I talk slow, and my life was slow until the summer of June 2nd 1951 where my not so happy life and my not so interesting tale turned into a compelling story about a not so melancholy kid named Sunny Wayne Cunningham. I didn’t have HIV or some crazy thing like that. I was just 17 and I realized that my life was worthless. I really felt that way. Everyone around me made me feel that way. To be honest, I was that way. What happened to ol Sunny Wayne? I have no clue what the hell will happen because I am only an insignificant 19 years old. That’s the problem with age, sometimes you are a significant 16 year old, and sometimes you’re a worthless 19 year old. That’s the problem. Your probably wondering what in the world happened to my life that gave me the frickin’ right to write about myself. Well I guess its because I am bored as hell and the ride from San Diego to Pacheco, Texas is a real haul. I left my bible back in San Diego and all. To be honest I am only saying that so my Mother would look and see how damn religious I am. I am pretty religious just not damn religious. There’s a difference, if you don’t know the difference you’re not religious. Anyways, I left everything at a bar in San Diego. You would not believe this place. California women are real dangers I swear. The Puritans would howl –shoot, any old man in Pacheco Texas would get a rise if you saw these women in California. I am sorry by the way. The problem with being from Pacheco Texas is everything is something like, “if you know what someone means”. I can say well “I left my bag in a bar if you know what I mean,” and in Pacheco Texas, for some miracle, everyone would know what the hell you’re talking about. I am pretty pissed too. Pissed. Listen to my sailor mouth. Oh Mother, mercy on me. My Mother once told me not to say piss because if I say pissed, one day some bald man will beat me up and urinate in my face. I don’t say pissed too much.

In my bag I had some keepers. I had a bible –which got wet from a Dr. Pepper I spilled on it, a extra pair of shoelaces –which I never had to use so that’s why they were still in the bag, a journal that I am writing in now, a crummy pen that my Father gave to me, which were the only two things I didn’t leave behind, a picture of May West –primarily of here large features if you know what I mean, a picture of my good ol buddy Ole Kirkabee and I jumping in the lake with some girls we met before I left, a broken wristwatch –which is why I wasn’t wearing it, an extra pair of clothing, toothbrush, razor, nail cutters, a Japanese kimono, a belt buckle –never got to use the damn thing, and a collection of letters from my darling sister Camp from New York. She lives in New York and all. I have never been to New York. To be honest before this trip, I had never been farther than Dallas. Never been to Austin, it was a treat to visit some place like Lubbock or Waco. Sometimes for my old job unloading trucks and what not, they would send me to drive all the way to Abilene to deliver fruits and fresh produce to their store. It was a tiny chain grocery store called Ralphy’s Groceries and there was only a handful. One in Abilene, one in Brownwood, one in Pacheco of course, and one all the hell over in Nacogdoches. I have never been to Nacogdoches. I have no clue what the hell they do over there. I assume it is kind of the same as Pacheco. Their boys play basketball, their girls help Momma, their families go to church, their grandparents are racist, their cows make milk, and their dirt becomes mud when wet. I guess it’s the same. I never been so who the hell knows.

Now let me tell you about my best friend. His name is Ole Kirkabee. God I love Ole Kirkabee. Ole is about 6 foot and made of bricks. We used to wrestle and although I wasn’t horrible he always beat me. It made me sad sometimes cause he would stand up real tall and bulk his shoulders up like they were carved from Greeks or something. He would show his neck muscles and help me up but it still made me feel like a bastard. I never tell him those things of course. I think I could take him now. I might when I get back. Anyways, he is all the way from Plano. He was a big stud Running Back there but his Daddy made him move for an agricultural lifestyle. Farming and all that crap. Ole is really cultured. He is one of the only reasons I know anything. He tells me about cities he’s been to and where he has been. Makes it seem like –don’t tell my Momma this, but that if I didn’t go to church too much, I would see more in the world. Now, Ole doesn’t tell me that or anything. It’s just that every time I am in church I think, “I could be in Sweden. Or Asia.” Some place I have heard about on the radio. I like the radio. I listen to it a lot. I like this one station that plays sweet jazz music. I first heard a Miles Davis song when I was 14 and it changed my life. I mean not dramatically or anything. Just made me happier than usual I guess. It was ‘Round Midnight. I love that song. I don’t know much about jazz or music really but it makes me go somewhere else like Pacheco doesn’t exist or something like that. Like I am in this far off jazzier world and no one in Texas can find me. Sometimes when I hang around Ole a lot I feel jazzy. I feel like we are John Coltrane and Miles Davis. But I know were not. I just Picture that.
