By Chuck HuffamThe metal arch stood over Ninth Street like it always had for the last nearly one hundred years and the wind blew hard against it making it shift and shutter ever so slightly. The lights of the town glimmered from beyond the haze of an autumn evening and the arch stood very quiet and lonely until a red pick up truck blew along the street going north. Inside the truck sat two young men, the driver more on the ‘man’ side of appearances in his early twenties and the passenger looking more aligned with the ‘young’, maybe just out of high school at most. The passenger looked up at the archway as his companion navigated them under it and he read the words that were lit up across it for what was probably the millionth time in his life but still could not make any sense of it.
“Water Wealth Contentment Health” the archway read but what did it mean and who put it there and why?
The archway flashed out of sight and out of the young passenger’s mind immediately for the young man was already in the early embrace of alcohol. He wasn’t quite drunk but was nearing the point where nothing really mattered. It was an increasing buzz and, in his opinion, a very good start.
In the hour and a half it had taken him to scrub the cook’s dishes at the end of his shift the younger man had finished off five of the nine beers his older companion had snatched out of the walk in refrigerator. With every load of plates he put away the younger man would reward himself with a long chug of Farmer Tom’s beer. When he stopped to drag the floor mats out into the alley in the back there were four empty bottles sitting next to the sink in his work station.
When all of the younger man’s tasks were completed and it was time to leave, the older young man was found still sitting leisurely in the dining area of the restaurant working on his second beer. This had a lot to do with him spending the entire time talking into a cell phone while his younger companion hustled around, washing and putting things away.
When they finally punched the alarm code into the box, locked the doors, and pulled themselves up into the older man’s raised pick up truck, it was well after midnight. They pulled into the parking lot of a Groceries Plus and the driver jumped out. The younger one watched his companion disappear into the glow of the supermarket. The inside of the truck smelled new with a hint of Pine air freshener and the stereo had waves of light flashing out of its face that followed along with the bass and treble. Everything seemed clean and fresh and well taken care of inside the truck.
The driver got back in with a grocery bag and they drove down Ninth street, under the archway with the town motto, and into the residential neighborhoods. It was a week night and the entire town seemed dead and uninviting. The driver turned the music up in the truck so that it’s bass rattled the vehicle in open defiance of the night’s grave stillness. The houses continued to sleep around them. He grimaced until they were half a block from their destination at which point he pulled over to side of the street and shut the motor off.
They sat in the cab in silence. Truth be told they did not know each other well and had little to say. That had worked together for three days, since the younger man had joined the staff at the restaurant, and they had struck up conversations that led to their mutual approval of each other and this in turn had led to the older man asking the younger if he would like to go with him to “some party”.
The older young man lit a cigarette and handed one to the younger young man.
“Did you go to William’s?” the older asked.
“Green Valley,” the younger replied.
“We played you once in the finals.”
“I didn’t play no sports,” the younger said, some what self consciously. “Where d’ya go?”
“Casa Verde.”
“The one that don’t have girls?”
The older one took a long drag on his cigarette and grinned at his companion's youthful ignorance.
“They went to school on one side of the campus and we went on the other. I still fucked them.”
“Yeah?”
“A bunch. Swear to God.”
They sat silently puffing. The older one pulled the bottle of vodka from the grocery bag and they began to take long sips of it and pass it back and fourth.
“You know Brandon Hover? He was at Green Valley,” the older one asked.
“No.”
“Linda Grossman. She went there.”
“No,” the younger one said again.
“Fucking hot. I would’a hit it if she let me hit it.”
The older one dragged the rest of his cigarette down inside him for emphasis.
“How long you worked at Betty’s?” the younger one asked him
“Been there like, a year I guess. Jesus, a year,” the older stared out over the rooftops and took in the realization. “Time fucking flies don’t it?”
They both sipped the vodka and contemplated in their respective ways how fast time moves and how quickly a human being loses track of it and all understanding of it’s passage and texture . The younger of the two couldn’t even recall how he had spent the years between his dropping out of high-school and that night. He remembered watching television mostly. There were a few parties here and there, nothing significant. There was nothing that stood out in a life changing or substantial way of any kind that would allow him to remember it years down the line. He realized that by the time he was sixty the years would shoot by like they were minutes and this would have normally made him take pause and account for it but the vodka was doing it’s job and tricking him into thinking he didn’t care.
“I went to the fucking community college for a second,” the older one said regretfully.
The younger one nodded, not really sure what that meant. The older one lit another cigarette and looked out his window, away from his passenger.
“I liked some shit. Learning about shit. And the fucking bitches were everywhere up there. I couldn’t get enough.”
“Why‘d you stop?”
“Well shit, what’s the point? I’m not gonna be no doctor. I figured: why put it off? Start working and get some money.”
“As a waiter,” the younger one muttered, the beer loosening his tongue.
