18-Joe

Paul sat on the trunk of his car, wearing nothing but jeans—his shirt and shoes were nowhere to be seen. Standing next to him was the sophomore kid that Joe vaguely recognized, Brad Martin. Brad was strangely unmoving, standing like a statue. Altogether, it was an entirely unexpected duo.

“Joe! Where the hell you been?”

The brazen volume of Paul’s voice, ringing out in the quiet night, combined with the comical sight before him, instantly eliminated Joe’s prior mode of stealth movement through this neighborhood. He suddenly didn’t care anymore—this was all too funny. For the moment, it trumped all else.

“What’s up, man?” Joe asked, still laughing. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I’m drunk, yo. And this dude,” he pointed at Brad, who looked back with a wide-eyed expression. “This dude here is trippin.’”

Joe exchanged a slap-shake with Paul, then reached a hand to Brad. “What’s up, bud?”

Brad shook it tentatively.

“You alright?”

He nodded.

Joe could recognize the look well enough. He’d been there.

“What the hell happened to you, Paul? And why you waiting by my car? Where is everyone? Where’s Lauren?”

“When I didn’t show up, they must have figured I jumped in a car with someone else. I mean, why would they wait around?”

“True. So where were you, then? Where the hell is your shirt? And your shoes? What the fuck happened to you?” Joe’s laughter started up all over again.

“Dude, I’ll tell you all about it. But first, please tell me you’ve got some smokes.”

“Yeah, man,” Joe said, and saw both Paul and Brad’s eyes light up. He distributed one to each of them, and took one for himself, too. He passed the lighter around, and then they stood in a circle at the rear of his car, amidst newly-formed clouds of smoke.

“So, it all started when we busted up Jimmy Redman,” Paul said, dragging deeply and exhaling. “Did you see that?”

“No. But I knew that was you guys.”

“Then…well, I’m running from the police, tearin’ through neighbor’s yards, knockin’ shit over, ‘cause you know…I’m drunk. This old motherfucker hears me and comes after me, so, well, I slugged his ass. He ripped the shirt off my back as I ran away. Next thing I know, motherfucker comes back at me again, but this time with his homeys. They chase me into the woods, and my ass falls face first into a creek I never knew was there. Then I’m like swimming and hiding in the water like a goddamn commando.”

Joe couldn’t reply through his near constant laughter.

“It worked out, though. I lost those guys chasin’ me. The downside is, well, as you can see, I lost my shoes at some point. And, there’s some fish in the creek, trippin’ on acid right about now. I had a hit in my wallet, and the damn thing is soaking wet.”

“So, what happened after that?”

Paul shrugged. “I waited a while for those guys to leave, and then I climbed up out of the woods.”

“And then you ran into this cat, huh?” Joe pointed at Brad. “That meeting between you and him must have been epic.”

“Yeah. It was pretty epic. He saw me come creeping out of the trees. I think it took me about ten minutes just to convince him I wasn’t a hallucination.”

Joe laughed and looked at Brad. The kid smoked his cigarette like he was having some kind of religious experience.

“Maybe he took your acid. This dude is gone.” Joe turned toward Brad. “You alright, man? Say something.”

Brad exhaled. “This night has been like…the most fucked-up night of my life.”

Both guys laughed.

“Brad. Listen to me, man. Chill. Everything is fine. You’re totally fine. Alright? I promise. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Joe could see the waves of relief flooding over him. He looked like a convict who’d just been released from a death sentence.

“Where’d you get your acid?” Joe asked. “Hopefully not from some hoodlum selling dirty shit.”

“I got it from Ed Lugo.”

“Oh, okay. That should be top notch. Well, how much did you take then?”

“Two hits.”

“There it is,” Joe said, nodding.

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “Plus, the wild party, the fight, the cops. Any number of reasons a trip could have gone south.”

“What do we do with him?” Joe asked.

“Oh, he’s coming with us,” Paul replied, like it was obvious. “We’re all going back to Antwann’s.”

“Yeah? Brad’s coming, too?”

Paul calmly explained. “It’s the only option, Joe. His parents will freak out if he tries to go home. They’d just make this situation worse. It would be traumatic for everyone involved. No, man, don’t you see? We can’t allow that scenario to play out. We’re the only ones who can help this guy. He’s coming with us.”

Joe nodded. “You’re right. We are the only ones.”

“Well, let’s go then,” Paul blurted. “We’ve been in this neighborhood way too long already.” He looked at Brad. “You ready to roll, space-boy?”

Brad looked back like a deer in headlights.

“Get in the car, Brad,” Joe said, laughing.

