by Adam Vine
Video games were the first thing to go. My first goal was to cut my gaming time down to one hour a day. After three months, I didn’t play games at all. I thought quitting video games would be the hardest thing I’d ever done, but it turned out to be one of the easiest.
My eating habits were the next big thing to change. I immersed myself in the Paleo diet, reading all the literature I could on the benefits of proteins and the harms of certain kinds of sugar. I stopped eating processed foods and made the majority of my diet lean meats and veggies. I lost over twenty pounds in the first month, and kept it off. But it wasn’t enough.
I cut down on Internet time, quitting my Incel forums and Facebook cold turkey, and limiting porn to once a week. I subscribed to a NoFap support group online, to break the habit of masturbating several times per day. I stopped leaving my jizz socks on Bea’s car.
Carter taught me how to lift weights. I started off light, only five pounds on each side of the bar, but I was amazed at how quickly my strength skyrocketed. I ran and did jumping jacks on my off days.
In the course of six months, my body transformed completely. The weight melted off me, and my favorite clothes, which had always fit so comfortably, suddenly felt huge and baggy. For the first time in my life, I was pleased when I looked at myself in the mirror. I was human, rather than fat-shaped. I had muscles. My face didn’t look like a hairy ball of dough.
The night before graduation, I stepped on Carter’s scale to weigh myself and realized I’d lost over eighty pounds. I was just under 200, and my body fat percentage had fallen from thirty-five percent to eighteen.
The more my body changed, the more my mindset did, too. I still had bad nights spent lying awake staring at the ceiling, or wandering the streets trying to drive the depressed thoughts from my mind, or pacing around Andy’s grave wondering if I’d imagined the whole thing, but those episodes grew fewer and further between.
I convinced myself the things I’d seen under Sunny Hill – Andy, the Union, and the vision of murdering my roommates – had all been a psychotic delusion triggered by my anger at Bea and Jay.
Bea and Jay were in a serious relationship now, with Jay coming down to Santa Cruz every other weekend from Little Hills, and while that still hurt, the pain was no longer crippling. After enough time, I stopped thinking about it at all, because for the most part, I was happy.
My social life grew astronomically. I made it to the top 10% of my class, and started getting invited to house parties outside of Sunny Hill, thrown by Carter’s friends, or people I met at the gym, or study sessions in the library. I went to bar crawls and bonfires, did pub golf and open mic nights where my new friends read slam poetry or sang and played songs on the guitar.
I made out with girls, and finally lost my virginity in the bed of some kid from the tennis team, while he was hitting the beer bong in the backyard. I don’t remember the girl’s name. She looked a little like Bea. Okay, come to think of it, she looked a lot like Bea. I didn’t know what to do when we started having sex, so I thought about the hole in the basement until it was over. That was the first, and last, time we saw each other.
As we stood gathered in our caps and gowns at graduation, the five of us – Carter, Natalia, Bea, Sam, and I – all waiting anxiously to file into our seats in the bleachers, I felt a kind of satisfaction that I’d never known. I basked in the looks of admiration and compliments from my friends and family, all telling me how great I looked, how much I’d changed, that they always knew I had it in me. As I stepped into the sun to take my diploma from the chancellor and stared out into that sea of faces, I realized that, while my journey to becoming the New Drew Brady was only beginning, the hole in my heart had closed.
Final Snapshot:
Caption: Mr. California Feeds a Hungry Calf
The day after we walked, we had an epic rager at our house that went from the time we rolled out of bed until the sun went down. We started drinking at nine in the morning. Bea and Natalia made mimosas (Natalia and Carter, of course, weren’t drinking, so they just had orange juice). Then Jay drove his ice cream truck to Sean Bailey’s Liquor Emporium and bought a keg of Black Dog IPA. No one was surprised by his choice.
The party consisted of us, Bea, and a few other people from the co-op. We opened the garage door and pulled the couches into the driveway, which Carter, Sam, and I had spent the previous night decorating while getting hammered on whiskey. We played beer pong, flip cup, and had boat races in the back yard under the fruit trees, boughs heavy with blossoms and beer splatters, until we were falling over drunk and Sunny Hill felt like home again, our own little castle by the sea.
