Next Sunday

There were two of them, cripples both, and short, though one was miniscule and the other merely tiny. The wee one was quadriplegic and brilliant, while the short one had basic motor skills and a cheerfulness bordering on the psychopathic. Years could go by without any conversation and then they’d suddenly have to watch a movie together. They didn’t have a choice!

“Like father, like son… think about it, won’t you?” said the taller one.

“The NBC Mystery Movie Playhouse!”

“Out you pixies go, through th’ window!”

“Whoa, his feet smell like either bad meat or good cheese!”

Ah, good times, good times! When the movie was over they’d wander out of the theater, laughing and cracking wise. Sooner or later, though, one of them would forget and direct a question at the third occupant of their little menage. “What did you think of the movie, Joel?”

But Joel never said anything. Only his empty jaw bone creaked on a desiccated sinew, lone reminder of wittier, gentler times.