Mr. Dipshit’s Love Day
Here’s why alcohol is dangerous for some people: it totally seems to work at first. Unfortunately, “at first” is the end of “work” and the beginning of Shit River.
Gus texted me at midnight: be here at 8:30.
Normally, that might seem a little early for a Saturday morning. But I was psyched to get going.
At 8:20, after checking the Facebook taunts, I climbed upstairs to get a lighter coat because February had turned weird warm, like 50 degrees. Jerri and Terry were sitting on the couch. I didn’t even know he was at the house.
“What are you doing awake?” Jerri asked.
“Did he stay over?” I asked, pointing at Terry.
“I did, buddy,” Terry said. He smiled. Shit-eating smile.
“Great,” I said. “I’m going over to Gus’s. I think I’m going to stay over there tonight.”
“Good! Glad you’re reengaging, Felton!” Jerri said.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “Reengage this, jerks,” I said under my breath.
“What?” Jerri asked.
“Nothing,” I said. I got my coat and my stocking cap, got my bike, and hit the road.
When I arrived, Gus greeted me wearing a blue robe and chewing on his dad’s old pipe (same pipe he used in our karate video back in the innocent fall). And something bad. He’d gotten a haircut. No more hair wad. To me, this wad was Gus.
“What the hell did you do?” I shouted.
“Big news! I’m going to Amherst College. I got in and I’m going. I marked the occasion with a new hairdo,” he said.
“Aw, shit. Stupid,” I said. “You look like a lawyer. Do lawyers go to Amherst? Are you going to be a lawyer?”
“Jesus, Felton. Relax. I’m not the enemy, man.”
“I know.”
“I’m really happy about this, okay? Life is change.”
I exhaled. “Okay. Why do you have a pipe?” I asked.
“Feels right. Anyway, I’m in the process of preparing us a breakfast for the kings of ass-kicking,” he said.
“Cereal?” I asked, walking in.
“Bacon and eggs, mother boy,” he said.
In a few minutes, Gus had placed a far better looking breakfast in front of me than anything Jerri had cooked since she had her first freak-out a couple of years ago. (Jerri has been institutionalized once.) There was actual cheese and salt and pepper in the scrambled eggs. The bacon was not burnt to black dust. Along with the eggs and bacon, Gus put two cans of Hamm’s Beer on the table.
“I’m told that this beer comes from the land of sky-blue water,” Gus said. “It also cost me nine dollars for a twelve-pack, which is affordable on my budget.”
“Good. That’s a lot of beer, man,” I said. I stared at his haircut and my jaw clenched, but I didn’t say anything.
“Maddie assured me that twelve would be the minimum we’d need for a day of relaxation and beer drinking. She knows these kinds of things. I trust her.”
“Good.” One beer at Stanford had made me loose. What would happen with six? Would I rip off my clothes and run out into the street? So be it.
“A toast,” Gus said. He popped his beer, which spewed some foam on his eggs. “To the end of the world as we know it.”
“Yes please,” I said. “Blow it up.”
“I don’t want to blow anything up,” Gus said.
“To each his own,” I said.
“Okay.”
Then I popped my beer can, which spewed some foam. We clapped our aluminum cans together, which spilled beer on the table. Then we sucked down our first sip.
I gagged. My nose burned. I swallowed so I wouldn’t spit it out. I exhaled and looked at the ceiling. “Wow,” I said. I took another sip. Then a longer drink. Good. Very good. Within about a minute, I felt looser. And here’s what’s really weird: within about two minutes, my anger began draining in a stream from my fingers. (I let my arms hang down at my sides and I felt the draining.) I took another deep breath. I shut my eyes. I swallowed. I opened my eyes and I saw Gus and all he was to me: the greatest damn mother on the face of the whole planet. The best.
This chemical. That fast. I’m serious.
Beer is dangerous for me.
“This tastes like urine, right?” Gus said.
“I think I love it. You know what? You’re a good man. Amherst College, huh? That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re the best, man. Amherst? That’s a good one. You’re my best man.”
“You’ve experienced an attitude change,” Gus said.
“Have I? I guess. Good. Life is hard.”
“Indeed, my brother,” Gus said, raising his can and taking another sip and making a face.
