Read More: A Q&A with Meg Favreau
The first thing I want you to know is that I love Jack Fightman.
I know, I know – everyone loves Jack Fightman. They love how good he is at punching and guns. They love how he looks in a leather jacket. I also love these things about Jack Fightman.
But.
I met Jack Fightman the first time I got kidnapped. I had just turned 18. My father was a rich man, but his riches made him weak and soft. He loved a variety of expensive cheeses. In retrospect, my getting kidnapped was inevitable. But I was also weak and soft at the time, so I didn’t know this. All I knew was that I liked white shoes and white roses and driving my white convertible.
It was very stressful, being kidnapped by a group of Crimemen. They came into my bedroom in the middle of the night and tied me up, and my father didn’t hear them because of the classical music he listened to while eating his many cheeses. The Crimemen took me to an abandoned factory where they played poker and laughed whenever I cried. I cried a lot, so I think the Crimemen had a pretty good time.
But Jack Fightman broke into the factory and saved me. He shot some of the Crimemen and punched the others, and then he punched the ropes I was tied up with so hard, they collapsed into their individual strings. And even though we were both dirty and bleeding and my breath was pretty bad because the Crimemen hadn’t let me brush my teeth, Jack Fightman gave me one kiss, and I knew I had to marry him.
I didn’t even know his name yet.
I thought it might be Richard. I don’t know why.
Oh, wait. Richard Fightman. Richard Fenyman. I hear it now.
After Jack Fightman and I got married, I also got good at guns and punches, but in a lesser, lady way; and I started joining Jack Fightman sometimes when he was fighting the Crimemen. One time, my hair got in my face when I was jumping over the hood of a car. It looked very cool and sexy, but it also made it hard for me to see the Crimeman who was chasing me, and I got shot in the arm. When this happened, Jack Fightman took off his sweaty T-shirt and wrapped it around the bullet wound, which was nice, even if I would’ve preferred to not have been shot in the first place.
The wound also got infected. I think because of Jack Fightman’s sweat.
What I’m trying to tell you is that it can be difficult being married to Jack Fightman. Sometimes he disappears to Fallujah. There won’t even be a crime there, but that’s where Jack Fightman will go first when he thinks crimes might be happening because honestly, Jack Fightman can be a little racist. But sometimes the Crimemen and their crimes are just in Boston, and all Jack Fightman has done is waste time and money going to Fallujah first. I started putting money in a savings account specifically for the Fallujah trips, because even though Jack Fightman works for The Agency, he often gets hunches about Potential Crimes, and then he’s off to Fallujah before he can get the expense approved.
I swear I’m not here to criticize Jack Fightman. I know it’s not his fault he’s a little rough. He’s had a difficult life. One time when he was At War he saw his best friend blown up by a special kind of bomb that chops the human body into one-inch cubes. Jack Fightman collected all the one-inch cubes of his best friend and tried to put him back together, but you know what they say: You never come back from war the same. Sometimes you come back as a stack of one-inch cubes.
What I’m trying to tell you is this about our daughter, Diana. I think you’ve seen her before. She doesn’t say much, but she has wide eyes and a stuffed rabbit, Mr. Bun, that she brings everywhere. Mr. Bun is actually really helpful, because if you ever see him on the ground, that’s how you know Diana has been kidnapped again.
Yes, again. Diana has been kidnapped 16 times, which, honestly, feels like too many times for a child to be kidnapped. Jack Fightman keeps saying he will always protect us, but then he goes off to Fallujah again, or to the gym, and another Elite Squad of Crimemen pours into the house and kidnaps me or Diana or both of us, even though I always manage to shoot some of the Crimemen in the process. That, incidentally, is another savings account I’ve had to make – an account for removing the blood of dead kidnappers from our house. It’s not cheap, and I’ve had to throw out a lot of rugs. […]
Subscribers can read the full version by logging in. |
Meg Favreau is a writer, filmmaker, and artist originally from the birch-fingered clutches of rural New Hampshire. Her fiction, humor pieces, and essays have appeared in publications including The Massachusetts Review, The New Yorker’s Daily Shouts, X-R-A-Y Lit Mag, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Real Simple, The American Bystander, MEL Magazine, and Eating Well. Meg also works as a screenwriter, most recently co-writing The Twits for Netflix. She currently lives in Los Angeles with husband, cats, and collection of fake hands; and you can see more from Meg at megfavreau.com.
Read More: A Q&A with Meg Favreau