Seth MacFarlane's A Million Ways to Die in the West(15)

Edward shifted uncomfortably and stepped inside. “Albert, I’m really worried about you. I haven’t seen you in town for a week and a half. All you do is stay home and sleep.”

“Well, I went out last Tuesday to pay off Charlie Blanche so he wouldn’t shoot me in the face.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Look, Edward, I feel like I need to be here with my parents,” Albert said, his voice dripping with the thick syrup of sarcasm. “They’re not gonna be around much longer, and I wanna give back all that love and affection I got growing up. Right, Dad?”

George broke wind.

“Look,” said Edward, trying to get the conversation back on track, “I know you’re taking this breakup hard, and I understand … but I think you’ve got to get out of your funk. I mean, Jesus, you haven’t even shorn your sheep in weeks.”

“I have too,” Albert shot back petulantly.

“Albert, there’s a sheep out there that looks like a giant ball of cotton with legs. You can’t even see its head—there’s only a nose sticking out. I just saw it walk into a wall. C’mon, why don’t you come into town with me, huh? We’ll get a late lunch.”

“Well, y’know, thank you for your concern, Edward, but if I leave the house and go into town, I might see her, and then I’m gonna get even more depressed.”

“Well, of course you’re gonna see her, she’s in town all the time,” Edward said.

Albert’s head snapped upward, and he suddenly looked alert for the first time in weeks. He began to speak much more rapidly. “Why, did you see her? How is she? Is she sad? Did she look sad? Has she lost a lot of weight? Did she gain weight? Is she fat now? That would help.”

“Yeah, I saw her; she seems fine,” Edward answered patiently. “Which is all the more reason for you to get back out there! Show her you’re fine too! I mean, things could be worse—”

“I’m not fine,” Albert interrupted. “And I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but you don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? You have no idea what it’s like. You’re going home every night and having sex with your girlfriend.”

“No, Ruth and I haven’t had sex,” Edward said matter-of-factly.

Albert stared at him for a beat, uncertain whether he’d heard correctly. “You … you’ve never had sex with Ruth?”

“No.”

“You’ve been seeing each other for a long time, though.”

“Six years. Yikes. Wow. Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Doesn’t she … have sex with like ten guys every day at the whorehouse?”

“On a slow day, yeah.”

Albert paused again. “But … you guys have never had sex.”

“No.” Edward shook his head. “Ruth says not until we’re married. She’s a Christian, and so am I, and we want to save ourselves for each other. Y’know, for our wedding night.”

Albert allowed himself to process this information. And then he patted his friend on the shoulder. “You’re right, Edward. Things could be a lot worse. I’ll try to meet some people.”


Albert stared at the jar of licorice. He remembered coming into the Old Stump General Store as a young boy and gazing with desire at the small but intoxicating array of three or four varieties of confections displayed on the countertop. He would ask his father for a peppermint stick or a piece of chocolate, desperately appealing to a paternally generous nature that never revealed itself. Instead, his father would say, “If you do ten hours’ worth of extra chores each week for the next month, I’ll buy you a peppermint stick.” Albert would nod vigorously and throw himself into the task for four or five days, at which point he would inevitably decide he was getting played for a jackass. No single piece of candy was worth that much effort. So he’d give up on the whole exercise and resign himself to longing gazes. His only salvation came once a year or so, when Mr. Crawford, the now-deceased owner of the store, would take pity and offer Albert a licorice stick. The taste was euphorically sweet, but it almost made the whole ordeal worse, because it showed him what he was missing.

Now, in the prime of adulthood, the candy tortured him in a different way. He had enough of his own money to buy a piece of peppermint or chocolate, but the desire was gone. What an ironic waste. Just another way 1882 sucks the meat. He settled for a piece of chewing gum.

He was about to walk out with his groceries when he noticed a very pretty girl standing by the cookware, examining a pot. Had he been clearheaded and unfettered by the pain of a broken heart, he would probably have felt the stirrings of arousal, but Louise’s power had snuffed out any possibility of that. Still, on a rational level, he was able to acknowledge her good looks. She had dark hair, flawless skin, and pretty brown eyes. It occurred to him that this was a perfect opportunity to take proactive control of his stagnant condition and begin the task of moving on from Louise—much as that thought made him sick to his stomach. Albert popped the chewing gum into his mouth, put on his coolest expression, took a deep breath, and walked over to the girl.