“You do look like a lawyer,” I said, smiling.
“I’m aware of that,” Gus said.
“I like it,” I said.
I sucked down about ten gulps, and the saintly tears of a million smiling Christmas angels swept down my stairs. My chest expanded with love. My heart slowed. My face smiled.
***
I think we were only two beers into our day when Gus put a record on his dad’s record player. “‘O-o-h Child.’ The Five Stairsteps,” he said. “You know this song?”
I didn’t. It’s all these people singing, “O-o-h, child,” and telling that child that things are going to get easier and that things are going to get brighter. I had to drink my smelly beer very fast because it was all too much, this song and the nice people on the record. Way too much. Not like the angry Badger fans who wanted to kill me. All these people singing sweet, gentle words of hope to this poor kid, who probably had lots of sad problems but was still alive and still had hope, telling that kid that things are going to get easier and brighter.
“This song’s from the ’70s, man. I sometimes wish I was a hippie,” Gus said. “You know, like dancing naked on a VW van?”
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, man,” I said. The song’s sweetness opened up a space for Tommy. “Pig Boy should hear this.”
“No. Please don’t bring over Pig Boy,” Gus said.
“Really?” I asked.
“Seriously.”
“Okay. I won’t. But you’d really like him.”
“I need to play the song again.”
“Uh-huh,” I said.
He stood up. I could tell he was a little wobbly. He swept himself, robe billowing behind, to the turntable.
We listened to the song about ten times and I was so warm and I knew things would be both brighter and easier… How could the world be so wrong if people with big Afros (serious Afros on the cover) made such nice music?
By like 10 a.m., I’d already had my best day since Curtis Bode shot his own heart.
Gus saves.
Beer saves.
Someday, we’ll walk in the rays of a beautiful sun…
(That line is from that song.)
***
Outside, the sun poked through the February gloom. After some debate about pizza delivery (it was still morning), we understood that we had to take a walk because Gus wanted a frozen pizza. We each put a can of beer in our coat pocket (Gus wore a red-and-black plaid wool coat over his robe, which looked hilarious), and we walked out into a sun that was not cold.
“I’m going to grow your hair wad on my head to honor your past,” I said to Gus, pulling my stocking cap off.
“That’s a good idea. That would make me happy,” he said.
“I’m going to make a painting of me and Andrew swimming in a fish tank,” I said. I pictured this giant mural painted on the side of our house. “People stare, you know? They stare at us. But I need to learn how to paint,” I said.
“That’s good,” Gus said. “You should do that.”
“Pig Boy is a good artist. He can help me.”
“Where are the womens?” Gus asked.
It seemed like a really important question.
Then we got to the Kwik Trip on Highway 81. There, we were very thirsty from not drinking, so we crouched behind a Dumpster on the side of the store and popped our beers while a cool wind blew and Gus called Maddie.
Then this girl, Robin Tesdell, walked around the Dumpster. She’s sort of a burner. She graduated last year. She works at the Kwik Trip. She said, “Look at you two alkies.”
I dropped my beer.
Gus said, “Don’t do that.”
I picked it up and sucked the foam off the top.
She lit a cigarette.
“Can I have one of those?” Gus asked.
Robin tapped a cigarette out of her pack. “You dudes know it’s like ten in the morning?” she asked. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for womens,” I said.
“And a pizza,” Gus said.
Maddie shouted from his phone, “Who are you talking to?”
“Just come over to my damn house!” Gus shouted back.
“I’m still asleep,” I heard her shout.
“I didn’t figure you for a drinker,” Robin said to me. “You feeling good?”
“I am good. I am filled with angels’ tears,” I told her, nodding.
“Awesome,” she said.
We left our beers by Robin (Gus gave her back her cigarette, which she threw in the dirt) and went in and bought three pizzas.
***
When we got back to Gus’s, it was eleven in the morning. Maddie was there.
“Oh, no,” Gus said to me. “You don’t have a woman.”
“My woman left me,” I said. My chest filled with sadness, the angel tears like old car oil gumming up my warm engine.
“Don’t you like other girls?” Maddie asked.
“No,” I said. “No love.”
“Come on,” Maddie said. “There must be some other hot chica you’ve had your eye on.”
