Flicking his cigarette out into the street, the neighbor pursed his lips and sucked in the drug. Alex, with a sarcastic tone, he said, “Just bought this. His wife died so apparently you trade in your car for a ‘Vette.” He slowly exhaled the smoke and then shrugged. “He’s fucking weird.”
Peeking into the car’s window, the shorter boy scanned the entire inside in one turn.
Walking up to the boys, their backs toward him as the teenaged pair appreciated the automobile, Jeffrey said, “What’re you two doing?”
The neighbor turned to address Jeffrey. “Hey, dude. Just checkin’ out your ride.”
“Nice car, man!” the shorter boy said, reaching for a hit.
The pot making him dizzy, Jeffrey thanked them. His eyes turning red, constricting inside his eye sockets, Jeffrey’s eyes rolled back into his head.
“You’re up kinda late,” Alex said.
Eyes coming back into view, vision going in and out, the lack of sleep fucking with him, Jeffrey closed his eyes for a second. Holding up his finger, Jeffrey zoned out.
Alex cocked his head to his buddy.
----------
The first time Jeffrey smoked pot was at Paul’s house. The group had acquired a bag from a janitor who worked at the high school. The janitor, attempting to make money from his side business, cracked a joke with Paul, asking what the point of being in high school was if you weren’t actually getting high.
“Get it?” he said. “High school.”
The two hit it off, and within a week, Paul was a regular buyer. Introducing the marijuana was easy. Wait until his buddies were drunk off Milwaukee’s Best and then slip them a joint while jamming out to the Doors and Steve Miller. Adding in, “What’s the point of being in high school if you aren’t actually getting high?” in the process.
Paul, his nickname became Space Cowboy. And Jeffrey, he became a space cadet after his first hit. Addicted to the high, the space cadet indulging the most out of his pals, Jeffrey found himself either drunk or stoned the majority of his time in high school.
----------
Alex, clearing his throat, projecting his voice outward, repeated, “I said, ‘You’re up kinda late.’”
His finger still in mid-air, Jeffrey blinked his eyes until his head cleared. Noticing the looks on the boys’ faces, their eyes shifting complemented by empty expressions, Jeffrey pulled down his hand.
Craning his head toward the bedroom, Jeffrey said, “The old lady is passed out.” Shrugging, a smirk on his face, he said, “Chicks!’
The boys, they lowered their eyebrows in unison, turning toward each other. Concerned looks on their mugs, they returned to lock gazes with Jeffrey. The marijuana smoke disappearing into the air, the shorter boy took another hit.
Alex said, “Didn’t your wife just die?”
Eyes enlarging, Jeffrey tapped his foot in a nervous fashion. “I, uh, mean, a friend is passed out,” he said. Jeffrey’s head was a sprinkler on a dry lawn. Swiveling back and forth from the neighbor to his buddy, his eyes a branched out veiny red, Jeffrey said, “She’s just checking up on me.”
The shorter boy blew out the smoke toward Jeffrey’s face. Jeffrey closed his eyes and inhaled the drug. He could feel his eyes compressing, cracking inside their sockets. In his brain, “The Joker” played, “Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah, Some call me the gangster of love; Some people call me Maurice, Cause I speak of the pompitous of love.”
Nodding his head, up and down in a slow motion, Alex the neighbor said, “Well, I guess we’ll be—”
Cutting him off, shaking his head, Jeffrey said, “Wanna go for a ride?”
The two young men looked at each other, then to Jeffrey.
Pointing to the homemade bowl, motioning with his fingers in a smoking gesture, lips circled, Jeffrey said, “May I?” The boys did nothing. In fact, they did not know how to react. “C’mon,” Jeffrey said. “I can be cool.”
Hesitating, Alex was cautious. The only other contact the two had had was during Jeffrey’s marriage.
----------
Loud music late into the night from the garage, the elder knew the neighbor boy’s parents were out for the evening. Classic rock echoing out of the boom box speakers, the music mixed with a chattering of voices. Kansas sang “Carry On Wayward Son,” as Alex and his friends joined in on the lyrics.
Laughter from the boys rang into the air. The noise traveled through the atmosphere and into Jeffrey’s house. Off key, collectively, they sang.
