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Blue Country #2

Updated on April 13, 2011

And on and on and on...


It’s four in the morning and I can hear Billy, Judy and Frederic laughing, drunk as hell, just really whooping it up, being almost obnoxiously loud. Bob is sitting next to me, passed out, having not moved since maybe eight. I can’t believe I’m even here. Peter calls me and tells me out of the blue that there’s a get together in Greydon, some kid that a friend of his knows who’s parents are perpetually out of town. Everybody always gets drunk and high and then drives home blowing every stop sign along the way, things that were cool maybe during junior year. So naturally we have to go, because everybody’s going to be there.

“All…the kings horses…” Bob says, his mouth hanging open spit drooling down his chin.

“Just go back to sleep.” I say.

“But…the egg isn’t…the eggs not okay, I don’t think.” He’s looking up at me, pleadingly and sadly but also bombed beyond belief.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, and because he’s too limp to do it himself I pull his arms around me into a hug.

“I just think somebody…should do something. The egg isn’t…ok.” He says.

I sigh, try to make eye contact, fail and pat his head soothingly, smoothing down his matted hair.

“I’m sure the egg… I’m sure it’s fine Bob.”

I sit there holding his head for almost a half hour, watching the sun start to come up through the patio glass door. The noise in the kitchen dies down and I hear an engine start, presumably the last of the people leaving. I wonder where the kid who threw the party was all night. Maybe I saw him and I just didn’t know it was him.

For a brief moment the sun is perfectly positioned, weak morning rays spreading through the room, turning the darkness into a sea of gold and silver light. Bob’s hair looks perfect for some reason, just perfect, and though he’s passed out in my arms and needs a shower and a shave, and a job, for a second I forget the reason that I need to hold his head like this, and I just appreciate the contact. The atmosphere here is joyous, watery and diamond encrusted. I feel like I’m swimming through Gods arteries. Just for a second it’s ok, and I’m clinching my eyes shut, trying to ward off the day that’s coming. I want to stay here.


I need to go and check out this school with my father who’s in town on business. He was supposed to pick me up but he’s not here. It’s nothing new with him. I figure he’ll just call me when he wants to, so theres no reason to stick around and wait for him. Kevin calls and we arrange to meet at the Red Wing shoe store.

I pull in to the Red Wing, and Kevin’s already waiting in front. He’s leaning against the building, cigarette dangling from his lips, sunglasses on intentionally ignoring his surroundings. This rocker chick walks out the door and he turns towards her and smiles in a way that he thinks is sexy. He looks insane and frankly he’s a weird kid. Kevin thinks he’s James fucking Dean.

He see’s me and he examines me for a second, pouting his lips, and removes the sunglasses. He gives me a weak wave and doesn’t even say “Hi” until I’m right next to him.

“Kevin you look… so stupid.”

He looks at me, pulling his head back like he’s recoiling from a punch in the cock. He’s pretty offended I’d say.

“Whatever. I don’t care.” He says.

“Well Kevin, you should care, this is not a movie. It’s a shoe store.”

“So?” he says.

“Stop posing.”

“I’m not posing.”

“Really?” I say, adopting a blank innocent look. “You always slowly let smoke pour out of your mouth and turn and smile at people passing by? This is normal for you? Par…for the course?”

He flinches and looks away, acting like I’m not worth the effort.

“Whatever.” He says.

Kevin buys a pair of white sneakers, Nikes. “These are so cool.” He says. “I’m gonna look mad fly.”

“Jesus Christ.” I say. “Shut up.” He reminds me of a little kid, imitating a Gangster in an episode of “Walker: Texas Ranger.” The words were almost right, Stupid but plausible, but his attitude is forced.

“I like the shoes. Allright? Is that ok?” He asks, eyes bulging out, his face quickly turning red.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t fucking care.” I say.

I know I’m being a tool, but I just don’t have the patience for Kevin right now. I need something real, somebody I can talk to without cringing. This is some extremely infantile bullshit. I just don’t have the ability to remain calm in the face of such an emotionally enfeebled piece of fuck like Kevin right now.