“No. I love Aleah, but I won’t talk to her.”
“Why?” Maddie asked.
“She broke up with me too much,” I said.
“Oh.”
“Abby Sauter,” Gus said.
“Abby?” I asked.
“No!” Maddie shouted.
“Abby Sauter.” Gus nodded. “You love her.”
“I do?” I asked.
“Yes,” Gus said.
“I should call her?” I asked.
“Oh hell no,” Maddie said. “Do not invite that priss over here.”
“Do it!” Gus shouted. “I need to speak to her!”
“You do?” I asked.
“Yes!” Gus shouted.
I was already calling Abby.
Abby! Of course!
I felt great! In love!
Abby didn’t answer. So I called again. She didn’t answer. So I called again and left a message. “Call me, Abby. It’s important.”
I sat and stared at Gus, who was doing a sexy dance in front of Maddie. She smiled up at him.
“No woman,” I said.
Then my phone buzzed.
“Whoa.” Then my breath died inside me and, shaking a bit, I answered, “Abby?”
“What’s important, Felton?” she asked. “Is your mom going down on my dad?”
“You’re mad at me,” I said.
“No.”
“You are.”
“No. My dad’s an asshole,” she said.
“Okay. Jerri’s an asshole too,” I said. “But I miss you.”
Abby paused. “What are you doing, Felton?” she asked.
“Oh. I’m not sure, baby,” I said.
“What the hell?” she asked.
“I don’t know for real.” Here’s the thing: Me and Abby have a long history. After Gus, she’s the first person I remember in school. In first grade, she told me to stop staring at her. I couldn’t help it. I stared at her one time during lunch and she slapped me. In fifth grade, out of no place, she told me she was my girlfriend. (Nobody liked me then—but me and Abby walked home together every day.)
In seventh grade, she shoved me against a locker. In ninth grade, she and Jess Withrow made fun of me mercilessly. But she was also the first person to apologize, the first after sophomore year to say how awful she felt for the way they all treated me.
Then, last summer, in the middle of the night, I got a text from her that said:
me and jess drunk she says I like you so call me
The text sent shocks through my body, but I was in Florida dealing with Andrew and I loved Aleah, so I didn’t call. I couldn’t call. I just pretended it never happened and Abby never mentioned it again—maybe she thought I didn’t get it?
“What do you mean by ‘baby’?” she asked.
“Babe,” I answered.
“Where are you?” Abby asked.
“Gus’s house. He says I like you.”
“What did I say?” Gus asked.
“Are you drinking?” Abby asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What do you want, Felton?” Abby said.
“I want you to be here,” I said.
“Are you effing kidding me?” Abby shouted. “So we can be together like our asshole parents?”
I heard Nolan tell her to shut up in the background.
“No,” I said. “I like you, that’s all.”
“Okay,” Abby said. “Shit.” Silence.
“Abby, baby?” I asked.
“I’ll be there in a little bit,” she said.
I clicked End on the call and looked up at Gus.
He stared at me. “Is Abby Sauter coming over to my house?” he asked.
I nodded.
“I don’t want the prom king in my house!” Maddie shouted.
“Prom queen,” Gus said. “And furthermore, this isn’t your house.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Maddie spat.
“And furthermore, Abby would’ve been the valedictorian of our class if she hadn’t screwed up last semester. She’s not dumb.”
“She’s a bitch,” Maddie said.
“Abby screwed up last semester?” I asked.
“Straight As all through school, then doesn’t show up on the honor roll?” Gus asked.
“Whoa,” I said. “I never check the honor roll.”
“Just in the paper yesterday, man,” Gus said.
“She’s a jerk,” Maddie said. She poured a bunch of beer in her mouth, then burped really loud.
“I love you,” Gus said.
***
While Gus and Maddie ate frozen pizza, I sat on the couch staring at the door, waiting for Abby. I stared for a half hour maybe, without any beer, because I felt all floppy and nervous.
The doorbell rang.
“Oh my shit,” I said.
Gus and Maddie stared at the door.
Maddie said, “Here comes the prom king.”
I stood, walked slowly to the door, opened it. Abby wore a hoodie and sweatpants. She nodded at me. She said, “Give me a drink.”