There was a loud bang. Alex’s friend fell to the ground after jumping up and down into a garbage can. The singing transformed into hilarity.
Their voices raised, the sound was getting louder and louder.
Inside the kitchen, Jeffrey looked out the window to the ruckus’s direction. Standing still, his arms on his hips, the silently fuming husband did not hear his wife slink up behind him. “They’re having fun, Jeffrey,” she said. “Just let them be.”
Hid body tensing, nostrils flared, Jeffrey said, “How do they even know this song? How old are they, like sixteen?”
His wife, shaking her head, said, “Silly husband. You were listening to the Doors and Queen at their age.” Jeffrey didn’t budge. His non-action prompted Her to rub her hand up and down his back. “I think those boys are a lot like you were. So, give them a break and just let them be.”
Beer cans shot out of the garage. The tin material jangling on the street. A bottle of Miller Lite rolled down the slope of the driveway. Followed by another. Crushed Bud cans flung out like saucers. Some landed in a tree. Others in the yard. One spinning so fast it curved from the velocity and nearly hit a parked car’s windshield.
A long haired boy with a smoke hanging from his lips ran out of the garage. Trash can in hand, he sat it upright in the middle of the driveway where the slope evened out.
A game was happening.
“Whoever can make the most cans,” he said, his Camel falling out of his mouth. Reaching down to retrieve the cigarette, he stuck it behind his ear. “The most cans in the garbage wins.”
A team of Bud cans whizzed out into the driveway. Coors saucers followed. The clinking was a snare drum at times. Round makeshift coasters on the cement. The sloping pavement looked like an indoor rock climbing wall with the crushed aluminum placed sporadically around the lot.
Following the screams of enjoyment, Jeffrey displayed his presence. Standing in the driveway, arms crossed, Jeffrey stared down the group.
The boys slowly halted their actions. One of the boys ran to the radio and turned it down. The music softly fading out into the next.
“Thank you,” Jeffrey said. He looked out into the driveway and said, “I expect this mess will be cleaned up before your parents get home?”
Alex nodded. His friends nodded. One boy laughed.
Jeffrey stood a few more moments, a look of disappointment on his face. He said, “Very good.”
With Metallica blasting from the radio, the song “One” with its double bass drum pounding through the boys’ chests, the long-haired boy started to bang his head. Another joined in and played air guitar.
Jeffrey shook his head and walked back to his house.
There was never communication after the incident. The only exchange was the polite head nod entering and exiting the house.
----------
The silence becoming awkward, Alex shrugged. “Cool.” He offered up the pot and the three killed the pipe. For Jeffrey, the night was continuing to be a good one. Without wasting any time, the trio piled into the Corvette. Jeffrey revved the engine, the feeling of man testicles hitting them in the face.
“Fucking awesome!” the shorter boy said. The windows rolled down, Alex and the shorter boy were sharing a bucket seat. Their arms hanging out the car’s window, the teenagers could not wait to see what the car could do.
Forcefully stepping down on the gas pedal, the car peeled out of the parking spot. Nearly hitting the curbs along the boulevard, the sports
car fishtailed for a half block and then eventually straightened out. The late hour contributed to the streets being empty. Every stretch of straight roads, Jeffrey floored it, reaching high speeds he would have never attained in his Corolla.
The shorter boy turned on the Bose stereo. The volume, high enough to hear music but low enough to make out words, caused the young potheads to look at Jeffrey.
Feeling the stares on the side of his neck, Jeffrey turned up the volume. Inside the CD player was a Steve Miller collection. Guitar riffs pushing out of the Bose speakers, the sound filled the inside of the ‘Vette. The joyriders rocked out to the music.
Jeffrey, one hand on the top of the steering wheel, the other out the window tapping the side of the door, sang along with the track.
Alex pumped his fist to the beat and the shorter boy played air drums. The Corvette’s speed accelerating, turning corners effortlessly, Jeffrey felt alive and was not obsessing about Her or Emily or even Lena or William.
Running through a four way stop sign earned their trust. Speeding down weaving sections of road kept them engaged. Taking a right turn at a highway speed forced Alex to extend his arm out the window. His fingers making devil horns, Alex screamed, “Woo!”
