunt Francis’ black notebook. Thinking this time would be a bust, we brought snacks and Peaches was covered in Cheeto dust and was already sweating.

About thirty minutes after we arrived, I saw him. Willie Mathers being drug by his hair and bent thumb into the factory. Wide-eyed, we crept over to the side door we scoped out earlier and went inside. It wasn’t exactly easy to slip in quietly as we had to open the door as far as we could to fit inside.

It all seemed so surreal. How had aunt Francis known they would be there? I guess now we’ll never know. I searched the factory for several minutes, losing Peaches a few times and caught her eating spam from a can with her fingers.

“I didn’t get lunch.” She whispered.

Eventually, we saw Willie. He was being dangled by his toe over a meat grinder. That’s when it hit me, this wasn’t a game. It was really happening. Willie told the men holding him that he didn’t have their money and they looked like they were about to pull him up to safety… when his shoe slipped off and Willie fell in.

I swear it’s the only time in our lives I remember losing my appetite. Willie slipped down into the grinder and the men on the platform above him had a look of panic.

“What are we supposed to do Sam?” The shorter one asked.

“We have no choice. Remember San Diego?” The taller man pulled a lighter from his pocket.

Peaches and I held our breath. How much of this did we have to see to be put in witness protection? I guess we waited to long because before we knew it, we were running from the blazing factory. Well, running would be giving us a lot of credit. A slow, sweaty, winded jog would be a closer description.

“Do we just go to the police now?” Peaches asked between ragged inhales leaning on the car.

“I guess. It’s not like I’ve done this before.” I wasn’t sure what to do, but I knew we had to decide quick. The men had walked from the building and were headed toward our car. Man, how slowly did we run?

I threw the car into reverse, sped out of the lot and onto the street toward the police station. I looked over to check on Peaches and that bitch found corn nuts in the glove box and was munching down.

“What? It calms me.” She poured more nuts into her mouth.

We pulled into the police station and went over our story one more time. Taking off our sweats and throwing them in a can on the way in, we were ready for our Oprah moment.

Three years later and here we are, sitting on our porch in a new town with new names. You know the funniest part? We did this to feel differently about our lives. But, as I watch Peaches tare into her bucket of chicken like an episode of the Walking Dead, I realize, we’re the same women we were before. We may have a new house, a little more money, and fake names, but life hasn’t changed much. Peaches still calls me Butter and guess where I got my new job? A theater called “Slippery Sam’s”.