30-Paul

Paul woke up in the guest room, the same place he’d slept on Friday night with Lauren. She wasn’t there, though. She’d gone home last night.

He stumbled out of the room and made his way to the kitchen. Antwann was there, holding a large trash bag, as though the thought had crossed his mind to start cleaning up. But he hadn’t started yet.

“Is it just us?” Paul asked. “Where is everyone?”

“I guess they bolted. I know Joe and Rob have work. Probably everyone else just wanted to avoid this.”

“Cleaning up?”

“You gotta help me, man,” Antwann said, with desperation in his voice. “I can’t do it by myself. I’m not sure I have the mental capacity.”

Paul grinned. “I got you, brother.”

“You the man,” Antwann said, sighing, his voice marked with gratitude.

Paul pounded some water first. He felt mostly fine—he wasn’t hungover at all. Last night had had a strong start, there was no doubt. It was unprecedented, actually—the thick plumes of smoke billowing from the Megaspliff were seemingly opening portals to other worlds, and the sharp, satisfying bite of the jungle juice made them all supercharged, like comic book heroes. But despite the strong start, Paul had found himself mellowing out considerably thereafter. They didn’t have to get crazy every night, he realized. It was more about chilling. Lauren had also been taking it easy, knowing she had a busy day today—a family trip up to Baltimore to visit some relatives. So, she’d been pretty content to just sit on the porch and hit whatever joint or paraphernalia that happened to pass by. Their new friend Brad had also settled in on the porch, playing the role of the third wheel for much of the evening, as he appeared too nervous—or too stoned—to do anything else. That was fine with Paul, though—Brad had a sneaky sense of humor, where after being quiet for an extended stretch he’d break through suddenly with a witty, astute comment that would have them all rolling. He was a welcome addition to such circles, especially such a chill one as last night’s.

Antwann began dropping bottles and cans inside the trash bag, moving about the house like it was painful to do so. Paul helped him. They filled up several trash bags, and eventually hauled them all out to Anwann’s car. The summer heat was already well-established in the late morning hour, and it felt oppressive. Paul wore his hat low over his eyes, the brim with an aggressive curve to it.

“How you feelin’ this morning, anyway?” Paul asked. “You look a bit rocked.”

“I feel a bit rocked,” Antwann replied. His voice was noticeably hoarse and his eyes were lazy.

“I didn’t know you and Jennifer Young were so tight,” Paul remarked. “How long has that been going on?”

“For a while, but she’s just had trouble getting out. Her parents are strict as hell.”

“They know about you?”

“Hell no. They’d probably shit a brick.”

After loading his car, they got in, shut the doors, and Antwann started the engine. Then he fired up the air conditioning, turned up the radio, and put on his sunglasses.

“Alright, I’m good now,” Antwann said. “Now that I got my sunglasses on.” His voice faded into a suddenly ripe laughter, which made Paul laugh also.

They drove a couple miles to a side street off the main drag where there was easy access to a dumpster. They hauled the bags from his car and into the dumpster, the contents noisy with glass and aluminum clinking. The bags landed inside with a brutal crash and some shattering. Then Antwann slid the metal door shut with a wretched screech of rusted metal, as Paul winced.

Instead of returning to the car, they strolled side by side toward a nearby 7-Eleven.

“I need to hydrate,” Antwann said. “Badly.”

“Me too,” Paul murmured.

“That really was quite a weekend, you know?”

“A lot of classic moments, I got to say.”

“The Megaspliff, right?” Antwann asked. He looked at Paul, grinning as though in remembrance of it. His afro was lit up in the bright sunlight, his sunglasses shimmering. “That’s got to be the most noteworthy part of the weekend.”

Paul thought about it. “Either that, or when I was spinning circles in the cold ass creek water, disoriented as hell and trying to right myself,” he said. “That was a shock. The strangest part of my weekend, for sure.”

“What about Jimmy Redman’s late night visit? That dude, showing up at my house, spouting off like a freakin’ lunatic? That’s gonna be giving me nightmares, Paul.”

“That dude is a freakin’ lunatic.”

“How did all that begin, again?” Antwann asked. “I’m still not sure I understand.”

“It was under the guise of a spilled beer. But, it was really just Rob deciding that he wanted to kick his ass.”

Antwann shook his head. “You guys are always getting into shit.”

“Yeah. Well, this time it was like…a tragic turn of events. It was rather unlucky.”