I was a sophomore in high school and the final term was coming to an end. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do over the summer. When Mr. Neilson went around in our advanced English class asking what we were doing I had no idea what to say. Everybody had some spectacular story set up when it was his or her turn. Little tacticians planning their summers to stop World War III or some pedantic piece of crap plan they had. This one bastard, Jenna Fishwife, had really sliced, cropped, and thrown it up in the fan this time. Ol’ Jenna Fishwife. Ole and I used to always say, “Hey Ole you asking ol’ Jenna to the dance?” And he would say back –playing along of course, “Nah, I am afraid she will try to marry me. I don’t want no Fishy wife.” And we would laugh like vinegar and cucumbers. I don’t know if vinegar and cucumbers laugh or anything. Just saying. I could ask, but right now I have no clue. Anyways, Jenna threw it up saying she was going to Guatemala or Mexico or something, and was going to build churches. I mean come on. Build churches? Stinky Fishwife needed some church herself. She was the devil I tell you. You could see the 666 on her forehead every time she made some phony story up about her and Jesus, “Just being palls” and all that. I love Jesus, don’t get me wrong –Oh mother wont like this, but I hate people who are “Palls with Jesus” Like they are so much closer than you are. That’s not true. Or when some bible beating family slaps on another family that Jesus isn’t a pall with them anymore. It happens a lot in Pacheco to be honest. People here can be very judgmental. It makes me go mental, that’s what’s mental about it. My sister Camp, she always tells me how in New York you can do whatever the hell you want. Either no one is judgmental, or everyone is conceited. Hard to say.
Anyways, when it got to me I said something like, “I don’t know, either work a basketball camp or work at Bjorg’s.” Bjorg’s is this little deli joint we have. It’s hilarious. And that is what I did after my spring term. I enjoyed my spring term a lot that year. I mean a lot. Ole and I were done with basketball seasons and no one really gives a crap during spring. Girls are horny as hell too. I mean it. Now in Pacheco you can’t kiss and tell. Which is ironic cause its not like God doesn’t know or anything. He likes it in my opinion. I think he likes emotion. That’s why he made us I think. I think. I can give you a couple names. Not too many but one girl named Kathrin Kopplewood was a real howler. They didn’t call her Kopplewood for nothing. She was brilliant. She was a tall brunette who played basketball. She was athletic but not a beast or anything. She was very graceful and all. The other girl was an exchange student from Kyoto, Japan. Oh man. I mean, oh man. Her name was Yuri Tazaki. Or Tazuki. I can’t remember for godssake but regardless she was brilliant. I mean it too. Straight off the boat. A real looker. Anyways after spring I started working at Bjorg’s. I started every morning at a painful five in the morning. I mean painful too. The kind of early even the garbage men are groggy still. My eyes would hurt like the four lids had been slightly cut to be honest. My body was so sore every time I woke up. Everyday I would get in bed and the better sleep I got, the worse I felt in the morning. What a cruel contrast. I worked behind this local market we had called Bjorg’s in a pretty small town. Small but popular, the whole place was filled with tourist. I worked in the back unloading trucks and delivering the food. Each day the food had to be fresh so we had to wake up extremely early to get the produce on the shelves. It was a s*** show. Every time I saw some lousy muscle machine unload a truck for the millionth time I wonder how the hell he could do it for thirty years or so. Not that many people worked all day but each person had a specific job at a specific time. Mine happened to be bright –well in this case still dark, and early. We had to wear these thin, cheap blue jumpsuits with a precious little stitched badge that said “Bjorg’s” on it and our names sewn in. The jumpsuits are quite nice actually. The owners mother is like, three hundred years old so she does that crap all the time. She is a sweet old lady but no one is in the cockpit if you know what I mean.

