That Time I Was Retarded

The fact that I’d volunteered to take Carol to her dental appointment ALONE should’ve been a huge clue to my manager that scheming was afoot.  It was completely against protocol, Carol required two staff present at all times but we’d had another mass round of folks quitting again, forces were depleted, Carol being a primary reason for this. Her behaviors were intense, she could fuck you up and the craziness of dealing with the constant threat of being attacked by a vicious, retarded girl was far too much for most people to consider at $5.25 an hour. She also happened to be just one of the 6 aggressive, mentally challenged individuals that resided at Beechwood. I had low standards in every aspect of my life at the time so I didn’t mind the meat grinder as much. Sometimes I even liked the craziness, the fear was a rush and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take pride in the fact that it was too grueling for most. They were pussies.

Only one Dentist within 100 miles had the testicle fortitude to clean Carol’s teeth. If she had an appointment, it was imperative to keep it since the Doctor made sure he had no clients immediately before or after she came just in case she blew a gasket and tried to kick our asses, which even with her standing at only 4”9, was a real possibility. My argument was that she’d been on a good run the last couple of days, we all knew the other bitch, her other personality, came in cycles like a mental period and she wasn’t due to make us bleed for another couple days. Begrudgingly, my manager complied, allowing my stupid plan to bloom.

“No she’s doing fine” I lied into the payphone to my boss. “Seriously, I think I’m going to hit a drive through for lunch and take her to the park for awhile.”

The reality being that Carol was trippin’ pretty hard. 

During the exam, she flipped and gouged the shit out of my forearms with her nails as I tried to hold her still while Dr. Big Balls finished blasting the tartar off her molars.  She’d settled down enough to get her out the door and all the way to the back of the 15 passenger slate blue GMC van, the safest and only place for her.  Once the seat belt was buckled, Carol would usually stay put. Only on the rarest of occasions would she remove the strap and charge while we were in motion, a key reason she was all the way in the back, it allowed time to formulate a defense.  If you’ve never had your hair pulled or been choked while doing 65 mph down the freeway, I assure you that it’s just as much fun as it sounds.

Yet, I would not be deterred. We weren’t that far from Jose’s, an unusual situation that I was determined to capitalize on.  His neighborhood looked even worse in the daylight and it was startling to see so many prostitutes working the lunch hour shift on a Tuesday. They must’ve been doing well or have seriously slave driving pimps to warrant the plethora milling about like schools of decaying fish. Carol’s mood seemed to darken with every turn as if the scenery itself were controlling her, forcing the other “her” to the surface.

“I hit people bitch!!  I hit people!!”  Carol’s index finger pointed straight at her face as she threatened anyone within arm’s reach. The other one would hurt Carol as well as any unlucky soul she could sink her claws, teeth or fists into. It was worth a fresh scratch or bite mark to feed my new found addiction. We we’re so close now, 2 blocks away.

“O.k. Carol, o.k…. you want a cheeseburger?  Wouldn’t that be good?”  Desperation was the only thing that would even get me to try to reason with the evil one, it was always too late when she started that “I hit people” shit, that meant defcon 4, oblivion was emanate.

I just assumed her screaming was what stirred the concerned looks from Jose’ and his crew as we pulled to a stop in front of his crib. They were hanging out on the porch like people without jobs do in the hood on a weekday. Still cold, but actually sunny for the first time in weeks, even a piece of shit like Southwest Detroit looks more promising when it’s illuminated, draws the roaches out.

Jose’ ambled down the crooked steps of the small porch bursting with lower case G’s, an air of caution  about him that signified much more than a fear of slipping on the icy sidewalk.  His eyes squinted under his signature fitted, black ball cap.

“That’s right bitch!!! I KILL PEOPLE!!!” Carol squalled like a maniac from the back and for some reason this elicited a slow, easy smile from my human drug. Instantly Jose’ appeared at ease, turned to his audience and assured them all was well.

