Smelly
2018
Ice cube pops; Citrus bright; Day-off tequila; Agave in spice; Amber length; Foaming yeast; Char-blackened catfish; Dill aioli; Her moisturizer; His pheromones; Beach week shrimp surfing kingly butter; Night out together; Muddled blackberries; Salty fryer; Christmas floorboards; “I love you. When was the last time we had a night like –” METALIC! SHARP ANGLES! A COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY OF MINT! SOMETHING HIDING UNDERNEATH! SOAP’S EVIL TWIN! NEON! CHEAP CANDLES! DROWNED EMPTY! REVERSE FART! LOCKER ROOM! RADIATED LICORICE! STALE FURNITURE! ANTISEPTIC! THE FAKE!
Now, the catfish tastes like a wet car’s interior. Citrus air freshener overpowers the margarita. The shrimp is rubber. The craft beer becomes a frat keg. The historic charm of the restaurant rots into an old pub.
Laura leaned closer to Justin, “Why do guys do that?”
The smell of cologne pulsed off a guy arriving with a round of drinks for his friends. The group seated next to Laura and Justin cheered the smelly hero, “Jay! Jay! Jay!”
1976
“Jay!” It was rare when Jay’s dad yelled his name out of excitement. “You gotta see this!”
Jay ran to the driveway. His dad was under the hood tuning the carburetor and rotating the distributer cap. His eyes closed. He was conducting the symphony by ear. A Marlboro Red was dangling artfully close to the perfect air-fuel mixture. “She ain’t runnin’ rich no more. Come here, work the throttle valve.” His dad showed him the little piece of metal that Jay could manipulate to make the engine his own. ‘Go’ had always meant an adult’s right foot on a rectangular pedal. Now there was more to everything.
Petrol fumes and cigarette smoke wrapped around Jay, but amongst all those dominate smells a green copper scent shined through. He once jumped into a creek before spring had a chance to warm the water. His heart skipped a beat and after the terror subsided, his body felt alive, radiating. The smell seemed to mimic that feeling without quite getting there. He looked back at one of the only proud smiles he’d ever see his dad make at him.
1984
His hair was as good as it was gonna get. He was starting to sweat in the rented tux. His buddies could sweat all through P.E. class and smell normal, but the slightest hint of perspiration made Jay wreak like BO bomb. “Chill out.” He told an image in the mirror.
“Alright, I’m leaving.” Jay announced hoping no one would hear.
“Oh, let me take a picture.” Jay’s mom scurried to find the camera.
Through a den filled with cigarette smoke, Jay’s dad appeared like a magic trick, “Take the Nova.”
“What?”
“Take it.”
“Really?”
“It’s your prom… wait,” his dad took a whiff, “Are you not wearing cologne?”
“No.”
“That’s disrespectful. Your date needs to know that you give a shit. Hell, I wear cologne when I drive the oil truck. Costumers appreciate that shit.”
“I tried to wear it once at school and everybody made fun of me.”
“People make fun of things they don’t know, and people don’t know class.”
Jay pulled the Nova into Hannah’s driveway. Hannah’s father opened the door with a face ready to impose doom on the weak. Something about Jay’s presence must have begged for mercy because Hannah’s father’s eyes suddenly lightened, “You wearin Brut?”
“Yes sir… It’s my father’s cologne... for special occasions.”
Hannah’s father nodded, “Classy.”
2002
Jay double-checked the fragrance section of the drug store then went to find an employee. “You all out of Brut Faberge? I can’t find it.”
“Oh yeah, we don’t carry that anymore… They might have stopped making it.”
Behind the counter stood a parade of posing cigarette packs. Jay didn’t look toward the nicotine patch covering the “anna” part of his Hannah tattoo. He was doing so well, but he missed his dad horrifically. Jay’s dad smelled like Brut and – “Can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds?”
2018
Hannah and friends waited while Jay was in the restroom. Upon his return, he surprised them with a round of drinks. They cheered and clapped the table, “Jay! Jay! Jay!”
The group settled into their evening. Hannah leaned into Jay and asked the others, “Look at my man. He looks great, smells great–”
“It’s our night out,” Jay reasoned.
The neighboring group wafted over Laura’s tired outrage. She started playing with Justin’s fingers and asked, “What’s your smelliest memory.”