by Ashley Pullo
“Scatter!” I yell.
I limp toward the front door, using my upper body to block all the assholes in my way. I elbow one guy in the neck and then dart past the mob of screaming girls. Tango is fifty yards in front of me, hanging onto his shorts and waddling to the car. There’s no sign of Jeff, but he knows where we parked and I have yet to see an actual police car.
When I reach the car, Tango scurries to the bushes with his pants around his knees and hurls. I lean against the driver’s door and wait for him to finish.
“Yo, man, that Gold Schlager was ripe. I think E.T. curled up in my stomach and died.”
“Tango, you dumbass, get in the car!” I laugh.
“Shotgun,” he yells. He runs around to the other side and jumps in the front seat. I look down the sidewalk toward the house and there’s still no sign of Jeff.
“Hey,” I say opening my door. “What happened in there?”
“It was wicked dope – our man Jeff beat the shit out of some guy that was roughin’ up a girl.”
“No shit? Alright, you stay here – I’m going back to look for him. And if you’re going to blow chunks, open the goddamn door.”
I make my way back to the house, passing stoned stragglers without a care in the world and a group of girls puking on the curb – victims of the tainted Gold Schlager nonetheless. When I reach the house, Jeff is hunkered on the porch with a bag of ice taped to his hand and blood dripping from his knee.
“Yo, Jeff!”
He raises his head and smiles proudly. “Ad-am,” he stammers, lowering his head again.
“Here, I got you another bag of ice.” Her bare feet slap against the brick steps as she hands the bag to Jeff. I clear my throat and she glares at me.
I smile. She smiles
She winks. I wink.
And that’s that. My first taste of the unexpected returns to her house never to be seen again. A perceptive mistake – a misinterpretation. And it will forever be the moment that began my pursuit to find the girl that makes me smile.
“C’mon man, let’s get you home.” I wrap my arms underneath Jeff’s pits and lift him from the stairs. He hangs on to my waist as we stumble down the sidewalk to the only car with New York plates.
12:45 a.m.
“Jeff, that was awesome, bro,” Tango shouts while punching the air. “Buffalo boys be representin’! Ah shit, let’s get some food! Taco Bell – pintos and cheese,” he sings.
“I don’t want Taco Bell,” Jeff finally says. “We have to go to Tim Horton’s. They have the best donuts!”
“I agree with Jeff – and I’m driving. Hockey player’s donuts it is.”
We drive a few miles into the actual city and find a shopping center with a Tim Horton’s. Dad used to drive across the border when I was kid to bring me and my kid brother donuts for our birthdays. It was a treat. Not the donuts – a dad that cared so much.
“Yo, Adam – where were you all night?” Jeff leans forward between the driver and passenger seats and stares at my profile.
“Screwing some chick in a closet. Tongue ring and a big ass.” I simulate slapping a big ass above the steering wheel and Tango roars with laughter.
“Whatever, bro. I saw you with two trolls – just admit it.”
We pull into the parking lot next to a lone Honda and climb out of my car like drug addicts looking for a fix. Tango always looks like shit, but Jeff is limping in agony and my back is killing me. I duck back into the car to find my stash of aspirin as the guys head into the fluorescent-lit sugar factory.
“What exactly am I looking at, Nat?”
“It’s a psychic! Let’s go!”
The aspirin isn’t in the glove box, but my cracked shin guard from the State Cup falls to the floor. I look under my seat and find the library copy of Ulysses I lost my junior year . . . but no aspirin. Just looking for the fucking aspirin is giving me a back spasm of high school memories, so I give up and go inside.
Tango and Jeff are at the counter arguing with the young cashier so I politely step up to correct the situation. “What’s the problem guys? Are we not here to taste the best donuts in North America?” I ask sarcastically.
“Yes, we are here to eat the best donuts in North America, but apparently, two girls came in here earlier and bought all the fucking TimBits.” Tango motions to the empty display racks while Jeff bends over the counter grabbing his stomach.
I glance back at the door and then at Tango. “Fucking hosers.”
The Bridge Series Players
Adam Ford
Chloe LeGrange Ford
Will & Sophie Ford
Martin & Eileen LeGrange
David Ford
Nancy Ford
Natalie LeGrange Brooks
Dave & Judy LeGrange
Zacharie Parker
Claire & Raymond Parker
Christopher Brooks
Pete
Anthony
Jamie
The Refrain
{The Bridge Series}
Coming Soon!
About the Author
Hey y’all! I’m Ashley Pullo, a New York transplant with an abundance of Texas charm and a proclivity for all things pop-culture. I like to think that I’m witty, gorgeous and highly intelligent but honestly I’m not that funny. I’m a suburban mom living the dream with my handsome husband, two perfect children and a moderately cool dog, Roscoe. Life is pretty awesome, and you taking the time to read my words makes it that much sweeter!
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Or find me at any local Starbucks around 3 p.m.
