Sam Dorsey and His Dirty Dancing

by Perie Wolford

“I kinda took it from the box in the back corner,” he admits.

  “So you stole it.” I give him a frosty look.

  “It’s just a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, Sam. Chillax!”

  “But what if somebody finds out? You’ll get fired,” I counter.

  “Nobody’s gonna find out,” he says again.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  He glances at me from underneath lowered lashes and says, “This is not the first one I’ve taken…It’s like the third or fourth bottle. Nobody noticed before. And even if they do notice, they’d have to catch me to prove it was me, right?”

  “And they are not gonna catch you because…?” I ask with a small grin.

  “Because I’m good,” he shrugs and takes a sip. “You want some?”

  I take a look at the bottle. I rarely ever drink, just a sip here or there at functions, maybe a beer or two at parties, which, let’s face it, I don’t go to a lot of. I’ve certainly never tried hard liquor.

  “What the hell…” I mumble and take the bottle from his hands. Our fingers touch as I do so and I catch him glancing at me at the same time.

  My heart starts racing and I feel a distinctive urge to take a sip of that amber liquid. I gulp it and flinch. It’s strong! It’s much stronger than wine and I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like this. I mean it’s so repulsive! How on earth did Eric drink four bottles of this?

  My stomach turns and I feel like I’m about to puke, but I restrain myself and try to soften my demeanor instead. I really don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Eric.

  But he’s already grinning.

  “You’re not much or a drinker, are you?”

  “Does it show?” I ask, voice cracking.

  “Nope,” he says graciously, though we both know he’s lying.

  “I learn fast,” I say and force down another mouthful.

  “Good.” He smiles up at me deviously.

  We fall into an awkward silence, or rather, I do. Eric seems perfectly at ease.

  I have no idea what the two of us might have in common, so I let the silence fester.

  I almost jump when he finally says, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Thoughts start racing in my head as I’m frantically trying to figure out what he means. I would have remembered him if I met him before Crest Hollows. I mean you don’t forget a boy like that, at least I wouldn’t.

  I squint back at him questioningly.

  “We went to kindergarten together,” he says and leans back. “Don’t you remember me?”

  What? There is no way we…And then it hits me.

  “Potty-Pants Eric?” I blurt out. He winces.

  “One and the same.”

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “I’m over it,” he says. “But don’t say it again though, okay?”

  “Deal,” I agree. “So, wow! I mean… You’re Eric!”

  “And you’re Sam,” he chuckles.

  I smile. But he knows what I mean. The chances of the two of us ending up working together at the same resort at the age of seventeen were pretty slim, and yet, here we are, sitting in the closet together, drinking Whiskey .

  “I don’t remember much of that time,” I say honestly. “I just remember you getting me into a lot of trouble.”

  “Me? That’s certainly not how I remember it,” he protests. “I’m afraid it wasn’t me getting you into trouble, Mister. It was quite the opposite.”

  “No way!” I object. “I was a perfect gentleman.”

  “You may be the wallflower right now but you weren’t back then,” he fixes me with a look. “You were always looking for an adventure; a superhero, on your way to save the world. And I was always your sidekick. The two of us would usually end up either getting ourselves hurt or punished by Miss Hoover.”

  “I don’t remember any of that,” I shake my head. It’s so weird to listen to Eric tell me things about my life. And there I was thinking that the two of us had nothing in common!

  “One day we were pretending to be pilots,” Eric continues. “We used a big cardboard box as a plane and a staircase as a runway. Our “plane” crashed pretty badly. You bumped against the wall and there was blood and everything. You even had to be hospitalized, I think.”

  “Yeah, it was my birthday,” I say, as the memory attached to one of the photos I keep stashed in my desk back home comes rushing back. “What happened after that?”

  “I don’t really know. My family moved to another house and I switched schools. I haven’t seen you since,” he gives my shoulder a friendly punch. “So, what you’ve been up to the past…thirteen years?”

