Bobby loves blueberry muffins

Another short writing assignment I did for my Gotham online writing class– sorry if it is a little bit morbid or disturbing. The idea was to convey a unique "voice" using of sentence structure, pacing, character thoughts...

 

Bobby loves blueberry muffins.

"Mom's muffins were the best."

Every morning, if he had been behaving himself and taking his medication, he was allowed to leave the minimum-security institution and take a one-hour unsupervised walk. He wore a large digital Casio that helped him keep track of the time. He always left at exactly at 10 AM and walked quickly to the pond near Thomas Square. He loves to feed the ducks.

"Dad took me to feed the ducks every weekend."

Fifteen minutes later, Bobby always makes his way to the basketball courts next to Washington Elementary School. From the wire fence, he watches the children play for several minutes. He even takes a few shots if they invite him inside. He loves basketball.

"Billy was a great basketball player. He taught me how to shoot free throws."

After this, he walked by the Sports Authority and admired the merchandise in the big picture window. He likes that it changes every couple of weeks. He wants to look closer at the guns on display, but he knows he shouldn't. He does anyway – Bobby doesn't love guns.

"I remember the smell of the gun that blew Sally's brains out of her head. I remember the blood."

Bobby checked his watch. He was on time.

Every day at exactly 10:35 AM Bobby entered the Muffin Top Café. The baristas all know his name. They know he orders a black coffee and a blueberry muffin. They know that he is a resident of the mental institution down the street. They like Bobby; he likes them too. He calls them all by their first name. Bobby is a polite young man.

"Mom taught me to be polite and cheerful, and address people by their first name."

Today, an attractive young woman is standing in line in front of Bobby. She looks a little bit like his sister Sally, brown hair and hazel eyes. Bobby is a friendly fellow, and even though he can't date yet—he's not allowed—he still likes to chat with the girls at the Muffin Top Café, learn their name and ask them out. He's never successful, but it's the thrill of the chase that excites him. Anyway, usually the women catch on pretty quickly that he is harmless and "special." They play his game for a few minutes, indulging his quirky personality, before he has to head back to the residence.

"Dad showed me how to carry on a conversation. Billy taught me about girls, Sally taught me to hate them."

"Sorry Bobby, that was the last blueberry muffin," Tony the barista said, pointing to the young woman.

Bobby was disappointed, but he understood the opportunity in front of him.

"Mom taught me to share with others."

He walked over to the table where the woman was sitting and asked politely for his fair share.

"Excuse me, but you have the last blueberry muffin," Bobby said. "Will you share with me?"

The young woman looked up from her coffee. She heard the voice of a man, but saw the body of someone who was caught halfway between an adolescent boy and a mature man. She wondered at the strange pickup line and was annoyed at the interruption. She was in no mood today...

"No, I'm not going to share my muffin with you," the woman said.

"But I love blueberry muffins," he said, moving to sit down in the chair across from her.

"Sally sometimes said no, before she said yes. Billy told me not to give up."

Bobby reached for the muffin.

She slapped his hand. "Get out of here you freak!"

Bobby was shocked. He was ashamed and humiliated.

"You're mean and selfish," Bobby said.

"You're a moron. Get out of my face!" The woman yelled.

"Sally talked to me like that before I pulled the trigger. She never shared. She never played basketball with me or brought me to the pond to feed the ducks. She was always nasty. She called me bad names. She hurt me. She made Mom and Dad sad."

Bobby stood up quickly, tipped over a chair and glared at the woman.

"I told Sally she shouldn't talk to me like that."

He ran out of the café, slamming the door behind him. It was 10:55 AM, he should have gone back to the residence, but instead he was drawn by his raw emotions to the Sports Authority. He stopped running when he got to the large window at the front of the store. The colors and variety distracted him. The reds, blues, whites and yellows of the T-shirts and sweatpants displayed neatly on racks and posed mannequins reminded him of the time when his mother used to dress him every day for school.

"Mom always said the first impression was the most important."

The golf clubs in the window brought back memories of his father. He played golf every other Sunday, and every once in a while he would let him ride along in the golf cart. Billy played with his father, Bobby watched.

"Dad never got angry when he made a bad shot. 'Control your temper and enjoy the game,' he would say to Billy."

The baseballs, bats, gloves and cleats brought back memories of Little League baseball games. Billy pitched and played third base. Bobby was the batboy. He could throw the ball just as hard and fast as the other boys, but he couldn't field, hit or run. He was better at football.

"Mom made blueberry muffins for the boys after every game."

Bobby looked at the guns for a long time. The pistols looked attractive, shiny and light. They were easy to carry, but his father had kept them locked in a closet. The rifles were sleek and powerful looking, but they were foreign to him. His eyes rested on the shotguns. They called to him in a familiar way. He knew how they worked, what type of ammunition was needed, how to load, cock and fire.

"Dad took us hunting and camping every fall, sometimes Sally would stay home. Mom said pheasants were best barbecued, but duck was better roasted. They had venison every winter. Mom and Dad were gone."

Bobby never touched his father's shotgun, until that day Sally lost her brains on the kitchen walls. It was an accident, at least that's what everyone believed. He wondered what the woman at the Muffin Top Café would believe.

He looked at his Casio. It was 11:15 AM. He was late. He was in trouble. He was upset and angry. He couldn't go back now.

Bobby went through the front door of the Sports Authority. He had never been inside, but he knew instinctively that the guns and ammo were at the back of the store. He wandered through the racks and aisles that were crowded with merchandise. He felt dizzy, disoriented. There were just too many things to look at, to attract his attention. He bumped into a woman with a full shopping cart.

"I'm sorry," he said, stumbling into a tower of red and orange rubber balls. They flew in all directions. He slipped and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

When he opened his eyes, the woman and several other people had surrounded him. They were talking to him softly and trying to help him off the floor. He recognized the woman. She worked at the residence where he lived. He recognized some of the other people trying to help. They were people from the neighborhood. They knew who he was; they called him by name.

"Bobby, are you all right?" The woman asked.

"I'm late," Bobby replied. He didn't remember why he had come into the Sports Authority.

"Okay, Bobby, I'll take you home," she said.

He nodded in agreement. He wasn't angry anymore. He wanted to go home.

"Would you like to stop at the bakery for a blueberry muffin?" The woman asked.

She knew that Bobby loved blueberry muffins.

"I'll share one with you," Bobby replied.