One morning, at breakfast time, all females disappear, even girl mice and elephants.
| I gotta write this story for class, but don't much want to. It's about the time all the girls went away. It's a stupid story since everyone here already knows it. We all lived through it, anyway. Well, here goes. I'm going slow cause I'm trying to write it gooder....
I'm thirteen now, but was only seven at the time. Oh, I'm Timmy Trump. The other people in the story are my Daddy, Peter Trump; Mom, Julie Trump: and my big sister, Tammy Trump though she's isn't in it much at all. I gotta put her in the story or she's gonna kick my butt or something. We're all Trumps. Okay, guess it's time to start the story, again....
On that morning, like any other, I'm sitting at the breakfast table eating hotcakes and bacon. Daddy's sitting across from me and Mom frying more hotcakes for us. My sister's still upstairs hogging the bathroom. She doesn't know that I put a chair-back under the knob outside the door to pen her in.
Well, I remember Daddy and Mom arguing, like always, going something like this:
"Did you see this article in the paper," he asks, "about those damned queers?"
"No, honey. I've been too busy to read it."
"Some nosy window washer took a picture of a state congressman jerking off behind his desk. The guy was sneaking around outside on a window-washing platform and filmed the whole damned thing with a cellphone camera. Now it's all over the Internet."
"That poor guy. I mean the guy that was doing it ... behind the desk, I mean." She shakes her head.
"The poor queer, you mean? That must have been funny as hell."
"That ain't queer, Peter. Queer is when two men do it, you know...." she says, looking down at me.
"God made men to screw in one way, and the Bible says so. Anything else is 'queer' to me. A man doing it to himself is just as queer as with another man, you ask me."
Daddy looks across at me, where I'm trying to not hear at all what they're talking about. "You better not let me catch you being queer, Timmy. If you want your butt stuffed that way, let me tear you a new one first."
"Don't talk to him that way, Peter. He's too young to understand."
"Too young, hell. When I was his age I was ... never mind."
Seeing where that was going, Daddy shut up pretty quick.
Me, since I was involbed ... imbol ... part of the talking, had to ask a question of my own.
"Don't girls do that stuff too, the queer stuff?" I ask. "You ever do it, Mom?"
Even as young as I am then, I see Mom smile as she turns around and flips hotcakes.
"You don't talk like that at the table," Daddy says, throwing his fork down, bouncing it across the table to rattle on the kitchen floor. "That's filthy talk."
"Well, honey, so is talking about men in front of the boy," Mom says, bringing a spatula full of hotcakes to Daddy's plate, along with a clean fork.
"The boy has to learn sometime. I hear those schools are full of queers these days, fornicating in the restrooms and lockers. He's bound to run into those bastards."
He shakes his head, stuffs his mouth, and turns to fix me with an angry stare while chewing rapidly.
"You stay away from those queers. You hear me, boy?" he says through a mouthful of food, some spraying cross the table in'ta the butter dish.
I nod, looking away at the window. Then ... well, then's when it happens. I look at the stove, and Mom, but she ain't there. Later, I go over it carefully in my brain, and still don't see her go.
Daddy's quiet for a minute or two, probably thinking about me being queer or something, and what he'll do to me if I am. I finish eating.
I really gotta pee by then, and go upstairs to the bathroom to see if Tammy's done yet.
The chair's still blocking the door, so she's gotta be in there. Since I really, truly, gotta go, I knock loud.
"Come on, hurry up. I can't wait," I yell through the door. "Darned girls, take all darned day. Hurry it up, Tammy, please."
She don't scream back like always. Finally, not that I want'a see her slimy butt, I really gotta go, so I jerk that chair away and open the door.
Nobody's in there. I whip it out, aim in the general direction of the toilet, and let her go. Feeling relief, I look around, wondering where Tammy's got to and how?