  “Not much,” I say, suddenly embarrassed. “You know, the usual… Family, school, a lot of studying.”

  He looks at me slyly, “Where did Adventurous Sam go?”

  I’ve been asking myself the same question a lot here lately.

  “He grew up, I guess.”

  He nods to that.

  It’s an undeniable fact that you grow up; you get wiser and obtain responsibilities. The problem is, I’m not 41, not even 31. I’m turning 17.

  “Well, maybe we met again for a reason,” Eric says finally. He hands me back the bottle and I take another sip.

  Our eyes meet in the small confined space of the closet. His eyes are so beautiful now that I see them up close, but I can’t hold his gaze.

  “That’s cool! Where did you get it?” Eric breaks the silence, angling my hand to get a better look at the bracelet I’m wearing. I smile, imagining the conclusion Melissa would draw from this incident.

  “It’s a gift from my boy…” the words escape my mouth before I even realize it. “From a very good friend!” I amend lamely.

  I glance down at the object in question. It’s a stylized 8 mm film strip twisted periodically and coated in resin in order to form a bracelet. It undoubtedly took several months for Mitch to finish it. The thought sobers me up.

  “I like movies, I mean filmmaking,” I sputter. “I want to go to the Film Academy next year, but I don’t have enough money for the tuition yet.”

  “What about your parents? Aren’t they gonna help you out with that?”

  “No.” I say simply.

  He nods once before launching into a speech about his own parents, whom eventually seem to turn into “the man.”

  When he finishes up, we realize that it’s time to come out of the closet (no pun intended) before people start wondering where the two of us went off to.

  We emerge from the closet; first me, then Eric several minutes later. I don’t want anyone, namely Melissa and Kenan, to find out that we’ve just spent the last half hour together.

  All of the guests, my family included, are gone now. All I see are meticulously cleaned tables and a slightly sweaty Melissa.

  “Where have you been?” She asks. I can sense that she is not happy about being left to do all the cleaning herself.

  “Nowhere,” I lie. “I just needed a breather. Where’s Kenan?”

  “He had to go. He had an upset stomach or something. He wanted me to tell you that he was sorry that he couldn’t stay for the afterparty thing.”

  “Oh,” I nod. “Okay.” It’s not as if I really wanted to celebrate anyway.

  “I can’t stay either,” she adds. “Sorry but my mom just called and she wants me to come home tonight––something about helping with one of her orders. I have to drive all the way back into the city now and come back in the morning.”

  “Oh…okay.” I know Melissa’s mother quite well. I know that she, much like her daughter, doesn’t take no for an answer. She’s also a wedding planner, meaning she has frequent “love emergencies” that she’ll drag anyone at her disposal into. “Go then. You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

  “I don’t want to but…” she looks down at the floor.

  “It’s okay. I’ve met your mother, Mel. I know how she is. Go.”

  “Are you rea
lly not mad at me?”

  “It’s okay,” I repeat. “Really.”

  “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she gives me a hug. “I know it’s gonna be hard without me and Kenan but try to have fun, okay?”

  “Sure,” I mutter unconvincingly.

  “What the heck…?” Melissa pulls away from me. Her gaze glued to someone behind my back. I can’t see who it is, but I have one very good guess.

  “What is he doing here?” Melissa is not the biggest Jake fan.

  “Oh, I kinda invited him,” I say, turning to see him lingering by the entrance.

  “You invited him to come here, to Crest Hollows?” Melissa gives me a look.

  “No! he was already here,” I rush to explain. “I stumbled upon him this morning…and I let it slip that I was having a party and I couldn’t not invite him. That would be rude.”

  “Okay,” she says, finally. “He’s lucky I can’t stay.”

  “I think he is aware of that,” I grin.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  She saunters out of the dining hall, passing Jake on her way out. I think he says hello to her, but she doesn’t say anything back. Rude!

