(photo by Jim Thompson*)

1

“Mornin’ Roy! Have a cappucino.” I hand Roy a beer. He looks at me like I’m missing out on something.

“Water first…” he mumbles back. Roy gets off the ratty old couch that he slept on. That damn couch has to have a million little mice swimming in it, giving it a nice massage vibration. Maybe that’s why Roy always sleeps on it when we’re here. “Dude, I was feeling up all the chicks in this place! They all let me have a feel of their tits!”

Trying to change the subject, I say to him, “I think we over did it a little last night,” as I notice the vomit on the downstairs window. My view of the first floor isn’t the best. All I can see is the door, the window, and the stairs leading up to where I am. But the view out the big bay window directly in front of me is quite nice. Someone either can vomit seven feet out or someone threw it up there. Maybe as a joke since it will never be cleaned and either way, the ridiculousness of the act is impressive.

“You’re probably right. Where did everyone go even?” Roy asks me.

“Home I guess. Shit went down hill once the radio broke.” I say back, not quite remembering everything.

“Did something happen with you and Tiff last night?”

“Umm… yeah. But it wasn’t what us protagonists hope we end up with. Now, let’s go get some fucking breakfast.”

2

“Everything’s set,” Dan says. “The ice is salted, the beers are submerged, and people are coming.” It’s going to be a good night. Friday. Summer. Dusk.

I sit down with these four douche bags I call friends. There’s Dan, Jeff, Ted, and Roy. Roy’s the only one I would really consider an actual friend. The rest are just people that I drink with.

We’re talking about some bullshit that happened last time we did this. A window broke. Ted was punched in a case of mistaken identity. I accidentally pissed my pants by taking them off and then urinating on them while they lay on the floor. The usual party stuff.

A car pulls up. We’re on the back balcony, but can hear it from around The Beaver Den. That’s where we are, The Beaver Den. Roy’s brother’s deer camp. A nice little two-story shack of a hovel. It’s clad with two couches and a bitchin’ flat-screen TV on the top floor. The bottom floor contains a bar and the exits. Those exits are a God-send.

A car door opens and shuts. Then another one. Another. We don’t move. It’s Dan’s girlfriend and her friends. Brigette, Dan’s girl, is basically the leader. Her friends, Tabby, Donna, and Amanda are sycophants to Brigette’s way. She’s an evil dictator with great legs and a smile so shiny that you need a camera obscura just to look at it. These girls are your modern, every-day, Abercrombie & Fitch wearing, “The Hills” watching, all-American stuck-up bitch types. They feel superior because they’re attractive. Together, they have an IQ of about 300. We watch them slowly appear over the horizon that is the stairs. One after another. Brigette in the lead of course.

“Hey guys!” I hear Brigette say. She opens the door in between the statement, making the ‘Hey’ quiet and ‘guys!’ loud. If she was a man, I’d slap her. The rest of her friends wave and say hi. We all reply in a similar manner.

“Hey babe,” Day yells in an attempt to be funny but ends up being more asshole-like.

“Dan… You are a jackass,” Jeff tells him in an obvious statement, shaking his head. Jeff and Dan are cousins and have known each other for their entire lives. Jeff’s one of these guys that will always tell you what he thinks of you. This usually offends no one and if it does offend a person, that person is a tool and needs to get over themselves. Jeff would be the kind of guy to tattoo ‘Love’ and ‘Hate’ on his knuckles if he wasn’t afraid of needles.

“Shut the fuck up, Jeff. You’re gay!” Dan retorted back. Dan wasn’t very clever.

Looking around, everyone seemed to match up. Dan was with Brigette, Jeff was dating Donna, Tabby had a guy in a different group of friends, Roy has the same situation as Tabby. Amanda was freshly single and being persued by these douche bags from an adjacent town. Ted is dating in the same group as Roy. I am the odd man out. The one searching desperately for someone to sleep with while no women wanted to touch me outside of an occasional hug.

I was surrounded by people but I was alone. These people are the most shallow folks on the planet. I felt like an Angler Fish amongst Salmon, even though I was a about three feet deeper than these fools.

3

…And the night advances. Dusk has passed into the early stages of night. A warm dark canvas easing us into our self-propelled idiocy. The conversations have turned at this point, getting more serious. Politics comes into the forum.