As Joe opened the driver’s side door, he looked across the roof of his car. Paul stood there, ready to get in shotgun, muddy, shirtless, and clearly still drunk. Brad stood behind him, ready to get in the back seat, wide-eyed and spaced-out. Joe had to laugh.

“Quite a trio we make here. I’m sober, you’re drunk, and you’re trippin.’ Just another night, I guess.”

Paul laughed. “Yeah. Just another night.”

“Yo, Brad,” Joe called out, as they drove along, momentarily turning down the music.

“Yeah?”

“Your smoke is finished, dude. Throw it out the window.”

“What? I just lit it.” He spoke as though shocked.

Joe laughed. “Dude, you’ve been holding that damn thing for like ten minutes.”

He bumped the music back up and they continued gliding through the quiet night toward Antwann’s. Upon arrival they saw the street was lined with cars, among them ones they could recognize.

“Hell, yeah,” Paul chirped. “They’re all here.”

Before the car even came to a complete stop, Paul launched himself out the door and ran across the lawn to the party as though nothing could stop him. Joe stepped out next, and could easily hear the laughs, shouts, and hip-hop beats sailing through the air toward them.

But, Brad was hesitant.

“C’mon, man,” Joe said, looking back at him. “Everyone’s cool here.”

Right after he said it, a huge chorus of laughs came from within, which was the sound of Paul making his grand entrance. Punctuating the whole thing, louder than anyone, was Rob gleefully shouting out, “What the hell happened to you?”

Brad was planted. “I just…I can’t go in there right now, man.”

Joe felt a flash of impatience. “Then what are you going to do, man?”

“Just going to walk around for a while. I can entertain myself. You know what I’m talking about, right?”

Brad actually smiled as he said the last part. Joe considered that a major breakthrough.

“Yeah, man. I know where you’re at right now. Let me ask you. How much longer do you have left? When did you drop?”

“I dropped at 4:30 pm.”

Joe almost laughed at the robotic way Brad specified p.m.

“Alright, man. You sure you’ll be alright, walking around out here?”

Brad glanced out into the night. The streetlights were beacons in a ghost-like fog.

“I’ll be plenty entertained,” Brad stated.

“Well, come back whenever. We should still be out back. If not, then just come inside the back door and head down to the basement. We’ll be there if not outside.”

“All right. Thanks so much for helping me. I was trippin’ out before you guys found me. I already feel way better now.”

“No problem. But be careful with acid, man. It’s strong shit. Shouldn’t be doin’ that by yourself.”

Brad nodded. “This has definitely been the weirdest night of my life.”

“It’s been an interesting night for everyone. All right, I’m heading in. Don’t get lost.”

“All right, Joe.”

Joe watched Brad for a moment as he walked slowly away down the foggy street. Then he went into the party.

Paul had near everyone’s attention, and he stood on the porch, muddy, shirtless, and shoeless, loudly recounting his story. Lauren gaped at him in disbelief.

Crystal Stevens was there, as Joe knew she would be. She glanced at him while taking a drag on her cigarette and Joe could feel her eyes on him. But the best sight Joe could see was Raza and Trey coming toward him, wearing giant, loopy grins, and holding forties—and they had an extra one that was unopened.

“Oh, thank God,” Joe exclaimed. “I’ve been sober all damn night, and I’m dyin.’”

“This one’s been waitin’ for you, bro. It’s got your name on it.”

Joe cracked the forty and took a few massive swigs. “Damn, I needed this,” he declared.

“That party was crazy, huh?” Trey said. “But you were only there for like, what, five minutes?”

“It was long enough to see the Paul and Rob web of mayhem in full motherfucking effect.”

Trey laughed. “You got a way with words, bro.”

“Don’t joke, man. The Paul and Rob web of mayhem is a real thing, and it’s gonna spread here next.”

“Speaking of Paul, you and he were the only stragglers getting out of that party,” Raza said. “I see he had to make some kind of epic escape. But what the hell took you so long?”

Joe burped. “I escorted a nice young lady home.” Then he tipped the forty back again.

“That’s tight, bro.”

“That’s just a nice way of saying he struck out.”

Joe didn’t answer or feel any need to explain himself. Instead he just drank as though in triumph.

The malt liquor went down too easily. All along the smooth beats and rhymes flowed down from the porch and Joe bobbed his head to it.

“I love Outkast, man,” Joe said in between sips.

“No doubt.”

“I love summer, too.” He tipped it back once more.

“Damn, Joe.” Raza looked at him. “You talkin’ and smilin’ like you all gazooted and shit.”

“That’s technically inaccurate,” Trey remarked. “Joe hasn’t been smoked out yet, and you need to have marijuana in your system in order to be gazooted.”

