Friday Night

*This is the more in depth and slightly fictionalized version of an entry named "Tonight". I'm still think it could be better though so constructive criticism is welcomed.*
Some Friday nights are better than others. Sometimes you just watch T.V. and go to bed. Sometimes you get drunk with friends. Sometimes you go to a stranger’s house party. Sometimes you find a new restaurant. Sometimes you play games. Sometimes you make new friends. Sometimes you watch a movie you haven’t seen yet. And sometimes you do all of these things and still have time to commit petty theft.
My roommate and I sat in our living room, a series of sounds and lights being projected at us from the corner. The Venetian blinds were pulled halfway up the window; allowing only a glimpse of the outside that was slowly falling into night. The walls blank except for his Shawshank Redemption poster. Easily his favorite movie. Occasionally we interrupted the light clicking of our plastic phones to relay messages to each other.
“What’s Cujo doing tonight?” I asked.
“I’ll ask him.”
“Cool. It’s weird we haven’t hung out with him this year.”
“Yeah.”
He tapped at his iPhone and we waited a short while. I had been texting my girlfriend and continued to do so. She was at her parent’s for the weekend and we’d been having the usual “Whats up” and “What r u doin tonite?” conversation.
“We mite go to cujos. u”
“That sounds fun. Prob just gonna watch movie with the fam”
“Cool”
Will, the aforementioned roommate, read a text and started to get up.
“Cujo says to come over.”
“Sweet. I’ll grab a jacket.”
“He lives pretty far away now.”
“Oh yeah, he moved. How far?”
“A couple of miles.”
“Well, I don’t think either of us are going to want to drive tonight. I don’t mind walking and I’m sure he’ll let us crash there if we need to,” I reasoned as I got up from the futon.
“Sounds good.”
I walked down our narrow white hallway till it ended at my room. I put on my beanie, a coat, and stuck my harmonica in the chest pocket. For a moment I thought about putting in my contacts. When I wear my glasses with the beanie it presses them into the side of my head and starts to hurt after a while. But there was always the chance I’d pass out; leaving me to deal with a feeling like potato chips on my eyeballs and the possibility of scratched retinas. Having gone unconscious while drinking with Cujo before, I opted to wear glasses. On our way out we said bye to Bill, our non-partying roommate, leaving him to raid in a mystical world while eating Hot Pockets and drinking Mountain Dew. He barely glanced at us.
The walk there was expectantly uneventful. We made our way across the bridge a couple of blocks from our complex, meandered a few blocks of residential and food service area, cut across the college campus, passed the dorms and the high school, and finally reached Cujo’s place after another handful of residential blocks. The stream under the bridge was getting shallow, the trees that lined the roads were profusely shedding their Thanksgiving colors, the campus was empty, and by the time we got to our friend’s it was dark out. Meaning it was soon to be very loud out. First by rhythmic bass and well-metered swears, second by drunken screams and cheers, and lastly by the herds of freshmen being milled out of frat houses by the silent red and blue gleam across frosted kegs of cheap beer and scattered red cups.
Cujos’s new apartment was on a dark street a couple of blocks from the train tracks. In front of us lay a driveway, then a big parking lot, and then three or four house sized buildings. Will called Cujo to make sure it was his place and to ask which building was his.
“Cujo said Kenny is going to come outside,” he told me as he put his iPhone away.
“How will we know it’s him?”
“I know him from my graphic design class.”
“Oh. Cool.”
Soon a small figure emerged at the edge of the lot. A silhouette against the lighting from behind him, with a glow around his short, blond hair. We walked to him, made the usual greetings, Will made the usual introductions, and Kenny guided us through the light to the building at the back.
We entered the living room to be immediately greeted by familiar items from Cujo’s last place of residence and a decor typical of the intellectually liberal yet somewhat redneck college crowd. A large, cloth, Jim Bean banner hung on the wall; red and gold text against white backing, a poster for the Clint Eastwood film “The Outlaw Josey Wales,” a seven by seven foot piece of work Cody had made of squids and a giant woman attacking a city, and some works by Ralph Steadman, among other student approved wall art; like a poster that read “America the Beautiful” above a grid of decidedly ugly photos from across the country. Mostly obese, white people and natural occurrences, such as cacti and rocks, that looked a lot like male genitalia. There was a normal sized black television with electronic equipment and movies stacked around it. The same two-thirds circle couch that was synonymous with Cujo’s previous abode. Low to the ground and blue with a floral design. It seemed like something taken from a 1970s hotel lobby in Hawaii. It encompassed a round coffee table covered in bottles, cans, and a large, multicolored, glass bong that served as a centerpiece. I could see through to the kitchen and dining area; very basic except for the thirty or so flattened six-pack cases stapled to the three walls around the table, lined up in one row and just below the ceiling. Each case was from a different brew. In the corner of the living room was a staircase. I tried to wrap my head around this by questioning Kenny about it.