About five minutes before we posed together as a group to take this snapshot, I got bold and took my shirt off on a dare from Bea and Natalia.
Carter and I were playing them in beer pong – our final household tournament – and they challenged us to strip. The girls’ team was called Roald Dahl’s Big Friendly Giant Balls (or RDBFGB). Carter and I were The Storm. I psyched myself up, pulled my neon orange tank top over my head and threw it at them. Carter immediately did the same.
A few strange sensations hit me at once. The first was the sun on my bare skin. I hadn’t taken my shirt off outside, in front of other people, since I was a little kid, except the time I went surfing with Bea and Jay. The second was that I wasn’t embarrassed at all. I was pale, and had a lot of loose skin and stretch marks from losing so much weight, but I didn’t care. I sucked in what remained of my gut and held my head up high. I was proud of my body. The third was noticing the sequence of reactions from Bea and Natalia: surprise that I’d actually done it, then surprise at how I looked, then admiration.
Bea and Natalia both checked me out. I’ll never forget the look Carter gave me.
Within a minute, Carter and I had both gotten the girls down to their final cup. They came back and tied us, taking out two of our cups, and the game became a shootout: one cup on each side of the table. Whoever scored the last point would win. The prize was a dare the losing team couldn’t refuse.
I lined my elbows up just behind the table, came up off my toes and put the Ping Pong ball straight into their last cup. Then, to add insult to injury, Carter did the same, taking away the girls’ chance for a rebuttal shot. Bea’s face fell slack. The game and the tournament were ours.
“Here,” Natalia handed their last beer to Bea. Turning to us, Natalia said, “What do we have to do?”
“I’ll tell you. Hold on. Hey everyone!” Carter yelled at the people mingling in the driveway and outskirts of the yard. “Come here. I want you all in a picture with the winners of the Last Ever Sunny Hill Big-Ass Beer Pong Championship. Hover 'round and bow down. We legend.”
Our friends crowded around us in a giant half-moon, Carter’s arm around my shoulder with Bea and Natalia kneeling in front of us. Carter gave his iPhone to Jay. “Before you take it, Bea’s gotta do something.”
Bea groaned. “Ugh.”
“Don’t ugh me, girl. We didn’t lose.”
“Just give it to me,” Bea said.
Carter held Bea’s beer aloft. “Alright. When Jay’s about to take the picture, I’m gonna pour this on Drew, and you have to lick it off his titty.”
“What?”
“Lick his titty.”
“I don’t even-“
“Shhh. Let it happen.”
“Why are you guys such dicks?” She was laughing in indignation.
“That’s not very cool, man,” Jay tried to protest, but Carter cut him off.
“Sorry, bruh. House rules.”
“So what’s my half of the dare?” Natalia said.
“Yeah, Carter. Don’t be a bad boyfriend or anything. Don’t make your girlfriend feel left out,” Jay said.
Carter took Natalia’s hand. “Come upstairs with me after the picture and I’ll show you.”
Natalia pulled her hand away, scowling. Carter grinned.
“Let’s get this over with,” Bea said.
Jay readied the camera. “All right everyone! On three, say, “Carter’s a douchebag!” Ready? One…” Everyone leaned in. “Two…” Closer. “Three!”
“Carter’s a douchebag!”
“I love you all, too,” Carter said, and tipped the cup over my chest. Cold beer spilled from my neck down to my shorts. Bea threw up the devil horns and yelled, “Woo hoo!” and put her tongue on my chest. The iPhone’s shutter snapped. A voice in my head whispered, You still want this, don’t you? To own her? To possess her? To make that sweet ass yours, for all time? It isn’t too late. I did my best to ignore it and look like I was having fun.
“Wait, Beatriz, don’t move,” Carter said. He made Jay take three more pictures just to be sure.
***
I was the last one to move out. Sam left on Wednesday. I said goodbye to Carter and Natalia on Thursday. Friday, I was alone.
Bea and Jay came over for a last hurrah the night before I moved out. They had already moved into their new place together over on Walnut Street. We could have drank there, but it just seemed wrong not to give Sunny Hill a proper send-off.
