First things first, I don’t have herpes.That is the first thing, that right there, the me not having herpes, but there are other things that I will get to later. So. Let’s get that out of the way right now. Do you have herpes? That is the question you’re asking,  right? No. I don’t. There are a lot of things I have, a lot of things I used to have. Herpes is not one of them; herpes are not one them, whichever. I used to have lots of things, and we can talk about those later, but not right now.  One thing I used to have was I used to have an idea that things were better than they actually were or are; I used to think that things were better or were getting better. I used to think things were about to get better. I still have this, even though, even though, and I don’t know why I do.  I also have this, and this is another thing that is not herpes that I have. It is a story called My Tornado Face. This is a part of it. 

My Birthday:

 

For my first birthday, my father bought me a red two-wheeled bicycle. It was a nice bicycle. It was a big party. All of my father’s business associates were there and so was my mom and my older brother Simon. My father was making drinks and trying to look casual and hoping his associates wouldn’t think his wife was ugly or his sons were ugly or his house was too small. I looked at him and could tell what he was thinking because this is something I have always been able to do. When my father wheeled in my new bicycle everybody clapped. My mother clapped. My brother clapped but he claps at everything because there is something wrong with his hands. My mother said Isn’t It A Little Too Big like that and my father got very red in the pointy face and gave her a look that was all slanted eyes and dry skin and the look said Shut Your Fucking Mouth and It’s No Fucking Wonder I Cheat On You.

            From my crib I immediately noticed the tension so I said Thanks Dad Really It’s A Great Gift. Unfortunately I Lack The Motor Skills Necessary To Really Appreciate It Right Now But I Hope To Be Up And Pedalling Soon. I then thrust my wrinkled baby fist up in the air and gave what I hoped was a sincere looking thumbs-up which may not’ve been the best thing for me to do, looking back, but I did it anyway because I wanted the party to go smooth and for my father to maybe even like me. I used to be such a kiss ass it almost makes me sick.

            Something made my father happy and I don’t know if it was my baby thumbs-up or the fact that he knew I was trying to be a kiss-ass and that he could maybe hold that against me later. He started singing Happy Birthday To You to me and flailing his arms in what I think he thought was a rousing fashion so as to get his associates to sing. He was thinking If They See What A Good Father/Family Man I Am Then Maybe They Won’t Make Fun Of What I Perceive To Be My Physical Inadequacies or something like that. I was kind of wrapped up in the song and all the attention and all. I was kind of a ham. I turned my baby head around in my baby crib and tried not to blush even though I sort of felt like I was anyway. I was happy, I’ll admit it, and my father must have noticed this because he started glaring at me. He gave me a look which looked like the word sneer and the look said Don’t Think You’re Not Mowing The Fucking Lawn Today You Little Shit.

 

What They Said Later Was This:

 

Get Him Out Of There. Out Of That Fucking Crib. Make’m Mow That Fucking Lawn.

Mow The Lawn. Jesus, You’re Insane.

I’m Insane?

You Are.

Why? Why Am I Insane? Because I Don’t Leave You Right Now? Because I Buy You A Fucking Mercedes? Because Someday I’m Going To Have An Affair With A Lesbian With Bad Teeth? Is That Why I’m Insane?

A Lesbian?

What?

A Lesbian With Bad Teeth? I Don’t Get It.

Jesus. It’s A Figure Of Speech. You Don’t Understand Anything. Figure Of Speech.

It Is?

Forget It.

Oh. No. No, You’re Insane Because Evan Can’t Mow The Lawn. It’s His First Birthday.

I Don’t Give A Fuck What Day It Is. Listen. See If You Can Understand This. See If Somebody As Dumb As You Can Understand This. I’d Be Interested To See Just How Fucking Dumb You Are. We’ll Pretend This Is A Game. Ready?

Fuck You.

Are You Ready? Listen Up, Now: There’s A Lawn. It Needs Mowing. Someone’s Fucking Mowing It. And He’s The Fucking Guy Mowing It. Because I’m Not Mowing It. You’re Too Stupid To Mow It And That Other Kid, Well, He Just Isn’t Mowing It.

It’s His First Birthday He Can’t Mow A

Oh. Oh. Ohhhh! Evan Can’t Do This, Evan Can’t Do That! That’s All You Ever Fucking Say, Do You Know That? Fuck That! Why? Why Can’t He Mow The Lawn? Is It Because He’s A BAYYYYBEEEE? Is He A BAYYYBEEE?

 

What I Said:

 

            When my tiny little father was yelling at my mother shortly after my first birthday party I told him I would kill him as soon as I could. He had just finished yelling at my mother and I remember his pointy wrinkled face was right in front of my round smooth face and I gave him a look. The look said Yeah I’ll Mow Your Fucking Lawn But Watch Your Ass. He saw that look and knew what it meant and didn’t say another word to me until the day I killed him.