“This is a two story apartment? I mean, like, you and your roommates get two stories?”
“Yeah,” he answered with a twinge of pride.
The three of us immediately made our way upstairs and followed the sound of Cujo’s voice to his room. Him and his other roommate, Ted, were playing a new video game called “Borderlands.” Will and I watched them play while we talked with them for a bit and caught up with Cujo. There wasn’t much more in his room than the mattress we sat on and the stuff to play games. After a few minutes it became apparent that they weren’t going to finish anytime soon so Will and I headed back down to the living room where Kenny was watching Stripes. The three of us soon realized there was a definite lack of alcohol pummeling our nervous systems into a numb stupor. Being at Cujo’s on a Friday night, this seemed wrong.
Kenny had enough for himself but Will and I would need our own. It was agreed that the three of us would venture to the nearest liquor store so Kenny could buy us some Mickey’s. Two forties for Will and two for me. Eighty ounces to each of us. Something like eight beers a piece. Kenny finished his dinner of reheated pasta and a bottle of Fat Tire Ale before we left.
We walked a few blocks through the dimly lit residential area and across the train tracks at the crossing next to campus. On the other side of the tracks was an apartment building, on our right, and two houses that would seem to be occupied by white trash, on our left. I’d never seen the people who lived in these homes but they had the makings of white trash residencies. The lawns and what was visible of the backyards were entirely unkept, about 90% dirt and more weeds than grass. The houses themselves were in such disrepair that one might believe they were vacant.
The one nearest to the tracks was a small, one story painted in a shade of blue that was either very light or had faded over time. What really made it though is that some past resident, maybe even the original builders, had apparently decided to make it look like some sort of fairy tale castle. They did this by way of affixing white, plastic stones to the outside wall to create that old-timey masonry look. They also had a couple of lawn gnomes to glare at passersby from the mock porch. Gnomes are already a little creepy but it’s not helped when the house appears to be an abandoned twentieth century castle, save for the surprisingly well kept 1970s and / or 80s era boat, truck, and muscle car in the driveway and backyard.
The neighbors had an ordinary one story home, of an ordinary off-white paint color, and in an ordinary state of decay. What set this home apart from others in town was a backyard that contained an empty above ground pool and a sizable pile of bicycle frames; weeds growing through the spokes and cobwebs all over. Certainly not the largest pile of never-to-be-used bicycle frames I’ve seen, but still about a dozen more than I’ve seen at the home of someone I actually knew. The front lawn had only one decoration but it served as the cherry on top: A rusting weight bench, with equally decrepit barbell and weights, and nearly all the stuffing torn out of the cushion. Just keeping up with the Jones’s I suppose.
Just past these homes was the town’s highway; where strip malls containing many food conveyers, a supermarket, and of course a liquor store, all stood under bright lighting. After we crossed the highway, Kenny confirmed our order and went into the small liquor store. Just adjacent was a privately operated restaurant. It had one large window, that would’ve looked in had it not been covered in photos of Chinese dishes, and a sign above that read “Chang-Hing House: Chinese Food” in a font meant to simulate Mandarin characters. I hadn’t had dinner yet.
“I’m gonna get something to eat,” I informed Will while gesturing to the establishment.
“Maybe I should eat, too,” and Will followed me inside.
The inside walls were a drab yellow to match the drab yellow of the outside walls. There were some additional, glossed over photos of food taped to them along with a calender and some posters of what I assume were Asian celebrities. To the side of the room was a table. Small and round. Steel with two steel chairs. In the windowsill were stacks of real-estate guides, newsletters, and periodicals written in Asian dialects. Just next to this was one of those candy dispensing machines where you put in a quarter and turn a knob. Four half full compartments of colorful off brand confections. About four yards across the room from the window was the counter, directly beyond which was a kitchen crowded with appliances. Below the counter was another window; this one obscured by a wall of stacked jasmine and green tea boxes. Above the counter was a large, black, menu board with removable letters. It was difficult to understand due to its lack of organization and abundance of misspellings but we managed to decipher it as being a good deal. At my approaching of the counter, a middle-aged Asian man noticed me from the corner of the kitchen and came up to take my order.
“Um, a rice bowl with sweet and sour pork. To go.”
“Rice bowl?” he asked in an accent thick enough to make it clear he spoke little English.
“Yes.”
He briskly wrote down my order and I moved out of the way so Will could order as the man looked up at him with an almost annoyed expectance.
“I’ll have an orange chicken combo plate. To go, as well.”
He wrote down Will’s order and went to work, making our dinners. He was the only visible employee there.
“Why don’t you go outside and let Kenny know we’re in here,” I told Will.
