It was the summer after we all dropped out. Well, not all of us, but enough of us that it felt like all of us. I had left school after spring break. I couldn't take it, even when I was stoned. The classes, the people, the teachers, I didn't see the point anymore. None of us did. We all had our reasons or excuses for leaving, but I think mostly we weren't happy anymore.
The house where we spent most of our nights was falling apart. There was a gaping hole in the hallway where Eric fell on his way to the bathroom to expel the demons in his stomach (beer, cheap whiskey, whatever he had in his flask). That was years ago now, but no effort had been made to repair the hole. The faded, floral wallpaper that hung in the dining room (if you could call it that since it was rare for anyone to actually eat a meal in there) was coming down in strips. It would only make it somewhere halfway down the wall before it would curl up and settle. Most of us were happy to see it go, we never really cared for it, but none of us ever did anything about it.
Most everyone in our circle of friends had lived there at some point. It was in worse condition than when Eric and I shared a room there. I had tried to keep things in some sort of order, but there were at least four or five guys filtering in and out and it was hard to keep track of anything there. I had left a year or two ago; it had become too crowded. I couldn't hold on to any of my thoughts; they had been pushed out and replaced with everyone else's.
I had disappeared for a few weeks after leaving school. I mostly stayed in my apartment getting high and watching whatever was on the television when I turned it on. Sometimes, when the cable was out, I just watched the static and listened to records. Eventually, I got sick of being with myself and had listened to most of my records two or three times. The first night back was so familiar: the worn down couch occupied by piles of laundry someone had forgotten to take to their room. Empty beer cans had been strewn across the counter top like trophies reminiscent of past accomplishments. Nothing had changed really, except they all kept calling me Richie which they knew I hated. No one had called me Richie since middle school and maybe this was their way of punishing me for not being around.
After a few joints, all that really comes back to me from that first night back was repeating "It's Richard. You know it's Richard. Stop fucking calling me Richie."
I saw Eric the next day. I had spent the morning trying to piece together the night before, but everything still felt foggy and I needed something to eat. We were both at the hole-in-the-wall sandwich place we all used to go to.
"Feeling nostalgic?" he asked.
"Yeah. Something like that. Habit, I guess."
He asked if I wanted to get stoned in his car before we ordered and I didn't want to leave the place and then come back, but we did anyway.
While we were eating he asked if I was going to Ginny's place that night.
"Ginny who?"
"Ginny. C'mon, Richie, you know Ginny."
"You know that's not my god damn name, man. Is it a party? You know how much I hate her parties, Eric."
"It's going to be small Richie, it'll be fine."
I sighed.
"It's Richard."
I went home and watched some static. I didn't want to go to Ginny's. I didn't really care for her, but more than that she lived with Heather who I had dated off and on and hadn't seen since I left school. I knew I would end up there though. I never had anything else to do aside from static, cable, or cigarettes.
Ginny lived on an enormous plot of land in a comparatively minuscule house her grandparents had built before any of us were even ideas in our parents heads. The house itself could hold maybe ten to fifteen people without feeling cramped so mostly we stayed outside, drinking or getting high. There weren't many people hanging around when I arrived, which was a relief. I saw Eric and Jamie in the backyard. Jamie handed me a beer and I lit a cigarette.
The rest of the night we spent around a fire we managed to get started, though I'm not really sure how. None of us were that resourceful. I felt fine for a few hours that night, warm around a fire with people I hadn't seen since I left school, slipping inch by inch into inebriated haziness. Stories were traded for a while until someone turned on the radio. Whoever the guy singing was, he didn't have much to say. The song was about a girl and it turned my stomach.
I ended up seeing Heather, though I'm not sure she noticed me. I had gone inside to grab my keys and throw away my empty pack of cigarettes before I left. She was enveloped by Ginny's enormous burgundy leather armchair. She was alone and crying. Typical, I thought, and then wondered if it was maybe about me. I almost sat down with her, almost said something, but opened the door and walked out instead.
A week later I decided I should probably see my parents. They didn't know I had left school. We went for lunch at a Thai place they had been wanting to try. I didn't bring up school. I ate my noodles, nodded, and smiled while my mom told me about her new favorite magazine. She kept raving about an article they did on a senator who got crushed by an underpass that collapsed. After he died they found two kids in his basement who had been missing for something like two months. I just kept eating my noodles.
After I left I got stoned at my place and sat in front of the television and kept thinking about that senator and what it would feel like to get crushed by that much concrete and iron.
Jamie called a couple of days later wanting to see an art film that had started playing recently. I tried telling him I didn't feel like getting out of bed but it was already almost three in the afternoon.
"Richard, man, we can get high before and really take it all in."
"I'll be there, alright. Just give me a minute."
