I want my Oscar back   -Ghost Rider

The text is from Nicolas Cage. He signs his texts with various characters he has played, which is weird because who signs a text anyway?

I don’t have it, I text back.

It was true. Well at least not anymore.

A jungle gym sits unused in the left corner of the municipal park, the dirt below it mixed with used cigarettes and broken beer bottles.

“This used to be a place for play,” my grandpa says, his wrinkled hands running through his long white thinned hair. He looks like Gandalf without the staff or the robes.

I nod, not sure what my grandfather wants from me here.

“Kids these days, with these devices.” He sighs and looks at me, “You’re a good kid, Shawn. Always have been.”

I nod and help him up. The time to return him to the nursing home is near, and the walk back to the car is treacherous with his stride slowed, his balance off. He is wrong about me though. I haven’t been good for a long time.

My phone rings as we walk. I see the number and hit decline. It rings again. It plays Viva Las Vegas.

“Are you gonna get that Shawn?”

“No, Grandpa, it isn’t important.”

I lie to him, like countless times before.

Look, have you seen the Rock? I’m friends with Sean Connery. Yes, James Bond. You don’t want to mess with me.  -Dracula

Does he know Connery is dead?

I get my grandpa comfortable in the car and text back.

I sold it man. I’m sorry, I was riding a high, needed the cash.

Dots…..

……

You’ll get it back for me kid. I’m a lizard, a shark, a heat seeking panther.   -Benjamin MF Gates.

I start driving the car to get my grandpa back before dinner. He doesn’t want to miss spaghetti night.

He tells me about Doris.

“She’s got legs for days son, legs for days.”

I turn up the radio, Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is on. It hasn’t aged well.

We come to a stoplight, at a four-way intersection. A Starbucks on every corner. Green light.

I see the car right before impact, a silver-grey mustang, black stripes in the middle, the driver laughing maniacally, like the over-the-top actor behind the wheel.

We flip more times than I can count, my poor grandpa jostled into the ceiling. When we finally settle into gasoline and concrete my phone lights up from an incoming text.

I read it as I black out….

You will get me my Oscar back.   -Memphis.