“Okay,” he said as he walked out the door, the little bell ringing as he opened it.
I spotted them talking through an opening in the window before sitting down. As I had a short text conversation with my girlfriend, I listened to the sound of igniting flame, clashes of metal, and steaming liquids.
“Whats up”
“We’re watchin hitch”
“Wgain? U’ve seen it like 20 times”
“its good lol. Hows cujos?
“Its good. Were gettin chinese food n forties rite now”
“Sounds good”
The smell of greasy, hastily prepared food wafted over the counter.
“Should b. Whatd u have for dinner?’
“We went to pf changs”
“Cool”
Will came in about a minute before our orders came up. He paid in credit, I payed in cash, and we promptly left with our meals. Kenny was outside and shivering visibly. I mentioned earlier that he was sleight of frame and it seemed he wasn’t as comfortable as Will and I in the late fall weather despite that he was wearing the thickest coat out of all of us. Will took both bags of refrigerated malt liquor from him to so he wouldn’t be as cold (I carried Will’s dinner with mine) and once we started walking back, Kenny had stopped shivering.
I remarked, “I liked that place. I hope the food turns out to be good.”
“Really? I thought the guy there was kind of rude.”
“I felt like it was more of a language barrier. He just came across as kind of rude because he didn’t know much English.”
“But he went off on me weird about paying in credit. He was all like, next time you pay in cash. This time, okay. But next time you pay in cash,” Will quoted while waving his pointer finger and taking on a bossier tone.
“That was odd. Maybe he prefers cash because then he doesn’t have to pay taxes on all of it.”
“Then there should be a sign or something. What right does he have to be annoyed if he doesn’t let me know beforehand.”
We saw red and blue lights from behind us and went into a panicky quiet as the cop car drove by. There’s little to no chance they would have stopped us unless we had open containers, but there’s no point in drawing attention.
“He could have just not served you. He probably only did because he had already made it. And personally I don’t really care about the service as long as the food is good.”
“Well, I do.”
Upon arriving back, we continued watching “Stripes,” Will and I eating our surprisingly good takeout and breaking into our forties.
“That was good. We need to go there again sometime,” I remarked.
“Eh, maybe. I mean it was good but I prefer Panda.”
“The service thing?”
“Well, yeah.”
After reimbursing Kenny for the alcohol, him and Will started going on about stuff in their graphic design class. I mostly tuned it out since I didn’t really know what they were talking about but I soon found myself upstairs them, looking at some work that Kenny had done on his black Dell. Will and I, about halfway through our first bottles, sat on his bed as he clicked through images. It was neat but I certainly wasn’t as interested in shading and reflections as Will was. As they prattled on about technical terms I looked over at his large book / DVD stand. I noticed he had two copies of Superbad, so I tried to nudge him towards giving me the extra.
“Why do you have two copies of Superbad?” I asked during a break in his conversation with Will.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s probably my favorite Seth Rogen movie.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” he agreed with me before going back into discussion with Will.
And that was the end of that attempt at free stuff. I thought he would have tried to sell it to me at the least, or maybe even offer to lend it to me, but he was completely oblivious to the fact that I wanted it. I suppose I expected him to react as I would expect Cujo to.
Eventually he just started showing us weird stuff he had found online. A lot of funny de-motivational posters and whatnot, but also a small amount of things that were just disturbing. You know, the internet. I didn’t know how much Kenny had to drink that night but by this point he was doing the occasional massive rip out of his rasta colored bong. In between our collective sips, hits, laughs, and gasps of terror, Will finished his first forty.
“I’m going downstairs to get my second,” he indicated his empty, “You want yours?”
“Sure.”
He was back up with them in about a minute but as he broke into his, Kenny told him, “You should make a brass monkey out of that.”
“What’s that?” I asked, knowing that Will wouldn’t know either.
“It’s when you drink a Mickey’s down to here,” he instructed while pointing to where the forty stops being a cone and starts being a cylinder, “and then you fill that space with orange juice.”
“Really? Orange juice?” I was feeling buzzed and felt a need for clarification.
“Yeah, it tastes like a Creamsicle.”
“Do you have orange juice we can use?”
“Yeah, middle shelf. But if you do it, make sure to pour it over the sink because it will fizz over.”
“I’ll try it,” Will remarked before chugging his way down to the desired point and heading back down.
“Does it have to be malt liquor or can you, um--” I began to enquire after Will left.
“No. Beer doesn’t work for a brass monkey.”
“Okay. It doesn’t fizz enough?”
“Yeah. That’s probably why.”
About a minute later Will was back up with his forty near full and frothy.
“How do you like it?” Kenny asked.
“It’s really good.”
“Let me try it,” I said as I reached for it.
