“I don’t know how much longer I can play. The wife ‘s going to be very upset if I stay late again”, Kevin said, looking at his imaginary watch. He almost made an “It’s a half past freckle” joke but decided not to, because he wasn’t a third grade teacher or your unmarried uncle.
“Come on man! Just a few more rounds, my luck is finally turning around,” Dave responded, as he gave him a playful slap on the back, immediately followed by pulling the chips that he had just won into his now growing pile of assorted plastic circles. He continued, in the usual jovial manner Dave inhabits, “Don’t you want to witness the first time Dave, the man who didn’t know how to play this game just one month ago, win?”
“We’ll see about that,” vocally entered Stan, the player who now had the second largest pile of chips. “If I’m going to be concerned about anyone, it should be Welsh over there.”
Welsh looked up. He had been drinking wine all evening, like the pussy he was. At first, Welsh thought this was another attack on either his poker playing skills or his drink choice. Welsh thought a second and carefully responded with the tact of a wise man who only knew three words.
“I’m fine, really.”
The other three looked at each other, and then back at Welsh. Stan then replied for the group, as he traditionally did, like when they order pizza or saw that investment banker go crazy and punch a mother of three in the face at a Sbarro.
“Look, Welsh this time we aren’t attacking your poker playing skills or your drink choice, it’s something else.”
This was a shock to Welsh, as he immediately responded with the tact of a super villain with the power to control electricity.
“That’s Shocking.”
Stan continued, “I think all of us are concerned about your health. To be honest, you don’t look too great right now, and I’m not saying that in a bust-your-balls sort of way.”
It was true, Stan was not busting the balls of Welsh, as Welsh was slowing turning a shade of green.
“Hey man, if you need to lie down, you can sleep on the couch. Cheryl always makes me sleep there,” Dave at first only whispered to Welsh, but ended up almost screaming the last part to the rest of the group, making them wonder if poker wasn’t the only thing that Dave was bad at.
“Yeah… anyways… are you nauseous at all?” Stan said to Welsh, which got the conversation back on point.
“No, not really. If anything, I’m starting to feel a tad bloated.”
This was true. Welsh looked just a little fatter than he used to, like when you see him at homecoming that next year, and he’s gained like 15 pounds. I mean, it looks like him, but instead of getting stuck in a taffy puller, he got stuck in a balloon machine.
Dave responded to Welsh, “You do look a tad bloated, like you just gained a freshman fifteen.”
While Dave may be bad at both poker and marriage, he was actually better than the narrator at describing bloating, due to the fact that he saw a dead body in the river when he was in the third grade.
“Either that,” Dave continued, “or your look like a dead body in the river!”
This is when the group remembered why Dave was bad at marriage; everything reminded him of the dead body in the river. The bedroom pillows? Dead body in the river. Carving pumpkins with the niece and nephew? Dead body in the river. Finding another dead body in the river? Dead body in the river. To be completely honest, Dave should see a therapist, but therapists remind him of dead bodies in the river, and the father he never had.
“No, maybe it’s not the bloating. His shirt barely fits,” Stan said, getting the conversation back on point for the second time. As a side note, which you can totally skip, if Stan gets the conversation back on topic one more time, he gets a free conversational Spanish lesson at Olé Molé, the only place north of the Rio Grande river that you can legally get a margarita AND conversational Spanish lessons. Regardless of imaginary promotional deals and pointless side stories, Stan was kind of right. Welsh’s long sleeve T-Shirt didn’t fit. His sleeves were way too long, making it look like he had two Elefun the Elephants as his arms.
“Yeah, I don’t remember that,” Kevin added, “I remember because he had a watch that I could see, but now, since his sleeve covers his wrist, I don’t know what time it is. Wow, thanks Welsh! Now I have an excuse to tell the wife.” This excuse wouldn’t work, as Kevin later that weekend begrudgingly went to a gallery hop with Karen and her girlfriends as retribution.
“Thanks, I’m glad my ill-fitting clothing gave you an excuse for your wife,” Welsh told Kevin, unaware of the future gallery hop/designated driving that Kevin would endure in the next 24 hours. “That’s weird you said that about my shirt, though, cause it feels that way with my pants as well.”
Welsh pushed away from the folding table and showed the group exhibit A. His pants went over his shoes, like an old farmer who orders a pair of overalls from Amazon, gets them, but realizes they are too big. But, since he is an old man, he doesn’t want to deal with a computer to return them, as he beliefs the tiny elves inside the computer hate him.
“It’s like he’s wearing hand-me-down pants that his mom said he would grow into.” Once again, Dave had a better descriptor than the narrator, but unfortunately there is currently no arbitrary punch card for simile based achievements.
“Or,” continued Dave, “it’s like a dead body in a river.” Dave really does need to see a therapist.
“It’s like you are shrinking and growing, as if your body is taking the average of itself,” Kevin added, as he pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose.
“Yeah, that,” Stan added, “and you’re getting greener, but a different type of green, almost glossy.”
Stan moved toward Welsh in concern. Kevin followed, but Dave stayed seated, as he really wanted to win that hand of poker still. Welsh then spoke, “Wow! Guys, I suddenly extremely bloated. Dave, I think I’ll take that offer to lay down on the couch.”
He moved, or more precisely, waddled towards the couch, with Kevin and Stan by his side, with Dave still seated by the folding table, ready to play his hand when the group came back. But Welsh was unfortunately right, as he looked like a skinny person playing Santa for Christmas because the usual guy that does it can’t because a heart attack or some other lame excuse.
“Hopefully lying down will make you feel better. But, to be completely honest, you do not look too good,” Kevin said to Welsh, but really to the whole group, because he’s a nice guy and doesn’t want to leave anybody out of the conversation, UNLIKE DERRICK! Sorry about that…
“Yeah, I don’t feel that great,” Welsh responded, “If anything, this could be all that wine getting some sort of twisted revenge on me.”
This is the last thing Welsh ever said. He closed his eyes, which were completely translucent like the inside of a grape, with solid green eyelids now closing overtop.
“Oh my God! He looks like a dead body in the river!” This was the first time since the second dead body in the river that Dave was kind of right about the dead body in the river. That while Welsh wasn’t in the river, he was in fact a dead body. He wasn’t static, like most dead bodies, he was still changing, bloating at the belly and his appendages shrinking, with his arms disappearing first, then his legs, and finally his neck, with his head almost dissolving into his now giant, round, and glossy green body.
“Guys, I think Welsh is a grape now,” Stan said, absolutely stunned, as most people would be after watching their co-worker slowly being turned into a fruit. There, all three of the non-grape people in the basement stood, enveloped in silence, looking at the giant grape co-worker on the couch, with Stan and Kevin next to the Welch Grape, and Dave still sitting at the folding table, just now realizing that he will never know if Welsh was going to call, raise or fold. This annoyed Dave, but only as much as one can be annoyed at a friend that has transformed into a vine based fruit on your couch/bed.
Kevin broke the group silence, “Why did this happen?” An existential question. But Dave answered it literally, yet another clue to why his marriage was slowly falling apart.
“Because he was drinking a pussy drink.” And, at that moment, Dave slowly turned into a hop of barley.
The End
Author Note –
Later in the evening, Stan redirected conversation into the original direction, which allowed him to learn how to ask for directions to the bank and a shot of tequila, all in Spanish.
-James Wagner, Contributor