I rarely “worked” with anyone because like I said all I did was show up early and unload; there wasn’t much room for socializing or creating buds along the way. The interesting thing is most of the men working there didn’t want to socialize. Most of them were all former criminals with four-year-old blonde daughters. That’s all there ever is anymore, big bank robbin’ bald guys with four year old little daughters. I swear to God. I liked this one guy though, I didn’t know his real name but I think it might have been Paul, but everyone calls him Tonka. Like a Tonka truck or something I think. He was a real hoot; he was about seven foot tall and bald of course. He had a little daughter named Jane who he constantly compared his hard life to her innocence. Even stupid stuff he does that to, he would say, “Man these boxes used to cartel drugs, now its food for my daughter.” Some real emotional line that I just ignore mainly because I don’t care but also because he is a terrifying man. On Mondays it gets amazing, I mean amazing. Everyone in the whole damn factory –if you want to call it a factory, its not very big, is on duty all day. The reason being is most of our import of fish comes in which is a delicate issue. The fish are like embryos for these men. They talk about the fish like it’s a human. It is the strangest sight. I don’t participate because all I do is unload the truck and bring the heavy boxes to the middle of the platform. Pain in the ass I swear.

Usually things get pretty quiet around lunch. Everyone goes out but I have to stay and eat with my boss. He is a real samurai. His name is Hotaka Katsumi and he is about sixty years old. To be honest he might be eighty but I can’t tell. He is a firm traditional man, but a very casual and westernized man. We talk about simple things during lunch about studies and work. Nothing worth anything but he holds a presence to himself that you could not imagine. He has a flat nose and short, buzzed salt and pepper hair that is perfectly arrayed as if each hair is placed into order each day. Which knowing him, it very well might be. He reads our local newspaper and hums the entire time. Even if he is done with his paper he treats it with the upmost respect. He folds the paper into a perfect harmonious fold and sets the paper as if the paper had a preference on where to sit. One time he put the paper on my seat and when I went to grab the paper he jolted out of his chair screaming in Japanese. It scared the s*** out of me. He looked me in the eyes and said very seriously, “What are you doing? Why do you not want me to know what’s going on?” I had no idea what he meant to I asked him if he had already read that paper and that I was just moving it to sit. He stared and nodded to the corner of the room. I looked there and he widened his eyes and lowered his head. I kept staring until I walked with my sandwich to the corner and he continued to stare until I started eating my sandwich standing. Each day he would also read a Japanese newspaper. I have no idea where he gets these but each one looks professional and up to date. Bjorg’s is across the street from local sushi places so they might get an import each day or something. Instead of humming, when he reads the Japanese paper he just goes, “oh…hmm…ah…” as if being shocked, impacted, and entertained in the paper. Hotaka is a very formal man when he is in the lunchroom. It is always just us two. The first week he never looked at me until I tried to move his paper. The second week he walked over while I was unloading and stared at me. I had unbuttoned my jumpsuit to the waist down because of the heat. Oh man, Hotaka was about to lose it. He started at me until I button the whole thing back up. What a guy. I mean it too. Frickin’ Hotaka. What a guy. The only reason he was so limp all the time was because he was trapped in a Japanese Interment Camp during the war. What a b**** of a war. My brother was too young thankfully. Just by a year. He tried to enlist and the whole bit. He tried to trade a pack of cigarettes for the Captain to change his birth certificate to make him 18. The only thing my foolish brother didn’t understand is that the only things sexy about the war were cigarettes. Man those cigarettes. I mean what else would you do there? I guess kill people, but there aren’t any steaks and turkeys or radios hanging around for kicks in the war. Just beautiful, sexy, smoky, cigarettes, God I love them.
My brother is crazy. I mean it too. He isn’t like my sister Camp and I. Camp is the explorer and all. Always finding little mazes quietly and slipping her way through them until she is where she wanted to go in the first place. I like that about Camp. She is like a mouse in an experiment but she is the one conducting the experiment. Does that make sense? My brother though lives at home and all. He wants to join the family business. My parents are alcoholics for a living. It’s fun, but not for me. Do you see how that makes sense? The thing with Texas is everyone is a drinker. But my parents luckily enough, are weekend alcoholics. They drink and drink and drink until I have to sleep at my friend Claire’s crazy house. Claire is my other best friend. She is like Ole, but I don’t kiss Ole as much. Almost, but not as much. She isn’t my crazy girlfriend or anything. Well, I mean she isn’t now, or then, or maybe never. You see what I mean? I don’t mean to complain or be conceited but sometimes I would sort of cry after basketball games or football games because my family never came because they couldn’t drive drunk. I mean I don’t blame them or nothin’. I wouldn’t want Daddy to get pulled over again and get arrested. Rather them sleep it off and all. But that is just me. When I get home though they always say they forgot and some crap. I wish they would just say, “How did you play Sunny Wayne?” And I could tell them good, and they would go back to drinking Cognac or whatever alcoholics drink.