Steve Miller now singing “Take The Money and Run.”
The shorter kid, he just smiled with his mouth open. The fast motion of the car, the frequent turns, and the fact that he was higher than a kite, they all contributed to him leaning over Alex, stretching his upper body out so that his head could reach out the window, and then hurling out into the atmosphere at ninety five miles per hour.
Hearing the jerking of the shorter boy’s body go into a full blown seizure of vomiting, Jeffrey sped up, surpassing the one hundred miles per hour mark.
The shorter boy, in between BOO LAHs and inverted swallows, said, “Slow down!”
Leaning as close to the middle as possible, away from the window, Alex said, “No! Speed up!”
And Jeffrey, attempting to not have vomit splattered on the side of his ‘Vette, stepped down on the pedal so hard the ball of his foot began to cramp.
The warm air entering the car hit each joyrider in the face.
The shorter boy’s vision became blurry. His head was floating. Eyelids falling down over his eyeballs. Alex, leaning into Jeffrey, watched his buddy judder into a frenzy. Watching the convulsing boy disco centipede in mid-air, Alex couldn’t help but laugh.
The car slowed down to a highway speed. The car approached a business district.
The shorter boy’s vomit now a dry heave, with his mouth sticky and his throat dry, he slowly started to feel better. Vision restoring slowly, the shorter boy could identify his surroundings.
A gas station was in sight. A faint smell of cheeseburgers lingered in the car. Alex’s lips curled downward. He said, “Fucking gross, dude.”
The shorter boy, swallowing until he built enough saliva, said, “Sorry. That was from this afternoon.”
Pulling into a parking spot, Jeffrey said, “Who needs beer?”
Squished into one seat, the shorter boy, his thighs on top of each other, said, “Beer!” Alex just laughed. The post-puker boy, turning to Alex said, “What? My stomach is empty now.”
“Let me guess,” Jeffrey said, “Bud? Miller Lite? Coors?”
Exiting the car, the shorter boy slid off Alex to stretch his legs. He said, “Whatever you buy, I’ll drink it.”
Jeffrey, anxious to hang out, said, “Sounds good.” He disappeared into the store.
Alex, sitting shotgun, checked out the car’s interior. Looking over at the dashboard, the steering wheel’s center with the Corvette logo, he admired the car’s gauges.
Leaning back toward the passenger seat, Alex grabbed the stick shift. Talking to himself, he said, “Nice.”
Opening up the glove compartment, Alex found a tube of lipstick. Next to it, a tiny makeup pouch zipped closed. He twisted the base of the lipstick and watched it extend upward. Replacing the tube, he reached for the makeup pouch.
“What do you got there?” the shorter boy said.
Removing his hand, closing the glove compartment, Alex said, “Nothing.”
“Wasn’t sure what you wanted so I bought all three,” Jeffrey said, emerging from the storefront. A six pack of bottles each, Jeffrey handed them to the shorter boy and walked around to the driver’s side.
Slithering in the car, both hands filled with alcohol, the shorter boy twisted off a bottle cap and handed the beer to Alex. He reached for another one, removed the cap and then handed it to Jeffrey.
“Thank you kind sir,” Jeffrey said. Taking a swig of the beer, Jeffrey licked his lips and said, “Ahh!”
Alex held up his Miller Lite. Both Jeffrey and the shorter boy clanked their bottles together. The three toasting to a good night.
Pulling out of the parking lot, the Corvette racing down side streets, the passengers downed their drinks.
“Where we going?” Alex said.
Turning down random streets, cutting through various neighborhoods of houses, Jeffrey said, “A place I used to go to with my wife.”
Alex and the shorter boy looked at each other. The shorter boy, coming down from his high, feeling a bit nervous, said, “You’re not going to want to have sex with us, are you?”
Jeffrey laughed out loud. His beer half gone, he said, “No, it’s just a cool view of the sunrise.”
“Why would we want—”
Alex nudged his friend.
The shorter boy, stopping in mid-sentence, looked at Alex.
And the neighbor kid, he did nothing but shake his head.
