Mack 10, Let's Play Truth or Dare

"What the fuck are you doing?" I asked sharply as we got to the truck.

"Twerking," Mackenzie said with a smile. "Don't worry. That old bitch said not in the store. I wasn't in the store. I was outside."

I yanked the door open and climbed into the cab, slamming the door behind me. Jennifer got in next, sliding over next to me, and Mackenzie, as if sensing the danger, got in last and closed the door behind herself.

"Seat belts!" Mackenzie yelped as I rammed the key in the ignition, and both she and Jennifer scrambled to put them on. I calmed myself then, took a deep breath, and put my seat belt on as well.

Slowly, I pulled out of the parking spot and headed back toward the freeway, but then, I had an idea.

"How far do you think the power outage goes?" I asked both of them.

"I don't know," Jennifer said, reaching up and clicking on the radio. She adjusted it to the local station, found static, and then adjusted it to another station which was much further away, but was never off the air. Se listened to the last half of a song before the station cut in with their standard spiel.

"This is Radio SQRTS 404 FM, your station for squirts. And here's Little Squirt, with the news update."

"Hey everyone, this is Little Squirt Dave Johnson with the latest and greatest weather updates."

"Keep it clean Dave," someone cut in.

"I'd keep it clean if I was calling it in, Fred. But remember, great Radio isn't scripted. It's LIVING."

There was a two-second pause, and then the guy came back on the air. "The weather front dumping half-the-pacific on our doorstep has decided that the cold air over the Arctic just should not stay there. The Jet Stream has said it concurs! Look for sub-zero temperatures through Thursday evening, warming up on Friday morning, so we can enjoy an entire weekend long of mass flooding, landslides, and widespread death and destruction."

"And here is Big Squirt, Fred MacMillian telling folks, don't worry. It's not as bad as Dave makes it out to be. Just take your standard precautions and make sure to stay safe, and the Highway Patrol is asking all motorists to stay at home. Nothing is open. There's NO REASON to endanger yourself."

"Unless your asshole boss makes you come into the radio station to talk about the-"

The radio station went to static then, and a moment later a song started. It was slow jazz, and I asked Jennifer to switch the station, but she turned it off instead.

"Sounds pretty bad," Mackenzie said, glancing over at Jennifer.

"Really bad."

"I hope Reggie is okay," Mackenzie said then.

"Who's Reggie?" I asked.

"Just someone I know. Homeless friend. She lives on the streets."

I didn't know what to say, so I kept quiet and drove. As I turned onto the highway heading back toward the house, I saw a dark line in the sky above, and the wind started picking up.

"You see it?" Jennifer asked.

"Yeah, I see it," I said, hitting the gas a little bit harder.

Jennifer leaned over then, wrapped her arms around my bicep, and held on. Mackenzie did the same, and leaned over, putting her head on Jennifer's lower back.

"Don't get too comfortable," I said about half-way home. "As soon as we get home, I'm gonna need help bringing in the boards."

"What boards?" Jennifer asked, sitting up.

"I bought boards," I said, jerking a thumb at the back tailgate. "They're in there. I got six ten-by-twos."

"That's where he went," Jennifer said to Mackenzie.

"So, what happened that they were calling the cops on you two?" I asked.

"Nothing," Mackenzie said as if she were the consummate angel everywhere she went.

"We were looking at Halloween decorations," Jennifer said. "They have some really awesome ones. But, anyway, so, Mackenzie bent over to check out this scary pumpkin that lights up. Some guy was standing at the end of the aisle, watching her, and his wife caught him creeping."

"Creeping?" I asked.

"That's when an old scabby dude is getting aroused watching someone else," Mackenzie said informatively. "Creeping."

"Creeping," I repeated. I turned to Jennifer. "So am I creeping?" I asked.

"Uh, no," Jennifer said quickly.

"Uh-uh," Mackenzie said, but then she leaned over and gave me a strange quirky smile. "Okay, Papi. Yeah, you creepin, but it's okay. I like you creepin on me."

"I'm not old and scabby," I said.

"Nah," Mackenzie agreed.

"She was just saying what the guy looked like," Jennifer said and then continued. "So, the old guy's wife gets pissed at him, and starts like, punching him on the arm and trying to drag him away, but he didn't want to go."

"What?" I asked, thinking this was absurd. Any normal human being would have been embarrassed to death.

"Dad, some guys are like that," Jennifer said.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Like, they won't stop staring. They'll get closer and closer, and stand right next to you, trying to get a peek. They don't care."

