Golden

by Andrea Dickherber

  Tank let out a low whistle as he pulled up in front of Rudy’s house.

  “You live here? Damn,” Benji added.

  At this, Rudy actually blushed.

  I had to admit that with the sun setting behind it, the Goldens’ mountain of a home, with its immaculate landscaping and big picture windows, looked a little too much. For the first time, I saw a glimpse of it through an outsider’s eyes and I felt a touch of embarrassment, especially after spending all day in that tiny bedroom. I understood then why Mr. Golden hadn’t let us drive our own vehicles.

  “Yeah.” Rudy opened the car door. “It’s sort of gaudy, huh?”

  “Snazzy,” Tank said. “Maybe that house will look like this when we’re all finished.”

  Rudy was quiet. I could tell he had stung her.

  I climbed out of the backseat behind her.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said. “See you next week.”

  “Yeah, see you.”

  We were halfway up the pebbled sidewalk when Benji rolled down the car window.

  “Hey, you guys want to hang out later tonight? There’s this party – well, it’s a small get together type thing –off campus,” he shouted, sticking his head out the open window.

  Rudy smiled and answered – probably too quickly, too eagerly – “Yeah, definitely.”

  “Cool. We’ll call you later,” Benji nodded. “Toodle-loo, ladies!”

  He stuck his arm out the window, cupped his hand and pageant-waved as they drove off.

  When Rudy’s phone rang at eight o’clock that night, we’d been ready for an hour and we’d been killing time playing a game of gin rummy on the floor in Rudy’s bedroom while we covertly sipped on cans of soda laced with the last of a bottle of vodka. We raced out of the house to meet them, scurrying past Mrs. Golden while she brushed our cheeks with kisses and warned us to be good.

  “What time are you getting home,” she called as we were flying through the front door.

  “Late, mom.” Rudy poked her head back through the doorway. I waited on the other side, on the steps of the porch.

  We didn’t really have a curfew; as long as Mrs. Golden knew where we were going and we promised to call a cab if we needed it, we came home when we pleased.

  We told Mrs. Golden the boys were seniors at another private high school in St. Louis County. That’s how we were allowed out of Rudy’s house that night. It was the first time we’d really lied to her parents, and it left me with a queasy feeling in my stomach that I tried to blame on too much vodka and too little dinner.

  “Hey, Jill. Rudy.” Benji was back in the front seat of the mustang, the music turned up too loud. He had changed into slim jeans and a faded V neck t-shirt. Rudy and I had agonized over what to wear (how did people dress at an off-campus college party?), and I felt self-conscious in the jeans and top she had carefully selected for me.

  “Hey,” we said.

  It smelled like incense in the back of the car – flavored tobacco, but I didn’t know it at the time – and it tickled my nose.

  “We should put the top down. Can we do that?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Benji showed us how to release the handles and we folded the top back to let in the cooler night air. And then we were off. To a party. With college guys. My body tingled with jitters.

  It was a different type of party, that’s for sure.

  There were cars lining the street, but the house we pulled up in front of was quaint and quiet. A big, feathered dream catcher hung from a hook beside the front door and the breeze blew it in a slow circle.

  Tank knocked, and we waited with our hands in our pockets until a girl answered the door.

  “Hey, y’all,” she grinned. She was wearing a lumpy grey stocking cap over long red hair. She was tiny, maybe only five feet tall. Mrs. Golden sized. “Come in, come in.”

  She held the door open for us and Rudy and I followed the boys inside, where it was warm and smelled like beer and weed. I was proud I could identify that scent, at least.

  Our arrival elicited nods and quick waves from the scattering of people in the open little living room and kitchen. Most of them were seated on the nubby, mismatched orange and tan couches or around the kitchen table or else on the floor, sitting cross-legged. They were drinking their beer from bottles and cans. A girl in the kitchen was pouring the contents of a big silver tumbler into a line of martini glasses.

  The boys weren’t up for introductions, it seemed.

  “Hi,” Rudy introduced herself to the girl who’d opened the door, the de-facto host. “I’m Rudy. This is Jillian.”

  “Rudy, Jillian,” the girl nodded as she repeated our names. “I’m Nat. Nice to meet y’all.”

  Nat had a little bit of a southern accent. Not like she was from Texas though; Louisiana or Georgia, maybe?

  “We were just making some drinks in the kitchen, if y’all want one?”

  “Sure,” we obliged, following her into the kitchen, where she handed us each a martini glass, now garnished with an olive each.

  “What’s in this?” I sniffed the glass. It smelled strong.

  “It’s a vodka martini, dear,” the girl said as she kept pouring.

  We waited until Nat and the pourer held drinks of their own. We toasted. We sipped.

  It was very strong, indeed.

  Rudy and I carried our drinks to the living room, where Tank and Benji had taken seats on the floor up against the far wall. Benji patted the carpet beside him. We went and sat, me beside Benji, Rudy beside me.