We’re leaving the store, when we bump into a guy with long black hair, a nose ring and a general air of drunkenness. He tells us he needs a ride to the CVS down the road. I don’t want to be any where near this person, but Kevin, probably thinking it was the sort of thing that cool people would do, agrees to give him a ride and he hops into the backseat of Kevin’s car. I’m leaving my car here for now, and I take shotgun.

The man it turns out is named Todd. He’s a couple years older than us, probably 24 or 25. He talks the entire ride over, about how much he appreciates the ride, how hot it is outside, (Even though it’s 68 degrees.) and about how tired he is from working all day as a janitor at the Middle School.

“I really appreciate the ride, you know, I mean that’s decent. That’s very decent of you here.”

Kevin, who I think is starting to regret having agreed to this, looks shaky and nervous when he answers, “No, problem…It’s fine.”

“Yeah.” I say.

“Yeah, I just got to get these scrips filled. I’m running out, you know? They give ya…they give ya like half of what you need. Right? I fuckin…I busted up my leg on the job, and it kills me every morning, I need my fucking Oxy, you know.”


“Yeah, I’ve been…I’ve been drinking. Yeah. So what? I don’t see what difference it makes. You can drink and shop. There…there isn’t a law against drunk purchasing. Not in America. Not in this country.”

“Not that I’m aware of.” I say.

“These colors don’t run.”

Kevin nods solemnly. “Amen.”

We pull in to the CVS and Todd stumbles out. He shakes Kevin’s hand and says thank you. He’s heading into the store and before we can pull away he turns around and gets our attention.

“Hey, you two are fags right?”

Kevin turns to me, smiling like a teenage girl, and then starts giggling in a way that makes me want to upper cut him in the inner thigh.

 “Umm, no. We’re not gay.” He says, turning towards Todd who’s drunkenly supporting himself on the automatic doorframe. Kevin is still laughing, when he turns towards me and doesn’t see Todd walking towards him quickly, looking pissed off as hell.

“Shut the fuck up. You think your cool kid? Get out of the car. You fucking little fuck, get out the car.”

“Holy shit.” I say. His anger is so unexpected that we both just look at him for a moment, not comprehending the situation.

“Jesus Christ.” Kevin yells when he finally gets a grasp on reality. Immediately he drives away and we go peeling off into the night.

“Far out. I mean…far out huh?” Kevin says.

I slap him across the face.


I arrive at Ben’s house and I’m greeted by a chorus of “hey dude” and “what’s up dude? And “how’s it going?” or just a nice simple “Jooooooe.” and I go over to the counter grab a keystone light. Theres a whole bunch of shit scattered all over the place, magazines and bills and things like that, and I see this weeks people has the word rehab imposed over a picture of a girl in a blue dress dancing with her eyes shut, just swaying like a pendulum. I see it and I get an idea for a movie where Harvey Keitel plays the devil and goes around watching pretty young things shovel piles of cocaine up their snouts just because he likes seeing that sort of thing and nothing else seems worthwhile and I think Clint Eastwood should direct although it may not be his kind of thing.

I catch the tail end of a conversation “that was the best night ever. Except for the night I nailed Tina.” And it breaks my reverie, so I mingle a bit.

Later I’m talking to a kid who’s name I think I gathered was Danny, but I’m not sure where he came from or who he’s with, and I’m really listening and nodding more than I’m actually speaking. “Yeah guy, me and this buddy of mine we were walking and we’d already friggin stole a bike and we’re outside the friggin convenience store on our way to a party, I mean we didn’t know who’s party it was but we heard uh… friggin party so we were like “sweet” right? And this friggin guy, this tool he friggin leaves his keys in his car with the motor running and me and my buddy we look at each other and were both friggin like “that’s our new ride” and we friggin ditched the bikes in the parking spot where the car had been and took the friggin car.”

“Nice man.” I say not believing him for a second but not really invested enough to call shenanigans.

“Yeah man, we were at this kids lake house and we used to steal these Waveriders right out of the lake and we’d ride em around until they ran out of gas, then just coast em back in, and one time this buddy of mine, I think he was Puerto Rican, but like white Puerto Rican ya know?”

“Sure.” I say.