"I don't know if-"

"Dad," Jennifer said then, her voice hard with personal experience. "You don't know because you're a guy. This doesn't happen to guys. It happens to girls. And it happens all the fucking time." I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Dude like this, I've read books, I've watched videos, I've watched Tik-Toks."

"What are Tik-Toks?" I asked.

"Oh my god," Mackenzie said, laughing.

"They're short little videos on the internet. You can download them on your phone."

"Please don't," I asked.

"I won't," Jennifer said with a chuckle. "I know how you are. Anyway, guys like this think that if you don't want them to look, then you need to cover it up, or stay at home."

"Makes sense," I said.

Jennifer turned to me as if I'd suddenly slapped her. "So if you walked around with your cock out, you'd expect everyone to just stare at it all day long?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "If I wanted people to stare at my cock, all day long, then yeah. Exactly."

"Okay, what about your face?" Jennifer asked. "What if women just came up to you all day long and got really really close, and just stared at your face. "What about that?"

"Well...I can't really help that," I said.

"You don't get it," Jennifer said.

"What am I missing?" I asked, not sure I was understanding her point.

"Again, you're a guy, so you don't know. You can't know, because, you're a guy."

"Explain it to me then," I said, gripping the steering wheel tight.

"Alright. Imagine, you're a girl. Oh, this is even better. Imagine, you're a little girl. Schoolgirl age. Your mommy and daddy dress you up real nice, but, you have blond hair and bright blue eyes."

"Okay," I said, nodding. "Blond hair, blue eyes."

"And you go to school, and your teacher treats you like a fucking idiot." I glanced at Jennifer, but she was being dead serious. "I know you have this level of male privilege, so you can't imagine things like this, but they happen."

"Male-privilege?"

"Yup. You can look it up if you want," Jennifer said. "But, later. I'm not finished."

"Go ahead," I said. "I'm listening."

"So, for the first couple of years, every male teacher you have treats you like an idiot. Every female teacher is super tough on you, like they need to even the playing field for their own daughters, later in life, because they're ugly." I laughed, but Jennifer was not laughing. "So then, when you get a bit older, and say, you get your first bra, everyone starts treating you like a sex object."

"How old?" I asked.

"Twelve," Jennifer said.

"It was ten for me," Mackenzie said.

I glanced at both of them but kept my mouth shut.

"So then, as your boobs keep growing, and your hormones start raging, all the boys your age are completely uninterested in what's going on, which is SOOOOO fucking annoying. But, your teacher is interested! Every day, his eyes are locked on your knees, or your friend's knees, or their tits, or if nobody is wearing a tight shirt, or a skirt, then he's just staring at you. Like full-on staring."

"Did you report this?" I asked.

"Dad! I was twelve! I just wanted to get good grades and make you proud of me!"

I gripped the steering wheel tighter and clenched my jaw.

"So, let's continue," Jennifer said quickly. "As you get older, women look down on you. Doesn't matter who it is. Teachers, the principal, your friend's parents, your dad's friends."

"My mom," Mackenzie added. "My aunties, my grand-mama. Pretty much everyone."

"And they call you names whenever there's an argument. Little bitch, whore, slut, hooker, cum-trap."

"Bimbo, floozie, cunt," Mackenzie added.

"Harlot. tramp, prostitute," Jennifer added.

"Lady of the night," I said. Both Jennifer and Mackenzie turned and looked at me as if I had horns. "What? It's another name for a hooker," I said.

"Dayaaam!" Mackenzie said and then she repeated what I'd said. "Lady of the Night. That sounds badass. I wouldn't have minded that shit."

"The point is, there are some guys who don't look, see, appreciate and move on. They look, they see, they stare, they focus. They want more. They will try to get more. They won't stop. They don't stop. Their theory is, if you want them to stop, you'll cover up, or leave their presence. They'll even grab you and try to feel you up because most people don't believe it."

I shook my head, still mad at the information.

"And if you're not fast enough, or strong enough, and they get a hold of you, and there's nobody else around."

"Rape," Mackenzie said.

"Exactly," Jennifer added.

"You think some old guy at the Supply Center was going to rape you?" I asked incredulously.

"No, Dad," Jennifer said sharply.

"I just needed to know if I needed to go back and beat someone's ass," I said, but I didn't mean it. I avoided fights like they were the plague. You never knew when someone was crazy, or if they had a knife or a gun, or worse.

"I could see his old man bone," Mackenzie said with a laugh.

