by Nick Lorenzini

Created on: August 11, 2010   Last Updated: September 15, 2010

Friday

So I’m sitting in the living room and it’s nighttime and my girlfriend’s talking to me, but I don’t really know what she’s saying because I’m not paying attention, and I can’t stop wondering where I put the rest of my coke, or if I even have any more left, and I think I hear my girlfriend say something about a barn or something, but I’m not really sure. Then I remember that we live in downtown Seattle and there aren’t really any barns for like a hundred miles. Whatever.

Then the kid that we’re babysitting walks in. I’m not really sure why we’re baby sitting or who in their right mind would allow me around a child, but the kid walks in and his name’s like Fred, or something, and he’s complaining, about like, being scared or something. I don’t know. I think it’s because we just got done watching some like, scary movie or something. Something about zombies, maybe.

Anyway, the kid’s standing there and he’s talking to Sharon - I think that’s her name - and he’s crying, but I think he actually wants to talk to me for some reason. That's strange because no one really ever wants to talk to me, even this girl, who I think is my girlfriend. Not even my mom ever seems to want to talk to me. Anyway, Sharon points the kid in my direction. He’s obviously very scared. I think he’s like six or something

“Mr. Tim,” the kid says, with some very warranted trepidation.

“Yeah?”

“Are the zombies gonna come get me tonight?”

“Uh…I don’t know, like, maybe?” I say, annoyed. “I don’t know.”

Then the kid starts crying and I’m not really sure why because, like, how on earth am I supposed to know what’s going to happen? Am I like, God or something? Stupid kid.

The next thing I know I’m hearing the kid screaming from some bedroom in the back, and my head’s kind of numb because I’m pretty sure Sharon, or whatever her name is, just smacked me really hard. Sharon’s pleading desperately for the kid to shut up. I’m getting annoyed and I turn on ESPN and I’m watching the Mariners lose, but I can’t hear the play-by-play because of the wailing kid.

“Hey Sharon! Shut that damn kid up!” I yell.

“My name’s Rachel, you jerk!”

“Whatever,” I say.

After a while, I’ve given

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