  Off campus college parties, it seemed, were very low-key. Or at least this one was. They just sat like that, talking, the whole evening. Periodically, one of them would light up a cigarette, and Nat would ask them to take it outside to the porch, and they would do so begrudgingly. Once, they passed a few blunts around the circle and my heartbeat quickened. We still didn’t know how to smoke. What if it turned me into a mindless idiot in front of these people we didn’t even know? But the blunts had crossed around the circle in a random order, and to my relief – and slight disappointment, really – they missed us completely. I took note, however, that Benji and Tank had taken one hit apiece.

  The company was interesting, though their conversation bored me. I sat and listened dutifully as they transitioned from local politics to religious expression on campus to which teachers could be bought with a blowjob or an eight ball (they weren’t talking pool, but I didn’t know what it was they actually meant). I was more interested in their odd clothes and hairstyles. The boys wore lots of flannel or soft, worn looking band t-shirts with their jeans. They wore canvas sneakers or regular tennis shoes. One guy wore muddy black combat boots that matched the unkempt black beard that hanging off his face. He sort of scared me. I tried not to make eye contact.

  The girls had hair in all colors and lengths. None of them wore skirts or dresses. Two of them wore little silver studs in their nostrils, which looked pretty good on them. My mom would’ve freaked. Ironically, I thought, Celine would’ve fit in well, if she could have looked past the drugs.

  By the time someone brought out a hookah, I’d managed to force down one of the strong martinis along with two beers Benji had given me.

  Rudy nudged me.

  “I think I’m going to try it,” she whispered.

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded.

  “You don’t have to, of course,” she added. Always.

  “Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing. I would have tried the blunt, too, if they’d passed it to us.”

  Would I? Really, was that what I was thinking?

  “You would?” Rudy looked shocked.

  I nodded.

  “I think I would have, too.”

  I’d seen a hookah before, in Boston, when I was little. We’d gone to dinner for my grandma’s birthday, and we were walking back to where my dad had parked the car. It was sort of late, and we’d had to walk past a crowded bar. People were sitting outside at rickety little
tables, with what looked to me like big glass vases sitting between them. My parents averted their eyes. My dad jangled his keys and watched his loafered feet. My mom held her nose up in the air and looked straight ahead.

  “Dad.” I touched his jacket. “What’s that?”

  I pointed.

  “Jillian, don’t point.” He looked at me. “It’s rude.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, quietly. “But what are those straw things?”

  He waited until the tables and the music and the weird smell were behind us before he answered.

  “That’s a drug, Jillian,” he told me. “People smoke drugs through those hoses.”

  I had been stricken. “But I thought drugs were illegal.”

  “Most of them. The worst ones are.”

  “So, that one’s not bad, then?”

  He put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me.

  “Just because something’s legal doesn’t mean it’s good for you, Jillian. I want you to promise me you’ll never touch any drugs, legal or illegal. You’ve got better things ahead of you.”

  He had looked so serious. I was only ten years old, but I shook his hand, solemnly.

  “I promise,” I swore.

  The hookah in Nat’s living room had four hoses.

  “Here, switch places.” Benji pulled Rudy to his other side, so that she sat beside Tank. He nudged me with his elbow. “We can share.”

  He had picked me! I was immensely flattered.

  Benji and I took turns from one hose, his mouth covering the spot where mine had been. He really was very cute. His shirt looked good with the greenish color of his eyes.

  I didn’t feel much, really, except a little light headed. Like I was floating. I wished I’d eaten more dinner at Rudy’s house.

  More beer and a second hookah later, Benji leaned into me, his leg pressed against my leg.

  “Hey,” he half-whispered. “Do you want to drive around for a bit?”

  Drive around? Drunk? “Huh?”

  He laughed. “Do you want to drive around awhile? I think these guys are going out.”

  It was true; most of the other guests had left in the last hour. Nat and the rest of the stragglers had tossed around the idea of going to a bar.

  “Rudy and Tank, too?”

  “Duh, silly,” he tapped my head with his open palm. “It’s Tank’s car.”

  “Oh, right.”

  We said good-bye as we headed out the door. My legs were a little like Jell-O below me, but that was okay.

  Benji put his arm around my shoulders when we were walking down the sidewalk to the car and my insides melted to goo. Yeah, my legs would be fine.

  “You girls doing okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Have you smoked before?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s why.”

  Tank and Rudy were ahead of us, and they reached the car first. Rudy got into the front seat and Benji climbed in back after me.

  “I don’t really think I feel anything. What’s it supposed to feel like?”

  Benji laughed again. Was I really that funny? Was he making fun of me?

  “That was just tobacco. It should really just relax you some.”

  “Oh.”

  Tank started the car. “Where to, boys and girls?”

  “Can we just drive around?” Rudy asked.

  “Sure. Whatever you say.” Tank grinned.

  “Looky what I’ve got.” Benji dug around in the pocket of his jacket. When his hand emerged it held a small glass pipe and a clear baggy of dried green stuff. It looked like miniature brussels sprouts or maybe the green mold that grows on stuff shoved in the back of the fridge for way too long.

  “Who’d you get that from, man?” Tank and Rudy twisted around to look.

  “Trevor.”

  Was that the combat boots guy? I couldn’t remember.

  “Give me some,” Tank said.

  “Do you want to try it?” Benji asked. He stuck the end of the pipe in his mouth and blew into it.

