The Icicles: A Christmas Wedding

Chapter 2: Bobo’s Lost Cause and Jonah’s Task

Chapter 2: Bobo’s Lost Cause and Jonah’s TaskOnce Jonah returns to the kitchen and sits across from his lover at the small table that sits four comfortably, but cramps six, Sandy serves them the requested coffee. “Your mother changed the color of the walls in here.”

“Bobo did.”

“The split-pea green isn’t working. It looks like something out of the Exorcist. I liked the white better.”

“Willa wanted a god-awful peach. Bobo refused. He said peaches make his balls itchy.”

“Mother insisted on green,” Jonah says.

Rolling his eyes, Sandy says, “It looks like vomit. I’m getting sick by just the sight of it.”

Robert “Bobo” Bobowski, Willa’s husband, and Jonah’s brother-in-law, enters the kitchen through the back door. The man passes as a model-beautiful house with no furniture. He stands at six-two with bottle-blond hair and has deep brown eyes. Bobo teaches health and gym at Channing High School. He also assists Coach Fred Dale with the Channing Chargers wrestling team this fall/winter semester. Most think Bobo a total imbecile/dipshit, but extremely beefy, extremely hot, and fun to have around; a jester of sorts, or a fool, and loveable.

Both Jonah and Sandy know that Bobo has had four affairs on Willa in the last three years, unintentionally, of course. Bobo’s bisexual and suffers from a rare condition called hypersexuality. He has an increased libido. It’s related to his bipolar syndrome, which he takes a prescription for. Bobo can’t control his s****l urges, d**k, and lately his bottom. Poor thing is always caught with his pants down, literally. Willa handles this well, though, understanding her husband’s brain and how it doesn’t function like a normal s****l brain. She watches him closely, keeping her marriage intact, and Bobo’s attention in check, preventing him from sleeping with every Jane, d**k, Harry, Marty, Mary, Scott, Sylvia, Dillion, Ricky, Rachael, or football team, and whomever else. Praise Willa. How she does it, Jonah will never know or understand.

Willa Icicle: she’s twenty-nine and has been married to Bobo for the last seven years. She’s intelligent with a capital I and doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, including Pam’s. Everyone in the Icicle family is pretty sure she married Bobo for his good looks and his Pumps Gym body. Obviously, she hasn’t committed her heart to him because of his brain. Every member of the Icicles is very much aware that Bobo isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer; Willa’s at the top of this list.

In the last six months she’s taken up cooking, specifically a class called the Art of American Cuisine down at the Culinary Institute of West End. The class meets three evenings a week. The sessions are two hours each. Twelve students take the course and she is walked through such dishes as Louisiana gumbo, chicken with saffron mash, bean and broccoli in black bean sauce, and mussels in white wine. Although Willa loves to cook, she’s still as thin as a rail and doesn’t eat much.

Here and now, Bobo enters the kitchen from outside, fresh from a run. He sports nothing more than a pair of Nike running shorts, a navy L.L. Beanie, and running shoes. His skin is splotchy red from the December cold. Recently, he lost a few pounds, and has gained some muscular lines to his chest, and exudes more model-beauty than ever. His pecs look hard, pink, and cold. His n*****s resemble swollen buttons and pop from here to Kingdom Come. Perspiration circles his dented navel and fall to the rim of his tight shorts. Frankly, he looks like a hunk out of a skin mag in the 1990s, not that the two coffee-bourbon drinkers at the kitchen table will complain about his Herculean shape and eye-appeal.

“Bobo, you’re going to catch pneumonia. You shouldn’t be running in the cold half naked. It’s only thirty-two degrees out,” Jonah says.

“As long as my head is covered, I should be fine. A hat keeps the heat in.” Bobo moves up to the table and reaches for Jonah’s coffee mug. He takes it out of Jonah’s hand, downs a sip, and passes the drink back to his wife’s brother. “Tastes good. Is there brandy added?”

Jonah nods. “Sandy’s specialty. My man knows how to make a good warm-me-up.”

“I approve.”

A snicker escapes Sandy. His gaze floats to Bobo’s center and studies the gym-nut’s ripped abdominals. He coughs and asks the man, “Bobo, do you have an erection?”

Bobo does. The top of his d**k’s head peeks out of their shorts, saying hello. The cap is somewhat purple, slotted. He quips, “Running turns me on. It’s part of my s*x condition.” He ignores the flag and takes Jonah’s coffee again, consumes a second sip. Following the action, he asks Jonah, “Where’s your mom?”

“If you’re talking about Pam, she’s upstairs napping. She’s had a little too much to drink.”

“But it’s only noon.”

“It’s the holiday,” Sandy and Jonah say in unison.

“You know how she is,” Sandy adds.

“Put your cockhead away,” Jonah demands.

Bobo slides the tip of his sausage away. It’s hidden under the fabric of his shorts, barely. The plump mass looks like a hose in the shrink wrap fabric against his middle.

“It’s hopeless, Bobo,” Sandy says, grinning from ear to ear. “A lost cause.”

A distraction for Jonah arises. He spots his father, Bill Icicle, to his right, outside the kitchen window, above the sink area. It’s like he’s an apparition or sorts. The silent patriarch of his family. Always needing to be alone. Always wanting to be unnoticed. Always being away from his family. Bill’s a rare species, hiding away most of his life. He seldom comes out to enjoy the holidays with his family, or play. Bill likes his silence and isolation. He despises the hustle and bustle of Christmas, and all the other holidays throughout the year. If it were up to him, he’d hide out in the bathroom, garage, the pantry, the attic, the cold cellar, the basement, the tool shed, or a closet, and be alone, reading the newest James Patterson or Robert Riley thriller. Bottom line: Bill enjoys his space and what Jonah likes to call his “away time”.

Here and now Bill bobs in front of the window. Just his head. Here one second and gone the next. Poof! It’s as if magic happens. Harry Potter stuff. A sighting like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster for Jonah, who can’t believe he sees his father. Excited, in a state of disbelief, heart rattling in his chest cavity, Jonah ignores Bobo’s dickhead (he’s seen it a hundred or more times, although it’s never a dull sight), jumps up from the table, bolts across the kitchen, and slips into the chilly outdoors. The blistery-windy-chilly-icy and dramatic outside world slaps him across the face, but he doesn’t mind. Rushed, he jumps down the three steps, into the snow, plants his feet against the icy and hard earth, and sees…nothing. No one. Bill is nowhere to be seen. Gone. Vanished. Poof!

Jonah’s heart sinks. All he wants to do is accomplish two tasks: one, to tell Bill that he and Sandy have arrived from Pittsburgh; and two, to wish Bill a Merry Christmas. Neither will happen, though, since Bill dashed away somewhere, hiding again, and seeking shelter from his family and the events of the festive holiday, including his son’s wedding.

Christmas is comprised of miracles, right? Right! Maybe…just maybe he’ll run into Bill sometime soon and they can catch up on small talk and a hug. In the meantime, with his head down, matching his heart’s position, Jonah seeks shelter and warmth inside the house again. The kitchen is empty. No Sandy with his pink invitation. No drunken Pam. And no Bobo with his erection. No one is around. Just Jonah. Damn.