“Hopefully we can fix that soon enough,” Joe said, looking around.

Trey spoke very matter-of-factly. “Gazooted is achieved by getting really high, on top of an existing beer buzz foundation, so you don’t get tired. It’s got to be in that order, see? This has been established.”

“You crack me up, bro, but I got to disagree. Gazooted is like, a state of being, and it doesn’t matter how you get there exactly.”

Trey looked puzzled. “Example.”

“Look over at Paul right now. Motherfucker is laughing like shit, it looks like he’s got too much energy to sit down, and like it would be impossible to move the smile from his face, see? Now, while he’s telling his story, count how many times he slaps hands with Rob, just over the course of a minute or so. Tell me that shit ain’t comical. And then, on top of all that—motherfucker’s still not wearing a shirt, he’s got dried mud all up on him, his girlfriend is staring at him like he’s Pigpen from Charlie Brown, with a cloud of dust hovering all around him, and still he don’t give a shit, yo. That’s gazooted, see.”

Trey contemplated. “I don’t know. I’d say Ronnie is even more gazooted. Look how blazed he is. Look at his eyes, man. He looks like he’s Asian, even more so than Paul, and Paul actually is Asian. It’s remarkable. You could just look up gazooted in a dictionary and see a picture of Ronnie’s face when he’s smoked out and everyone would understand perfectly. No explanation necessary.”

Joe interjected. “I’m willing to be a test case to settle this argument. Seriously. Hook me up.”

“Get Alana to smoke you out. Look, she’s giving out shotguns right now.”

They looked over in time to see Alana Herrera, with a smoking joint, held backwards in her lips, the lit end unseen. She knelt close to Ronnie and blew a thick stream of smoke from her mouth directly into his. Afterward she flipped the joint back around smoothly, as Ronnie exhaled the giant cloud.

Crystal Stevens was up next, and the guys watched as Alana again flipped the joint around. Crystal leaned in close to her, their mouths almost touching, as the thin snake of smoke transferred through one set of parted lips into the other.

“Damn, that was hot,” Raza muttered.

Trey even clapped his hands. The girls looked over at the sound, Alana with her confident smile, and Crystal the exact opposite, with a spacey expression, her hair distraught, her eyes lazy.

“Hey, they’re coming down here,” Trey said.

Alana stepped over, still carrying the smoking joint, and having created a newly-formed circle with the guys, she passed to the left. Meanwhile, Crystal walked over slowly, as though needing to concentrate hard to do so.

“Aw, shit, Joe, get ready,” Raza said, grinning.

Joe knew this had been coming at some point. With a drunken smile she reached him and wrapped herself around him in a close embrace. Her long black hair was undeniably sexy, especially when she was drunk and it was all-crazy, as it was now.

“Hi, Crystal,” Joe said, halfheartedly returning her embrace. All around him he saw his friends wearing shit-eating grins.

“You made it,” she said.

“Yeah, just barely. That other party got busted up.”

“God, I wish we didn’t have to go,” she moaned.

Joe noticed a few other girls moving down from the porch, some of Crystal’s friends, and it looked like they were leaving.

“What? Oh, that sucks,” Joe said.

“You just got here.”

She kept hugging him, looking at him, as though waiting for something. But there was only one girl on Joe’s mind.

He didn’t wish to make a big deal of it. He hugged her once, firmly, and then let her go.

“Have a good night, Crystal,” he said.

She released also, reluctantly, and Joe saw a dark pall fall over her as they said bye. Then she and her friends walked off toward the road, climbed into a car, and were gone.

Raza slapped Joe on the back. “That was the best fuckin’ part of my night, man.”

“Fuck you,” Joe replied.

“Joe, what did you do to that poor girl?” Alana asked.

Ronnie let loose a boisterous laugh. “Joe’s got all sorts of girls up on his jock, right? My man is busy.”

“Really?” Alana looked at him curiously.

“Yep. His girl was over here earlier tonight.”

“Oh, yeah? Who is she?”

Joe hated this spotlight on him. Plus, it was way too early for this kind of talk. A premature label on a relationship could ruin everything.

“Nah, it’s nothing,” he said.

She gave him an incredulous look. “C’mon, Joe, who is she?”

“You know Katherine Lisi?”

Alana nodded.

“I was supposed to meet up with her is all, but shit got all fucked…you know.”

“Sure,” Alana said, without any real clue what he was talking about. “But, Katherine Lisi? Really?”

“What?” he asked, sheepishly.

“C’mon…I’m way cooler than she is.”

“Dammit, you’re right,” Joe blurted, jokingly.

“Kill it,” Alana said, handing him the roach.

Joe took it and did just that.