I put on the shirt I'd worn the past three days and met him at the theater. We got stoned in my car and after buying tickets, went inside. I was surprised that I couldn't see my breath; I always forgot how consistently frigid it was in there. I sank into my seat knowing my back would be hurting soon. Everything was deteriorating, and the theater was no exception. The red curtains were fraying as if something had been gnawing at them and half the seats had springs poking out of the cushions. I tried to pay attention to the film, but there was a kid sitting by himself in the third row. He couldn't have been more than eight or nine. I kept thinking about that kid, even after we left to go get drinks for the night.
Our friend Peter had a lake house where he would throw parties once or twice a month. Almost always he wanted people to dress up, try and look nice, but I didn't have it in me that night, none of us really ever did. We got there in Eric's sedan and walked up the path to the house. There was already a huge crowd, bodies milling about, most of them wondering if they were getting laid that night. Normally that many people would have kept me from even going inside, but for the moment everything didn't feel so bad because the weather was fine and we had been drinking on the way.
Peter was one of the only people we knew who had parents that had real money. Not that any of us were poor or anything, but none of our parents were doing nearly as well as his. Inside the lake house everything was always oddly clean, almost immaculate. Even with all those people, everything still seemed to be exactly in its place.
I found the bar and tossed back a few whiskeys, wanting to make sure I was drunk before I really had to interact with anyone. There was always a different crowd at Peter's parties. There were kids we didn't really know, but who would always, without fail, talk to us like we were all best friends. I didn't want to be inside anymore because those kids just kept trying to talk to me and it was giving me a headache. I went out onto the balcony on the second floor hoping to find some respite from everything. There was a small, but well stocked bar out there so that's where I ended up spending most of the night, chain smoking and having gin and tonics.
While I was outside I saw this guy who we all ever only knew as Fits. He had a real name but we all just called him Fits. He was off somehow. None of us really knew exactly what it was. He wasn't violent or even crazy necessarily. He was actually pretty normal most of the time, but occasionally it was like someone threw a switch in his head. He would start getting really weird. Mostly he would ramble about space, but not in a mystical way, very factual. He would just start spouting off these very obscure facts about space, and sometimes it didn't matter if anyone was listening. One minute you're talking to him about music or a party the past weekend and the next he's talking about the mineral composition of Mars. I guess that's why we called him Fits.
"Richard, hey man."
"Hey Fits, what's going on?"
"Not much, just enjoying being outside."
"Yeah, I know. There's so many people here, and no matter how drunk I am, I'm having trouble dealing with it."
"Have you seen the moon tonight?"
And I guess I hadn't. I hadn't taken the time to look up all night. I had been keeping my head down, closer to my drink, I guess.
"Nah, Fits. I don't think I have. Anything special about it tonight?"
"Well, it's a crescent right now, everyone knows that, but what's really amazing is....."
And I just let him go on for a while about the moon. I'm still not sure why I did. Maybe it was the gin and tonics, or maybe I thought he just needed somebody to listen to him for a while.
I stayed home for a few days after that. I needed a break. One day I pulled out some old books and flipped through a few of them, looking for parts I had underlined. I almost didn't recognize about half of my novels. They were all tucked away in a beat up cardboard box in the recesses of my closet. I couldn't remember why they were there. Maybe when I moved in I forgot to unpack them. Looking through them again, it was as if I were seeing an old friend after years apart and getting to catch up - remembering the person you were when the two of you were close.
I blew the dust off one book, with every intention of starting it over when Heather called me wanting to get lunch. I tossed them all into their cardboard home and pushed it back into my closet. Maybe another time.
We met at the sushi place she had shown me back when we first started dating. It had a tank towards the back of the restaurant with what seemed like a constantly changing assortment of fish. I used to worry that the fish in the tank were used for the sushi, but the food was good so I just forgot about it.
I thought maybe since she had wanted to go there that she would want to talk about us or something. I tried to feel something about it; I tried to be worried or hopeful, but neither would come. I was hungry though. She said she just wanted to catch up and see how I how was doing. She told me she was worried about me.
"Worried about me?"
"Yeah, you'll be around for a while, and well, you seem happy enough. Then you're gone for days or weeks and you don't talk to anyone. Is everything ok?"
"Yeah sure, I don't know. Nothing feels bad."
I didn't say much after that, I spent most of my time shifting my sushi around on my plate, occasionally moving it to my mouth. I thought about asking her why she was crying that night at Ginny's, but then thought that if she wanted me to know, she'd tell me. Instead she told me about this school she was contemplating transferring to because they were supposedly going to give her a pretty hefty scholarship for an essay she wrote. She droned on about it and whether or not she was going to keep studying anthropology or switch to something else. She hadn't changed much. I paid the ticket and we said goodbye, she had a study group that night, and I had a six-pack in the fridge.
