- Disclaimer: The following chapter contains a depiction of abject intolerance and racism. Viewer discretion is advised. -

Shadow Puppets
A Minute or Two Later

I thought soon after the drive began that I should put on my shades and activate my recorder. Y'know, because my crazy, evil-eyed grandma was currently acting like a cheap villain from a family movie, and it might be useful as evidence to social services. Why embellish a tale when it's already a wild one? It sat in my pocket, without the usual benefit of the wire. Luckily, it was the left pocket.

- Audio Transcript -

Crystal puffed vapor and started fiddling with the radio.

Crystal:
My show is on.

???:
(BZZtkt-) YoUR not gonna- (bweeeoooo) if there's one thing I- (kkckt)

She slams her palm on the dash, hard enough that the interior rattles. I look down at my feet – it's all ashes. The ash-tray is full, her cupholders are full, the floor is awash with it. It's like a sandbox in here, with littered bottles of glass and plastic buried inside; caps astray, hidden away in foil bags that used to hold over-salted, oil-drenched potato chips. The simple act of me pressing my foot into it, this pile of trash and volcanic post-smolder, makes a puff of powder hit my face like a heavy smoke. I almost sneeze, but I'm already covering my mouth. It's like she's acclimatizing herself to cremation before lung cancer makes it inevitable... getting herself used to living like she's on the inside of a vase.

Crystal:
Come on, you...!

Dryce:
Grandma, it's just not tuned to the station.

I turned the knob and the words came through. I could tell from a glance she was trying to listen to 550AM, that evangelical talk show with Carl Burger. A real meathead. The only thing he gets on the air-waves to do is fill them with smog.

Burger:
- so now we're back, and we're talking with Mr. Rah- -

Crystal quickly jabs the power button, turning the radio off. Did he say Mr.Rah? Like, Mr. Romano? I wait a second and turn the radio back on.

Burger:
- Mr. Ramshackle, how do you see this current crisis of inner city violence and the AIDS epidemic? -

She breathes a sigh of relief (that stinks). I look at her dead in the eyes and she averts eye-contact.

Dryce:
I thought they were gonna say "Romano"... that maybe it was my dad, or something. Do you know why I have his name even though mom and him weren't married?

Crystal:
(Curt.) No, I don't.

Dryce:
(Genuinely upset.) Oh, okay.

I wait for her to show some kind of pity; maybe she'll tell me a little bit about him, or comfort me in some way. Show me a sign of humanity so I can believe in her just a little bit more. But it never happens – she just hands me another cigarette to light, and makes me change out the one in her holding pen. I stick the old one in a cupholder, and let it stand like a flag. She doesn't say a word... just keeps driving with one hand on her smoke, and the other on the wheel. I start to roll down the window, and I shit you not, she says to me:

Crystal:
Don't – I don't like the smell of the air outside. It's toxic, it's not good for you. Those oil derricks and factories are ruining everything around here.

Dryce:
(Flabbergasted, shocked.) Yeah, yeah I suppose they are.

I was speechless. The radio kept talking, and she turned it up – carefully, with her smoking hand. I was already wired like a telephone pole with one cord cut loose and whipping around, sparks everywhere. I just sat still and counted down from ten, over and over.

Ramshackle:
- As I see it, Carl, there's only one way this can go. Mass incarceration and quarantine. They gotta beef up the jails, and then stuff 'em full of sick people until this is all over with. -

Burger:
- What about mixing infected civilians with criminals? Aren't you worried about cross-contamination, or people getting hurt? -

Ramshackle:
- As far as God is concerned, you wouldn't be sick if you weren't already a sinner. And more sick people, criminals especially? That's just them receiving their divine justice from the Lord himself. If they thought they were safe from this epidemic, sitting in their cushy cells and eating bagels with cream cheese, they were wrong. Now is their time to face repercussions for their actions, not just from the justice system, but from the ultimate justice. -

Burger:
- Certainly, though, masks should be mandatory, to decrease the risk of spreading the disease to our upstanding prison guards. -

Here's your warning, reader: what you're about to read next could only be born from the polluting smoke-stack of the utterly lost and deranged. Nothing more than the product of burning the wrong fuel for the wrong reasons, and making everyone else choke on the gas. If you hear this type of shit in real life, bring your shirt up to your mouth and run.

Ramshackle:
- Absolutely, the guards should wear masks... Blue Lives be praised, for we recognize Blue as being closer to White, and that is Light, our Lord. Closer than Red, the color of the demons that once roamed this noble land, which God commanded we claim for ourselves. By slaughtering them. That's the color spectrum, it's basic science. Love for our Lord is written in the cosmic tapestry... the very laws that govern our existence. Even Red is simply part of Light, and any color is better than Black, for Black is the absence of Light and the absence of our Lord. Do all lives matter? No. Because black lives don't exist, and black lives do not matter. -

Dryce:
(Agasp, horrified and almost laughing) Holy fuck.

Burger:
- And the prisoners? -

Ramshackle:
- I don't think we should waste tax dollars on protecting these godless individuals. They lived their lives behind a mask... stealing, shoplifting, doing illegal drugs, raping and killing our women and children. Now, I think, it's an ironic twist of fate for them... for we are the ones who now wear the masks, to protect ourselves from them. They relied on anonymity, on darkness, to shield themselves from the Light. We can't waste our time and energy protecting them from the consequences of that lifestyle. Now, we must shield the Light from the darkness. We leave our eyes open, to witness the Lord and his miracles, and to show them that we are unafraid. That we are better than them, the ill and diseased. You are either Light or Dark, my friend, and darkness ain't NOTHIN... but the absence of light. Hallelujah. -

Crystal:
(Unrepennant.) Hallelujah.

Dryce:
(Still blown away.) Jesus Christ. Do unto others, am I right?

Crystal:
You would say that, you little troglodyte. Jesus would've hated what this world has become, of that you can be certain... and it's all the fault of those filthy cretins, who sleep in our streets. Black, gay, transvestite, they're all the same... urchins.

Burger:
- Amen to that, brother. You are either of God... or you aren't. You're either with us... or against us. Innocent, or evil. You're either sick... or you are without sin. There is no middle ground, there is no flip side to the coin... there is a path, and you are either walking that path or you are lost. Any other way is not of our divine Lord, because the Lord is everything and everyone, and we are of him. -

Dryce:
(Rolling his eyes.) This guy could use a bitter cup of someone's fist in his mouth.

Crystal:
That's enough out of you, don't interrupt my show. You scumfucker.

Ouch. Nobody's ever called me that one before. Just when I'd had about enough of these cum-stained sock-puppets on the radio, Crystal pulled in to Shady Acres.
I imagined the two hosts getting used by their sponsors after the show, by a big man in a cowboy hat, and a whole lotta chest hair. And when he's done, he gives them each a kiss on the cheek, and whispers, "Thank y'all fer doin' the Lord's work... you truly are a pair of Republican saviors. What a shining couple of twinkling star examples you fellas really are; to the whole party, and to our glorious nation... makes me so proud I could cry barbecue sauce right out ma eyes."
She parked her car and jabbed at my side with her umbrella.

Crystal:
Get out, get out! You'll make my new car smell like butt.

I got out of the car, and slammed the door shut.

Dryce:
It already does.