“There are worse things,” the older one pointed out and the younger nodded, agreeing.
“Dish washing. That’s worse,” the younger said with proven authority.
“No, there’s worse,” the older went on. “The guy at the porn arcade. The guy with the mop?”
The younger shook his head, confused again, and the older threw his cigarette out the window in frustration.
“The guy with the mop who has to clean all the jizz out the little video booths at the porn arcade? That’s the worst.”
This time the younger nodded, and being locked into a solid agreement they exited the truck and made their way up the sidewalk to the party. They heard the sound of voices first and then the music and then they were standing in front of a house. It was an old, worn out, ugly house, a fir tree in the yard did it’s best to cover up the chipped paint and years of neglect. Various figures were cluttered around the porch, some taking up space on an old dilapidated couch that looked to have spent a few rainy nights with out a roof over it. A constant fog of cigarette smoke made it’s way off of the porch in the coordinated result of there always being at least four people lighting up at a time.They all stood under the porch light, buzzing around it like summer mosquitoes.
The older young man recognized a few of the people outside and gave out warm nods and hand shakes which received smiles and pats on the back from people that seemed genuinely glad to see him. The younger young man knew no one, and he stood behind his elder and took long contemplative drags off his still burning cigarette. The older came across a man he used to work with that he knew well and they embraced each other whole heartily, chuckling and grunting over some secret mischief that they had taken part in last time they had crossed paths.
The older young man introduced his friend to the younger man as Jared and the younger man slapped hands with Jared coyly and observed his appearance through the fog of cigarette smoke. Jared was tall, with hair that was cut short along his bullet like head that revealed scars along one of his temples. Both his ears were pierced with thin gold hoops, and he wore a sports jersey that sagged off of him and shined in the porch light. The pallor of his skin was strange, yellow mostly with stretches of pink that looked artificial. He did not look healthy, in fact he looked to the young man like someone who had some sort of venereal disease but did not find out until it was too late.
Jared took the bottle of vodka that the new arrivals had brought and swung it back, gorging himself with it. He hacked and coughed and muttered something under his breath when he handed it over to the younger man.
“Gina here?” the older young man asked.
“I ain’t seen her. There’s a bunch of bitches though,” Jared replied.
A girl made her way out of house through the door and crept up behind Jared, putting her arms around his body. She had a round plain face with make up caked on like a mask. Her hair was a washed out brown with a red tint to it and she was big boned and curvy.
“What are you doing?” she asked Jared in a lazy drawl.
“I ain’t doing shit. Get off!”
Jared swiveled around and forcibly pushed the girl away. She staggered back and no one seemed to notice. The younger man couldn’t help but look at her with pity but her own expression had not changed. She still looked tired and bored, and without saying anything or reacting in any way she retreated back into the house.
“Can’t stand that bitch,” Jared blurted out and yanked the bottle of vodka back from the younger man. “She always up in my shit talking about some bullshit I don’t give a fuck about. I ain’t got time for you! Know what I mean? I’m trying to talk to my homies and the bitch is just gonna be interrupting and saying some shit. Ughhh!”
He looked genuinely disgusted and poured more of the vodka back in apparent hopes of bringing that feeling of disgust back down to a manageable level. The older young man had watched the interaction between Jared and the girl with the hint of a grin, the look of glee just hiding below the surface of his face.
“What’s her name again?” he asked Jared.
“Henrietta,” Jared replied as he slit a cigar with his finger nail and dumped the tobacco out to the wooden porch. “I can’t stand her but I will say the bitch sucks a good dick.”
Jared licked the cigar paper and looked up at his companions with a twinkle in his eye, ready for a clear sign of their approval. The older younger man chuckled and nodded, grateful for the information. The younger man looked back with no expression at all. In the three minutes that he had known Jared the younger man had concluded that he really did not care for him and was not interested in him in the least. Jared shrugged off the younger man’s non response and used his lighter to dry the freshly rolled blunt he held between his fingers.
The new arrivals left him on the porch and continued past the rest of the people and smoke and into the house. There was music playing in the living room and people were dancing. Henrietta was dancing with another girl, her eyes closed and her lips still slightly smiling like the wife of a rich man in a medieval portrait. There was a cup in her hand and its contents were spilling out while she moved to the beat of the music. She had no rhythm but her body moved with confidence and a understood sensuality that made them appealing to the younger man.
A few feet from Henrietta danced a tall skinny man with a beard. He looked to be about twenty three, wore dark sunglasses, and was dancing with two young girls in a sporadic uneven way. The girls stood on either side of him while he danced, observing his movement and laughing hysterically. The tall man had no rhythm either as his body jerked around in a repulsive alien way. The younger young man tapped his finger on the older young man’s shoulder.
“Something wrong with him?” he asked over the music, referring to the the tall man.