“Shit girl, don’t be doin’ that. You had these muh fuckers scared as hell rolling up in this fuckin thing. We thought we was straight up busted. I heard one of your people’s though, remembered that crazy shit you told me and I connected the dots.”

Unbeknownst to me, the group home van looked EXACTLY like a Detroit “Gang Squad” unit. They were identical, right down to the tinted back glass. We both used it for covert purposes, ours to conceal madness from the general public, they to mask the identity of police officers attempting to squash madness IN the hood republic.

Jose’ jumped into the passenger seat and almost immediately, Carol went dead silent.

“We were just..in the area..so, I dunno, thought I’d pop by..say “hi”.” I sounded so pitiful, like the typical dumbass bitch that gets rapped about so frequently.

“Nah..that’s cool…real cool” he almost whispered as his body strayed across the wide open space between the captain chairs, hand squeezing my right breast as hot, Dentyne breath burned my neck. I’d almost forgotten about Carol until her NICE friends came to visit.

“Ahh…ahh…ahhh…HEY…It’s a bumblebee…Heyyyyyyyyyy…it’s a BUM-BLE-bee” she sing talked while looking down the cuffs of her Parka, tiny face exploding into full bliss. This meant we were good, bumblebee’s in her coat sleeves meant drama had been abated, they chased the evil one away, she’d be fine for hours.

Jose’ stopped molesting my chest long enough to introduce himself.

“Hey Carol. What’s up girl? You got some bee’s in yo jacket? That’s fuckin’ cool as hell.”

So he was sweet in bed AND to retarded people. That was enough for me. He could be a crazy son of a bitch the rest of the time, it only added to his hotness.

Carol was over the moon. Being asked about her coat bee’s elicited a little girl’s laughter, making it simple to forget what a brutal monster lurked inside of her at all times. Something about Jose’ had charmed her. Maybe the evil “her” sensed he was more dangerous than she could ever compel Carol to become. Whatever it was, her nutty ass was completely pliable.

“Well, we we’re going to grab some lunch from Burger King. You wanna come with us?” I asked coyly, like we hadn’t fucked five times a couple of nights ago. 5 times, all ending in amazing climaxes and now I was his dick zombie, it completely controlled me.

With no shame, he made sure I was “buying” before agreeing to my proposal.

“Hey, after we eat, I got a funny fuckin’ idea we need to do if you’re down.”

I was “down” for what-ever-he-said.

After we ate in the parking lot, Jose’ instructed me to stop at a dumpy liquor store.

“Gimme 10 bucks.” He demanded before ejecting and sauntering into the dingy joint, sportin’ his best pimp stroll.

“Put this on.”

He’d purchased a plain, black ball cap very similar to his own and asked if I could pull my hair back. I started to figure out where this was going.

“Put this in.”

First song on his mixtape was Ice Cube’s “My Summer Vacation”, a tune I was very familiar with, satirically loving gangsta rap from its inception. It was something that seemed to impress him which in turn, made my crotch sweat.

“Turn here and hit this.”

I made the left while taking a toke off the blunt he’d just twisted up on the group home van’s mileage log binder. It reminded me that I’d have to come up with something good to fake the miles we were racking up.

“O.k., slow down…just creep. You seem them fools up there on the corner?”

I did.

“When I say so, fuckin’ peel, punch it, got it?” His grin was as sinister as any I’d ever seen.

“NOW!”

The small shred of responsible adult that I tried to stamp out emerged briefly as I slammed on the gas, requiring a glance in the rearview to assess Carol’s state. She and her bee’s appeared to be having the time of their lives.  Maybe we just didn’t get into enough crazy shit to satisfy her blood lust, that’s why the wickedness seeped out with no choice but to beat the crap out of us. I was totally rationalizing endangering a mentally challenged person under my care to lasso the affection of a sociopath, no qualms about it.