Kenny was absolutely right. Oddly enough, the malt liquor had taken on a creamy flavor in addition to orange. I finished my first bottle and made the proper preparations to my second as quickly as I could (not very quick at all) before heading downstairs. I also brought my empty down for recycling but couldn’t find a bin so I just left it on the tiled kitchen counter. The orange gallon-jug sat in the fridge, next to a depleted six pack of Fat Tire Ale. I wanted to make sure I didn’t drop my forty or the jug, so I placed the former in the sink and carefully poured from the latter. To my delight it fizzed over, the college equivalent of a baking soda and vinegar volcano, and I went back upstairs quite excited. Upon rejoining my inebriated brethren with my resupply of munitions, we got right back into the internet. Introducing each other to amusing videos that at least one of the others hadn’t seen. Amidst this my girlfriend texted me:
“Whats up”
“were drink brass monkeys n wathin stuf online”
“Whats that?”
I took a moment to laugh at a douchebag contest on Youtube before responding:
“Its a mickeys wit sum oj in it. Rly good. U’d like it”
“Lol k. Well i’m goin to bed. gnite. i love u”
“Love u 2 sleepy”
Half a brass monkey later, Cujo and Ted finished up their game and asked the three of us if we wanted to go to a party. We all wholeheartedly agreed but I had the dilemma of my remaining alcohol. Will quickly finished the last of his and took a bit out of mine to lessen the load, but I was still unable to finish it before everyone was ready to go. I figured I’d take it outside with me and finish what I could before we reached the parking lot dumpster.
Upon our party of five opening the front door, we were greeted with the epic greatness that was twelve guys viciously flailing at each other with foam lacrosse nets. We stopped to watch for a bit. Kenny and Will both had a cigarette, Will only smokes when he’s drunk, and I sipped more of my brass monkey whenever it seemed my stomach had made some room.
“These guys need some fight music,” Cujo pronounced excitedly.
“Well, my room is right above us,” suggested Kenny, “I’m not going back in but someone else could do it.”
“I will,” I hurriedly offered.
Kenny suggested a song I pretended to know and I ran up to his room, the green-glass forty still in hand. It took me a minute to figure out his computer but I eventually found the song and pumped it out of his speakers just a couple of notches below their loudest setting. I quickly ran back down, the ceiling above me visibly quaking, and opened the front door only to find that the melee had ended.
I asked one of the guys still out there, “Are you gonna start up again anytime soon?”
“Maybe in a while,” he figured while picking up a broken net.
“Cool,” I said before going back inside to turn the music off.
Cody led the way, since he knew where we were going, but we were a small enough group that we walked in a huddle. As we left the parking lot, I still hadn’t finished the drink. It was taking an incredibly long time but I just wasn’t done yet. It was very dark and uncrowded this side of the train tracks so I bypassed the dumpster and kept the bottle under my coat, taking it out when I felt I could handle a sip. After every drink I passed it around to anyone who wanted some.
We approached a tree growing outside an apartment complex, shedding its brown leaves, and it entranced me. They fluttered down at a slow but constant rate, illuminated by the street lamp just above it.
“You’re probably gonna wanna finish that bottle, Lenny,” Cujo had broken my trance. “The bulge under your coat is gonna be really noticeable once we get into the light,” he warned as we came up on the tracks.
“Yeah. Definitely get rid of it,” agreed Will.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“Well, we can’t drink anymore. Just chug it.”
I nodded and trailed back a bit to try and empty the bottle before we got to the well-lighted strip malls. I still had a bit left though so I screwed the cap on as tight as I could and placed it on top of a bush; in front of the apartment buildings across the street from the white-trash homes. I caught up with the group, claiming I had finished it. After we stumbled through the light and into the darker residential streets, I pulled out my harmonica and started messing with it. I didn’t really know how to play, but it was still entertaining.
“Is that a harmonica? Oh, hell yeah!” Cujo exclaimed after a couple of minutes.
“You wanna play it?” I implored, “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” I admitted as I handed it off to him.
It soon became apparent that none of us knew what we were doing. The tiny instrument made its way around but it never produced a credible tune.
We got to the housing complex a few blocks later, finding the party in the back row of homes. It was a simple, blue, two-story house. Identical to every other house there save for the two games of beer pong (one in the garage and one in the driveway), a keg, and about fifty to seventy-five drunk college kids wandering about with red cups. Feeling sociably buzzed, I started to talk to a stranger while watching the outside game before Will nudged me with his plastic cup to remind me there was a keg. Songs that I didn’t care about muddled the surrounding conversations as I bent under the table and withdrew a cup from the bag there.
The keg sat in the garage. Luckily there was no line. Just a girl doing a keg stand, which is entertaining enough that one doesn’t typically mind the wait.