Gus leapt off the couch and grabbed our last can of Hamm’s out of the box. He held it up and smiled.
“Do you have anything else?” Abby asked.
“I can get anything,” Maddie said. “Anything you want.”
***
Ten minutes later, we rolled south of Bluffton. Abby drove her giant brown turd of a Buick that belches smoke, and I sat in the seat next to her. Gus and Maddie made out in the backseat.
Abby turned back and looked at them. She shook her head. I could tell she blushed a little. I stared at her like I did in first grade because Abby is a thing of rare freaking beauty and she always has been, to the point that no one will ask her out except Karpinski because she’s just too damn much. Karpinski tried to kiss her at homecoming in the fall and she shoved him away, laughing. She also pointed in his face. “Not ever,” she told him.
Abby Sauter turned again. This time, she looked at me. She half smiled. “Staring, Reinstein.”
I nodded.
“You have something you need to say to me?” she asked. “You like me or something?”
My heart pounded in my throat. I wished I had another goat-piss beer. “I’m sorry Jerri and Terry are an item,” I said.
“Oh,” Abby nodded. “Don’t worry about it,” she said.
We drove on.
***
“Here! Turn here!” Maddie shouted.
Abby’s car slid onto a gravel road. We rolled into a valley near Big Patch. I’d never been there. I thought I knew every place around Bluffton.
“It’s about a mile,” Maddie said.
The bluffs around us were steep. The road was muddy. Deep, dark country. Maddie’s brother Cal lives in an old schoolhouse in the middle of absolute nowhere.
Abby’s crappy car radio kept fuzzing out, so we couldn’t hear the music.
“Can’t even get Dubuque,” Abby said.
“Good. You listen to shit,” Maddie barked.
“Really?” Abby asked. “Why?”
“KLYV is just a bunch of packaged plastic. There’s no lyrical depth. No real emotion,” Gus said.
“Nothing except pulsing groinage,” Maddie said.
“What’s wrong with that?” Abby asked.
“Good point!” Gus said. He reached over the car seat and slapped me on the back of my head.
“I like groins,” I said.
“Here!” Maddie shouted. “This driveway! Right! Right!”
Abby fishtailed onto an even smaller drive.
“Where are we?” Abby whispered.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s with your face?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. My face burned though. Blushing about groins.
***
A few football fields into the woods, we came to the old schoolhouse. There were old pieces of cars lying around and a red tractor parked on a concrete slab.
When we parked, Maddie said, “My brother Cal is a weird dude, but he’s nice. Just enjoy, because you won’t meet dudes like this on your planet.”
“My planet?” I asked.
“She’s talking to me,” Abby said.
“And your boyfriend,” Maddie said.
“Felton isn’t my boyfriend,” Abby said.
“That’s not what he told me,” Maddie said.
“Shut up, Maddie,” I said.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Gus said. “Somebody needs a drink.”
***
Maddie didn’t even knock. She walked right in. We all followed her. Inside, a balding 30-year-old with a big blond beard sat at the kitchen table working a drill. He wore a dirty A Tribe Called Quest T-shirt. He squinted down at his hands. He screwed two large pieces of metal together.
“Excuse me, sir,” Maddie barked.
Cal looked up, startled. He stopped the drill. “Why are you here, baby girl? The kids are with their mom this weekend. I don’t need you.”
“We’re here for the bar, Cal.”
Cal’s eyes exploded out of his head. “Holy shit!” he shouted. “Mr. Traitor Footballs and Junior Miss McBluffton? What the hell are you two doing at my house?”
He was referring to me and Abby.
“Just with Maddie,” I said.
“Dude, that was hardcore what you did on the TV. Woo!” he started laughing his ass off. “Picking up that Badger hat. Man! You’ve got a couple of pumpkins for testicles, dude.”
“It was an accident,” I mumbled.
“Bull. Shit. I was watching. That was a badass joke. Seriously.”
“I wish it was a joke. Stupid cheeseheads,” I said.
“Right on, man,” Cal said.
“How the hell do you know about Felton and Abby?” Maddie shouted at him. “You like keeping up with the popular kids, you pervert?”
