The MWL met his friend Tranny walking down the street. Now, no one ever called Tranny by his given name. They called him "Corkscrew". They called him this because something was always happening to him. He had a natural attraction to disaster that led people to avoid him if they could.
Nothing happened to him in the way things happened to everyone else. Misfortune always tunneled towards him in a spiral, usually with its pointed end first. And if you were close to him when something was about to happen and by chance he ducked, you got something that wasn't really meant for you, usually full in the face.
"How are you?" the MWL asked.
"O.K. I guess," replied Corkscrew. "Only...." A spiral misfortune is coming, thought the MWL. "Only, a strange thing happened to me," Corkscrew continued. "I got a call from someone I haven't heard from in four years. It might even be five. Perhaps...."
There was another horrible habit that Corkscrew had. Not only did things come to him pointed end first and always in a spiral, but he came at things the same way, working around in lazy circles only inching up and up towards where he was headed.
"Was he a friend?" asked the MWL.
"A friend, no," replied Corkscrew. "I'd say we were more than friends. We grew up together. We went to school together, played on the same teams, helped each other out of jams, shared the same women. We were closer than the very best of friends, only..."
"Only what?" the MWL asked.
"Only our friendship was fragile and delicate. It would catch and tear on the dullest of points."
"Well," asked the MWL".
"Well," replied Corkscrew, "we had this argument." He shivered. "It was one of those arguments that only the best of friends can have."
"It was ferocious, hard and intense. We fought constantly, consistently, up close, at a distance, directly and through friends and neighbors. Like a tornado, everything and everyone around us was swept up into it. We became best enemies and that relationship was solid, tough and unyielding.
"We fought for weeks, perhaps...."
The MWL interrupted his narrative. "And?"
"And nothing. One day he just wasn't around any more. He was gone. I asked around. People said he went to Tulsa. Some oil job. But I'm not sure I believed them. I haven't seen him in three years, it might even be four. Perhaps even..."
The MWL waited but Corkscrew had finished.
"So what's the problem," the MWL finally asked.
"Well, what I can't figure out," Corkscrew continued with a twist of his head that brought the MWL scanning wildly for something heading in his direction, "what I can't figure out is what he wants from me."
The MWL relaxed. It seemed absolutely clear to him. "What he wants, Corkscrew, what he wants," he said with the definiteness of someone who was quite sure of what he was saying," is to continue the argument."
"I'm not sure,"said Corkscrew. But his face lit up.