Antwann scowled at him. “I don’t think so, man. People make their own luck. You should know that, Paul.”

Paul nodded glumly.

“So, what are you going to do about it now?”

Paul shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I guess I’ll be watching my back.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” Antwann muttered.

They entered the 7-Eleven and began attacking the snack aisles.

“What did you say you were doing later today, Antwann?”

“I’m meeting up with some band peeps down at the mall.”

“Down at the mall? What’s going on down there?”

“We’re playing laser tag.”

Paul laughed.

“What? It’s fun as hell, yo. More fun than walking around, keeping a low profile, anyway,” Antwann said. “I see you looking all covert and shit.”

“I’m always keeping a low profile, bro. That’s just how I do.”

Antwann laughed. “That’ll be impossible, rolling in here with me.”

They moved onto the drink refrigerators.

Antwann continued. “Funny thing is, most people see the two of us in here together, an Asian guy and a black guy, and they probably think I’m the gangsta. When really, you way more gangsta than me.”

Paul grinned. “And they probably think I’m the geeky one, when really you’re way geekier than me.”

Antwann laughed. “Yeah. I like to surprise people. It’s my hobby. To be complex. Indefinable. Check it out.”

“What?”

Antwann spoke earnestly. “Think about who we got in our group of friends, man. There’s a thug, a dealer, a stoner, a slacker, a player…”

Paul laughed. “True that.”

“Am I missing someone?” Antwann asked.

“I’m not sure I heard Raza in there.”

“Oh, yeah, shit.” Antwann contemplated. “He’s…black.”

Paul cackled once more, while putting his items up on the counter at the register.

Antwann looked at him. “Now try me. What’s my one-word description?”

Paul thought about it and came up empty. “Damn, dude, you’re right! You ain’t got one!”

“See?”

“You’re just…you’re Dr. Funk, man. Nice work.” They actually slapped hands.

“Or…I’m Antwann.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“Shit, man, ain’t no accident. I ain’t gonna let anyone put a label on me. That shit pisses me off.”

“Well said.”

“Them labels are dangerous anyway, yo.”

“How so?”

Antwann’s eyes looked suddenly like he could see a million miles away. “Allow me to explain,” he said.

“Aw shit, I’m feeling an Antwann Jackson vortex coming on.”

Even the clerk working at the cash register glanced at Antwann curiously as he scanned the items.

“Think way back to freshmen year, when we all first got to high school. It was like the wild, wild west, right?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Most people, they like, panic, and try to find something to latch on to. I actually think it’s taking the easy way out to just be a stoner, or a thug, or whatever the hell else. A hippie, I don’t know. Probably the most difficult thing to do is be preppy.”

“Yeah, but…dude, you’re kind of all of those things.”

“True, but see, I just have a cup of coffee with each of them, but I don’t make it my thing, you know? The breadth of experience, man, that’s what I’m after.”

“I’d say you’re like, the thinking-man’s pothead.”

Antwann shrugged. “I’m just living life, bro. It’s good to try everything out. That way you ain’t naïve about shit. You know, street smarts is just as important as book smarts. They don’t say that, but…”

“Shit, that’s the only thing some people get out of high school.”

Antwann nodded. “That’s the real education. You got to know how to fuckin’ talk to people.”

“Damn, you really thought about all this, haven’t you, Antwann?” They walked out toward his car.

“Hell yeah, man, you got to,” Antwann said, nodding his head. “This is where it all begins.”

They sat down in the seats and shut the doors. Antwann started the car but didn’t drive off yet. Instead they cracked the tops of their Gatorades and took a few long swigs while the air conditioning blasted.

“So, here is how people fuck it up,” Antwann said, after he finished a long guzzle.

“Go on.”

“That label people get, that they embrace—if that shit is illegal, how far do you think you’re really gonna get?” Antwann looked at him, his expression questioning. “Shit, we just in high school. You don’t want to stumble coming out of the gate, right? The label degrades pretty easily. More easily than people think. It becomes burnout. Or dropout. Or criminal. Or addict. I’m amazed how people go down those paths so willingly, man, and they can’t even recognize that shit be happenin.’”

“How far is the Dr. Funk label gonna take you, Antwann?”

“Straight to the fuckin’ top, man.”

