I’ve known him since the second grade. He reads long-winded poems about France to dimwits that call him deep. He's never been to France, but neither have they, and no one wants to sound stupid calling him out. There probably is a town called Duc D'lrouge. He tells them stories of growing up in Brazil as a product of rape. He grew up down the street from me. We played superheros when we were kids. He tells them he isn't writing because he hasn't been suffering enough. He's been smoking and drinking to compensate. I tell him he's smoking and drinking because he isn't suffering enough. I turned 26 last week. “I have no connection to what you are saying.”
I bag up my notebooks and leave the café. He’s probably still talking. It's warm out. I don't remember the last Christmas with snow. I'm wearing a Motorhead T-shirt and my suit jacket around my waist, and I’m still sweating. My jeans must look like I pissed myself. Maybe I have a fever. Maybe it’s breaking. I light a cigarette. I try to score on the South Side, but dude’s not home, so I rent a couple movies instead.
It’s Dickie’s 21st birthday, so we’re trying to kill him. We’ve been celebrating since he turned 18. I have a bottle of vodka at home, so I drink that straight while I wait. Dickie picks me up at seven and we go to Jacquelyn’s Christmas party, which is way out of town. Her place is huge and she is paying far less than my shoebox. There is plenty of beer, but this is a civilized party, with lots of adults and family. We're loud and obnoxious, and sequestered to a front room, away from all the people, food, and more beer. Runners keep us from intermingling.
There are a few cute girls here, but when I start talking, this chick I fucked shows up with her husband who wants to stomp me dead. Everyone suggests I should go walk around to avoid a scene, but nothing is open, and I refuse. This drama has been carefully scripted. I don’t have any more cigarettes, so I bum one from Gavin. Then I get a second. Then Jacquelyn asks me to smoke outside. The husband gives me the death glare when I pass on the way out the door. I exaggerate my drunkennes to avoid being punched. What kind of coward slugs a drunk? This is a civilized party.
A friend of Dickie’s meets us downtown and buys shots for anyone coming too close. He’s passing out tickets for the Sado-Mass show he took from the college radio station. I buy a pack of cigs from the machine in back, even though the price is ridiculous. Someone drives us to the arena and we sneak in the back door, claiming to be the opening band. They won't give us free beer. We probably smoke a lot of cigarettes, but no one complains.
The band on stage plays a couple of FEAR songs, but no matter how much I yell, they won’t play “Fuck Christmas.” It’s almost midnight, and half the state must be here waiting for Sado Massachrist to take the stage. In the beer line, I run into some kid that’s been fascinated with me since my first movie. He’s always dogging my friends, acting like I’m some kind of star. He hesitates a second and asks, “Aren’t you...”
“No,” I snap. You’re thinking of someone else.”
“No, it really is you!” he cries, elated. “We went to school together! You were a few grades ahead of me. I think you’re awesome!”
I appraise the kid and disappointedly cock an eyebrow. “You need to give me a ride,” I tell him, taking a cigarette out of the pack in my jacket pocket. “Let’s go.”
He’s got a FEAR album on in the car. He prattles on to me while I give him directions to my dude’s house. He asks me not to smoke cigarettes in his car, and I say all right, but do it anyway. He doesn’t complain anymore.
When we get to my dude’s house, I tell him to wait in the car. He seems nervous. Dude's got some friends over for Christmas Eve. They're casting spells at the table, listening to Slayer's "Rockin' Around the Sacrifice" album. I work my way through two rotations before dude and I step into the “temple,” which is the bathroom. I hand him a gem and he drinks blood from the wound he opens in my arm.
The kid's still waiting outside, so we drive back to the show. He doesn’t say anything on the way. There’s been a riot at the Arena, and the show ended early. Dickie is already at the Spot with some friends, so I make the kid drive me there and tell him to wait until I return with Dickie.
Most people here were at the Sado Mass show. Some dude attacked the band on stage and started shooting. Joshua Solomon might be dead. Rachel, this chick I’ve been trying to fuck, is going to a rave at a strip club. The DJ here is doing New Wave with a mix of Motorhead and the Crüe.
Some chick asks me to dance. It’s mostly thrashing about, and I step on her feet a lot, but she’s still laughing. When we sit down, she tells me she snuck in during a fight and offers to show me her fake ID. The picture is an old, Hispanic woman. One of the boys looks jealous when she throws herself over me. I let some other guy cut in and stumble away to find Rachel, who still wants to check out the rave. I roll a joint in the parking lot and we smoke on the way.
We’re not at the rave more than three minutes, when some kid offers me ecstacy. I buy two, hoping Rachel will take it with me. Before I can get back to them, I run into this guy I used to work with a few years back. He's the club photographer now, and asks me if I want to go hang out in the dressing room with the strippers for the “real party.” I figure I might as well, because I haven’t gotten laid yet tonight, which is pretty outlandish. In the dressing room, there are a few guys, and several ugly girls strangling an old dude that hands them a stream of $100 bills. I hope they aren’t strippers. There is beer, but only Coors Light. I take one of the pills and wash it down with a beer. As soon as I finish my drink, I head back to the rave.
I can’t find Rachel anywhere, so I catch a cab to my parents’ house. It costs ten bucks, and the guy tries to throw me out when I smoke. I wake them up when I stumble into the house. They seem pretty pissed and ask me what I’m doing there so late at night, I just shrug, and they go back to bed. I go outside to smoke.
The air is crisp out here, and everything is quiet. The pond is not frozen. I strip naked and first wade in to my knees. My cigarette keeps me warm. My head is spinning, and I think I just want to pass out. I put the cigarette out in the water, in past my knees, tense for the deep freeze that almost knocks me out when it arrives.
It’s starting to snow. The flakes land around me. One lands on my left nipple, and I stare at it as it melts. When the cold becomes uncomfortable, I dunk it below the water and continue to stare.
END
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