One time, we were playing some team from Southlake that traveled all the way to Pacheco and were supposed to be Gods golden little shits or something. They had the uniforms and the shoes and the whole bit. I was so damn nervous. I was starting at forward and had to guard this big ol’ kid named big Jackie something. I don’t remember for godssake. But this kid was about 7 foot 6 or something crazy. I am tall, just not 7 feet. I like being tall cause girls think its cute or something crazy. I mean I don’t think that really, girls just always get all flirty when they say something about my height. Every time. Never met a girl that hasn’t been halfway in love with me, which comments on my damn height. Anyways, these big filthy animals got off the bus and I could see them from the window. I was sitting next to Ole because the girls can’t sit with the boys before the game. Coach Coxcomb –yes Coxcomb, always would turn around when I would be getting crazy or flirty with Claire or something and yell “Wayne! Shut your big mouth!” I mean I know it doesn’t sound funny, but it was so damn funny. Like a lot of people, he always called me Wayne. My Daddy calls me Wayne but my Mother doesn’t. She calls me Sunny. Also my name is Sunny. Not Sonny. You animals remember okay?

Coach was one of those coaches who were nice, and new what he was talking about, but always seemed like a pedophile or something. I mean he was married and I loved the guy but always seemed like a pedophile. Everyone has one person in his or her life that is a pedophile, even if he isn’t for godssake. He is dead now anyways. He died of a heart attack. It was sad as hell because basketball season was over. It wasn’t romantic or anything. Like he didn’t die on the final free throw and go down in flames. He just died while I was probably in math class screwing around with Ole or Claire. That is the problem with death; no one dies at a romantic time. Not even Jesus or anybody.
Anyways, we got off the bus and had this big pep talk and all. I was nervous as hell. Coach Coxcomb was all wild and what not. Ole is fun to play basketball with because he will kill a man and help a man up. The best is Raider Scroggins. Oh man Raider Scroggins never walked off the field or court without a broken something. Or never played a game without getting ejected. Then you would see Raider at church on Sunday and he would have a big cast on and a big “A” on his chest embroidered for “Asshole” during the game. (He didn’t really. Just a reference from some book.) Then he would give me, three rows ahead of me, some “oops” look. Love Raider Scroggins man. We got on the court –shaking and all, and we took it too them. I was so nervous but when the ball went out of play I looked up and saw my Mother sitting in the stands. I damn nearly threw up I was so happy. I went off. I mean off. Sunk about a million threes, blocked four shots on Mr. 7 feet, and dominated the entire game. I was for once in my life invincible. I could see Claire impressed. Although Claire never shows anybody that she is impressed. I just know sometimes. Maybe she wasn’t, I don’t know. I was throwing punches, stitching up wounds and giving kisses to babies. I was for once in my stupid, small, humble little life, invincible. After the game I couldn’t believe it I nearly started balling my eyes out. I ran up to my Mother and realized it wasn’t her. She still smiled and said, “Good game Sunny!” but it didn’t mean that much because I thought it was my Mother. I never played a great basketball game again. I mean it is okay though. My parents or brother actually never came to any of my games now that I think about it. It’s okay though. That’s what Claire would always tell me. “It’s okay Sunny, it’s okay.” Sometimes this girl Madison Sanford and I, would go for walks after the games to talk and neck or whatever the hell we felt like doing. I always told her it was because I liked her but really I was just waiting for my parents and brother to sober up. I knew if they didn’t come to the game that they just had a couple of drinks. Which is okay. But, sometimes I would get home after necking Madison and they would be completely sober. I wouldn’t mention the game because then I would come across as that bastard who needs that attention. They do have a point on that. I mean I don’t need the attention. It is just a game. Camp Cunningham never asked for anything and now she is in the Big Apple making things happen. My brother never asked and he seems happy I guess. 