Paul chuckled. “I hear you, bro. And I think Rob is one of them, unfortunately. If that motherfucker passes this year, he’ll be lucky, I’m telling you. He checked out this year. I watched it happen. It’s a shame too, because he’s actually, well, I’m not gonna say smart, but…he ain’t stupid.”

Antwann nodded. “Oh, I hear you, and I know. Ronnie is in that camp, too. He needs to get his shit together. He’s a funny motherfucker, man, don’t get me wrong. Rob is, too. But you got to climb the ladder eventually.”

“Climb the ladder?”

“You got to. High school is fun, man, it’s fun as hell, driving around and blowing up parties like we do. But school, I mean high school and whatever comes next, it’s like a ladder, man, and you got to keep climbing up. Rob and Ronnie think this shit is gonna last forever. They think there’s no reason to keep climbin,’ but…at some point, we got to.”

“You mean to get a good job, and shit. Right?”

“Well, yeah. In theory. But that’s not the real reason.”

“What is?”

“C’mon, man, why do we do anything at all? Chasin’ after the pussy, right? The ladies, man. That’s what it’s about. That’s what it’s always been about. What else is there?”

“So, what are you saying? You don’t climb the ladder, you ain’t getting any ass?”

Antwann shrugged. “Man, some people don’t climb the ladder, but that style ain’t gonna fly with the ladies, at least not with the bomb-ass ones. It might work for like, five minutes, but the finest ladies—the hot ones, the respectable ones—they be climbin.’ You watch. My ass will be climbin’ right up after them. That’s where you gotta be. Because they sure as hell ain’t comin’ back down for you.”

Antwann ripped open a pack of Combos and started in on them.

“You gotta evolve,” he added. “You got to move onto what’s next. You can’t be afraid of it. People like Rob act all tough and shit, but really they’re just afraid, man. I’m tellin’ you. Afraid of rejection, and afraid of not being good at shit.”

Antwann’s words felt like haymakers. They held Paul frozen. He literally couldn’t move. It was like the buildup from the entire weekend had all led to that moment. Antwann had said it all while speaking halfcocked, too. Paul looked over at him in awe.

He was in the midst of polishing off his Combos. He even had the bag turned upside down as he messily inhaled the last few bits. Then he hit his Gatorade again and belched.

“So, what is next, Antwann?” Paul asked him.

“Huh?”

“You said you got to evolve, you got to move onto what’s next. So, what is next? I mean…what are you gonna do after all this? When you’re older?”

Antwann contemplated quietly before speaking.

“Travel the world, man. Hopefully. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m only 17. And I got like…twelve dollars in my wallet.” Antwann busted out laughing, and so did Paul.

“And what else?” Paul asked. “Is that what it’s all about? Experiences? Having cups of coffee here and there?”

Antwann shrugged. “Yeah. I think so. What’s better than that, you know? See the world, meet some new people. Learn what else is out there.”

“And all the while get as much ass as you possibly can?”

Antwann nodded, grinning. “And from as many ladies as you can. Or, just from one that you like a whole lot, I guess. A girl that you’re addicted to. That must be why guys get married. To have sex every damn night, man, can you imagine how awesome that would be?”

“True.”

“That must be the key to happiness, right there. The more sex you have, the happier you must be. It’s all pretty simple, really.”

“That does seem to be the only real reason why we’re all here. On Earth, I mean. The only obvious one, anyway.”

There was a moment of silent contemplation until Antwann broke it.

“Paul, are you saying we were put here on Earth to have sex with women?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn, that works out great for me. Thanks, man, you took that even a step further than I did.”

“No problem. It just became clear to me.”

“I’m really glad we worked all this out.”

“Me too.”

“Alright, well…” Antwan looked in the rear-view mirror. “Let’s get outta here before people think we’re sitting here waiting for drugs or some shit.”

Antwann backed the car up, and seconds later cruised down the road. He turned on the radio and flicked through a few stations before stopping on one that caught his attention. It was the opening chords of “Hey Joe” by Jimi Hendrix. Antwann sighed, like it was one of the best moments he’d had in ages.

“Goddamn, this shit is tight,” he said, while turning up the volume. “Paul, this one’s for you, dog! You gangsta muthafucka!” Antwann yelled, pointing at him. He started singing the lyrics jokingly, swapping out the name “Joe” for “Paul.” But that only lasted for ten seconds or so, until Antwann became fully immersed in the music, consuming it, while even playing the steering wheel like a guitar, having forgotten about Paul altogether.