After lunch I just drove home. I flipped the TV on and the cable was actually working. I closed the blinds and turned the lights down. I walked to the fridge and grabbed the beer and sank into my couch. I opened the first one, took a sip, felt the cold suds wash down my throat, and then lit a cigarette.
I woke up the next morning to Eric calling. He was telling me about this camping trip he wanted us to go on. There was a site not too far from town. My parents had taken me there once when I was younger. There was maybe a square mile or two of forest and some open land for you to pitch camp. Eric said he and Jamie were going that weekend. I told him sure, I would go.
We packed up late Friday afternoon and made the drive out there, windows rolled down all the way, letting the warm breeze shift our hair from where it was supposed to be. We rolled into the gravel parking lot just as the sun began its descent past the tree-line. We started to set up camp, which I only barely remembered how to do, but after a few failed attempts, we had a pretty decent looking camp site.
After we settled in, I had a brief moment of panic. I thought I had left my cigarettes back in town. I finally found them, after a few minutes of anxious searching, in the bottom of my backpack. I lit one to calm myself down and leaned against the side of Eric's sedan. What a pathetic excuse for a car. The grey-blue paint was chipping and someone had spray painted "ass-hole" on the passenger side door. It coughed when you started it up or hit the gas too hard and almost broke down on us twice on the way out here. I finished my cigarette, tried to find a trash can to toss the butt into, but just let it fall into the gravel. I stepped on it, making sure it was out as I walked over to the styrofoam cooler to get out a beer. I saw Jamie talking to Carol, this girl hardly any of us really knew. Jamie had insisted on bringing her with us, and I could tell why. I could see the way he was looking at her, all dreamy eyed. Good for him, I guess. Eric called over to me, said he was going to smoke a joint in the woods, and asked if I wanted to join him. Cracking open my beer, I said sure and walked towards him.
It really was pretty peaceful out there, no distractions. Normally I really wasn't one for nature. I liked my TV. I liked my couch. I liked fast food and going to the movies. I liked air conditioning. But some fresh air was alright. We passed a joint back and forth while sitting on an old, moss-covered log and looked around, trying to see some wildlife. It was just us mostly. Eric said he thought he heard a deer once, but we never saw it. I don't think he even knows what a deer sounds like; I don't.
We walked back to the camp site. My legs felt like noodles. All of me felt a little wobbly but I was using my legs the most so that's what I was focusing on. When we got back, Eric and Jamie started a fire and opened some beers. I slumped into a lawn chair and just watched for a while. Once the fire began to let its flames lick towards the sky, I sunk deeper into the lawn chair and chain-smoked. I couldn't focus. I tried watching the smoke from my cigarettes, but it was windy and the smoke dissipated too quickly. I tried listening to Jamie and Eric talk, but they sounded muffled and Carol's screech of a laugh kept cutting through and slamming into my ears.
"I'm going to bed."
We were there for a few days. I still don't really know what happened that first night. The rest of the time we were there was fine. We grilled some food and explored the woods. There really wasn't much to see. Jamie and Carol ended up sleeping together which was neither here nor there.
A few days after we got back, I got stoned and went to this diner at the edge of town. It was pretty run-down, but not much in town wasn't. It was one of the last public places where you could still smoke inside. It was way too hot that day and I didn't feel like being in my apartment.
I ordered a soda and an ash tray.
"You sure you don't want anything to eat, dear?"
"Not right now, thanks."
I sat there for a few hours, watching the flow of the people that worked there, watching customers filter in and out. Some people ordered food or just a soda, others were reading the paper and smoking. I noticed one family in particular, two parents and their kid. They were at a booth towards the back. Mom and dad on one side and the kid on the other. The dad was smoking and the mom was reading a magazine. The kid was staring into his cup of orange juice. Occasionally he'd move it around with his straw a little, but mostly he just looked at it.
I ordered another soda and noticed the kid get up to use the bathroom. The parents didn't seem to pay him any attention. I looked around for my cigarettes, lit one, took a drag, and when I looked up the parents were walking out the door. I exhaled and looked around for the kid, but he was still in the bathroom. I thought about saying something to his parents but I was still pretty stoned and figured one of the waitresses would say something, but no one did. The parents drove off as the kid was coming out of the bathroom. I inhaled and he started looking around and then stopped in the middle of the restaurant and started crying. I exhaled and sat there. Most everyone did the same thing, until one of the waitresses finally noticed. She got him quiet and sat down with him, called over to another waitress and got the kid a piece of pie and some milk. It took his parents around twenty minutes to come back for him. I put out my cigarette, left a couple of dollars on the table for the sodas and walked to my car.