“I’m glad we’re fighting this war!” says Dan, “It gets it so we can do this.” He’s referring to sitting on a balcony, drinking beer. Dan’s ignorance toward the current occupation is only matched in size by his ego.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask him.

“Those sand niggers want to take our rights! I’m glad we’re killing them all.”

“Most of the people we kill are innocent.”

“Well so be it. Why do they hide with the terrorists if they don’t deserve to be killed?”

“They are just living in the places they grew up. Just like you and I, Dan.”

“Let me ask you a question, Leo. You have a gun to your face. It’s between you and three innocent people and it’s your call on who gets killed. What would you do?”

“If they’re definitely innocent, I’d die. No question about it.”

“Yeah, well if you had a gun in your face you’d think differently…”

At that point, Tabby changed subjects which was most likely a good idea.

“Did anyone see the new episode of The Hills? Can you believe it?!” These idiots nodded except for Ted, Roy, and myself.

And thankfully, we heard another car pull up. It was some guys from the adjacent town mentioned earlier.

4

Things start to get blurry at this point. Far more people have shown up. It’s officially night. Everyone’s dancing and drinking and passive-aggressively flirting. Ted and Roy’s female companions show up with their friends. Ted leaves with his woman off into the darkness of the outdoors, but Roy is too drunk to care about his woman. The radio’s playing some mid-90′s country song and everyone is dancing like the white people that they are.

“Dude, lets go have a smoke,” Jeff tells me while sneaking up on me out of the crowd, from behind.

“Sure,” I answer back.

Walking out the front door of The Beaver Den and onto the porch, you get a sight of the woods and the couples in cars making out and fucking. I was envious. Sex at this time in my life was something that eluded me. I was too fat and weird to be appealing to the women in these cliques despite my fevered attempts to get their pants off.

Jeff hands me a cigarette and lighter, but I never inhale the first drag of a smoke. That’s where all the demons are hiding.

“So Leo, did you see that Tiffany’s here? Man, she is fine as hell…” Jeff blows out smoke and fans it away with his hand.

“Yeah she is. Gotta love them red heads.” I look back through the window on the door and glance over at her. A stunner of a woman if I’ve ever seen one. She looks like a young Rita Hayworth. Long flowing auburn hair cascading down a moon-round face with vivid blue eyes to shoulders exposed by spaghetti straps. Your eyes can’t help but follow her frame which would remind one of a thinner Marilyn Monroe with tits like ripe grape fruits and an ass that would set your hand on fire if you tried to touch it.

“She’s single now.” Jeff hinted in hopes I would make a move. I’m positive of rejection, though. Tiffany is the chick that everyone puts on a pedestal. Even other women stare in awe.

We both look in the window at her and it’s clear to the simplest idiot that those parts of Venus she calls her legs are taking her outside to us.

5

“Hey guys,” Tiffany shouts with a big silly grin wrapping her face. “What the fuck’s goin’ on?” Her speech slurred, it’s very obvious that Tiffany is (to put it bluntly) shitfaced.

“Hey, Tiff,” Jeff replies, “Whats up with you?”

“Fuckin’ partying, man! Hey Leo, can I have a smoke?” She’s 17, so she can’t buy her own yet. I give her a cigarette and light it for her. “Thanks, hun,” she says with it dangling from her soft, delicate lips.

Tiffany looks up at the sky and blows out the first puff of smoke. “Can you believe what Roy is doing in there?” she says.

“What’s he doing?” I ask her.

“He’s running around poking girls in the boobs.”

Jeff’s eyes grow big. “Ah, the Witch Stick!”

“What the fuck is the ‘Witch Stick’?” she asks.

“It’s where he runs around poking girls. In the morning he’ll talk about how he was touching tits.” I tell her.

“…okay…”

“Well, that Roy. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Jeff says. And the truth is that he doesn’t. He just wants to touch women but tries to do it appropriately. He fails.

“I need a beer,” Jeff states after throwing his just-emptied can toward a random couple making out against the wall of The Den. He left me out there with Her… the goddess of the tri-county area.

Nerved up by our recent abandonment, I try to start a conversation. “So what’s been up with you?” I light another smoke as she puts hers out. Talking with Tiffany is like being on stage by yourself. It’s far too easy to get anxiety and pass out.