  Jake shrugs it off and makes his way toward me.

  “You made it.”

  “Yeah,” he says and hands me a decorated box with a blue ribbon on it. It’s not big, but it’s not small either. I’m immediately overcome with curiosity.

  “Happy birthday, I guess,” he says, smile dazzling as usual.

  “Thanks,” I say with genuine happiness. “You didn’t have to.”

  He nods. “Just little something I wanted you to have. You can open it after I leave.”

  “You’re not gonna stay?”

  “No, I can’t. My parents are here. My mother decided she wanted to have a family dinner last minute and I can’t skip it. I don’t see a lot of them as it is.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I say. Feeling a bit like one of those catchphrase-repeating dolls.

  “So, you’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “No, of course not.” I fib. I didn’t plan on Jake to be here in the first place, but, to tell you the truth, I do feel a little disappointed.

  “Good,” he bites his lip. “I gotta go now.”

  There’s this little awkward pause where neither of us know what to say or do next. It would have been awkward to hug or shake hands since our relationship doesn’t fall into any of the standard categories. And without it there’s this empty moment that just feels kinda awkward.

  “Okay, happy birthday again and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jake finally says.

  “Thanks… See you,” I watch him leave with a pang of regret.

  I look down at the box in my hands. It’s not heavy. A token of Jake’s affection, no doubt. I want to know what it is, and at the same time, I don’t.

  Eric saves me from having to decide.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asks, tugging off his apron.

  “It looks like it’s just the two of us,” I say. “Melissa and Kenan couldn’t stay. And this was from Jake, my friend, who came to say that he couldn’t stay either.”

  “Oh,” Eric says, clearly trying to avoid voicing his pity.

  “It’s okay if you have something else to do. I don’t mind if you leave.”

  “I don’t have anything else to do.” He gives me one of his wicked looks. “Actually I think we could have a pretty good time, just the two of us.”

  He takes out that bottle of Jack Daniels again.

  “Besides, we have unfinished business,” he says with a wink. I smile.

  I can feel that there is a lot of alcohol in my blood as it is, but, oddly, I want more. What the hell, it is my party!

  “Okay,” I say. “So do you want to stay here or go somewhere?”

  “Go somewhere… I know just the place.”

  8

  The place that Eric had in mind is actually perfect. In three months of working at the resort, I have never once been to the open-air movie theater.

  The screen is faceted into the ground at the bottom of a hill, thus making it perfectly viewable from the top, a pretty spacious grassy knoll with room for hundreds of people to comfortably sit or lie down.

  Eric and I manage to find a pretty isolated spot uphill and settle on the ground. It’s just getting dark now and the screen is shining bright, making the picture clear and enjoyable. You can hardly hear the movie (King Kong in case you were wondering) from here, but I don’t mind. I means we can actually talk.

  At first we swap opinions about the movie and make fun of it and stuff. Since I know this movie by heart, it’s easy for me to expertly point out the goofs; like when Kong is lying in the hold of the Tanker and Jessica Lange’s scarf falls on him and it suddenly appears to be the size of a very large table cloth.

  “I like this part,” Eric says as King Kong jumps from one of the Twin Towers to the other. I point out that you can see the wires attached to him as he lands and Eric smiles. Then, he lies down on the ground in front of me, using my legs as a cushion.

  He starts saying something about the movie, but all I can think about is how cute he looks in the dim light reflected from the screen and how soft his voice sounds. His hands are so small and delicate. Suddenly I’m overcome with the desire to kiss him. But even with the alcohol roaring through my veins, I know that that would be a disastrous idea.

  I glance down at the bottle. There’s barely anything left in there. I know that I should probably stop drinking it now, but I don’t. Instead, I tip it back and finish it off. And I feel good about it too. I feel great actually.