Steve Miller played underneath the quietness. The car cruising toward the lookout point, Jeffrey downed the rest of his bottle. He said, “I’d just think you’d like the view.” Flinging the bottle out the window, Jeffrey floored it.
Alex, up for anything at this hour, also coming off his buzz, said, “No man. Sounds cool.”
Looking over at Alex, Jeffrey flashed a smile. Turning up the volume, Jeffrey continued the drive. The ‘Vette’s speed well above the limit.
The sunrise made Jeffrey happy. Smiling into the giant orange glow rising up the sky, the three boys at heart sat back in their seats, drinking beer, and enjoyed the scenery.
Each down from his respective marijuana buzz, the trio sat in silence, watching the ball of fire expand into the horizon.
Alex, taking a swig of his Bud Light, said, “Sorry to hear about your wife.” Swallowing the beer, he said, “That must be tough.”
The shorter boy, his lips pursed, nodded his head in agreement.
And Jeffrey, squinting his eyes as the sun’s rays entered into the car from the windshield, said, “I appreciate it.” Raising his beer bottle, inciting a semi-toast, he said, “I’m sorry for giving you and your friends shit that time in the garage.” Alex and the shorter boy raised their bottles. Jeffrey, his hand still in the air in front of him, said, “You guys were just being kids. I had no right.”
The sun rose higher into the sky. The darkness turning into dawn.
The three clanked their bottles together, sitting back to watch the sun brighten the atmosphere.
Jeffrey, leaning back into his seat, said, “Truce?”
“Truce,” Alex said.
----------
Monday:
SPANNING HALF THE DINER’S front was a large window. Through it, William could be seen drinking coffee. He sat alone, an empty spot in front of him. A spot set with a napkin, fork and spoon, and upside down coffee cup.
He checked his watch and then looked at Jeffrey through the glare as he entered the establishment. Around the diner, patrons ate eggs, bacon, and toast. Drinking orange juice while engaging in conversation. There were chicken fried steaks on hot plates. Hash browns with shredded cheese burnt on top. Some customers had hot coffee in mugs. Families, they got together for a morning tradition.
Mounted on brackets were flat screen televisions. Broadcasting throughout the breakfast
joint was the local newscast. A news anchor threw the newscast over to the weatherman, who was standing in front of the map of the local area.
He was telling the viewers that the next several days would be dry and sunny. “So, if you’re thinking about heading to the pool, the entire week looks perfect,” the meteorologist said. “Later on, I’ll have your seven day forecast.”
A waitress working a section with no empty tables, she carried breakfast dishes on her serving tray. She dropped the meals to various customers, receiving smiles as her tray lightened with each step. Meandering toward William and Jeffrey’s area, she flipped her tiny notepad for a clear space.
Rushed, sitting opposite of William, Jeffrey quickly flipped over his coffee cup. The server asked the new diner what he wanted to drink. “Coffee,” Jeffrey said. “I definitely need coffee.” She nodded without looking at him. Getting situated, sinking into the booth’s cushion, Jeffrey made himself comfortable.
William eyed his counterpart with a curious expression. His eyebrows lowered. Taking a quick look around the diner to make sure no one was staring, William’s attention returned to Jeffrey.
A thick coat of Russian Red lip gloss was splattered across Jeffrey’s lips. Pale pink blush over a warm foundation that hid his imperfections, it was evenly spread across Jeffrey’s cheeks. His hair combed back behind his ears, you could see the outline of foundation around Jeffrey’s hair line.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said.
Sipping his cup, avoiding Jeffrey’s gaze, William stared in his direction. He stared through his friend. Jeffrey’s expression was blank. “You look like shit,” William said. “You OK?”
When the news program returned from commercial, the anchor teased a story about a breakin. Jeffrey slapped William’s hand and then listened in on the newscast. His neck turned sharply to the television, but soon after, Jeffrey’s head returned to William to reduce the invisible stares on the burglars.
Irritated with the slap, William returned the favor, lightly tapping the top of Jeffrey’s knuckles.
Enlarging his eyes, inconspicuously motioning to the television with his neck, Jeffrey whispered, “Listen.”
Drama Dolls: A Novel: [Dark, Suspenseful, Fast-paced, Exhilarating] Page 6