“Oh, nothing. Just waiting to graduate and working.” She’s looking for an escape. This is my chance to make any moves that I need to make to get her naked.

“So…” I pause, trying to come up with something, “Have you ever been on a tour of the Den?” Such a stupid thing to say in an attempt to get her alone in some shaded corner where no one will know and we can be in peace. The Beaver Den is about the most one-demensional place you can get in these parts.

“Umm… well yeah. It’s just two floors and no rooms.” She eyes hard for a way out.

“Well what about the secret areas?” I ask. My responses keep getting lamer and lamer.

“What secret area?” She answers. Tiffany sounds intrigued and thoughts pop up in my head about how I haven’t entirely lost my chance yet.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” She followed me off the deck and into shadows.

Thank God (or more likely carbon and hydrogen) for booze.

6

We walk around the outskirts of The Den. I have no idea what I’m looking for or how to keep up this charade. I point to the area behind the 80 gallon propane tank.

“Shh… It’s a secret!” I tell Tiffany, trying to persuade her of my spontaneous and incredibly stupid remark.

“Umm… okay…” she says, looking around for any of her friends that have since either found someone to fornicate with or are looking for such a match. “So what is the big thing that needs to be kept secret at The Den?”

I sense my chance and move into her slightly. She doesn’t back away. “This…” I say and make the move. I plant my lips on hers. She tastes like Vodka and Marlboro.

And Tiffany doesn’t move away. I start to feel her body. Her back, her legs, her ass, her tits. She’s smooth and warm. A small gasp leaps from between her lips, enticing me in further.

Suddenly I’m launched into Heaven. I’m on a sunny beach. There’s a slight breeze. Tiffany is laying on a towel next to me, topless and on her back. We’re in Hawaii and I’m flying a kite and drinking a Corona. Some kids are making sand castles off in the distance. You can hear them laughing. I’m in a lounge chair, under a big umbrella. Everything is at peace and I am happy. Once again, thank God for booze.

Then she pushes me away. “I need a beer,” she tells me.

“Uh, yeah. So do I,” is my reply. Unfortunately, it was true. I follow her around the corner to the deck, walk up the steps, open the door, and hear a crash.

7

The radio flies down from the second floor towards Roy’s head while he dances like a jackass to the same music that everyone else is dancing to. The radio misses him by a few feet. Looking up, Dan is standing there, shaking with anger and panic.

“Fuck you, Roy!” Dan yells, “Stay away from Brigette!” Apparently, his Witch Sticking got him in some trouble, and even worse, with one of his best friends. I’m not surprised. No one is off limits when it comes to the Stick.

“Dude… What?” Roy asks Dan. I wouldn’t be surprised if Roy doesn’t remember doing what he’s accused of.

“Dan, you broke the radio!” Five or six people yell out just barely out of sync and pissed about the lack of music. Looking straight forward, Dan projectile vomits so far that some splashes against the bay window showing him a barely lit view. With Dan still shaking, two guys from the adjacent town mentioned earlier grab Dan by both of his shirt’s shoulders and throw him down the staircase. He hits the wall that’s right before the stairs turn the corner, tossing a little more spent booze onto the window there. He stops his roll. Before Dan can get up, these two big fuckers grab him and drag him out the front door.

“Fuck you…” Dan tries utter as he’s being tossed onto the ground just off the deck. Kicks fly towards his stomach while he’s down on all fours. I feel bad for just standing there, watching. I mean, here’s a person that’s supposed to be one of my best friends getting the shit beaten out of him, and I do nothing. But oh well. He really doesn’t deserve to be physically hurt. Maybe by Roy, but not from these two losers. One holds Dan in a Full Nelson while the other gut punches him.

About five seconds later, Jeff (Dan’s cousin, if you’ll remember) runs out and clocks the Full Nelson-er in the jaw, causing him to release Dan and fall to the ground. The other douche takes a swing at Jeff, but misses while Jeff catches him with an upper cut.

Everyone is whooping and hollering for one side or the other, but no one else makes a violent move. Jeff bows to everyone watching; a condescending action, but a deserved one also. The assholes that jumped Dan get up, holler a bunch of threats, and drive off. No one cares.

8

About an hour passes since the fight. Dan had a bruised stomach with a matching ego. He left with Brigette to go to her house. The lucky fucker… despite getting his ass handed to him, he’s still going to get some actual good ass handed to him.

