10-Brad

Brad knew something was off as soon as he pulled up to Zack’s house—there were too many cars, and most of them he couldn’t recognize. Clay was right—the cat was out of the bag. He wondered how far it had ran.

It was no matter to him, though. Nothing would stop him from the evening he had planned. He wanted to drop it right away, too, before even walking into the house—just so no one could talk him out of it.

While still sitting in the driver’s seat, he reached into his backpack in the seat next to him and removed the thin strip of tinfoil from the top pouch. He unwrapped the tabs, looked at them one last time, and then threw them both on his tongue right then and there. He knew it was reckless, but he just didn’t care. He chewed slightly and swallowed, feeling his body buzz.

While standing up from his car, he felt a great surge of nervous energy sweep through him like a pounding surf roiling up the shore. Something big was about to happen, only he didn’t know what it was. Surely it would have something to do with the two hits of acid he’d just ingested. Brad took a deep breath.

Squinting, he peered toward the windows of Zack’s house. In the living room he could see them there, a bunch of guys he knew, not real well, but could recognize anyway. They sure as hell hadn’t been part of the original plan. They each had beers in hand and laughed like jackasses. Zack was in the middle of them, a part of it.

Then, Brad realized a dude was there on the front porch, some guy he didn’t even know, and he’d been there the whole time. He wore annoying black and pink sunglasses and smoked a cigarette.

“What’s up, killer?” the guy asked, his voice loud and startling.

Brad felt instant dismay that this guy was going to become part of his night—whether he liked it or not, it seemed. But no matter, he thought. And then he told himself yet again, in a manner almost scholarly, that he’d already ingested two hits of acid.

He entered the house cautiously. Zack spotted him from the living room almost immediately.

“Hey, Brad’s here! And just like Clay, he’s arriving with no date!”

All of Zack’s new best friends chortled. Brad didn’t reply, and instead he gazed back at Zack, feeling almost sorry for him—it was clear how his biting comments just served to mask a thin panic that was underneath. Brad could instantly see the truth, and it was perfectly transparent: Zack was already in a brutal downward spiral from which there was no recovery.

Brad helped himself to a beer and it actually tasted quite refreshing. Still, he braced himself, and midway through his beer, the doorbell rang.

There it is, Brad thought.

There were five more guys on Zack’s doorstep. Each of them wore shitty, meek little smiles.

“Zaaaack,” one of them said, like they were best buddies.

“Guys…shit,” Zack muttered.

“C’mon, man!”

“But I can’t have everyone over,” he protested.

“Dude…don’t be a dick.”

He exhaled, his expression utterly conflicted.

“C’mon, Zack, let’s just get our drink on, bro!”

That last one was powerful, and it prompted Zack to nod his head, albeit reluctantly.

“Fine,” Zack said, caving. “Hurry up, get in.”

The guys filed in happily, each of them giving him a joyous high-five or fist bump, and shortly thereafter the air became a chorus of hissing beer cans.

Brad looked about studiously. Everyone around him wore the silly grins of the young party as the cold beer went down delightfully easy. But still, he braced for it yet again, as though he could sense it nearing, and then it happened—the doorbell chimed once more. Brad knew exactly how it would play out before it did.

There were about seven people on Zack’s doorstep, but these were guys and girls, most of whom Zack didn’t know very well. Some of them were seniors. Some of the girls were pretty. They gazed at Zack with friendly, hopeful smiles.

“Hi,” one of the girls said, her smile bright. “Zack?” she asked.

“Yeah. Hi, Rebecca.” Zack spoke with a dour tone, recognizing her. She was a senior, a girl he’d normally be thrilled to speak with.

“Hey, dude. You having people over?” Rebecca smiled again.

It was another turning point—Zack could have sent them away, the cool kids he didn’t know, and they would have left. They’d be disappointed, but still, they would have left.

Or, he could be an absolute hero—by simply opening the door.