“Eight! Nine! Ten!” shouted those aware of the event, including myself, “Eleven! Twe--” as she dropped the hose and spluttered the last bit of beer she had taken in.
She ran off into the house, once the four guys holding her up put her back down, and I filled my cup. The first sip was disappointing as I was drinking Mickey’s and brass monkeys earlier; not bilge water that had been fermented into Keystone Light. Accepting what I had, I went back outside and took my place on a stool so as to view the pong games comfortably. Cujo and Ted began a game on the garage table but it was crowded and there was no seating. So I stayed on my stool, watching the driveway game with Will and Kenny; occasionally peering into the garage to see how our party members were doing. Will and Kenny were having a conversation I wasn’t listening to.
“Lenny,” Will blurted to get my attention, “me and Kenny are going a couple houses down to see Jordan.”
“Do I know him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay. I think I’ll stay here and try to get a game.”
“Cool.”
I refocused my attention on the game at hand. The white ball whizzed, arched, and bounced through the night air. Clunking off the plastic, white, folding table. Rustling the constantly altering clusters of red cups on contact, occasionally causing one to hydroplane away on a pool of spilt beer and water. The ball would either miss entirely, deflect off the lip of a cup in a haphazard direction (often bouncing and rolling on the ground around the table before someone finally got a hold of it) or it would land in a cup with a kerplop, sending a few drops of beer over the mouth and into the accumulating puddle around it.
After a few minutes of this I could see Kenny and Will walking back. Apparently they didn’t see me because they walked right by and straight into the garage to watch the end of Cujo and Ted’s game. It didn’t look like I was gonna get to play any time soon so I figured I’d join them. Upon getting off my stool however, I found that my bladder was full. So I went through the front door and looked for the downstairs bathroom, taking my half a beer with me.
I found a door where I expected there would be a bathroom and opened it. It was a bathroom, but there was already a guy sitting on the toilet. I made a quick apology as I closed the door, he seemed more confused than anything, and I walked away so I wouldn’t have to bump into him when he came out.
Standing next to the front door, the girl I saw do the keg stand earlier came up to me and asked, “Have you seen my friends?”
“I don’t know. I saw some guy in the bathroom. Could that have been him?”
“I don’t know,” she laughed before inexplicably changing the subject, “There’s a dog upstairs. Do you want to see him?”
“Sure,” I said while ignoring my bladder.
I followed her upstairs and she opened a door to a bedroom where a guy and a girl were sitting together on the bed. They promptly broke apart from each other.
“Um, nothing happened,” the guy said jokingly and we all kind of chuckled.
The dog was in there too so I put my cup on a bookshelf and kneeled down to give him a quick hug and start petting him.
“What’s his name?”
“Warner,” the guy answered me.
“Neat. I’m Lenny by the way.”
“Lenny?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. I’m Rob, this is Stacy,” he gestured to the girl on the bed, “and I guess you already know Alice,” he gestured to the girl who brought me up there.
“Um, yeah, but I didn’t know her name yet.”
“Well, that worked out then,” he noted as we all chuckled.
“So what breed is Warner?” I asked while the yellow-orange dog tried to lick my face.
“He’s a golden retriever.”
“So he’s a puppy then?”
“Yeah, he’s only about half as big as he will be.”
“Lenny was helping me look for you guys. Didn’t you have to go to the bathroom?” Alice directed the statement at them and the question at me.
“Yes, actually. When I went, there was already someone there.”
“There’s one up here, too.”
“Cool. Where is it?”
“I’ll show you. I have to go, too.”
“Cool.”
I stood up, picked up my beer, and followed Alice into the hallway, closing the door behind me. The bathroom was only a couple of doors down and she stepped aside to let me go first.
“Thanks,” I told her as I stepped inside and locked the door. The toilet was at the back left corner, just beyond the marble counter jutting out of the left wall. I placed my cup on top of the tank, lifted the seat, and took a piss. Shortly after, I noticed a lack of toilet paper on the roll. I thought how lucky I was that I only had to pee and reminded myself to check for more paper under the sink. Knowing that whats-her-name was just behind me, I dropped the seat back down with a loud clunk. After washing up, I went back to the toilet to grab my beer before opening the door.
“Thanks for putting the seat down.”
“Oh, no problem. Um, you heard it?”
“Yeah,” she replied as she walked in and started to close the door.
“Oh, wait,” I said while grabbing the door, “There’s no toilet paper on the thing. I meant to check under the sink.”
“Oh, okay,” she laughed as I noticed she was a giggly drunk, though she may have just been a giggly person.
I walked in and opened the cabinets under the sink but couldn’t find anything.
“Maybe we could check somewhere else,” I assured her.
“I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I just have to pee.”