“I get the Bluffton Journal. I have a TV. I want to know what I’m missing. Otherwise, what’s the point of hiding out?” Cal said.
“Junior Miss what?” I whispered to Abby.
“Nothing. I won a scholarship last fall, that’s all.”
“Bar’s in the barn, dudes. Head on back. Maybe I’ll see you in a little bit. I’ve got to get some work done first,” Cal said.
“Hey, man,” Gus said, going past.
“Nice haircut. Good to see you, brother.” Cal fist-bumped him.
“What’s he working on?” I asked as we climbed through a dark little hall filled with stripped motorcycle frames and buckets of screws.
“He’s building an airplane,” Maddie said. “He’s going to fly to Mexico.”
Abby pinched my arm. She smiled huge.
***
The house was an explosion of metal and tools. The yard was a freaking scrap heap with piles of old bikes and toy trucks, toy bulldozers, and other assorted crap. The “barn” (more like a big shed), though, was totally clean and beautiful. There was a full bar with stools and neon lights and a giant moose head hung on the wall. (Maddie later told me it was a deer head, but it looked like a moose head to me.) Christmas lights were strung all over the walls. A little heater pumped out heat. There were shelves and shelves of old records along one end of the room and a turntable hooked up to a giant sound system.
“Wow,” Abby said.
“Pretty awesome, right?” Gus said.
“You can tell what Cal loves most, huh? Not his kids. Not his airplane. Booze,” Maddie said. “Let’s do some shots.”
Gus and Maddie went behind the bar and started arguing about what liquor we should drink.
“Uh, really, I don’t like to drink,” Abby said.
“I remember one time,” I said without thinking.
“You do?” she asked.
“Yeah…yeah…” Just say it. “I, uh, got this text from you.”
“Oh,” Abby said. “That was dumb. That’s why I don’t like Jess that much.” She walked away from me and sat down on this giant beanbag chair in the corner.
“That thing is called a Love Sac,” Gus shouted to her.
“Great,” Abby said.
***
An hour later, Maddie was on fire. She was telling Abby about all the people she considers to be bitches and asswipes. Drunkass Abby would sort of protest or whatever, but really, Maddie just wanted to shout.
“No. Carly Bennett is a bitch,” Maddie said. “She calls me Zitty Cat.”
“That’s very dumb,” Abby said.
“I had a zit one time. A big one on my nose,” Maddie said.
“That happens.” Abby nodded.
“It’s never happened to you,” Maddie said.
“No,” said Abby.
“Carly’s brother is worse. Ryan Bennett punched Felton’s brother in the chest so hard, Andrew couldn’t breathe.”
“He did?” I shouted. “Ryan? When?” Ryan was the kid Andrew mentioned when I asked him who might’ve bullied Curtis Bode.
“When Andrew was in seventh grade,” Maddie said, shaking her head.
“I should kill Ryan Bennett,” I said.
“Nolan hangs out with him. He’s been at my house a lot,” Abby said.
“Nolan is a total dick too. You know that, right?” Maddie said. “Your brother is the worst jerk in the freshman class.”
“He’s mad at my dad. That’s what our therapist says,” Abby said.
“I’m mad at my dad, but I don’t knock anyone’s head on the ground,” Maddie barked.
“No, I mean really sad because Dad barely talks to us. Dad doesn’t like us.”
“Oh,” Maddie said, nodding. “I get it.”
“It’s very bad,” Abby said. “Things are bad.”
“Is that why you blew your grade point?” Gus asked.
“I’m not going to graduate first in class. You are,” Abby said, nodding.
“Are you okay?” Gus asked.
Abby set her drink down on the bar. She shook her head. “Dude,” she said. She pointed in Gus’s face. “You’re the first person to ask. Jess hasn’t asked,” she slurred. “Cody hasn’t asked.” She pointed over at me. “Felton is in his weird Felton bubble all the time,” Abby said. “But I’m not okay. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Maddie said, “But if you people weren’t so mean to everyone all the time, maybe we’d care, maybe we’d give Nolan a hug instead of wishing he’d die.”
“You people?” Abby asked.
“You and all your people.” Maddie nodded.
“How are they my people?”
“You’re all brutal. Plus, you volleyball girls all look alike,” Maddie said.