I knew I would have to talk about Claire sooner or later. It isn’t a lousy topic or anything; I just used to really love her. I mean really love her. For years and all. She was always dating some Arlie Bomgraw or whomever she was necking all the time. I mean we necked a couple of times but nothing too sexy. She never seemed that interested, yet, always interested in everything else in my life. I can easily say that I would not have survived this world without her. Darling girl. I mean it too she is a darling girl. One day I am going to marry Claire Templeton but not anytime soon. I am too tired. She is a long haul and I mean it. She is one of those short, blonde, sexy types. I don’t mean that in a sexy way, just has a certain appeal and swagger that is peculiarly fascinating. She wants to be a writer and all. She was always the top of the class. Only one in our class that probably ended up going to college. She goes to Columbia now. She is one of the very few from anywhere that has been accepted to Columbia. She had perfect scores but it wasn’t that, besides her darling personality –which I am sure she used to her advantage in her face-to-face interview, she wrote and published a novel called “Willing to Escape” about a young girl leaving Texas to attend College. Kind of ironic in a sense I guess. She has an astronomical supply of vocabulary. (Did I use that right? She taught me that word.) I should give her a ring at the next stop. Whenever the hell that is. Bus Driver said something about a Dairy Queen but I don’t know if he was going to stop at one or was just talking about one. Either way, I should give Claire a call. She was one of those girls that wouldn’t call you for a million years, then call you one day pissed off because you didn’t call her in 58 years or something absolutely Claire-esqe of her. God that girl is something. Death, and life to me I swear to God.
That summer was where it all started. Sorry, I lost my damn place in the beginning and went off on one of those long rants of crap. I do that a lot. Its why people want to kill me, yet, marry me. Like Claire to my living situation, it’s very similar. Anyways, I was on my way to my senior year of high school and it was depressing and all because the seniors were graduating. It takes a graduation to realize how damn depressed you are. It really does. I realized I would never play ball or kiss any old senior girl ever again. That depressed me. There was this big ceremony for my buddy Jamie Oxford and all during the graduation. Pictures, and kind words and all this jazz that just made me love the guy. We used to get in Patrick Inglewood’s pick up truck and head about a million crazy miles to a lake like those big ones in Austin. Jamie took me to my first party, it wasn’t all that special and I have had beer before but it basically was a bunch of old slobs getting s*** faced for no good reason. It was like home, but because we were on this desolate area of water, everyone had the right to be alcoholics. See people think alcoholics are people who drink because they need it. In my opinion of course, alcoholics are those who put themselves in areas like lakes or buses, for no good damn reason and get drunk like a bunch of wild baboons. That’s an alcoholic. An excuse of a “partyer” or whatever you call them. I mean I still would go. I didn’t love it or anything but I would still go. I really liked Jamie Oxford for opening my life to new things but it wasn’t all that great because he’s dead now too. Nothing romantic either, it was just like Coach. Death is that unromantic banker or some crap that pays his bills, turns in his taxes, eats a bowl of grains, reads his literature, A.K.A, “Wall Street Journal” –which is crap that people only read that stuff for reading. Waste of soul I tell you. Death is that boring cake to the frosting. Death is that radio noise to the sweet jazz. I hate Death. I probably wouldn’t hate it so much if it would just chose a romantic time! I mean that too. Jamie drowned at the lake trying to be some crazy guy sort of. Jamie was really smart too, he was going to be this big shot, Greek living, grape eating, master or something and instead he fell of the boat at night. Everyone was too damn drunk to help. I wasn’t there that night because Raider Scroggins was hosting a get together in between my house and Claire’s house out by the cornfield. We would bring blankets and make a fire and drink Dr. Pepper and neck each other and stuff. It was fun.