And here I sit at the bar of The Beaver Den, beer in hand, smoking a clove cigarette (where the Hell did that come from?!), talking to total strangers. The guy I started talking to looks like a Gregory Peck with Downs Syndrome. The girl is a cross between Judy Garland and Julia Roberts, if that makes any sense…

“Well, Leo,” the guy says, “just keep your chin up. Tiffany should realize what a fucking great dude you are.” Booze has a wonderful effect that makes strangers love you and vice-versa.

“Yeah,” says the chick, “You’re cute. I mean, you’re no Spencer (Hills… kill me), but you’re okay.”

“You guys,” I can’t stop smoking the clove, which is about burning my lips at this point, “Tiffany is… more than okay. She’s more than ever!” I realize that ‘more than ever’ doesn’t make sense in this context, but don’t care. I spit out the clove and light a regular smoke as soon as the clove leaves my mouth.

“Dude… Leo!” the guy yells like he’s out of breath, “Everything. Will. Be. Alright.”

“I know. She’s just so fine and what-not.” I say back. I eye the bottom floor of The Den, looking for Tiffany. She disappeared after we were together. Maybe she left. Maybe she left with someone else. Sometimes I hate my thoughts.

“Who the fuck!” a voice is heard from upstairs along with footsteps towards the staircase.

“Oh, fuck… here she comes,” the guy says in a whisper towards his womanly counterpart. And from atop the staircase appear those amazing legs, followed by hips sharp like razors, followed by a torso curved so beautifully that it made you believe in God, followed by a beautiful round face containing sharp blue eyes, followed by hair red like leaves in fall.

“Is somebody talking about Tiffany?” Watching her mouth move is like looking at Aphrodities’ tits.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, squinting at the lights that seem to back-light her curves.

“Leo… Why are you guys talking about me? Leave me alone.” Ouch. My heart.

“Tiffany, would you like to go out with me sometime. Sober, even?” Asking this question after 15-some-odd beers still makes my heart beat fast.

“Ugh… come outside with me, Leo.” This reply lets me know to prepare for the worst.

9

Tiffany amazes in the moon light. Her eye color responds well to the lack of abundant light by glowing themselves. Her hair reflects ideas of the Heaven I felt earlier.

“Leo, I’m sorry. I don’t feel like we would make a good couple.”

“Didn’t you feel anything earlier?” I ask. “I felt electricity. Why didn’t you feel the same?”

“Because you don’t give off the same voltage.” I hate when people think of clever comparisons to things I’ve said.

“Well, so you don’t like me… Fuck you.” I tell Tiffany. This makes her soft, delicate lips pout and tremble a little.

“It’s not that I don’t like you… It’s that I don’t want to date you,” she confides, trying to throw water on the bridges I’m covering with lighter fluid.

“Why not? Am I too fat? Am I too ugly?” My insecurity is starting to show. The match is lit.

“No! You’re just not the kind of guy I would date.” She’s right. Her boyfriends up to this point have been asshole jocks. The type of douche you’re surprised hasn’t hit her. The same guys along the line of those that beat up Dan.

“I’m sorry I’m not an asshole!” I shout, thinking that would shut her up. ‘Boom!’ goes the bridge

“Oh, but you so fucking are!” Tiffany shot back. And she was right. The second those words left her mouth, I knew that she was right. Leave it to The Beaver to show how wrong I am.

“I’m sorry…” I tried to amend.

“Shut up and give me a cigarette,” she said with eyes that shined like tears were too afraid to dive from the ducts.

I took two out of my pack and handed one to her. The last two, signifying the night’s end. I lit one for me, then the one I gave to her.

10

The world is filled with sadists. The assholes stuck in early morning traffic that complain so heavily want to be there. The assholes that beat the hell out of irrationally upset drunks prove that they want to be hated. The self-loathing cynical losers that do nothing but tear people when they get rejected, even though all of us want to be sad. What stops us from leaving? What stops us from giving in and shooting up our respective circles? What stops us from adventuring outward?

Humanity is full of fright. Especially when it comes to leaving what you know. Even when what you know is the opposite of what you want.

This story was originally published on Supraterranean in August 2009. *View Jim Thompson’s photo on Flickr.