“Racist,” Abby whispered.
“Against asshole jocks?” Maddie shouted.
“Apparently,” Abby said, nodding.
***
Ten minutes later, Maddie and Abby were hugging and crying. I’m not kidding. Gus and I sat on the Love Sac, watching their exchange and listening to music—some dude named Perry Como singing 1950s Christmas songs. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
“What if they start making out?” Gus asked. “I don’t know how I’d feel about that.”
“I really like them both,” I said. “Those are two good women.”
“Here’s to that. I need to make a toast,” Gus said. He stood up and lifted a bottle of beer over his head. “You! All of you,” he shouted. “A toast.”
Maddie and Abby let go of each other and turned toward him.
“I love you,” Gus slurred. “Maddie, you are the best girlfriend who has lived in this place. In this world. Abby. Felton has loved you since before you were born to the local orthodontist.”
“How embarrassing,” Maddie said. “He’s never said anything?”
Abby shook her head.
“To both of you,” Gus cried.
“Cheers,” Abby said. Then she sucked down more of that black liquid.
It’s true. That Abby is top notch. A top-notch lady.
I rolled off the Love Sac and walked up to the bar. I grabbed Abby around the waist and pulled her up to me. Our faces were inches apart. I had to close my left eye not to go cross-eyed and lose my balance. I could feel Abby’s heart banging against my chest through her sweatshirt.
“I’ve never kissed anybody,” Abby whispered.
“Oh my God!” Maddie screamed. “Are you made of plastic?”
“I don’t think so,” Abby said. “Just…never happened.”
“Okay,” I said. “I have loved you since before your dad ever fixed a tooth. I do. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Abby breathed out slow, the sweet smell of her breath made my damn legs weak. “Okay. Good. I want you to kiss me,” Abby said.
We kissed. It was okay. I’d only kissed Aleah before (and I loved that). Abby felt different. She felt cool. She tasted sort of like licorice and ice cream.
We kissed more.
“Woo!” Gus and Maddie cried.
“That’s okay. That’s not too bad,” Abby said. “Right?”
“Yeah. I liked it,” I said.
***
“You used to call Felton a fur ball!” Gus shouted at Abby.
“No. Jess did,” Abby said. “I called him other stuff.”
We all leaned on the bar. We drained that black liquid from the bottle. The floor moved underneath my feet. The Christmas lights blazed in my eyeballs. Perry Como sang about Santa Claus.
“Pig Boy has it worse. Don’t you understand? I’m lucky. It’s bullshit, mothers. Pig Boy is never going to turn out to be big,” I shouted.
“Stop talking about him. He’s not the only one in the world,” Gus said.
“His brother shot himself,” I barked.
“I know, I know,” Gus said.
“Wait. Shh. Before I pissed off the State of Wisconsin, Pig Boy emailed me to tell me that he knows who killed his brother,” I said.
“Someone killed Curtis?” Maddie asked, her eyes wide. “Curtis didn’t kill Curtis?”
“That’s what Pig Boy said.”
“Oh shit, I hope it wasn’t Nolan,” Abby said.
“Jocks think they can just slam everyone’s body around and it won’t hurt.” I slammed my hand on the bar. The bottles and glasses jumped. “It’s like everyone is just a damn beach ball to kick,” I said.
“You’re a jock,” Abby said. “You’re the biggest jock in the world.”
“No he’s not,” Gus said. “Felton is a geek in jock pants.”
“The football players at the colleges I visited wanted to kick me like a beach ball,” I said, nodding.
“They pushed you around?” Abby asked.
“They better not,” I said. “They wouldn’t mess with me.”
“Oh my God. We shouldn’t let it happen,” Abby said. “What’s wrong with us? We need to stop them.”
“You want to stop Karpinski?” I asked. “You want to tell him what you really think?”
Abby paused.
“Karpinski’s the worst,” Gus said. “He mooned me in Walmart and gave me the finger. Just last week. It never ends with that guy.” Gus shook his head.
“Why are people so mean?” Abby asked. “I used to think it was so funny. I used to think everyone was a beach ball.”
“I’m not a beach ball,” Maddie said. “I’m really not, okay?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Abby said.
***
Abby, all almost six feet of her, lay on top of me on the Love Sac.
