A BIG FIGHT SCENE BETWEEN TWO MEN WITH THE SAME NAME

Ray hit Ray on the shoulder first, and then Ray hit Ray on the nose. This sent Ray reeling, but as he fell backwards he managed to rake his right arm across Ray’s face, opening up a cut to the immediate left of Ray’s right ear. Ray still had the upper hand, though, and shoved Ray hard, sending Ray quickly to the ground. Ray stood over Ray in triumph, but a short-lived triumph—when Ray bent down to exult over Ray’s fallen body, Ray grabbed his hair, which Ray wore long, and tugged it as hard as he could. Ray collapsed next to Ray on the floor, and Ray jumped up quickly and began kicking Ray. Ray wore boots, and he used the hard point and the heel expertly, not kicking Ray in the ribs but rather working the tender areas around the kidneys. Ray found a metal ruler on the ground, and managed to whack Ray across the shins, and then to bury the corner of the ruler in Ray’s knees. At that, Ray collapsed in pain, and, clutching his knee, lost his balance. His downward progress had serious consequences for Ray. Ray’s knees were propelled into Ray’s throat, and Ray groaned and rolled over onto his side. Ray crawled toward the door, convinced that the blunt force of his knees upon Ray’s neck had finished Ray off, but as he stretched his hand toward the knob, he felt an explosion at the base of his neck. It was Ray. He was brandishing a pool cue—where on earth had that come from, Ray wondered? Ray struck Ray with the cue twice against the back of the head, and then held it like a battering ram, with the tapered end toward Ray. Ray drew himself to his feet and rushed at Ray with all his strength. The maneuver had the desired effect, driving the tip of the cue back into Ray—in fact, into his left hip, where it ripped Ray’s shirt and tore into Ray’s skin. Ray stood; though his legs were wobbly, he felt his strength returning. Ray faced Ray. Ray’s fist went into Ray’s eye. Ray’s fist went into Ray’s ear. Ray gouged at Ray’s eyes. Ray got Ray in a headlock and thumped his nose with the flat of his palm. Ray’s hands were slick with Ray’s blood, and Ray wondered how much longer Ray could go on like this.

©2001 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas

A FIELD GUIDE TO THE NORTH AMERICAN BIGFOOT

by Ben Greenman

originally published in the book Superbad, 2001

1. Alert.

2. Tired.

3. Thinking of going swimming.

4. Worrying that he is overdrawn.

5. Plotting to avenge himself on his mortal enemy, Alan, who has, over the years, stolen two of Bigfoot’s girlfriends, framed Bigfoot for a crime he didn’t commit (a minor shoplifting infraction, admittedly, but it’s the principle of the thing), and played innumerable pranks that resulted in Bigfoot’s humiliation, including one in sophomore year of college in which he dumped an entire pepper shaker into Bigfoot’s milk carton and laughed when Bigfoot had to spit out the peppered milk. Alan Tresser. What a jerk.

6. Itchy.

7. Hungry.

8. Enthusiastic.

9. Thinking of Clara–ah! Clara. What a pity that she had nothing to her name and so was forced to factor in wealth when she felt around in her heart for her real emotions concerning this man, or that one. If only her father had given up his dream of sculpting “the intersection of time and tempo,” or “the smallest available unit of rhythm,” or whatever it was that he was on about in those masses of knotted metal. His sculptures had mathematical names; he had started as a musician and was eternally in search of the Pythagorean comma. “They should all be called, ‘Bottom of a bottle,’” Bigfoot said once, unkindly, of Clara’s father, and instantly regretted it, for her father was a kind man, almost as tall as Bigfoot, though with a stoop when he stood, and he did not put his eyes wide and scream like an child that night that Clara brought Bigfoot home. In fact, he was cordial, gave Bigfoot a firm handshake, let him sit at the table with the rest of them, and the only sign that there was anything amiss came later, when he pulled Clara aside in the hallway and dipped once, quickly, to her ear where he whispered, “Honey, maybe he’s not right for you.” In the car on the way back, Bigfoot mocked Clara’s father. He could do the voice perfectly; it was light and too sweet like a bad dinner wine. “Not right for you, not right for you,” Bigfoot said, in singsong. That night Clara wouldn’t share his bed, and the next week, she told Bigfoot that she was seeing a man named Kevin. “He’s a lawyer,” she said. “You don’t know him. But he makes me happy.” Bigfoot stepped backwards to protect what was left of his dignity. In his heart he experienced a mild pain.

10. Experiencing mild pain.

11. Experiencing moderate pain.

12. Experiencing severe pain.

13. Wondering how much more he can take. First, there was the kid in the shoe department in the sporting goods store who said he’d go downstairs and check the stockroom when he knew full well that there were no shoes big enough to fit Bigfoot’s big feet. Then there was the sleek, impossibly thin woman, probably a model, who asked Bigfoot if he knew where she could get a good wax. Bigfoot didn’t know what she was talking about. Some days Bigfoot felt like he didn’t understand people at all. Then there was the envelope that he found slipped under his door. It was addressed to him, but it had not ended up in his mailbox. This happened a few times a week; the mailman delivered his letters and packages to Mrs. Biedermeyer in 3B. This infuriated Bigfoot. The names weren’t even slightly similar, except for the fact that they both started with the same letter. Bigfoot opened the envelope and learned to his horror that Clara was scheduled to marry Alan Tresser on September 8 in a small ceremony in St. Joseph’s Church in the center of town. Bigfoot was invited. This really is the final straw, Bigfoot thought as he went down to the street, got into his car, drove the two hours to the Berkshires, and rampaged in the woods for the better part of the evening. One young hiker scrambled to avoid Bigfoot, slipped on a rock, and got a deep cut on his shin. That should have made Bigfoot feel better, but it didn’t. The young hiker wasn’t Alan Tresser.

14. Sweaty.

15. Congested

16. Afraid to reply to the wedding invitation one way or another. If he did not accept, could he ever hope to speak to Clara again? But if he accepted, that would be a thousand times worse. He would be standing out on the lawn all by himself, or with a date whose name he could not remember from one minute to the next, and he would be making small talk about the bride and groom. “She looked lovely,” one old woman would say. “So pink.” Bigfoot would not answer, secretly convinced that he should tear off the old woman’s head and push the headless corpse down the rolling hill in front of the church where, just moments before, Clara had turned and lifted her chin and, beaming, given herself to Alan Tresser. How had they even met? The last Bigfoot heard, Alan Tresser was working as the regional sales manager for an automotive magazine. Was that enough to give Clara a good life? And what was a good life, anyway? Certainly not one with too much Alan Tresser in it. Bigfoot was sitting at his breakfast table dragging his claw through the dregs of some oatmeal. “I wish I were dead,” Bigfoot said to no one in particular. The lifespan of a Bigfoot was three hundred years. Bigfoot had at least eighty to go.

17. Contemplating his death.

18. Dead.