“Okay then,” I said in place of a goodbye as I walked out and closed the door; I didn’t hear it lock.
“Why don’t people at this party remember to lock the doors,” I thought.

Deciding to leave the couple with the dog alone, I walked past their door and turned to go downstairs. As I descended I noticed there were a few less people at the party than previously.
I suddenly found myself with the people I came with, huddled at the bottom of the stairs.
“There you are,” Cujo said.
“The keg is tapped,” informed Will.
“So we’re leaving?” I asked, making sure there wasn’t another keg coming along.
“Yeah,” Will said as we all walked out the door.
I didn’t want the rest of my beer but I didn’t want to waste it either, so I offered it to Will, “You want the rest of this?”
“Sure,” and he quickly gulped it down and handed it back to me.
Having nowhere in particular to put it before we left, I got up on my toes and placed it on top of the open garage door. Will saw it up there and felt the need to share it.
“Cujo. Look where Lenny put the cup.”
“Nice,” he commented in all sincerity.
As we abandoned the dying party, Will asked me, “Are we going back to Cujo’s or do you wanna go home?”
“Either way.”
“Huh, well Cujo was wondering... Cujo! If you can carry me piggyback for ten-seconds, we’ll come back to your place.”
“Okay,” responded Cujo despite that Will was probably fifty pounds heavier than he was.
Will jumped up on his back and we all counted as Cujo ran forward, “One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!” after which Cujo immediately dropped Will back to his feet.
I’d carried my roommate on my back before so I told Will, “Hop up on my back. I wanna try to beat his time.”
“Okay.”
He got behind me and jumped on my back, my arms catching him under his leg-pits. I immediately broke into a stumbling run, the sudden top-heaviness quickly working to topple me forward.
“One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! T--” the count was interrupted as I fell forward, bringing Will down with me in a drunken but uninjured pile.
“Nine and a half!” someone declared.
“Let me try,” said Kenny as Will pulled me up from the pavement.
“Okay,” Will said while wiping off his clothes.
Will hopped up on Kenny’s back, almost hiding Kenny from view.
“One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve!” we shouted in amazement as the smallest person there went the longest before setting Will down just outside the gates.
No one tried to carry Will after that. I pulled out the harmonica for anyone who wanted to play. A few did with that drunken earnestness that rarely produces anything good. Once again, nobody knew what they were doing and it wasn’t long before the metal rectangle found its way back to my coat pocket.
As we came up on the strip malls, a collection began for a bottle of vodka. I wasn’t sure if I wanted any but I figured I’d contribute in case I changed my mind. I opened up my brown leather wallet to find a twenty and a one. I handed Cujo the one and all the change in my pocket just as we came in view of the gas station at the edge of the strip malls.
“I’m gonna get something to eat,” I alerted Cujo and Will while gesturing to the Blue Oval gas station, “I’ll catch up.”
They nodded and mumbled something in the positive as I turned to the convenience store entrance. I thought about how uncreative the Blue Oval was since it seemed to be named directly after its logo; a blue oval. The bell rang as I opened the glass door and saw the ice cream cooler to my left. After about thirty-seconds of staring through the frosted glass, I decided on a Tollhouse ice cream sandwich in a yellow wrapper. One of those ones made with chocolate chip cookies and a layer of chocolate chips covering the exposed ring of vanilla ice cream. I was excited as a little kid as I brought it up to the counter. Surprisingly, the guy working the nightshift wasn’t a middle aged man of Asian or Middle-Eastern heritage who owned the business. Instead it was a white guy in his twenties who was thoroughly dressed in punk.
“Is that all?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. That’ll be two thirty-seven,” he read as I handed him the twenty.
“Out of twenty,” he said to himself in the way cashiers do when they have to make change for the bill you hand them.
“Yep,” I mumbled mostly to myself.
“Having a good night?” he asked while he counted out my change.
“Yeah. You?”
“Not really. I’m stuck here working while my friends are throwing a party.”
“That’s rough. Me and my friends were just walking back from a party.”
“Why didn’t you invite me?” he asked in a surprisingly accusatory tone as he handed me my change.
“Um, I don’t know you,” I said while cramming the paper in my wallet and dropping the coins in my pocket.
“Good point,” he admitted as I grabbed my sandwich and walked to the door.
That thing out of the wrapper before I was outside and finished before I had to cross the street. It was everything I had hoped it would be. Stuffing the wrapper in my pocket, I thought I heard Will and Cujo yelling my name. I couldn’t see them anywhere though so I figured they must be walking out of the liquor store, too deep into the bright light to see. I cut across the grocery store parking lot so I could catch up without having to slow them down. As I got onto the street that crossed the tracks, they yelled my name from the other sidewalk. I waved back, quickly checked for cars, and ran across to join them. Since they were gonna have to cross anyway, they decided to do it right then, so that we were still on opposite sides of the street. After realizing what had happened I ran back across to join in on the laughter.