  After the movie ends, I suggest we go for a walk. We spend good fifteen minutes wobbling between the trees as it was my idea to make our way towards the lake straight through the tree line. Not a great idea, I gotta admit. I didn’t count on my legs being so shaky. Eric is not holding up too well either. So we stumble and fall every other step, laughing and supporting each other the whole way.

  We stop in a small clearing and decide to take a breather. I can see the lake through the trees now. It is well-lit in the moonlight, and completely deserted. On the other side of the tree line I can see the lights of the main complex peaking through the branches and tree trunks. We can hear voices coming from that direction, but they are distant and muffled. We are completely alone out here.

  Eric lights a cigarette and I suddenly want to take up smoking.

  “Give me one,” I say. My voice sounds weird, but I don’t really care about it.

  He chuckles. “That’s the adventurous Sam I remember.” He hands me the pack. After about two minutes of trying to get one cigarette out of it, I finally succeed.

  I stick a cigarette into my mouth. Eric, who has been chuckling all along, is now laughing out loud. He approaches me and pulls the cigarette out of my mouth, turning it around before sticking the other end back in.

  “There you go,” he says, handing me a lighter.

  “Are you trying to make fun of me?” I ask indignantly. It took me whopping two minutes to take a cigarette out of a pack. How much time does he think it’s gonna take me to work the lighter?

  “Okay, okay,” Eric chuckles. “I’ll do it.”

  He puts the flame to the end of my cigarette as I’m trying not to move. Although my efforts are definitely less effective than they would have been if I was sober. Eric is skilled at lighting cigarettes though, so he manages to light it even with all of my wobbling.

  “Now inhale,” he says, watching me closely.

  I take the semi-sweet smoke of tobacco into my lungs. It’s a very weird and unusual sensation, for sure, but it’s not painful as I imagined it to be.

  Then it scorches my throat and I start to cough, loudly, bringing Eric’s laughter upon myself once again.

  “You knew it was gonna happen?” I ask between coughs; my voice is all rough and jagged.

  “Everybody coughs the first time,” h
e says. “It’s gonna get better the second time around, I promise.”

  I have to trust him on this one. After all, he was right about the Jack Daniels. So I inhale again and this time I cough less. The third drag goes almost smoothly.

  “I told you it was nice,” Eric says. He picked up on the fact that I started enjoying the feeling of a cigarette between my fingers. It does make me feel kind of grown-up. I wonder what else I’ve been missing out on.

  And then it hits me.

  There is one thing that I haven’t tried alright. Sex!

  If Mitch was here right now, I promise there would have been no hesitation on my part. Eric is here though...

  I approach him slowly, trying not to stumble along the way. He doesn’t avert his eyes, just reaches out and takes the cigarette out of my mouth. He sticks it into his own mouth and inhales. He does it almost professionally, if that term can be applied to smoking. He takes one last drag, drops it to the ground and puts it out with his foot.

  “See,” he says. “We are being responsible.”

  We both laugh at that. Yes, we have just enough common sense left not to set the woods on fire. That’s about it though. There’s such a heavy shroud of haze covering my mind right now that I barely understand what I’m doing. I think there are only the primitive instincts left of what used to be my consciousness. I don’t think I can stop myself from kissing Eric at this point.

  And as that thought hangs in the air, I find myself making one jolting move towards him. Surprisingly, I manage not to bump heads with him as my lips find his.

  I think the mere thought of kissing him was enough to set my body into motion. And it was a motion alright. I think I caught Eric completely off-guard. His lips are not moving and he is dumbfounded. It takes him a second to figure out what’s happening and react to it.

  He shoves me hard in the chest and almost sends me flying. I’m surprised that I manage to keep myself standing. Eric is looking at me indignantly. No, not indignant… furious!

  Terror floods my veins. Fuck! Looks like Melissa was right.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouts.

  I mumble something incoherent in response.

  “Are you a faggot? Are you a fucking faggot?” The rage that I catch in his eyes sobers me up instantly. I get ready to defend myself, however weak my case may be. He is definitely going to beat me up.