“He’s blind,” the older one shot back under his breath and continued on, leaving the younger one in the living room among the dancers. Now that he knew the tall man with the glasses was blind it seemed obvious. The blind dancer’s arms and legs were moving to the music like they were constrained, like they would be hit by objects at any moment. The younger man stood fascinated. The bottle of vodka hung loosely in his hand while he held the still burning cigarette with the other.
“Were you raised in a barn?”
The voice was sharp and slightly hoarse and it came from the couch lying next to the young man. He looked down and was surprised to find a girl stretch out on it that he hadn’t noticed before. She wasn’t looking at him, which confused him and made him think she wasn’t referring to him. She was staring straight up at the ceiling at first and then slowly her eyes made their way down over to him, taking him into focus. The girl’s stare was steady and unrelenting and it made the young man feel insignificant.
“Me?” he asked timidly.
“Do you see anybody else smoking in the house?” she asked.
He looked around and slightly nodded at the clouds of smoke making their way into the living room from the porch.
“No,” he said.
“Right. So like I said: were you raised in a barn?”
He didn’t answer but took the cigarette outside. He stubbed it out in one of the ashtrays and took his time, allowing for the blood to leave his face. He walked back inside the house and made his way over to the couch.
“I’m real sorry. I guess I didn’t realize,” the young man said and the girl looked back at him. With this second chance to look upon it he realized how beautiful her face was.
“You even know Rachel?” she asked him and he very much wished he did.
“Is she Marty’s friend?” he asked in desperation.
“Do you even know who lives here?”
The girl sat up and smoothed out the sweatshirt she was wearing. Her hair was brown, cut short with bangs that hung down along the side of her forehead. Her eyes reminded the young man of of a cat’s eyes, brown and yellow, almost gold, and they watched him hard and sharp with an increasing irritation.
“This is my house,” she said and looked at him like she was challenging him for a reply.
“It’s a nice house,” he said and tried to smile.
“What are you doing here? You just come in a people’s home and walk around doing what you want? Totally oblivious?”
The young man didn’t know what oblivious meant and he looked around despairingly for the one who had brought him but his new friend was no where to be seen.
“I came here-”
“You just go to parties where you don’t know anybody and act like you own the place? Do whatever you please?” she asked.
“I got a new job,” he said stupidly.
He wanted to run from the house, never to return. He would take the memory of those beautiful cat eyes and they would haunt him, he already knew this. He would have them in his dreams and and in his thoughts but he couldn’t take much more of them taking him in right there in the living room and spitting him out while horribly stupid things spilled from his mouth. The cat eyes shifted to the bottle that hung loosely from the young man’s grip.
“Give me that,” the girl said.
He handed it over on her command and then stood awkwardly guilty before her.
“I came here with Marty,” he finally forced out as she swallowed a mouthful of vodka. She rested the bottle in her lap and looked up at him.
“Oh, Marty,” she said and fluttered her eyes dismissively.
She looked to the young man like she might have been a little older than most of the people at the house. There was a sophisticated air about her and it commanded his respect. She took another sip of vodka and brought the big cat eyes back up to his face.
“Where did that cigarette go?” she asked him.
“Gone,” he replied with confidence.
“You threw it out?”
He didn’t know what to say and stood silently with his hands at his sides. She rolled her eyes back in irritation and then rolled her body off of the couch and stood up. She was shorter than him but broad and solid.
“Shit,” she said and looked over at the young man with disgust.
She walked out the front door and in to the fog of smoke on the porch. The bottle of vodka was still in her grasp and as he watched her go the young man felt such a sense of loss and missed opportunity that the room seemed to get darker around him and he felt himself being encased and overpowered with gloom.
“Albert!”
The young man looked over in response because his name was indeed Albert and found the head of his older companion, who’s name was indeed Marty, sticking out of the doorway from the kitchen,
“Get the fuck up in here!”
The young man walked into the room and found a group of seven or eight young people gathered around a small dining table. All eyes were on Marty and Jared as they threw two shots down their throats in a row and grimaced in pain. The overhead light in the ceiling was bright and beamed down on the two drinkers like a spot light in a show. Jared looked up at Albert from the table, his eyes turning into two thin red slits.
“I’m getting fucked up homey,” he said and, after affectionately stumbling into Albert, leaned against the counter with his mouth open.
“Alby, take this last shit!”
Marty was holding up a bottle of Jose Cuervo like a it was the means to save mankind from it’s fate. There was a splash of translucent yellow liquid left at the bottom that sloshed about menacingly. The idea of pouring it down his throat after all the beer and Vodka made Albert’s stomach cry out for mercy. The eyes in the kitchen turned towards him and the audience waited for the next contestant to go on stage and entertain them.