“This kid was so friggin dumb, he’s so trashed he takes the key out of the Waverider and puts it in his pocket, cause were gonna come back for it later and we go swimming. But the keys attached to this buoy thing and when he jumps in the water it bobs out of his pocket and we can’t find it I guess. So I’m like “man your friggin retarded, what possessed you to friggin do that.”

“Yeah, shit.” I reply and subtly “realize” my beer is empty and I head over to grab another Keystone Light.

“And another time me and my buddy…”

I’ve walked away at this point and I’m wondering how many separate buddies this guy has, or whether he has one friend named Buddy he’s really possessive of or if he has a dog named Buddy, but mostly just wishing he would be quiet, and I begin to drink myself stupid.

“And one time me and my buddy we were walking and we saw this chick sloped forward against a liquor store, and she looked like she had been crying, but she was passed out, and my buddy had a Leatherman with him, so he friggin slashed her throat with the small blade and we went inside and bought some gin, cause my buddy’s got this sweet fake I.D his brother got him, and we friggin mixed her blood with the gin and we drank the whole friggin bottle. We were fucking wasted, ya know like three sheets to the wind, friggin, so we cut off her hands and slapped each other with them, and she was kind of screaming, but it was real quiet cause she was so messed up or drunk or somethin’, and all that blood was in the way and shit, so we started you know slapping her with her own fucking arms dude. And then my buddy he just cut off her head and I think he still has it actually, but we left the body there, and before we like fuckin’ got out of there, I actually licked her eyeball, just to be like “what the fuck.” Friggin random shit.”

“Is the pope catholic?” I reply not completely sure it’s an appropriate response.

I’m leaving the party a couple hours later, a little bit drunk still, and since I didn’t drive there I try to bum a ride and eventually Hector Glassier agrees to give me a lift and I offer to drive because he’s drunker than I am but he says he’s good and we say a few goodbyes and get out of there.

I try to converse a little on the ride over but he’s concentrating on the road I think and all I get out of him is a few sentences and his opinion that a girl we both know is “pretty chill” and I get an idea for a movie about a loveable animated egg noodle voiced by Leonardo Di Caprio, that bands together a group of ragtag Chinese food articles to escape the fridge so they’re not eaten by the evil Warehouse manager who ordered them from the restaurant, voiced by Judd Nelson.

I’m walking in the mall with Kristen and Stephanie. Kristen is hyper today. She’s bouncing around from store to store. Stephanie is whispering in my ear when Kristen is out of hearing range. “She’s slept with everyone.” She says. The way she’ll say it is intimidating. She hasn’t heard that Kristen is a slut, Kristen is a slut, and it wouldn’t matter even if she were an honest to god virgin, Stephanie would think she was a slut anyway.

“I need a fucking cigarette.” Kristen says, looking over the shirt she’d bought in Hollister. It was a yellow baby-tee with the slogan “Horny” written in vertical oriental style letters.

“There’s no way I would ever have sex with a Chinese.” Stephanie says, looking at the Bruce Lee poster in the video store window across the hall.

“Umm…why?” I ask.

“They… freak me out. I guess there just scary…like to me.”

Kristen’s eyes flash on suddenly and she gets this haughty air about her.

“Well you need to get over that.” She says.

“Whatever, I can’t help it.” Stephanie counters, defensively.

“You’re fucking racist.”

“No I’m not racist, I don’t have anything against them, they just freak me out a little. Jesus Christ.”

Kristen still has major fuck you signals written all over her face, but I decide that I’m tired of the bitch festival.

“Kristen it’s not like we know any Chinese people anyway.”

“We know a few.” She says. She looks like she’s still pretty sure she’s right.

“But it’s not like we ever see them.” I say.

“That’s not the point. Stephanie doesn’t know shit about Chinese people, but she thinks they’re scary. That’s fucking retarded. This isn’t like, 1790.”

“Why do you even care, anyway?” Stephanie says.

“You’re such a cunt.” Kristen yells.

“It’s not like were going to change her mind. As long as she doesn’t say any of those things around Chinese, then who even cares?” I say.

“Yeah.” Stephanie chimes in. “It’s not, like, a big deal.”


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