“Why we never do this before?” I asked.
“I know! I love drinking!”
“Not just drink. You know, hang together, baby.”
“I don’t know,” Abby said. “I had soooo much business to take care of.”
“Buying and selling business?”
“School and volleyball, and I don’t like all these boys breathing on me. They’re gross.”
“I’m not gross.”
“Not that gross. I like you best,” Abby said.
“I like you best too. Better than Karpinski,” I said.
“This is the best night I ever had,” she said.
“I think it’s like dinnertime,” I said. “We have just begun…”
“Oh shit! We have to eat!” she said.
Then Gus shouted from the records, “Five Stairsteps! Holy shit!” He held up the album with the people and their giant Afros. “Let’s hear it!”
“Not again, man,” Maddie said. Gus had played it at his house another five times when Maddie got there.
“Oh yes,” he said.
He played “O-o-h Child,” and within about a minute, Abby was totally bawling. Her tears coated my face.
“The singers are so nice,” she said. “We should be so nice.”
“Safe,” I said.
“My parents aren’t even my parents anymore,” she cried.
“I know,” I said. “Where are the adults?”
“They don’t exist,” Abby cried.
***
Maybe an hour later, Cal showed up in the barn. He had two bags filled with sub sandwiches from Pickle Barrel Subs, which had to be like a forty-minute round-trip drive. “Sammies!” he shouted.
“Awesome, man!” Maddie said.
“You dudes are eating and staying. Nobody is going to drive any place, you got that? Eat up!”
“He’s an adult,” Abby said.
“He’s building an airplane,” I said.
“I want to go to Mexico,” Abby said.
“With me?” I asked.
“Okay,” Abby said. “Let’s totally do it.”
“Hey, Cal, can we come with you to Mexico?” I asked.
Cal cocked his head at me. He put the bags of subs on the bar. “Hell no, man. You’re exactly what I want to get away from.”
“Me?” That hurt my feelings.
“Can we at least visit sometime?” Abby asked.
Cal thought for a second. “Sure. Why not?”
“Thanks, man!” Abby said.
***
My last memory of the night is so blurry. Abby snored on my shoulder. We stretched on the Love Sac. Gus, Maddie, and Cal all had cigarettes in their mouths. Cal played an electric guitar (pretty loud), and Maddie and Gus pounded on bongos. Every now and then, Cal would scream, “Rock it, mother scratchers!” and Maddie would call back, “We rock it!”
How did I fall asleep during that?
Really, it was only like nine at night.
Booze.
***
I woke up spooning Abby. Morning light came in through small windows high up on the barn’s walls. The world smelled like sweet, rotten alcohol. We were covered with a dirty bedspread. Abby turned her cheek to my mouth. She whispered, “Are you really my friend?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m here.”
My mouth tasted so gross. “I think mice slept in my mouth,” I said.
“Yeah. You get sort of used to it,” Abby said.
“You have a lot of experience with this?” I asked.
“No,” Abby said.
Before we left, Cal made us all bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches. He gave us Advil. He said, “Now don’t make it a habit of coming out here. You got it? There’s no open invitation. I might chase you out next time. I have guns. Lots of them.”
“Shut up, Cal,” Maddie said.
“I’m serious, baby girl,” Cal said.
“Really, really serious?” Maddie asked.
“Very, very serious.” He pointed at each one of our faces.
***
On the drive back, Gus said, “Hope there isn’t trouble. Hope we’re okay. I think I left a note for my parents. I did, right? I said I was staying over at your place, Felton. Did you call Jerri?”
“No,” I said.
“Are you worried? Are you in trouble?”
“No,” I said.
“I’m not either. My mom doesn’t get mad at me for bad shit I do,” Maddie said. “She gets mad at me when her life sucks.”
“My mom probably didn’t notice I was gone,” Abby said. “She goes to bed at like eight.”
“Great,” Gus said. “My parents give a shit, so I’m the one who’ll get in trouble. What a deal.”
Nobody said anything.
Abby dropped me at Gus’s so I could pick up my bike. She grabbed my hand as I got out and pulled me toward her. She squinted at my face. She said, “Talk later?”
“Yeah. Of course.”