Text 13 Stephen King Christine

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TEXT 13 
Stephen King 
Christine 
As he talked, he took things out of the bag. Dennis watched, amazed. Two pewter candle-
holders. Two candles. Arnie slammed the candles into the holders, lit them with a matchbook 
advertising Darnell's Garage, and turned off the overhead light. Then four sandwiches, clumsily 
wrapped in waxed paper. 
'The way I recall it,' Arnie said, 'you always said that scarfing up a couple of turkey 
sandwiches around eleven-thirty Thursday night was better than Thanksgiving dinner, anyway. 
Because the pressure was off.' 
'Yeah,' Dennis said. 'Sandwiches in front of the TV, Carson or some old movie. But, honest 
to God, Arnie, you didn't have to - ' 
'Ali, shit, I haven't even been around to see you in almost three weeks. Good thing for me 
you were sleeping when I came in or you probably would have shot me.' He tapped Dennis's two 
sandwiches. 'Your favourite, I think. White meat and mayo on Wonder Bread.' 
Dennis got giggling at that, then laughing, then roaring. Arnie could see it hurt his back, but 
he couldn't stop. Wonder Bread had been one of Arnie and Dennis's great common secrets as 
children. Both of their mothers had been very serious about the subject of bread; Regina bought 
Diet-Thin loaves, with an occasional side-trip into the Land of Stone-Ground Rye. Dennis's mother 
favoured Roman Meal and pumpernickel loaves. Arnie and Dennis ate what was given them - but 
both were secret Wonder Bread freaks, and more than one occasion they had pooled their money 
and instead of buying sweets they had gotten a loaf of Wonder and a jar of French's Mustard. They 
would then slink out into Arnie's garage (or Dennis's tree-house, sadly demolished in a windstorm 
almost nine years before) and gobble mustard sandwiches and read Richie Rich comic books until 
the whole loaf was gone. 
Arnie joined him in his laughter, and for Dennis that was the best part of Thanksgiving. 
Dennis had been between room-mates for almost ten days, and so had the semi-private room 
to himself. Arnie closed the door and produced a six-pack of Busch beer from the brown 
bag.'Wonders will never cease,' Dennis said, and had to laugh again at the unintentional pun, 'No,' 
Arnie said, 'I don't think they ever will.' He toasted Dennis over the candles with a bottle of beer. 
'Prosit.' 'Live for ever,' Dennis responded. They drank.
After they had finished the thick turkey sandwiches, Arnie produced two plastic Tupperware 
pie-wedges from his apparently bottomless bag and prised off the lids. Two pieces of home-made 
apple pie rested within. 
'No, man, I can't,' Dennis said. 'I'll bust.' 

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'Eat,' Arnie commanded to go out with the candles. 
'I'm gonna hate you tomorrow,' Dennis said. 'I'll probably have to sit on that john in there for 
an hour. And it hurts my back.' 
'You remember the time Elaine got the farts?' Arnie asked, and they both laughed. 'We 
teased her until your mother gave us holy old hell.' 
'They didn't smell, but they sure were loud,' Dennis said, smiling. 
'Like gunshots,' Arnie agreed, and they both laughed a little - but it was a sad sort of 
laughter, if there is such a thing. A lot of water under the bridge. The thought that Ellie's attack of 
the farts had happened seven years ago was somehow more unsettling than it was amusing. There 
was a breath of mortality in the realization that seven years could steal past with such smooth and 
unobtrusive ease. 
Conversation lapsed a little, both of them lost in their own thoughts. 
At last Dennis said, 'Leigh came by yesterday. Told me, about Christine. I'm sorry, 
man. Bummer.' 
Arnie looked up, and his expression of thoughtful melancholy was lost in a cheerful 
smile that Dennis didn't really believe. 
'Yeah,' he said. 'It was crude. But I went way overboard about it.''I really can't,' 
Dennis said, taking the Tupperware container and a fresh plastic fork. He finished the slice of 
pie in four huge bites and then belched. He upended the remainder of his second beer and 
belched again. 'In Portugal, that's a compliment to the cook,' he said. His head was buzzing 
pleasantly from the beer. 
'Whatever you say,' Arnie responded with a grin. He got up, turned on the overhead 
fluorescent, and snuffed the candles. Outside a steady rain had begun to beat against the windows; it 
looked and sounded cold. And for Dennis, some of the warm spirit of friendship and real 
Thanksgiving seemed.