Anyways, the graduation was sad as hell. I stood in the way back of the crowd –it was on the football field and all, and I felt like an absolute crazy guy I swear to God. Ole, Raider, and some guy named Johnny Luther kept kicking the hell out of my ankles. I damn nearly ripped their heads off. I had these nice red cotton socks from New York and brand new pants ironed and washed by my Mother. And what do those bastards do? They kick the living milk out of my ankles. No damn soul on them. There was too much damn grease in Ole’s stupid hair to even think straight anyways. “Ole will you cut that crazy stuff out?” I sort of yelled but I whispered because the old Dean Dickface was giving some weak speech about moving forward. “SHHHHH” yelled back about a million of some sore parents. “Sunny you better stop talking boy. Your Daddy will be kicking your face if he hears ol Sunny Wayne was a disturbance.” Ole said facing forward like he was trying to play some game where you can see who can keep his hands in his or hers pockets and look forward like a bastard the longest. Ole did that really well when he spoke at the graduation. “Stop the crazy stuff Ole! These socks—.”
“Yeah new, I know I know. Hey Sunny. Sunny. Sunny for godssake listen.”
I turned my head slightly facing him and said, “Okay what? I want to hear the goddam speech okay?” Ole laughed quietly and said, “What the hell you want to hear out of this ol piece of junk? Listen Sunny. Do you hear that? He basically is a man standing up there trying to give a speech while keeping a mustard bottle in his ass or something.” I sort of laughed my ass off when he said that. Picturing the Dean squeezing a mustard bottle in-between his butt made me loose. Really loose. A bunch of sore parents turned around again in their cheap suits and hushed me like they were Jesus frickin’ Christ or something. Jesus. I just put my head down and they realized it was I so they kind of were less sore. People seem to get less sore when they see who you are and all. I’m not complaining or anything about grown ups. They usually know best anyways. God, the bus is so cold I can’t even write fast enough. My fingers are stiff and all. Anyways, Ole was sad and all too because his girlfriend Mackenzie Scroggins –yes Raider’s sister, was graduating. They had been dating for about 50 years or so. Real kooks. (Is that how you spell kook? Like looney you know?) (How the hell do you spell looney? How the hell should I know? My English teacher was a crack addict and molested small birds in his kitchen or something crazy like that.) I liked Mackenzie Scroggins but she was always one of those girls that took your best friend away from the party from you. Which was awfully irritating because I get nervous and scared during parties. I mean usually Claire brings me into the light but when Ole isn’t there or Raider or Johnny or any other guys I like to shoot it with, I get pretty reserved. And I don’t drink or nothin’ so I just get even more insecure at parties. I hate parties. Not Claire’s parties but just parties in general you know? Claire always sets up one of those big games of spin the bottle, otherwise known as “if you kiss the girl I am trying to kiss, I will crack a bottle on your head.” See what I mean? Guys let their heads off in these sorts of games. I mean I don’t but a lot of guys do. Raider does because he always shoots for these high-end girls but never really achieves anything. He is that guy who asks you about a million times if he should neck some stunning broad, then never does it and secretly hooks up with some village-bicycle piece of work. Mackenzie had these real big breasts that you almost had to be blind, gay, or Mormon or something to not stare at them. I mean I felt bad and all too because she was dating Ole, and was Raider’s big sister. But my word. The girl is barely going to college but still, you could put a collection of Matryoshka Dolls on her damn chest. I mean it too. The thing with Pacheco though is you never know if someone is, well, you know. Ole never talked about that stuff and I never asked. Not because I knew better or something but sometimes I don’t want to ask Ole those kinds of questions cause I get scared of him. He is like my brother in that way. I love them both but I show what I feel with them. Which is how we all get along so well I guess, or else, we wouldn’t get along. Ole was still acting all cheerful but I felt so bad because I knew he was going to start bawling and crying the second he saw Mackenzie. I hate that about graduations, you always have to be there for the bastard that cries his or hers eyes out. I have trouble with that because I don’t cry that easily. “Well, your kind of a free man Ole.”  I said half jokingly. “Ole! Cut that out or I’ll cut you in half. She’s only going to Oklahoma. Not Goddamn Arkansas.” I found it funny Ole used Arkansas instead of somewhere actually far away. “Yeah I know. What are y’all doing toni-.” “Don’t worry about it Sunny. Were busy, hang out with Raider or Eugene.” Ole seemed a little irritated but he was one of those guys who always seemed irritated at something. Like he always had loose change in his pocket, so every time he went to put his hands in his trousers, his hands would smell like nickels or something. The only thing is Ole never had a penny to his name. He is kind of Jewish though. Ole reached down and dug up some grass like he was taking a sample or something. I chuckled a tad because Ole is always taking samples of something. “Good grass Ole?” I laughed and he said back, “No, this field is absolute garbage. I mean nice memories but absolute garbage.”