A song I hadn't heard was playing on the radio when I started up my car. It wasn't bad so I turned it up some and rolled down the windows on the way home. It had cooled off a little and the breeze felt good, but my mind kept wandering back to that kid alone in the middle of the diner crying, forgotten and scared.
For something close to a week, I couldn't seem to get out of bed, at least not for very long. Long enough to get something to eat, use the restroom, or get stoned. I kept the phone off the hook most days and unplugged my answering machine. I'd wake up around noon, light a cigarette, and watch the fan blades spin above me. A fan had one singular purpose: spinning endlessly, fighting off the heat of summer that bore down without ceasing against the walls of my apartment. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.
I was getting low on weed so I called Jamie, but he was busy with Carol. I was surprised; he never held on to girls for long. I tried Eric to see if he had any. He didn't answer, probably still asleep. I had dialed most of Heather's number when I changed my mind. I put the phone down and plugged the machine back in, in case either of them bothered to call me back. I grabbed my cigarettes and walked out to my car. It was starting to cool off some so I kept my windows rolled down.
There was a lake not too far my place. I had all but lost any memory of it. It had been so long since I had been there, but the drive still felt familiar. I felt myself instinctively speeding around the curves of the two-lane road that my old car could barely handle. The trees hugging the road seemed taller, older than I remember.
It wasn't long before I had parked and walked to the edge where I had sat so many times before. It felt like it used to. The breeze, cooled by the water, rushed across my face. I lit a cigarette and watched ripples expand outward towards the lake's edges created by some unknowable creature. I stayed a couple hours, lighting cigarette after cigarette and escaping for a little while.
When I got home there was a message on my machine from Eric. I called him back and he told me he could meet up in an hour or so. We met at the diner at the edge of town. I ordered a soda and some waffles and asked for an ash tray.
"You're coming tonight, right?"
"Coming to what?"
"Oh yeah, you've been M.I.A, I forgot. Ginny's having this end of summer blow out, before everyone, well, before some people go back to school. You gotta come, man. It's gonna be something special."
"I don't know. I don't really think I'm up for it."
"You don't understand Richie, it's the party of the summer, it's the last one. Just come man, a few drinks, you'll have fun."
Despite Eric's conjectures about how magnificent the party was going to be, it wasn't much different than any other party Ginny threw. I tried to enjoy myself, mingle, drink, and all that, but I wasn't in the mood. I was about to say my goodbyes and head home, but I saw Fits standing alone in the middle of the street under one of the many flickering street lights. I couldn't figure out what he could possibly be doing out there. He wasn't drunk. From where I was I could see his head tilted backwards, probably looking at the moon.
I shrugged to myself and turned around to find Eric and Jamie, to tell them I was heading out, maybe thank Ginny for having us all over when I heard brakes squeal, and then a dull thud. I was in the street before I knew it, leaning over Fits, his body bloodied and crumpled and silent.
From there it's all just snippets: sirens, lights too bright, people yelling, someone crying, a policeman on the phone with someone saying, "I'm sorry, he's..."
The funeral was a week later. Only a few of us showed up. Everyone had their excuses. Work, school, whatever bullshit they could come up with to avoid feeling anything. Carol came with Jamie; they sat with me and Eric during the ceremony. It could have been anyone's funeral. The somber faces, some in tears, most of the men attempting to remain stoic, the appearance of strength so important at these things. The casket was closed with a minister slouching in front of it who was running through a speech he'd given countless times, each pause meticulously placed for effect, shedding a single tear at the very end, a skill it had taken him years to perfect.
While we were at the wake I saw Fits' parents. His mother was hunched over in a dark blue, velvet chair crying, a woman's hand on her shoulder. His father was off in the corner of the room, drink in hand. His other arm was around some other woman who was just a little too close to him under the pretense of offering comfort, but Fits' dad didn't look too broken up about it. I started to feel sick when Fits' mom looked up, her mascara trying its best to crawl down her flushed cheeks. I think that's when it really hit her. She started shrieking and wouldn't stop. Only a few people paid any attention to her. Fits' father kept sipping at his drink and talking to the woman on his arm.
We walked out together, Eric, Jamie, Carol, and me. Carol and Jamie said something about going to dinner with her parents or maybe his. Eric dug in his pockets for his cigarettes. He pulled two out, and offered me one. I took it, lit it, and got in my car to head home. The radio was playing a song I'd already heard. I cracked the windows and started the drive back to my apartment.
Right before I got home, I saw a dog splayed out on the pavement, towards the edge of the street. I wondered who hit it, and if they were drunk or stoned. I wondered who was going to have to come remove it and how long it would have to lay there before someone did. I wondered if it belonged to anyone and if so I wondered if they cared that it was gone.
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