Her stuff's still all over and around the sink. The hot water's still running, but not hot no more. Since nobody's around to look, I don't wash my hands or flush but do turn off the faucet. I figure that if anyone wants to lick pee off my hands, let them get sick. I'm a little curious about how Tammy got out'ta there. But, to a seven-year-old, older sisters are already mystic creatures, so I shrug it off.
About that time, I hear Daddy, downstairs, yelling, "Julie. Where the hell are you, woman? Damn it, get your ass out here."
He must'a come to the foot of the stairs, cause I can hear him good. "Timmy. Is your mother up there? Tell her I need her. She forgot the damn skillet and it was smoking up the kitchen. I swear, I can't understand that woman."
"I'll see," I reply. "Dam ... Darned women," I mutter to myself, starting to really look.
I search the upstairs, not finding anyone but me up there. Tammy isn't in her room. I hate to even go in there, with all those fluffy girl things laying around. It's really strange, though, cause she's left clothes lying on her bed, even clean underwear, like it's ready to put on. Her trash bag as I call it, or purse, is still there too, and she carries that everywhere -- even from room to room.
"Nobody up here but me," I yell down to Daddy, then hurry back to Tammy's room. I see a chance for mischief by grabbing that little red diary out of her trash bag, then carry it to my room to read all the mushy stuff.
I'm always curious about which boy she's interested in. It changes every week. A couple of weeks ago, I saw it was Jimmy Stevens, and made a point of telling him. That must'a embarrassed her real good.
After glancing through it quick, not knowing when she'll be back, I simply write, "Timmy was here" in red ink on a blank page and throw it on her bed.
Well, anyway, we soon find out that it's not only us, but all the girls in the world have disappeared. There simply isn't any a them anywhere. All the women in the world have gone somewhere else. The newspaper, the next day, says even animals. Not even one girl mouse or elephant is left, though bugs and mosquitoes are still around.
I'm pretty young then, and it is summer vacation from school, but it seems strange to go to a movie and not see any girls at all. The back of the theater is usually full'a boys and girls kissing, but not anymore.
Television is the same, except for old shows -- which I never watch anyways.
Daddy just about goes crazy, though. Me and him gotta clean the house, meaning it ain't cleaned much. Meals are mostly sandwiches or from McDonald's. I get sick of pepperoni pizza, his favorite. Then he starts drinking ... a lot.
Ta me, it ain't much different. I don't have no girlfriends and only play with boys anyway. It's just a little strange without girls hanging around.
I miss Mom a lot, of course. My room gets pretty dirty, since I don't care much. It's nice for awhile not to have Tammy yelling at me all'a the time for no reason at all. But, after a few weeks, I start to miss even her.
One day I catch Daddy jerking off in his room. It's funny, considering how he used to talk about it. I go there to ask him something, I forget what. When I go in the door, he's lying on his bed, pumping away. Right now it seems funny but, at the time, it shocked both of us. Here, he's been calling anyone what does "that" queers, and he's doing it to his'self. That's very confusing to a seven-year-old. Now that I'm thirteen, I understand more.
Things really get confusing to me when Larry moves in with us. Larry, I don't remember his last name, works with Daddy at the Acme Trucking Company, both'a them driving forklifts and loading trucks. It's a really macho job. One I, even now, think wouldn't have any queers working there at all.
"Larry's tired of living alone with his wife gone, and so am I, Timmy. I'm renting him a room. He'll be using Tammy's, since she isn't here anymore either," Daddy tells me.
So? I don't care. Nobody's using it anyway.
Later, though, since Tammy's room is cross the hall from mine and Larry leaves the door open a lot, I'm surprised to see him wearing Tammy's underwear.
"It's softer than his, and he has a rash on his butt from work," Daddy tells me.
After that, Larry's door stays closed.
A year or so later, when winter comes, though, Larry starts sleeping in the same room as Daddy. Even a eight-and-a-half-year-old is getting suspicious by then.
It isn't all that strange, cause new television shows start to come on, showing men living together all the time. They'll even kiss and sleep together on television.