He went the hero route of course, letting them all in coolly, like he’d intended to do so all along. They applauded as they filed in.

“Zack, you are my new best friend,” Rebecca said as she entered.

He smiled and walked with them into the kitchen where introductions were rapid-fire as they popped the tops of numerous beer cans. Zack basked in the middle of it all, raking in the attention.

Brad stood on the outskirts, speaking sparingly, merely observing, and over the next twenty minutes he watched Zack’s jubilation gradually morph into panic. He realized how big the snowball was getting—that they were actually swarming to his house like insects.

Brad watched Zack run to the front door, and he locked it. But it didn’t matter—the crowd seemed to be growing anyway. More and more people were inside his house that he didn’t even recognize, that he’d never even seen before.

That began a spell of rushing around, trying to monitor and police his surroundings. It was clearly a losing effort, and people hated him for it, giving him buzz-kill looks.

The doorbell rang yet again.

Zack threw the door open.

“Sorry, the party is full, please leave,” he said bluntly, before slamming it shut and locking it. But he noticed how the people on his doorstep didn’t really move, and he guessed they’d probably filter in anyhow. He even saw them a few minutes later, after they’d circled around the side yard and merged into the crowd on the back porch.

“What the hell?” Zack asked, as though he’d been badly insulted. They just shrugged apologetically. One guy even said sorry, in between sips of his beer, his tone absolutely genuine. He didn’t move though.

It was painful to watch, but Brad kept his distance—he knew there was no way out, short of calling the cops. That, however, was out of the question.

Besides, they’d show up naturally, Brad thought, with sparkling clarity.

“Zack, it’s getting ridiculous,” Sarah said.

“Now you tell me?” Zack answered, his voice troubled. “For the past hour you’ve been telling me to chill out, and that I was overreacting!”

The doorbell rang again.

Zack tensed, and began running to the front door. But he stopped abruptly, realizing that it already stood wide open—someone from within had unlocked it at some point. Downcast, Brad watched a stream of at least twenty kids, even some guys that looked like adults, all come streaming in, unabated. Most of them he’d never even seen before. They waltzed in, like they hadn’t a care in the world

“Fuuuck,” Zack whispered. He stood there, stunned, before finally just bringing his beer can to his lips. He turned it upside down, draining the entire thing.

Rather than going back to policing his house, he instead just went for another beer, his movements downcast, his demeanor decidedly ho-hum.

The change made him King of the Party. Every guy gave him a bro-hug as they passed by, telling him it was the best party of the year, and every girl had a bright smile and a hello for him. Zack took it all in, claiming the crown, wearing it, reaping the rewards—but with sad eyes.

Deep down he knew he was doomed.

Brad couldn’t handle it anymore. It was like watching a movie with a tragic ending. He turned away and stepped outside on the back porch. He needed a new environment.

Standing on the deck, he watched the drunk teens bounce and weave in their conversations, all of them in a strange harmony that was beautifully chaotic.

“I can’t believe you dropped acid, dude,” Clay said to him, a glazed look in his eyes. He was the drunkest of anyone out there—which was a typical scenario. Nikki, the girl he’d asked to come over, had not yet shown up, and he seemed to be drinking away his sorrows, in a manner not so dissimilar to Zack.

“Are you trippin’ now?” Clay asked.

“A little bit,” Brad replied, suspecting that was rapidly becoming an understatement.

Clay shook his head, as though disappointed. “Weak.”

“Why?” Brad asked, although he already could hear the answer Clay would give, he could hear it before the words were even spoke.

“We’d been talking about this party all month, man. The master plan, and all. And you decide to drop acid? You’re not exactly going to slay it with the ladies tonight, not while trippin’ on fuckin’ LSD.” Clay took a lengthy chug of beer. “Jesus, dude.”

He studied how different Clay appeared while drunk, with his mouth ajar, his eyes spacey. It wasn’t a particularly charming look.