“Ole, everything except The Lone Ranger is garbage to you.”
“I mean, sort of. The Lone Ranger is the only thing that doesn’t make me want to commit suicide.” Our voices slowly got louder, “Oh, stop that crazy talk Ole. You love Church? And you love God don’t you?”
“I mean yeah I love it all I guess. Its not really Churc-.”
“Well then what the hell is it?”
“Let me finish for godssake! I just hate all the dinner and brunch and praying at the table that’s all. Why you look so appalled? You pregnant or somethin’?” I faced him like my Mother or something, “No I am not pregnant! Its called giving thanks Ole-.”
“Yeah I know what the hell it is. I do it all the time. When the hell can I stop giving thanks and live my goddamn life?”
“God is listening you know?”
“Yeah I know Sunny. I want to tell him that anyways. Why are you so sore? What did Claire get your head off or something?”
“Kind of, she got really mad the other night. I haven’t seen her since. She isn’t eve-.” Ole interrupted, “Yeah she is. She is…” Ole looked around to search for her. He had to do it in a sexy way which was funny but annoying. Hands in his pockets, double breasted navy suit, grease in his hair, on his tiptoes with one damn eyebrow raised like finding Claire was his life’s mission or something. “Why? What the hell did you do this time?” Ole asked like he had it written on his hand. “I don’t know what to do Ole. She’s going to make me go crazy I just know it. I just know it. She is the only person in my life that just absolutely makes me go crazy!” Ole kept shaking his legs like he had been standing for 400 damn years or like he had sand from the beach in his trousers. Which I don’t know if Ole had ever been to a beach. I have always wanted to go to the beach. I mean always. I tried to save my money for two years for a bus ticket to Galveston but I didn’t have any swim trunks. I don’t know. I mean the economy got a little better like Daddy always would say, “War means Money.” which I don’t know how, but it kind of has. The Germans were less German and the Japanese less Japanese and the Soviets were kind of still Soviets. My brother said during the war they had to ration things all over the country. The Cunningham’s didn’t because we had chickens for eggs and cows for milk and family for love back then. Daddy didn’t have to go to war either because he was a farmer and all. Farmers were excused you know. “How long is this thing going to last anyways?” I was tired of standing with so much on my mind. “Why you getting married Sunny?” “No I am tired as hell. Why you gotta pick on me all the time? In one year you won’t see me alright Ole.”
“Jesus frickin’ Christ Sunny stop being such a back ache alright? Where the hell you gonna’ go when you leave Pacheco? You aren’t working on the farm?” Ole kind of asked the perfect questions. “I don’t know Ole. I’m thinking of the beach.” He laughed a little and said, “Sunny. What do you mean the beach?” He was being a sarcastic idiot to clarify, I told him very seriously though, “I mean the beach Ole. I’m gonna’ get some trunks, build a sandcastle, read on the bus ride there and back. Meet some cute girl and swim with her and all. I don’t know. Beach stuff. I ain’t ever been Ole.”