We sat on the living room floor amidst the landmines of carpet stains and burn holes of spilled hookah coals and dropped joints, drinking, talking, smoking, and joking, until the three of us were all laying on our backs staring at the ribbed wooden planks of the ceiling.
“She was a good vessel,” Bea said, drunk off a bottle of Two-buck Chuck. “Never luxurious, but always reliable. Alas, all good ships must sail their twilight voyage.”
“Hear, hear,” Jay said, raising his own bottle.
“Well said,” I agreed.
Bea sighed. “So long, Sunny Hill.”
“Adios, amigo,” Jay said.
“You will always be remembered.”
Jay and Bea both raised eyebrows at me.
I shrugged, choosing my words carefully. “I mean, I feel like I’m leaving a part of myself behind. After we’re done drinking here, you guys will go to your new place, I’ll crash out on my bed, wake up and spend tomorrow cleaning and packing, then I’ll get in my car and drive home. It will be like our time in this place never existed except in pictures. But I’ll never forget the memories we made here, or the people I made them with.”
“We all had some of the best times of our life in this house, and some of the worst. Shit got real creepy there for a while. But I wouldn’t trade this place for anything,” Bea said.
“Preach.” Jay torched a joint. He took a deep puff and handed it to me.
They’ll never know how close I came to killing them that night, I thought as I took my hit. They still don’t know I killed Andy. They think Apple was the monster under Sunny Hill. And I hope they always do.
As if reading my mind, Bea said, “I’m glad you worked through all that bullshit you were dealing with a few months ago, Drew. You seem a lot happier now.”
“I am.”
“No, I’m serious,” Bea said. “I’ve never seen anyone transform as drastically as you have.”
“For real. I’ve known you since the fourth grade, and I gotta say, I’m proud of you, man,” Jay said.
“Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.”
Jay wrapped his arm around my head and kissed me on the cheek. “I love you, Drew Mayhem. C’mere. I promise it will only be a little bit gay.”
Bea scoffed.
“Okay, a lot gay.” Jay grinned.
***
I spent the next day cleaning the house. I wanted the place to be spotless, so we could get the full amount back on our deposit. My roommates hadn’t exactly done a bang-up job before moving out, leaving me to shoulder most of the work. There were grease stains in a six-foot radius around the stove, dark patches of sticky fluids on the walls, a five year-old layer of dust and grime on top of the kitchen fan.
I scrubbed down the kitchen and bathrooms, washed the walls, and steam-cleaned the carpets. I didn’t finish until ten P.M.
I patrolled through the house, mentally checking off each light, door, and window I shut. All that was left was to leave the keys on the kitchen counter for the landlord. I went downstairs to double-check that the garage door was locked. Finding it ajar, I peeked my head in and flipped the light on.
The garage was filled with vomit. Every inch of the ground was submerged in a sea of stinking bile. It burned with a fetid, rotten stink, which hit me so hard I almost lost my balance. I steadied myself on the wall so I wouldn’t plummet into that foul cistern.
The vomit bubbled, and slowly began to drain. As the level of the yellow, chunky liquid sank, a group of dripping shapes manifested from the drink. Steam rose off their ragged skulls and torn-up clothes.
“You pussy,” Officer Skoakland said. The vomit bubbles flitted off his lips, falling down to rejoin the receding sea of bile, already drained down to his knees. Scudds stood behind him, along with Annabelle Leigh, Dutch Evans, and half a hundred other members of the Union. “You chickenshit. Couldn’t even finish it without yacking all over me, could ya? Hey, it’s cool, it’s all good, Drew-buddy. Take your time! But while you’re waiting in the wings, we’ve got something to show ya.”
Officer Skoakland smiled, took a Baby Bears brand tissue out of his shirt pocket, and wiped the puke off his face. Only, it wasn’t his face underneath the dripping, mordant slurry. It was mine. The nametag on his uniform read D. Brady.
Andy giggled, “Ho he he he.”
I closed the door and walked straight to my car.
