Fuck It (Yama Yama)

Kasha covers her giggle with her hand.

“Then I am so pleased to tell you that you have won the International Sweepstakes! The prize committee will be sending a crew to your house to award you five million dollars!”

“Oh!” I cry out, making my voice high. “Oh Lordy, you have no idea how badly I need this. My daughter is in a wheelchair and my son just got sentenced to prison. Oh, I just can’t believe it!”

“I am very happy for you, Ms. Childers. Now, do you have a Money Transfer Kiosk near your home?”

“Why, yes, I believe the grocery store has one.”

“Very good. We must insure the check until it reaches you. The cost is only five-hundred dollars, payable in advance. Not much when you consider what you’ll be getting, yes?”

“Oh yes. I can do that. I just can’t believe it! I can get my daughter the prosthetic leg and pay my son’s lawyer, I—”

It’s at this point, I’m really going to have some fun with him. He thinks he’s got me, that he’s found an old lady who doesn’t know any better than to believe his shit. Too bad he’s about to kill her.

“Oh! My chest! It hurts!” I cry.

“Ms. Childers, are you okay?”

“I-I can’t breathe, my heart, I think, oh!” I yell the last syllable as I grab the remote and turn the TV on low. I give a few staggered, fast breaths into the phone. I’m doing my best not to laugh, but it isn’t easy since Kasha is now sitting on the floor, her hand clamped over her mouth, her body shaking with silent laughter.

I press a finger to my lips, cautioning her to keep quiet. We can both hear the man’s frantic questions. I stay completely silent while he calls my name. The only thing he should hear is the TV droning in the background.

After about thirty seconds of silence, he finally hangs up, and Kasha and I both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god! That was awesome! You made him think he gave you a heart attack! Fuck, Lydia! You might have an ambulance show up!”

Wiping tears of laughter from my eyes, I shake my head. “I doubt it. What’s he going to do? Call 911 and tell them he was trying to scam me, and I had a heart attack?”

The phone starts buzzing in my hand, and it’s a call from the same number. “He’s calling back,” I giggle.

“Don’t answer. It serves him right, trying to rip people off. Let him think his bullshit killed someone. Maybe he’ll stop.”

“I don’t have time to mess with him, anyway. I need to jump in the shower and get ready. I’m going with Simon to take his nephew to Chuck E. Cheese.”

Kasha breaks into giggles again. “Wow. Chuck E. Cheese. Classy first date. You’ll really have to put out after that. Especially if he gives you tokens to play whack-a-mole.”

“It’s not a date. The kid asked me, and I couldn’t say no!”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say,” she sings.

Chuck E. Cheese. What a horror show. Kids run wild, laugh, scream, and throw tantrums, some being chased by their frustrated and worn out parents. Sirens, music, and an array of other high-pitched sounds emanate from the games and rides, adding to the overwhelming cacophony. It’s been so many years, I forgot what this place is like.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” I exclaim.

“They had Chuck E. Cheese when you were a kid?” Toby asks as if it’s unbelievable.

“Yeah, back when all this was farmland.” I tickle him. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know.” His little shoulders lift and drop. “You got to be old to be a teacher.” His face screws up as he thinks about it. “I don’t think you’re older than Uncle Simon.”

Simon shakes his head and steers him into a booth. “You’re just digging yourself in deeper, little man.”

“Can we get peckeroni? That’s my favorite. I love peckeroni.”

Swallowing back a laugh, I tell him, “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Ms. Childers likes peckeroni too, Uncle Simon!” Toby sits up on his knees.

“Yeah, I’ll bet she does.”

Rubbing my lip, I give Simon a surreptitious middle finger and turn to Toby. “You can call me Lydia when we aren’t at school.”

“Cool. Do you want to play in the ball pit with me?”

“Toby, we have to wait here and order our pizza, then I’ll go to the ball pit with you,” Simon tells him.

“You can order the pizza, and Lydia can play in the balls with me. Please? Pleeeaaase, Uncle Simon?”

I don’t know how he ever says no to that face. “Yeah, Uncle Simon, can we go play, please?” I add, grinning at him.

His lips curl up. “You want to play with the balls?”

“It’s a talent I have.”

Toby hops around beside the table, oblivious to our teasing. “Come on, Lydia! It has a slide!” He darts off toward the ball pit.