“Yeah Clearly. Where? I mean assuming you have thought this far.” The only problem I had with this question is people always assume I haven’t “thought that far” into things. People think I am too slow and dumb. I mean people like me but when they say things like that I just assume. Of course back then I was a different Sunny because then I was slow and dumb. I didn’t know Ole was being an ass. “Japan.” Ole laughed even louder than before. I always gave him a louder-than-before laugh for some reason. Ole really got a kick out of me. It wasn’t like I was that interesting then or anything. Just Sunny Wayne. “Japan? As in China Japan?” Ole kept laughing like an idiot. “No you moron, Japan, Japan. You know. War Japan.” Ole kept laughing but it wasn’t a big deal because no one looked back. “Sunny, why the hell would you go to the beach in Japan? The war is over buddy. Ain’t much going on in Japan right now anymore.” He kept shaking his head like he was making sure he had a brain in-between his ears or something. “I know that. I just like Japan that’s all.” He kind of stopped laughing like an idiot. “I thought the day I would hear the Sunny Cunningham say he wanted to go to the beach and to Japan in the same sentence would be the day I either die or trip on some peyote.” (I had no clue what the hell peyote was.) “Well. You can die Ole. Please die. Pacheco is a burden.” I had never said anything like this before. I felt bad I said it cause Pacheco did nothing wrong. It was the damn people. “Oh, Sunny, c’mon now. You don’t mean that. I’m just foolin’ with you buddy. Go to Japan. I know you can buddy. Look, I am a little out of the park with ol Scroggins graduating. Because now you are my most beautiful friend in Pacheco!” He wasn’t being an idiot at all. At least at the time I didn’t think so. I laughed and elbowed him in his ribs and what not. “Oh! Shh, shut up Sunny.” I wasn’t even talking but Ole got all ready for this one. Mackenzie took the stage and you could see the stitches in the back of Raider Scroggin’s head –for God knows what, in the front row clapping for his sister. I just kind of quietly clapped and all. “Alright Ole she’s done, can we get the hell out of here?” Ole was facing me but still looking at the stage like Jesus Christ was preaching on it or something. “Yeah, lets get going you animal.” We both started walking and by God’s fate Claire Templeton in all her glory walked right by us. No avoiding this one. “Claire.” I said, like there was a spider or something on me. “Sunny,” She said slowly. “Ole, you mind if I get a word with Sunny Cunningham alone?” She said it very slowly and seductively. She always called me Sunny Cunningham. Never Sunny. “Claire listen,”
“No Sunny Cunningham you listen! That little stunt you pulled! You little sneak! You little rat! I never in my days-.” “Darling please, all these people are watch-.”
“I do not care right now. I really don’t. How many times are you going to do this to me Sunny Cunningham? You act like I have the world on my fingers! I don’t, you expect so much from me but I cant, I, I, I just can’t Sunny Cunningham!” I felt like I was melting. Or freezing into a big block of ice just to be slammed into by a Model T Ford. “Claire. You have to breathe for godssake.” My voice was trembling allover the place. She started to cry and I nearly wanted to die. She was one of those girls who only people she hated made her cry, and I was making her cry, the strongest girl in the world coming to tears because of me. Little Sunny Wayne. “Claire, lets talk about this later. I mean, just so people aren’t around and all-,”
“That’s your problem Sunny! You are so scared of people. You can’t handle anything. Anything! I have never met a weaker boy than you Sunny Cunningham.” She walked away with little specks of tears in her eyes. I felt like dying. I really did. I had been called stupid and slow but never in my life had I been called weak. I had never felt weak. Even during football games when some big animals would be mauling me, I still didn’t feel weak. Ole came back over and had unbuttoned his jacket. “Everything cool Sunny?” I didn’t respond. I think Ole just knew. We both just started walking towards his car, slowly and weakly.

I had to take a break from writing to catch some sleep. It feels like I have been driving for hours. My bus driver just hums and whistles every now and then. There are about 9 people on the bus. None of them want to talk to me. I guess that’s what happens when you leave Pacheco, you realize no one wants to talk to you or something. Like I smell like baloney. I don’t know. Most of these folks are from big cities like Dallas or Houston, San Diego or San Francisco or some place like that. A place where pennies on the floor aren’t good luck like in Pacheco, they are dirty. City money is dirty money. That is what Daddy always said, but I don’t think he means like how I said it. Nothing has really happened so far. The only thing of any interest is what the truck drivers look like. I mean you can picture any old dopey person sitting in a truck but have you ever seen an actual truck driver? I hadn’t. I really hadn’t believe it or not. I was so damn curious when we hit one of those huge gas stations where you can bed down for the night and all. I walked into the bathroom and some greased up man with a pony tail was sitting on the pot and didn’t lock the damn door. If there is anything I hate in the world, its those who don’t lock the damn door. The only person I can ever recall that I have ever yelled at in my entire life was Curtis Boekurkin. Curtis –to save his damn life, couldn’t close a door. He just couldn’t. He tried, I tried to help him and he just couldn’t. No matter where we went he would always leave some door open and I would have to say, “Curtis grab the door,” and every fucking time he would respond with, “Oh yeah,” like he forgot! He didn’t forget! He liked doing it! I just know it. No one but Curtis Boekurkin liked not closing doors. If there is anything I hate, its locks without people who know how to lock.
What the hell were we talking about? Oh yeah. I am weak. Weak. Even the way the word weak sounds, is completely weak in itself.