Albert thought for a brief moment about turning the shot down but he looked into his new friend’s eyes and realized he had no choice. He realized he desperately wanted everyone in the room to like him so that is some mysterious way that appreciation would rub off and spread to the girl who has taken the vodka.
Marty was reaching for one of the shot glasses but Albert dramatically stepped forward and ripped the bottle from his friend’s grasp. He turned the bottle vertical over his open mouth and let the contents fall down his throat in a sudden discharge. He instantly regretted what he had done and was bent over like he’d been kicked in the guys. Everyone in the kitchen, girl and boy alike, cheered his accomplishment and the dramatic flair with which he performed them. He felt the different alcohol strains fighting for dominance in his system but he pushed the sensations from his mind and stood up with the empty bottle held above him like a trophy of war. The room spun but only for a moment and he felt confident that he would not vomit.
“Albert, this is Rachel over here.”
Marty was pointing at a young girl with long brown hair that was sitting at the end of the table, laughing with contagious sense of merriment. She looked like a kinder, skinnier version of the girl from the couch, and Albert, not knowing what the best rite of social discourse to go forward with, reached out to shake the girl’s hand. The girl looked at the hand, momentarily taken back by the gesture, but then just laughed and shook it with authentic friendliness.
“You having fun?” she asked and her face made him pine for the couch girl.
“Getting drunk,” he slurred out.
“Looks like your doing a good job.”
“Where’s that Vodka?” Marty demanded and he stood up from the table, his face overtaken with a red thirst.
“A girl took it and said she lived here. I didn’t know nothing. And she took it.”
Albert struggled to describe what happened but he became unable from the alcohol and his own lack of understanding and trailed off.
“Oh, that’s my sister. She’s a bitch,” Rachel said.
“Teresa got the fucking drink,” Marty muttered and his face became pained like he had lost a dear friend.
Teresa.
Albert felt the name drum through his mind and although he was bad with names and found that they often dwindled from his mind shortly after he learned them, he had no doubt that he would remember hers. He staggered out of the kitchen and through the living room where he found Henrietta and blind John keeping the dance floor alive and animated all by themselves now that all the other dancer had vacated to pursue other interests. The faint smile had still not left Henrietta’s face but her cup was out of her hand and lying on the carpet near a young man who was laid across the carpet himself and encrusted with his own vomit. One of John’s former dance partners was entwined with a middle aged man on a recliner chair and the man was dipping a long finger nail into a baggy and bringing it up covered in a powder which the girl would sniff up into her nose.
Albert broke through the smoke and found a group of six girls holding court on the porch. A few of them eyed him disdainfully when he appeared through the door but he took no heed.
“Anyone seen Teresa?” he said and her name felt strange and important coming out of his mouth and he felt unworthy of saying it.
One of the girls looked up at him with a face filled with metal piercings that shined and reflected the porch light.
“She went down the street,” the girl said coldly.
“Where?”
“Her fucking boyfriend’s probably,” she said and the girl gave her friends a darkly amused look.
Albert felt his heart plummet deeper into the depths of despair and he almost grasped his own chest but held back due to self counsiousness. He made his way passed the girls and to the porch steps where he sat, no longer motivated or able to move. To rob a man of his drink was one thing but to then go and share that drink with another man was beyond reproach. Albert retrieved a cigarette butt off the cement below the steps, lit it, and began to puff furiously at it. He stared out at the houses across the street and felt a fresh wound somewhere in his chest that ached and bled with in him. He wanted nothing more than to be alone at that moment but he was far from home with no ride or hope. All the feelings of accomplishment that he had amassed in recent days from getting a job had evaporated and he was painfully alone in his thoughts and could see no future.
He smoked the butt to the filter and looked off down the street where he could make out a blurry white shape coming down the sidewalk through the darkness. The figure walked under a street light and his heart jumped when he saw it was Teresa. He stood up from the porch and had an insane hankering to run to her but forced himself to linger at the foot of the porch.
“Where my drink at?” he asked.
The cat eyes squinted at him like their sight was poor or she didn’t recognize him or both.
“Oh you,” she said disdainfully and he got a shudder of bitter cold down his back. “That shits gone.”
“You drank all that?!!”
Albert started to feel his face getting hot. The rumor of her departure to be with another man and the intense relief of her return were clashing together and translating into a horrified anger that he could not temper or understand.
“No. I threw it,” she said and he went dumb with silence.
She brought her hand from behind her back where she had been holding it and held up a full bottle of Jack Daniel’s. The light from the street lamp shined through it and Albert gazed at the liquid swilling around inside and was hypnotized. Teresa pulled off the top of the bottle and drank deep from it before bringing her gaze down to Albert and looking him directly in the eye.
“You going to drink with me?” she asked.
Albert was still struck dumb and could only nod in reply. She shoved the bottle over to him and made her way passed him into the house leaving him alone on the sidewalk, under the yellow autumn moon.