  “What it is?” I asked timidly.

  Benji laughed, then quickly straightened up. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s a legitimate question. It’s marijuana.”

  I nodded quickly to redeem myself. “Okay.”

  He opened the baggy and picked pieces from it, carefully placing them into the little hole in the end of the pipe. He crumbled another piece from the bag and sprinkled it over the rest. I thought of the labs we did in chemistry. He was taking this so seriously.

  “Can I try, too?” Rudy had her elbow propped up on the center console, her chin resting in her palm.

  “Yeah, sure.” Benji pressed his finger into the hole. “Here. Ladies first.”

  He held the pipe out to me.

  “How do I do it?”

  “Let me see your left hand.”

  I held up my hand. It was sweaty.

  “See this? Plug that with your thumb, okay?”

  I did it.

  “When I light it, just suck in a little. Not too hard. And not too long, especially since it’s your first time.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t blow,” Tank added.

  I nodded solemnly.

  “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” My heart thumped.

  He held a lighter over the top of the open bowl. I sucked in through my teeth. It filled my mouth with a weird taste.

  When Benji nudged me with his elbow, I pulled my lips from the end of the pipe. He took it from me and handed it to Rudy, who promptly placed it between her freshly glossed lips. From Rudy it went to Tank, then Benji, who put it out with the end of his lighter when he was finished.

  “So, how was your first time?”

  We’d been sitting on the street in the running car. Tank shifted out of park and started driving.

  How was it? I felt lightheaded again, but not much else.

  “I don’t know,” Rudy said.

  “You’ll feel it in a second. Just give it a couple minutes,” Benji said, pocketing the pipe. I wondered how many other girls’ lips had been around it.

  “I thought you guys were against doing drugs,” Rudy said. “I thought you wanted to help people in rehab.”

  “We consider this to be research,” Benji answered. “How can we help somebody if we’re not familiar with the issues they’re dealing with?”

  “Doctors help people with cancer or AIDS when they’ve never had those diseases.”

  Why was Rudy arguing with them? We liked them. Or I did, at least.

  “Yeah, but that’s different. Those are physical illnesses. We’re talking about some mental issues here.”

  They were smart, I thought. Philosophical.

  “I guess,” Rudy considered. “But don’t you worry you’ll get addicted or something?”

  “Not to pot,” – I smirked at Benji’s rhyme – “This stuff’s not addictive. At least not physically.”

  “Oh.”

  Benji was right. Ten minutes later, riding down a busy street (it was only midnight) I was staring at the street lamps as we whizzed past. The taillights on the car in front of us danced.

  “Rudy.” I leaned forward and put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s so pretty here.”

  She smiled. “I know. I’m glad you moved here.”

  I sighed as I leaned back into the seat. Benji put his hand on my knee.

  “It’s hot in here. Are you hot?” Rudy was looking at me. She glanced at Benji’s hand on my leg, and she giggled. I laughed, too.

  “It is sort of hot in here, man,” Benji agreed. “Can you turn the air on?”

  “No,” I said. An idea popped into my head. I could see it, a big yellow light bulb shining above my forehead. “Let’s put the top down.”

  “Yes,” Rudy agreed. “Let’s.”

  The boys were reluctant, but finally they agreed. They indulged us. They had created this situation, after all.

  We pulled over in a McDonalds parking lot a
nd the guys pulled back the top while we watched from our seats inside the car.

  “I love convertibles. I want a car like this,” I said when Benji had climbed back into the seat with me.

  “I bet you do,” he laughed at me.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I believe you.” He pecked me on the mouth when I wasn’t expecting it.

  We drove down a street with a series of intersections and each time we were forced to stop at a red light, Rudy and I booed and then burst into a fit of giggles. I wanted Benji to kiss me again, this time when I was prepared for it. I poked him in the leg with my index finger but he just winked at me.

  “Let’s go on the highway,” Rudy said. She was speaking awfully loud, I thought.

  “Yes. Please,” I added.

  Again, Tank obliged our desires. On the ramp onto the interstate we started to pick up speed and the wind whipped through my long, loose hair. It felt like ropes flapping out from behind my head.

  It smelled great outside, I thought. It smelled like autumn.

  “It smells like autumn,” I said out loud.

  “What?” Rudy shouted. Her hair blew wildly across her face when she turned to look at me.

  “It smells like autumn,” I yelled over the roar of wind in my ears.

  “What?”

  “This is fun.”

  When we woke up late the next morning, after having crawled into Rudy’s bed some time far past one in the morning, my head was pounding harder than my heartbeat. Rudy’s eyes were black-ringed with stale mascara, a pink lip-gloss smear on the bottom of her cheek. The inside of my mouth tasted like I had been eating dirt and sweat, and I wanted a drink of water probably more than I’d ever wanted anything before. Neither of us had made the effort to lift our heads up off of our pillows yet; we just lay there underneath the warm covers and I stared at her, mostly because she was the only thing in the room that appeared stationary.

  “Cheerio,” Rudy said, after five minutes had passed. “Pip, pip cheerio.”

  She tore the blankets off of her warm body and before I could stop her she was bouncing up and down on the bed.