"Yeah. This guy was....ugh. Anyway, back to the store. So, the old guy wouldn't leave, he had his tiny old man boner poking against the front of his shorts. His wife was probably super pissed at that, probably hadn't popped a bone for her in quite a few years."

"Ewww, gross," Mackenzie laughed.

"So, uh...Mack goes and starts twerking in the aisle. Like, full-on, puts her ass towards the old guy and starts doing it. His wife starts shouting at her, like it's not her husband's fault. It's now Mackenzie's fault. So she runs off to get an employee, and then they tell us to get out of the store. So we were on our way to the front of the store, when a guy came up and said he wanted to take us in the back room, but I was not going."

"The back room?"

"Yeah. You know. Loss prevention. Like twerking means you stole something, so they can "search" you, and then some old dude in a closed room turns off the cameras and-"

"Rapey-rapey," Mackenzie added.

"There's a lot of rape in this story of yours," I said.

"Not rape. Possible rape. You have to think about these things, every-single-day-of-your-life."

"No, I don't," I said.

"Male privilege," Mackenzie said.

"Exactly. Dad, you live in an entire community of villages, and you don't even know it."

"Tell me," I said.

"Male privilege, white privilege, good-looking privilege,"

"Tall privilege," Mackenzie added.

"Smart privilege," Jennifer added.

"Smart is not a privilege. You have to work hard and pay attention to get good grades and become smart."

"Unless you're a little girl with blond hair and blue eyes, and your teachers don't think you'll ever learn anything anyway, so why teach you? Why waste their time, on your blond-haired, blue-eyed ass? You're just going to grow up and marry some millionaire and be a trophy wife. You don't wonder why I dyed my hair brown!"

"I...no! I thought you liked brown!"

"It's okay," she said, "but I liked having blond hair! I really did, but I was...I was being treated like a milk jug. I didn't like any of the other girls with blond hair, and one day, I was either going to cut it all off, of dye it. So I asked for you to let me dye it, and you did, and god was that the right thing to do."

"I can't...I just can't understand this," I said.

"Yeah, you can. You explained it to me. Remember what you said about job applications and college admissions?"

I nodded. I was a big fan of the thought, that all job applications should not list anything identifying. The candidate should only be judged on their accomplishments, their scores, their efficiency and proficiency, and their skills. Names, addresses, job history, affiliations, race, creed, color, ethnicity, all of that shouldn't even be on the applications. Neither should the person's sex. Everything should be that way.

"When kids get taught in school, they should have a teacher who cannot see them," Jennifer said, adding a point to my ever-growing list of ideals. "And kids should not have to see their teacher's faces, or their boobs, or their tiny mini-skirts, or their teacher's old wrinkly balls."

"When did you see your teacher's wrinkly balls?" I asked.

"Don't ask," Jennifer said. "I saw them, and I can never un-see them. The less you know, the better."

Jesus Christ," I said, just as the snow started coming down in gigantic fluffy tufts of white. The snow seemed moist somehow and started sticking to the windshield, rather than blowing off, and I flipped the windshield wipers on, trying to clear it. Luckily, we were almost home, but as I pulled into the driveway and brought the truck up to the garage door, I saw the sheriff's car sitting there.

"Oh fuck," Mackenzie said, seeing the sheriff's car door open up as we pulled in alongside him.

"I'll take care of this," I said. "You two, get inside."

"What about the boards?" Jennifer asked.

"We'll get them once he's gone. No biggie."

"Say hi to him for me, will you?" Jennifer asked.

I nodded. I opened my door and stepped out, closing it quickly behind and then I opened the door again, reached up, locked the door, and then closed it a second time.

"What can I do for you, Brody?" I asked, stepping around the front of his car to speak to him. The wind blew hard right then, and I slipped my hands inside my jacket pockets.

"Keep yer hands where I can see 'em," Brody said.

"Fuck right the fuck off," I said, keeping my hands in my jacket. "Am I under arrest?"

"No," Brody said.

"Then don't tell me what the fuck to do on my property."

"I came to talk to you about-"

"Hold on. Am I under arrest?" I asked again.

"No goddammit!" Brody said angrily.

"Then get the fuck off my property," I said, turning around.

"Rick. Come on man. Don't do this."

I turned back around, only to see Brody looking behind and beyond me, most likely at two bare asses, their skirts blowing in the wind like fishing flies without sinkers.

"Seen enough?" I asked once he refocused his attention on me.

"She's bad news man," Brody said warningly.

"Jennifer? Or Mackenzie?" I asked.

"You know who! She's been in and out of the court a lot. And I mean, a lot."