***
I floated for a few years, living and working in various cities, from my parents’ house in Little Hills to the attics or couches of my friends in San Francisco and L.A. I kept hitting it hard in the gym, eventually building a strong physique that got me regular looks of admiration from the opposite sex. I spent my days working bullshit menial jobs, while trying to find an entry-level gig in the film industry, so my degree in Film Studies wouldn’t go completely to waste. I got a few unpaid offers to be a script reader for small, unknown production companies, but I never took them.
Sunny Hill slipped further and further away, but the basement, the pictures, and the story of the ’93 Crew – of Apple, Marty, Rebecca, Gloria, Piano Man, and Andy – of how close we had almost come to sharing the same fate, were never far from my mind.
I decided the film industry wasn’t for me. It was too hard to break into, and I hadn’t cared much for horror movies since my transformation. They didn’t scare me anymore. I wanted a job where I could be around people, that conferred respect and status, that would let me be alone when I wanted, and would give me power and authority. I wanted a job where no one would question what I was doing, or who I was keeping an eye on. I wanted a job where I could work nights and my fitness routine was a boon, not a sideline.
I became a police officer.
***
It was three years after my police academy graduation when I got the phone call from Bea.
“Bumble! Long time, no talk,” I said.
“I know. It’s been too long,” Bea said.
“It’s good to hear your voice. How’s living in Tom Bombadil’s magic garden? You guys aren’t sitting around, getting high on your own supply, are ya?”
Bea gave a polite chuckle. “Ha ha, no. No, we’re not.”
She was still living in Santa Cruz. Her and Jay owned a two-bedroom house in the Boardwalk Flats, where they grew weed in one of the bedrooms. Jay spent his days surfing and tending the plants. Bea was still working at Lighthouse Bistro. Like most of my college friends, except Carter, who was playing guitar in the Los Angeles Philharmonic, Bea couldn’t find a job in her field, and was in the process of applying to grad schools. I hadn’t heard from either of them in almost a year.
“How’s Jay? You should tell that fucker to answer his messages.”
“Um, he’s good. We’re really good,” Bea said. She sounded distraught.
“Beatriz, what’s up?”
“Listen, dude. Um, I know this is out of the blue
. But do you remember that homeless lady who was stalking me a few years ago?”
My blood slowed inside my chest. “How could I forget?”
“She, uh… she died last night.”
Not surprised. I can’t believe she made it this long. “That’s crazy. How’d she go?”
“It was at my work. At the restaurant.”
“Jesus. What happened?”
“She…” Bea paused to take a deep breath. “She rented a room at the inn, and called the restaurant threatening to kill herself.”
“Did you talk to her?”
Bea sighed into the phone. “Yup. I’m still not sure if she knew it was me. She called me a bitch and a whore and dared me to call the cops. So I did. I guess when the cops got to the hotel, she pulled a kitchen knife on them and they shot her.”
“Yeesh. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bea said. “Just a little rattled. I thought you should know. Anyway. So, when you comin’ down to visit?”
I tried to be cordial, but my head was too deep in my own thoughts. I tuned Bea out for the rest of our short conversation.
Suicide by cop… that’s exactly how Apple would want to go. She probably saw every cop as a proxy for Andy. She could only kill him once. But maybe once wasn’t enough. Apple, the last member of the ’93 Sunny Hill Crew, was dead. None of them had lived past the age of forty-five.
Hearing the news from Bea made me suddenly reconsider if what had happened at Sunny Hill the week after New Year’s my senior year of college really was the result of a mental breakdown, like I’d been telling myself for years, or if it had been real, after all. Apple’s dead. That makes five. Apple’s dead, and now it’s us.
I said goodbye to Bea and hung up the phone.
***
I constantly thought about Sunny Hill's basement. When I dreamed, it was of the pictures, or of Apple, or of the holes I’d punched in Andy’s face where his eyes had been. I’d wake up five times a night in a cold sweat with my teeth chattering, and drag myself to the precinct the next morning running on four hours of sleep and about two gallons of coffee. I thought my trouble sleeping was from too much caffeine or stress on the job, but it didn’t change when I cut back. I tried using the Polaroid of Bea and Jay as a sleeping aid, tucking it under my pillow before I went to bed at night. It worked, and that became the only thing that let me get a full eight hours.