“Fuck you guys,” I said in mock anger.
“You won, Lenny,” Cujo said after slapping my back.
No knowing what he meant, I nodded. We were coming up on the bush I had stashed the rest of my brass monkey in, so I drifted to the back of the group and found it exactly where I’d remembered putting it, just on top of a the plant. I had to go by feel since the green of the bottle camouflaged well with the bush in the dark of night. I chugged down the couple of inches left in it, trailing behind the others, and tossed it to the side as we crossed the tracks, the bouncing of glass on gravel a bit louder than expected. No one seem to notice though and shortly after we appeared outside the apartments.
Just outside Cujo’s place were a few of the foam lacrosse warriors from earlier. Now it was our turn.
“Hey, you’re back,” one of them commented, “Do you guys wanna play?”
“Yeah! What about you guys?” I asked my group earnestly, figuring the more people playing, the more wondrously chaotic.
I was answered by a clamor of yells, indiscernible but clearly in the positive.
“I guess all of us are playing,” I informed the lacrosse neighbor.
“Cool. We’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.”
“Who wants to take a shot, then?” Cujo addressed the four of us in response.
Three of the four of us answered in the positive. Feeling good already, I decided to sit this one out. I also don’t like vodka since it burns like rubbing alcohol. I was assured that it wouldn’t be any better this time because we had Takaa, one of those super cheap vodkas that comes in a plastic, rather than glass, bottle. Once the shot glasses were found, we all assembled around the living room table.
“You sure you don’t want some, Lenny?” Cujo asked.
“Maybe the next round.”
“Okay then.”
The four shots of rubbing alcohol clinked together before diving down four different throats, causing gags of disgust all around. Just watching them, I could feel my trachea burn. Once they’d all composed themselves, we headed back outside to find three neighbors armed with nets and five more in a pile on the lawn. Each had a purple, plastic handle and a bright yellow, foam frame around a foot of netting. Without a word, the five of us armed ourselves and Ted went to the other side to even out the teams.
“Ready?” someone asked.
No one said they weren’t.
“Go!” burst the same someone.
I flung myself forward and immediately foam-smacked one of the opposing in the side of the head.
“What the hell?!” he commented in confused laughter as I continued taking swings while he ducked behind his net and occasionally swung back.
Behind him I could see Will trouncing his opponent, who simply said, “I don’t even have the ball.”
“Score! Stop! Stop!” one of them yelled.
I lowered my weapon and asked, “Why? Is someone hurt or something.”
“No, but we scored so we have to set up again.”
“There’s scoring? How?”
“We got the ball to the other side of the lawn.”
It simultaneously dawned on Cujo, Kenny, Ted, Will, and me that they were actually playing a bastardized version of lacrosse earlier. None of us had seen a ball so we had perceived it to be a flail-fest with the same objectives as the average pillow fight: hit people, with a soft object, as hard as you could, while they tried to do the same to you. We all voiced some sort of realization to the existence of the game and apologized to whoever we had been pummeling. Except for Kenny and Ted, who had been pummeling each other.
Playing by the rules mostly consisted of drunkenly failing to pass or catch the ball. This was followed by everyone drunkenly searching in the dark until someone found the ball, managed to scoop it up, and ran it to the opposing goal. We were still hitting each other a lot though, causing the game to dwindle to a close as all the nets eventually broke. When someone’s net broke they resorted to simply attacking the other team with what was left of the foam frame, until no one was with a lacrosse net that could be used for its intended purpose. None of us could agree on the score so the game was called a tie. The neighbors went back to their place and we reconvened in the living room.
Kenny put in Stripes and started it from the beginning. As I laughed at what I’d just seen a few hours ago, I realized my roommate wasn’t on the couch with us. The moment I noticed this I heard him talking to me from near the door. He must have been sitting on the ground because I couldn’t see him over the couch.
“Lenny?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready to head back?”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Okay.”
I saw the door open but didn’t see anyone walk through it. Figuring he must have crawled outside, I went out to check on him. I still couldn’t see him but I could hear him throwing up in the dark.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Do you want some water?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Stay where you are and I’ll go get it.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I went back inside and heard Cujo ask, “Is he okay?”
“He got sick. I’m gonna get him some water.”
“Oh, okay then.”
As I handed the glass to Will he thanked me again and quickly drank it. I could see him again as he handed it back to me.
I helped him up and asked, “Did you wanna crash here?”
“No. Let’s go back.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I feel a lot better now.”
I nodded and we walked in to say good night to everyone before we headed out. As we made our farewell, Kenny got up and went out the sliding glass door in the kitchen. Getting sick seemed to be catching on.
