The Death Card

This started as a writing exercise in my fiction class last year.  Everyone had to bring an object to class and tell a story about that object, but there had to be some sort of untruth in the story. After everyone told their stories, our homework was to choose two objects that other people had brought and write a story about those objects. I chose to write about a Starbucks water bottle and a playing card that two girls had brought. So, without further ado...

George was antsy, his whole body in motion, so impatient for me to open his gift, which turned out to be utter crap.  But what are friends for, right?  We were standing outside his apartment in the freezing cold, and I was not in the mood for his games.  I held out the plastic water bottle and said, "Are you kidding me?  This is my birthday present?"

"Dude, it's a water bottle.  I thought you wanted one?"

I sighed.  "It's a Starbucks water bottle.  You know I hate Starbucks.  Why would you give me this?"

"But it's a water bottle, man.  Who cares what it says on it?"

"I do; that's the whole point I'm trying to make here."  This conversation was getting infuriating, and it was completely typical of our friendship.  I can't talk to George for more than fifteen minutes before my mind explodes from listening to his illogical thought processes.  Already I could see that look in his eyes that said he wasn't really listening to a single word I said.  It was enough to make me want to punch him in the goddamn face.  "How did you even get it into your head that this was just the perfect present to give me on my birthday?"

"Well you haven't even opened the whole thing.  There's more inside."

I had assumed that the red tissue inside the bottle was just filler, but it was apparently his makeshift wrapping paper for what turned out to be a playing card.  Not just any playing card, though; it was the two of hearts.  It was the Death Card, a sort of mock death threat that George had invented in a moment of boredom.  Most of our friends had one, and they all had received it from George, but since no one took him seriously, it had sort of become a "show this to George when you're pissed off at him" card.  I certainly needed it right now, but I was feeling perverse, and decided to give him a hard time about it.

"I can't believe this, George.  Not only do you give me a Starbucks-branded water bottle, but you give me the Death Card on top of it?  It's my birthday for Christ's sake."

"Oh come on, Jake, why you gotta be so nit-picky today?  Now you're in the club; you can flash that baby around whenever one of us is pissing you off."

"How about now?  Can I use it now?  I'd really like to use it now, George."

"Um, no, not right now because I just gave it to you.  Wait about a week or something."

I closed my eyes, held my breath, counted to ten, and let it out.  "George, you do not give a guy the Death Card on his birthday.  Maybe on some other day that doesn't matter, but not on his birthday, you know?  And just your luck, you've caught me on an especially bad day.  It might as well have been Shelly who gave me the Death Card.  First her, and now you.  I really can't take this on my birthday."

"What?  What happened with Shelley?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow and assuming the "tell-me-everything-in-excruciating-detail-right-this-second" look.  He's a gossipmonger; he never lets an opportunity to gather new information pass him by.  The problem with that was I knew our entire group of friends would possess every last sordid detail of my relationship issues before the day was out.  That's George for you: best friends 'til the end.

"No way, I'm not telling you anything, George.  I shouldn't even have mentioned it in the first place."

"Wait, why?  I'm your best friend; aren't you supposed to tell me all the juicy details of your life or whatever?"

"You're kidding, right?  I can't tell you anything because it'll be all over the place before the day is out.  You'll tell everyone."

He put his right hand over his heart and raised his left hand in the air.  "I swear by your shiny new Starbucks water bottle that I won't tell a soul.  Come on, man, I'm a vault.  Nothing gets out of the vault."

I stared at him for a moment, contemplating the consequences of wringing his neck, or maybe just bludgeoning him over the head with the water bottle.  It had quite a bit of heft to it with that half-inch thick plastic.  I decided against it.

"You know that doesn't mean a damn thing to me?  Remember what happened with Freddie?"  I thought he had forgotten about the last time he said he was a vault, which was when he found out Freddie was cheating on Alice and swore not to tell a soul.  Alice knew all about it within two hours.  Their relationship was over within two hours and twenty minutes.

George stared off into space for a moment before understanding dawned over his face.  "Oh wow, I forgot about that time.  But, alcohol was involved there, and there were other extenuating circumstances.  Besides, you know I would never make a promise I can't keep."

Sighing, I rubbed my forehead, trying to stave off the headache I knew was coming on.  He had a tendency to give me headaches – excruciating, mind-numbing migraines.  "I appreciate the distinction you're trying to make here, but you do realize that it was a promise you didn't keep, no matter how inebriated you were?  That said I'm going to take this water bottle and run over it with my car.  Thank you."

"No, come on, don't do that, Jake.  It was expensive."

Once again, I stared at him in disbelief.  "Now that is a lie.  I can see the water spots in it from going through a dishwasher."

"Damn, I knew I should have put some Jet Dry stuff in that last load.  In that case, you can't do it because it's a Nalgene and those things are indestructible."

Typical George.  No remorse.

"Ok, we're done for the day.  Thanks for the half-gift; I'll be sure to remember this when your birthday comes around."

"Don't be like that, Jake," he said.  "It's just a gag gift."

"Crazily enough, I'm not in the mood for your 'jokes' today."

He fidgeted around for a bit while I stared him down.  "Well then, can I have the stuff back?"

Did I hear him right?  Did he seriously just do take-backs?  "You're taking the gift back?  You can't do that, it's a gift."

"Jake, you just said you didn't want any of it.  If you don't want it, I can find other uses for it all."

"But you can't take back the Death Card.  It's a death threat; how do you take back a death threat?"

"I don't want you to have the Death Card if you're just going to pull it on me all the time.  It's supposed to be used sparingly, and I have a feeling that you'll be making a little too much use out of it."

"You can't be serious.  I'm not giving any of it back."

"Ok, so you want to keep it?"

"Yes, I'm keeping it."

"Alright, awesome, I'll see you on Saturday then; party at Freddie's place!"

"What?  George, we're not done here," I yelled after him, but he was already walking down the street, waving at me over his shoulder, his way of saying that he wasn't really leaving me hanging; he just had better things to do.

This was all typical George too.  Once he was done with you, you suddenly weren't angry anymore, and you didn't have the slightest idea how it had happened.  As I walked to my car, crappy presents in hand, I seriously considered how good it would make me feel to smash the stupid thing into the ground, though it was a half-hearted kind of contemplation.

I forgot all about my annoyance when I came in view of my car to see Shelley standing there, arms wrapped around her body trying to keep warm.  Not cool.  Why she thought this would be a good time to talk to me, I have no idea, but there she was, and I couldn't turn around and pretend not to see her because she had already spotted me.  If walking away from her once didn't do the trick, it probably wouldn't work again, so I crossed the street to my car and said, "Whatever you think you can accomplish by coming here, think again.  I don't want to talk to you."