"For what?" I asked then.

"I...I'm not supposed to tell," Brody said.

I shook my head. He was always so fucking by the book, but when it came to giving him allowances or doing favors, he was always asking, and pressuring you to give in. "Then what are you here for, man?"

"I came...just, to give you a warning."

"My daughter's friend is bad. Okay. I get it. She'll rob me out of my house, and eat all my food. Got it. What else? Steal my truck?" I tossed my keys into the air and caught them. "They hang by the front door man. You know it, I know it. She hasn't taken it yet. Hasn't even asked to take it for a spin."

Brody looked at Jennifer's car then.

"Can't say she's driven off into the sunset with that one either," I said smartly.

"Does it run?" Brody asked. I gave him a condescending look and he adjusted his hands on his belt, the cold wind finally starting to take it's toll on him. "Look," Brody said.

"I look every day," I said, smiling. "And what do you think I see?" Brody looked to the garage, averting his eyes. "All I see is sunshine and butterflies."

"You're acting like a blind man," Brody said then.

"Okay, since you can't tell me what she's "been bad" for doing, let's play the guessing game. I'll ask, and you point to the house if it "might" apply to her."

"Alright," Brody said.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised he'd agreed to the fun, so I started with the big ones first.

"Murder."

Brody pointed at the house.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me," I said, shaking my head. "When?"

"Got a body down at the morgue right now," Brody said. "They're still looking into it, but."

"Who is it?" I asked.

"Can't tell you that," Brody said.

"Let me guess," I said. "Homeless person?"

Brody squared up with me then, and I knew I'd guessed right, but it didn't mean anything. "Ever think, it might be, oh, I don't know Brody...a fucking blizzard!?"

"That's what we're looking into," Brody said.

"Bro. I get why you went into law enforcement, and it suits you just fine, but unless you got all the facts, and I mean all of 'em, don't fucking come back around here."

"Rick," Brody said, stepping forward.

"No dude. Unless you're ready to arrest me and take me to jail, don't come around here, or me and my family, with this bullshit."

"You and your family?" Brody said sharply.

"Yeah," I said, taking another step forward until we were almost touching. "When your sister-in-law left me and Jennifer and moved back to fucking Brazil, that was it. Me, and my family." I said.

Brody looked wounded, but he knew my wounds would never heal. His would be scabbed over before he made it back to the house.

"Tell Gabriella I said hi," I said, and then added, "and Jennifer asked me to say hi to you, from her."

"I'll let her know," Brody said softly, taking a step back, the snow crunching under his heels. "I'm sorry about telling you to keep your hands where I could see them," he said as I turned around. "Force of habit."

I waved a hand in the air, hurried back to the house, and waited for Brody to drive off before I opened the door and went inside.

"Holy fuck," Mackenzie said, grabbing my jacket and pulling it off my shoulders the moment I stepped inside. "I thought he was going to arrest you," she said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Cause. He arrests everyone," she said, as if from personal experience.

"No. He's not going to arrest me," I said, and then added, "or at least I hope not. It would need to be something really-really bad for that to happen."

"Brody's my step-uncle," Jennifer said, hanging all our jackets and putting away our gloves.

"Shit. We need to get the boards," I said, putting an end to the conversation, but I could tell from the look on Mackenzie's face, that this tidbit of information was like liquid gold.

The three of us re-dressed, went out, got the boards, and brought them into the house one at a time. Almost an hour later, with the wind howling and the snow blowing through the front yard in three-foot drifts, we were finally back inside.

I spent the next hour stoking the fire, hanging the cast iron pot of water half in, and half out of the fireplace, and took turns with Jennifer and Mackenzie, running pots of water to the laundry room to wash the sheets and a load of laundry Jennifer and Mackenzie said had to get done, tonight.

After laundry, I set about putting replacement candles at each station throughout the house, and then added a lighter at each one, just in case anyone didn't have one when they went into a room. The house, which had been cold, but not ice cold, quickly warmed up, and then it was dinner time.

Jennifer surprised us by making a beef stew in our Dutch oven. All she had to do really was add the ingredients, set it in the fireplace, and let the coals cook it to perfection. While that was going on, Mackenzie opened the back sliding glass door and returned a moment later with three half-gallon containers of ice cream, which we decided was our lunch/appetizer for the day. I ate until I was almost exploding, and then put the top back on my tub, and got up to put it back outside. Jennifer grabbed it from me and took the tub from Mackenzie at the same time, telling her if she didn't stop eating, she'd spoil her appetite.