“The master plan never had a chance,” Brad said softly.

Clay ignored him, as he tipped his beer back, emptied the can, and then belched. “I’m going back inside to find some more beer. You staying out here?”

Brad nodded.

“All right. Well, I’ll come back out and check on you every once in a while. Just to make sure you’re not trippin’ out, and chasing around dragons and elves and shit.”

Clay went inside. In his place, a long line of new arrivals to the party filed out, each of them holding fresh beers and lighting up smokes. Brad knew some of them, but most he did not. They exchanged hellos, and they all wore easy smiles.

“What’s up, bro?” one of the guys asked. “How long you been here?” They all looked over at him.

“For an hour or so,” Brad answered.

“I’m so damn happy to be here. I feel giddy like a little kid. I feel like dancin.’” The guy actually did a little jig that shook the entire back porch.

Brad could tell how that guy liked to be the life of the party. What he really wanted was to receive laughter after he said and did things. It was all so clear. So, Brad joined the others in a mild chuckle, obliging him.

A girl stood nearest to him. She had a hippie look, with her hemp necklace intertwined with colorful glass beads. Brad clearly saw how she wanted to be viewed as unique and interesting. It made her happy.

“I like your necklace,” Brad said to her. “Where’d you get it?”

“My friend makes them,” she replied, while feeling with one hand the glass strung along the hemp.

“Wow, it’s gorgeous,” Brad answered. “And it’s like…one of a kind, right? That’s cool.”

She smiled brightly at him. “Thanks.”

Brad looked about the group. With one glance he could ascertain everyone’s desires, their reasons for being. It was dazzling to behold. Armed with such knowledge, he could be a great source of encouragement to everyone. Like a social master, an advisor; he could help people.

The girl with the hemp necklace looked at him again. “Do you know whose house this is?” she asked, and then took a drag on her cigarette.

Brad looked back at her, astonished, as a stray breeze tugged at her hair. It was quite beautiful.

“Yeah. My friend, Zack,” he answered, enthralled.

“Oh,” she said.

Brad could see it was physically her most attractive feature, one that guys would always admire, and girls would always envy—her blonde hair that was thick and lush and seemed so naturally vibrant. It incited Brad to quickly review once more all those around him by that same attribute—their hair. The onslaught of new information was almost overwhelming—all the different hairstyles he could see, and the widely varying amounts of effort people obviously did—or did not—put into them. Hair seemed to be such a big deal to so many people—both their own and other people’s. He wondered if it existed for any reasons that weren’t cosmetic, and if not, why did some guys lose it? That seemed incredibly cruel—something that’s sole reason for existence was just to be cosmetic, and then it went away? It pained his heart just thinking about it, and Brad actually grimaced. Everyone’s hair, all around him, so many different styles, levels of effort expended, and attractiveness achieved—it felt like a giant game given unto them all, a social experiment conducted with reasons unknown.

“Zack who?” she asked.

“What?” He looked at her once more.

“You said this is your friend Zack’s house. Zack who?”

With sudden shock he watched her eyes spin in her head, rapidly, like the wheels on a slot machine.

Brad’s face went white as a sheet. He looked away.

“Zack Huchzermeier,” he muttered.

He looked up and saw the first stars appear in the twilight sky overhead. They peeped open and looked back down at him.

He realized then that everything he’d been thinking for the past hour or so was suddenly very questionable. It might all have been truly brilliant. Or it was all bullshit. There was no way to know.

“Wow, that name doesn’t even sound familiar,” she remarked.

Brad peered at her once more and saw the rapid spin of her casino-eyes finally begin to slow, until they lined up and steadied once more.

Jackpot, he thought.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Brad said, as he watched her eyes dance in a renewed, ultra-rapid spin, as though an unseen hand had just pulled the lever on the slot machine. His heart thumped like a bass drum.

This night has only just begun, he thought, trembling.