All nine of the dudes holding down the corner of Central and Mcgraw were clad in red and black, Latin Count colors. They didn’t notice us until we were almost right on top of them, scattering in every direction, various things from their waist bands and pockets, guns, drugs, etc… being thrown into bushes, sewer grates as they scrambled for freedom.

“Cut it up on the curb!!!”  he cried out like a general giving the final command before a crushing victory.

As any good soldier would do, I heeded my superior’s orders, in the process cutting off the escape of the fattest deserter. I figured he must’ve been the guy with the Malcom X jacket, the one that started the “Yo momma” joke about a helicopter landing on your back because he was fucking enormous and the “X” was stretched to capacity. There was another joke to be made in regards to him being a Mexican in a Malcom X coat but that would have to wait for another time. Not a drop of fighting spirit as he laced his stumpy fingers together behind his head, defeat and jail time washing over his saddened, ham eatin’ jowls.  

The windows in the front of the van were a lighter tint, just enough to shadow two people wearing hats. Jose’ slowly rolled his side down, a cloud of dank pot smoke sneaking out at an equal pace.

“What up Atomic?”  he asked our perp with the polite casualness of a waiter inquiring if he’d like to start off the meal with some jalapeno poppers.

“Jose’? You stupid muh-fucker! Damn dawg, damn! How you gonna play a nigga like that? I threw my fuckin’ dope in a goddamn snow bank Punk!!”

Jose’ was holding his sides, bent in half, howling. It went viral, I started laughing just as hard, never once contemplating what could have happened if one of those guys had been a little harder and drew on us.

“Shit” he squeezed out in between cackles “It ain’t my fault you’sa pussy ass bitch.” 

Atomic dug through the snow, still mad as he wanted to be, searching frantically for his product. 

The laughing started again, this time it was Carol. I was pretty sure she didn't understand what had just happened, it was just the chaos she found humorous. Jose’ loved her.

“That’s right Carol, Atomic’s dumb as hell. Shit’s funny ain’t it girl? Yeah it is. Stupid, fat muh-fucker.”

I could only imagine how low Atomic’s self esteem would plummet upon the discovery he was being made fun of by a retarded chick.

“Well damn, you can at least give a nigga ride after pullin’ some ho shit like that. You shut the whole fuckin’ corner down with this bullshit. Hope you happy, makin’ nigga’s lose money, shit is wack.”

To Jose’s credit, he actually asked if it was cool before telling Atomic to climb in, as if there were a chance I’d say no to any request he made. I was gone.

Our new passenger was completely comfortable with Carol, asking her questions like where she was from, did she have any brothers or sisters, stuff I never knew or cared enough to find out. She answered every question with a “yes” or “no”, elaborations beyond that were impossible for her. Then he pulled out his Glock.

“What’s this Carol?” Atomic held the gun up in the air, displaying it, causing me to tense up hard.

I glanced over at Jose’ biting my lip, fighting back my objections but to my relief he was on my side.

“Ay man, ay…” Jose said diplomatically “chill with that shit. You gon’ scare her. Put your piece away man.”  

Shockingly, before he could, Carol gave an extremely stoic answer.

“Gun.”

Atomic was thrilled. “That’s right, that’s right, and what do you do with a gun Carol?”

With a sneaky smile and without a second’s delay, she responded.

“Shoot people.”

“Oh snap!” Jose’ exclaimed. “Carol’s a fuckin’ G…ha-ha-ha….damn!”

I’d taken Carol to a dangerous neighborhood in the company van, pretended to be cops conducting a bust, and exposed her to criminals who put her in close proximity to a loaded firearm as a joke. What happened to be the worst thing I’d done in my life ironically seemed to make Carol happier than I’d ever seen her. Maybe Jose’ was right. Maybe Carol was a “G” and the evil “her” that crept out was just the part of her personality that raged with resentment for being restrained in Suburbia when she should’ve been strapped with a gat, slangin’ rocks and pimpin’ ho’s.

Maybe that was it or maybe, and probably most likely, we were both retarded.