Lucky and Jon Excerpt

(Lucky and the Crushed Clown)

In the late afternoon, after lunch and a nice long nap (don’t judge), I haul an old cardboard stand-up poster of Jon Bon Jovi out of my closet and into the back yard. I set it up at the farthest point of the fence and put some rocks around the bottom to hold it up. When I turn around, Gumbo, Mr. Jingles, and Lucy-fur have all come outside to join me.  My critters are as much suckers for sunshine as their momma.

Their owner, I correct silently.  It creeps Regina out when I refer to myself as the mother of my animals, even though I totally feel that way. 

I go back inside for the little black case I dug out from under the bed. I lay it on the picnic table and open it up to reveal the neat row of six shining throwing knives, all nestled in maroon velvet.  They were a gift from Mason, the first guy I kissed and inadvertently made go the way of John Hinckley, Jr.  Most people would be dubious about such a gift, but he knew of my love of both the circus and the Great Throwdini.  I thought the present was thoughtful.

I take them out of their slots and heft them to get myself back into the feel of the cool, weighted metal in my hand. You know, muscle memory and all that. 

I take one knife by the tip as I look around to identify the location of my pets, all three of which are nowhere near Jon (yes, we’re on a first name basis).  Then, with a smoothness that feels magical, I fling the weapon at Jon’s right shoulder. Even though it’s a small target, I hit it dead on. 

Ideally, I’d be aiming at the head, but I could never damage Jon’s beautiful face.  Or any of the beautiful things below that face. But since his cardboard likeness is the only thing I can use to practice on, I’m forced to sacrifice a shoulder.  

I fling, fling, fling knives at my childhood rockstar soul mate until his poor shoulders are riddled with holes. Despite the wreckage of Jon’s fabulous clavicles, I’m supremely satisfied.  

Lucky’s still got it!

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