Wessoning Heights

Here is the piece I wrote last night for Our Bar.

A man sits at the bar. He pulls out a bottle of WESSON CANOLA OIL. He pours himself a shot and downs it. Makes a face.

WESSON

If the boy gets the operation, they say there’s an 80% chance the tumor doesn’t grow back. But the thing about the tumor [pours another shot of oil] it grows so slowly- it’s technically benign. So according to insurance company it’s elective surgery.

He slams the next shot. Gags.

Elective! Never mind that when my boy turns 8 he’ll lose his sense of smell. Blind in the one eye by twelve! Blind in both by sixteen! Fuck you, says Cigna! Elective.

A MYSTERIOUS WOMAN has been watching him.

I need $80 grand just to get the docs to cut on him. $35 grand to the doc. $15 grand to the anesthesiologist. Shit, the room by itself costs $30 grand.

MYSTERY

So take out a second mortgage.

WESSON

Banks. [shakes his head.] Somebody stole my identity. Credit’s destroyed. Only one way I see that money. Life insurance.

MYSTERY

Canola oil.

WESSON

Pure trans fat. [holds up bottle.] I’ve been drinking two of these a day for the last two weeks. I can tell I’m close because it feels like somebody gave the right side of my heart a purple nurple.

MYSTERY

You think the insurance companies won’t screw you too?

WESSON

Massive heart attack’s an act of God. The trick is making sure it’s big enough. I’ve had a couple little ones today. But they aren’t it. Got to keep going. Got to make sure nobody’s around to call 9-1-1. If I have to pay for an ambulance and an ICU, I’m fucked. [He pours himself another shot.] Oh that’s nasty.

MYSTERY

Aren’t you afraid to die?

WESSON

Lady, in the past ten years I had a wife leave me because some psycho slut wouldn’t stop leaving message on my answering machine. I had a little vacuum store in Elmhurst. That place burned down. I’ve had four IRS audits. Some motherfucker has put sugar in my gas tank six times.

MYSTERY

I’m sorry about that.

WESSON

Thanks but what can you do?

MYSTERY

I probably should have stopped putting sugar in your gas tank after the third time.

WESSON

Oh shit. That voice. You’re the voice that kept leaving messages.

MYSTERY

Yeah. I set your shop on fire. I tipped the IRS. I’m the one who stole your credit cards.

WESSON

I don’t know you.

MYSTERY

Your dad. Your dad knew my Dad. They went to college together. Your dad did something to my dad.

WESSON

Did what? What did he do?!

MYSTERY

Said something to him. My dad promised that he’d get him back. Only a lot worse. So he brought me up to settle the score.

WESSON

Wait a second.

MYSTERY

Fifteen years, I’ve been ruining your life. And then I found out. About your boy. And that’s why I’m here. To let you know it’s over. I’m done. No more bad stuff.

WESSON

You didn’t give him the tumor?

MYSTERY

Nope. Just the sugar in the gas tank. And the credit card. And the messages. And the arson. But as of right now. We’re square. Your Dad and my Dad are even.

WESSON

My dad’s dead.

MYSTERY

So’s mine. See you around.

WESSON

Wait. What did my Dad say? The insult? What was it?

MYSTERY

He never told me. I never asked (she shrugs. ) Family. Good luck with your boy.