Mempsis

Mempsis (memp’-sis): Expressing complaint and seeking help.

It was my high school graduation party. “Which one of you goddamn lazy bastards are going to save me?” I was drowning in our above-ground back yard swimming pool. The pool was only 4 feet deep, but I had slipped on the algae slime coating the bottom. The water was a little green, but we didn’t mind. I was going down for the third time, struggling to hold my Tequila Sunrise above water. My friend Vitor was videoing the whole thing, yelling “Choke! Choke! I need you to choke for TikTok.”

I went down for the fourth time and dropped my drink in the pool. I was going to die! Suddenly, I was dragged from the pool. It was my neighbor’s wife Chicky. She gave me mouth to mouth. She stuck her tongue way into my mouth and twirled it around. And whispered in my ear “There’s more where this came from baby. Come and visit me when Sal’s at work.”

I was shocked. Chicky was beautiful—she looked like a brand-new Barby Doll, except she wasn’t anorexic. Clearly, she ate three meals a day and they went to all the right places. She was way out of my league age-wise and looks-wise. I didn’t get it. The only thing I could think of that would make me attractive to her was that I had won $500 on a scratch-off lotto ticket. I had cashed it at Cliff’s. I had five 100-dollar bills in my wallet—they were ready to rock.

I told Chicky I’d come by on Tuesday at 1:00. The day came. I shaved my chest and dumped Canoe cologne on my underpants. Chicky answered the door wearing nothing at all. I tore open my shirt to show her my rshaved chest. She pulled me into her house. She stated singing “I got you babe,” Sonny and Cher’s first big hit. I started singing along and pulling off my pants. The smell of Canoe cologne filled the air. She picked up my pants and put them on the bed.

Then, suddenly, Chicky told me to get dressed and go home. She was adamant. I begged. She yelled “Get out!” I went home. When I got home, Mom asked me why my pants smelled like perfume. I couldn’t give her an honest answer.

All I can think of is Chicky—Chicky, Chicky, Chicky. What happened? Then I checked my wallet. The $500 was gone! She had stolen my lotto winnings when she had picked up my pants! She knew I couldn’t say anything to anybody or her prison guard husband would kill me.

I’ve been trying to figure out the lesson I learned from this sordid episode in my life. So far, nothing.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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