he ate the goose in his ass

CW: References to suicide and homophobia.

There once was a man named Jessie O'fallon, and as long as anyone knew him, his butt quacked every time he took a step. This condition did not hamper his life, for he lived in a small town in the Northern part of New Hampshire. It had been so long since anyone asked him why his ass quacked that Jessie barely heard it whenever he walked or went for a jog. It wasn't until a full-grown goose flew out of his ass that his life changed, just as his wife-to-be was walking down the aisle. It was so disruptive that his fiancée called off the wedding and refused to reconsider the marriage. She said he wasn't himself. That he was no longer the man she wanted to marry. So distraught over this, Jessie ran away, into the woods, unsure of what to do with himself. He loved her, and it did not help that every stream and pond gave him ample time to reflect on everything that had transpired. "Why me?" he asked. "Why then? Couldn't I have just quacked my whole life?"

There are no answers to these questions, just humiliating results, and possibly a future.

"What can I do? How did my ass quack in the first place? Is anyone even listening?"

"Quack, quack."

"What in the devils-eggs?"

"Quack, quack, quack."

"Get away from me, goose. Your species has done enough to ruin my life. I was once like you, happy as a feathered, billed bird, quacking every step of the way, but something happened, something horrible."

"Quack, quack, quack."

It was then that Jessie realized that this was the very goose that flew from his ass. He had thought about killing himself, but shot the bird with his rifle instead, plucked its feathers, and roasted it over a fire. He spun it nice and slow. There was nothing worse than dry goose, and sentiment to flavor agreed upon with two vagabonds, the fire and the smell of the roasted bird had attracted: Casey Willow & Francis Haidt. Famous in those parts for dressing the part of old-timey, impoverished fur trappers, and being confused with being David Crosby circa 1968.

"That's a mighty fine duck, you got there," said Francis.

"Enough for two or three," said Casey.

"It's a goose," said Jessie, "And it ruined my wedding."

"Ruined your wedding?" asked Casey.

"Ruined it, and then destroyed my relationship with my fiancée. Life was good, and now, it is shit."

"What did the goose do?" asked Francis.

"It flew out of my ass."

The two in brown, leather frills and raccoon-skin caps laughed.

"You are a funny fellow, Mr?"

"O'Fallon, Jessie O'Fallon."

"Care if we pull up a log and join you, Mr. O'Fallon?" asked Casey.

Picking at some leaves off a small branch, Jessie said, "No, not at all. I don't care what you do, actually."

"Amen, brother."

They rolled over a fallen tree and leaned against it as the evening turned into night. Their pants and moccasins were covered in dry dirt that would be hard to see if not for the flicker of flame that reflected off the spec of minerals natural to this land. When the goose finished cooking, Jessie didn't even bother entertaining the idea of eating any of it; he waved his hand and said, "Have at it, boys," and have at it they did, but they did save the best part in their opinion, the thigh, with its succulent meat, tender fat, and crispy skin. He was surprised by the gesture when they handed it to him on the single clay plate they carried, which they did not use. They used their hands, but for him, they had a wooden fork, which they passed to Jessie with enduring enthusiasm they suspected had started to rub off on him when he opened his mouth, and not to eat.

"Thanks, fellas."

Casey scratched his crotch and said, "We know how it can be."

"What are you doing out here?" asked Francis. "Hunting?"

The fire was in Jessie's eyes. He tossed the plucked branch into the flame.

"I guess so."

"My friend, we're hunting too."

"Is that right?"

"Aren't you going to take a bite?" asked Casey.

Jessie did, and they saw him smile.

"Pretty good, huh?"

Jessie laughed and pointed the thigh at them.

"You can say that again. It feels like so long since I've eaten anything this good."

"Well, you cooked it," said Francis. "We just gave you something to eat it with."

Jessie had joined them on the ground. They lay around the fire, and he looked at both of them. "You sure did. You sure did. What brings you, boys, out into the woods?"

"We're gay."

Jessie coughs on some goose.

"What? Why are you in the woods?"

Francis looks back and spits when his face faces the fire. "They don't want us. It's easier out here."

Casey reveals a flask and shakes it.

"You don't mind if I have a sip, do you, Mister?"

"No, not at all, but what about being gay brings you into the woods? Do you live here?"

"Yes, sir, we do." Casey tosses the flask to Jessie. "Don't worry, it isn't anything crazy. Bit of whiskey."

He takes a whiff of the silver, takes a nip, and tosses it to Francis.

"Where we are, Mr. O'Fallon, we're free. You shared your bird and had a drink with us even after learning of our orientation. Still, back down that way, down by the stop signs and railroad crossings, nothing's easy, and I guess you can say that for about all things, but when it comes to love, well, love is heavy as Lincoln's nose and light as Washington's false teeth. It hurts when it's poked and provoked, and what business does anyone else have poking at who we love? Sometimes I look up at the night sky, a night just like this, full of stars, and cry because I think this place used to be something and used to stand for something. Listen, everyone's had it hard. That's life, and who wants the road where the signs try to sell you something instead of telling you something. Mr. O'Fallon, what we got is a corrupt nation, and Casey and I like it out here. We're Boy Scouts who grew up. I think of my father, who died in France, and it breaks me into pieces. He freed France, but the coloured man who brought me his dog tag got spat on by a bunch of good ol'boys for sitting at the wrong table. It's all just a goose's ass."

"Mhm," said Casey. "What do you think, Jessie? Mighty fine thigh you got there."

"It is good," said Jessie, looking down and away to hide the reflection of tears that had yet to drop from his eyes. "Really good. Excuse me, boys, I need to take a leak."

"We'll be here when you come back, if that's ok with you!"

"Of course it is, of course."

“Look at the stars, Mr. O’Fallon. They shine!”