The walk home was short enough to be nonexistent, as it often is when one is too drunk to realize how long they’ve been walking. Will really did seem to feel a lot better and by the time we walked by campus he was springy and talkative. About five blocks from our apartments, we spotted a traffic cone in the street.
“Hey, look,” said Will.
“Yeah, I see it.”
“What’s it doing out here?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of just standing there. There hasn’t been any construction or anything going on around here.”
“I’m thinking about taking it,” he said in a tone that said he’d already made up his mind.
“Really? Well, let’s try and figure out why it’s here first. If a government worker put it here then taking it might be a serious legal offense.”
Will turned it over in his hands, “It has PG&E stamped on it. Fuck them--I’m taking this.”
PG&E stood for plumbing, gas, and energy. They were a privately owned company hired by local governments to provide utilities. They were also a really shoddy company that one could rely on to overcharge for mediocre service. They’d been trying to get more money from us than we owed and the power had gone out, for the entire day, a few times this year.
“Yeah,” I had to agree, “go ahead and take that.”
Before we’d made it a couple of blocks we came across a house with a rapidly deteriorating white picket-fence. So in disrepair was it, that a chunk of it, probably six feet across, had fallen over. It had rotted out at the bottom, causing it to break under its own weight, and the paint was worn and dirty. The sharp ends of metal nails stuck out the ends.
“Will, look at this fence. It looks great,” I exclaimed as the termites crawled out the ancient wood.
“Yeah,” he agreed wholeheartedly.
“Should I take it?”
“It’s up to you.”
“Nah. It’s too big to bear.”
Before we were halfway down the block I questioned my decision. Another few steps and I turned back around.
“Fuck it--I’m takin’ it. We only have a few more blocks,” I told Will and myself.
“Cool.”
It was big. Heaver than I thought, but I got my hands under the upper beam and started carrying it at my side. Just a few inches above the ground, the ends dipped and scraped the pavement every few seconds.
“Do you wanna trade?” Will offered.
“No thanks. I got this,” I answered while lifting the barrier a bit higher off the ground.
As we crossed the bridge, Will in front and swinging the florescent cone by the little hole at the tip, and me just behind, with a burden as long as I was tall, we saw headlights coming from behind us. Will just kept walking but I panicked and leaned the wood up against the bridge railing before taking out my phone and pretending to text. The car drove by; it wasn’t cops.
“I think that might be Mel and Lisa and all the other girls who went out tonight,” Will ventured as the vehicle made the turn into our apartment complex; they lived there, too.
“They went out tonight?” I asked as I picked up my fence, “Where to?”
“Bryan’s house.”
“And they didn’t invite us?” I mockingly exclaimed.
“I guess so,” Will laughed.
Only about a block from our apartments, the sidewalk ended and we had no choice but to parade our loot down the street. I noticed that some guys playing beer pong on their front lawn, were yelling at me.
“Dee!”
I had no idea what they were trying to say.
“Dee!” they shouted again after a few seconds.
I suddenly understood what they were doing and struggled to lift my finding a little higher up before answering, “Fence!”
They and Will laughed approvingly before we continued. We non-verbally decided to enter the apartments at the first entrance and almost immediately came across the vehicle that had pulled in earlier. Basically all the girls we knew in the apartments piled out of the car and quickly noticed the two figures carrying a traffic cone and a fence.
Mel, my girlfriend’s roommate, asked in a drunkenly excited tone, “Is that a fence!?”
I was about to answer before she cut me off.
“Oh my god! It’s Lenny!” she somewhat squealed while laughing, “What’s Tal gonna say about this?!” Tal being my girlfriend.
I just shrugged as the others made general exclamations about Will’s and mine sanity. Before we all disbanded to our homes, someone took a picture of me with my fence.
“New Facebook profile pic,” I immediately thought.
Everyone was tired so we said our good nights and departed each other’s company. Will and I dropped the spoils of the night on the lawn outside our place.
“We’ll wash them off in the morning,” I said.
Will nodded agreement before we went inside. He went straight to bed.
“Goodnight, dude,” he said as he walked to his room, “This was a fun night.”
“Definitely,” I agreed as I collapsed on the living room couch.
I watched Titan A.E. on HBO before pulling myself off the couch and going to my room. We never washed off the night’s souvenirs, choosing to use them as outdoor decoration. About a week later, the apartment manger told us we had to throw them away. A nail dug into my palm when we lifted the fence into the dumpster. It wasn’t rusty so I didn’t worry about tetanus beyond cleaning out the wound and it healed after a few days. The photo of me and the fence was my profile pic for a month or so before I replaced it. That night slowly faded from everyday conversation and thought, but neither Will nor I can hear mention of Cujo, Kenny, Takaa, cones, or fences without remembering it.