Ten months ago
It was the last day of junior year, and Dad was on his way to a nice buzz at two in the afternoon. Growler and I walked into the empty Blue Mountain, soaking wet. A bunch of juniors had organized a water-balloon fight out on the field. Let’s just say our lacrosse skills came in handy because we nailed lots of kids with balloons. For a while, no one would throw one at me, not even my teammates. Then Growler caught me in the back, and it was on.
Dad said, “You two jackasses jump in a pool or something?” We explained and he laughed. “When are you headed to the shore, Growler?” he asked.
Growler grabbed a maraschino cherry and popped it into his mouth. “Not till August this year.”
His family went to the shore every summer for two weeks. I’d been invited over the years, but my invitation was revoked after my “drinking at the prom/suspension” incident. I’d never blabbed that the hidden vodka was Growler’s idea or that he was shit-faced too. He just didn’t get caught. His secret was safe with me.
Maybe Dad would let me drive down for the day, and Growler’s parents would change their minds and insist I stay the night. It was a long shot, but it would be worth a go when the time came.
Actually, I had no doubt Dad would give me permission. One thing my father wasn’t was an overprotective dick. He let me and Oscar live our lives and actually do stuff. He believed that life was for living, and too much worry never did anything but make you feel like shit. That was a rock-solid philosophy.
Who wanted to sit around thinking about sad stuff? Or lock yourself away to listen to boring violin music and draw? Definitely not me. I’d rather be like Dad and live.
Dad put three shot glasses on the bar and filled them with Fireball. He took one and lifted it. “To the end of school, the beginning of summer, and feeling gooooood.”
We each grabbed one, clinked them together, and tossed them back. “Ahhhh!”
“That burns so nice!” Growler said.
Oscar was all of a sudden standing at the end of the bar. Frowning. Sucking the fun out of the moment. Not living. He must’ve come in the back door. “You can get—”
Dad cut him off. “Shut down. Yeah, I know, you’ve announced that since you were thirteen. Relax, Oscar.” He threw his arms out to the side. “It’s all right. We’re celebrating. Do you see another human being in the bar?” He laughed and held up the bottle. “You gotta live a little! Wanna join us?”
Oscar winced and shook his head.
Dad turned his back on him and cranked up the sound system. Jimmy Cliff’s “Many Rivers to Cross” filled the bar, and Dad shouted, “This right here really is my favorite song.”
My brother disappeared down the hall.