A little boy is still able to change his thinking, sex being a strange subject -- something we pretty much put off until at least ten or twelve. Though strange to me, it's only one more thing I can't understand. I do miss Mom a lot, and even Tammy by then, but have to adjust.
Like the men on the television, Larry and Daddy will even hug and kiss when they think I won't notice. Larry becomes like a new Mom, even wearing dresses in the house. He still dresses like a man when he goes to work, though.
Of course, looking back at it, Daddy don't say the word "queer" anymore.
At school and play, at first it's strange not to have girls around and only men for teachers. Then it seems normal. Us guys don't have to put up with girls, and little boys like me put them out'a our minds. The bigger boys, though, still like to talk about them, and wish they were still there. It ain't the same, they say, to kiss another boy, though some don't seem to mind at all.
Gym class at school is a lot different. Instead of playing grab-ass in the locker room, some boys start acting like girls, especially the nerds, and become popular. New games are being played in the shower room after classes finish.
Some of the other boys even wash each other and, you know, suck others in plain sight of us little kids. It becomes a normal thing in both that shower room and in the restrooms, sometimes making it harder for me to go to the toilet. I hate it, when I'm in a hurry between classes, to have to wait a long time, listening to all those moans and slurping sounds from the booths.
About six or eight months after that, I even start thinking of my best friend, Johnny, in a different way. It's a curious way that's new to me, making my thing a little, just a little, stiff.
At home, although I usually think of girls when I, you know, play with it, the memory of what they looked like seems like a long way away, pictures of Johnny coming instead.
It's, as you all know, a couple of years later when things change again.
Like before, it's at breakfast.
Larry's doing his thing, frying eggs for the three of us and wearing Mom's clothes.
He's just dropped mine, sunny-side up, on my plate. Then Mom comes back, her pushing him aside as she sort'a pops back in. She's even holding the spatula she was using when she left.
While we stand or sit in shock, I hear a loud scream from upstairs. Tammy is also back. A screeching of brakes outside, along with yelling and horns blasting, makes me realize the same thing must be happening out there.
"Eeeek, who are you and where did you come from?" Mom yells. "And is that MY dress you have on?"
"Julie! My God, you're back, honey." Daddy drops his fork and stands, knocking over his chair. "Where the hell were you?"
"Uh ... hi," a weak reply from Larry while looking back and forth between the two of them.
"I turn to get more cinnamon, and ... and a stranger is here. And where's my hotcake batter? My God, it IS my dress, with a man weari...." She seems to freeze like a statue.
"Baby, wait." Daddy grabs her, just when it looks like she's gonna fall down. "Let's go to the living room and talk. Oh, it's so good to have you back."
"Back, fr ... from ... I never left. Who ... how ... quick, like that? My dress!"
All three of them go out, leaving me alone in the kitchen.
On their way out, I can hear Larry, "Uh, I better get home, myself. Mary might have come back. Christ. What the hell am I standing here for? See you at work, Peter, hon.... See you, guy." A moment later, the front door slams.
"Ma. Ma, you should see what that brat did to my room," Tammy screams down the stairs.
Since I'm still hungry, I eat the rest of my eggs and toast, including three more eggs that are somewhat overcooked in the skillet. Let the rest a them sort it out, was my thinking -- all that adult stuff. Guess that's it.
By Timmy Trump, seventh grade, Mrs. Simmon's class, fourth period.
Well, I wrote that years ago and we never did find out what happened. Some smart guys have long ideas about things like green holes in space and stuff. Others say it was God's revenge for something or other, but nobody really knows.
For a while, Daddy had to sleep on the couch, until Mom finally realized that half the men in the world had been doing the same damned thing with the other half. That us guys can, and do, become horny -- even without women around -- and gotta do something about it.
And I never did hear Daddy saying someone was queer after that. Heck, he wouldn't dare, not with the American Homosexual political party in the White House. Us guys do treat women better now, from what I hear, and with more appreciation. So a lot of things have changed.
Speaking about doing something about it, I'm going over to Johnny's house to blow him, Mom. See you guys later, okay?