Blake and Jorge
Blake poked his head in the front door.
“Hey man–you ready?”
Jorge sat at the kitchen table, silent.
Blake stepped into the foyer. “Dude, let’s go. We gotta leave, like, NOW if we wanna get there on time!”
“What, you’re not talking to me again?”
“Fine, be that way. I suppose you’re going to make me carry you again, too, huh?”
Blake stepped into the kitchen. “Fine–but I have to say, I’m getting a little sick of your attitude. Getting some exercise never killed anyone, I mean–”
As Blake lifted Jorge out of his chair, Jorge’s hat fell off…and what was underneath it was not a human head. Blake shrieked and dropped Jorge to the ground with a clang.
And then he noticed the slip of paper that had fallen out of Jorge’s hat lying on the ground. He picked it up, careful not to touch his friend’s body, unfolded the paper, and read:
If you are reading this you have probably figured out that I’m not here and that the guy you thought was me–your buddy Jorge–is actually just my banjo wearing a baseball cap and with a pair of Groucho glasses taped to its neck.
I’m sorry I deceived you and that I didn’t tell you to your face that I didn’t want to do Zumba because it’s dumb and it makes me sweaty and I’d rather be at Long John Silver’s eating greasy fish and chicken and hush puppies. I hope you can forgive me.
Jorge (real Jorge not banjo Jorge)
P.S.–You can keep the banjo to make up for my lies.
P.P.S.–I’m at Long John Silver’s eating greasy fish and chicken and hush puppies. FYI.
Blake picked up the banjo and stormed out.
He wasn’t sure what made him madder: That his friend deceived him, or that he hadn’t discovered the deception until now, five weeks into their Zumba for Beginners class.
But he knew deep down inside that he couldn’t stay mad. First of all, the whole thing was classic Jorge. And second of all: Free banjo.