Burning Seventeen

I’m seventeen. Young dumb and full of… everything. I move into the only smoking dorm room in the whole college. Dope. I light a cigarette and turn on my free cable. This is the first time I have had cable in my whole life. I lay around all day smoking pot and cigarettes. Glazed eyes. Staring. Nature programs and sports. I was a deprived child. I sell pot to my RA. Insurance. I give her a big bag. She doesn’t bother me for the rest of the semester. Bribing the faculty at this school is way to easy.

I’m dating a sixteen year old. Scandalous. My friends think I should be in jail. I agree with them. Shut up Ronald Reagan. She is crazy. Beautiful. Young. And crazy. She skips school. Sprawled on my bed in nothing but her lace panties. Black. Heaven. She is swigging from a bottle of gin I stole from a house party. I laugh as I watch her chugging it down. Hot.

“Easy now, Gin has a way of creeping up on you.”

“Fuck that I’m Irish.” She mumbles as she takes another long pull. It’s 2PM. We make out. I bite her lip. She screams at me in French. I thought you were Irish. She is now babbling at me in Frenchy speak. Crying now. This is ridiculous. Why are you crying? I want to kiss girls that have tear marks. I try. She punches me in the stomach and then laughs hysterically. Jesus this chick is crazy. Again hot.

Her phone rings. She answers and utters the two scariest word combinations I have heard to date.

“Hello father.” Fuck.

She listens for a moment rolling her big beautiful eyes at me. Teenagers. Suddenly she hands me the phone and says something to me in drunken French. I can’t understand you.

“Hello” I answer the phone. What am I doing?

“Who is this please?” he sounds gruff and scary. His “please” sounds more like an evil demand. I go into cop mode. Yes sir. No sir. Heart thumping.

“Bapu.”

“Where is my daughter?”

“She is in my dorm room. She stole my gin and now she is speaking French and I can’t understand a single word she says.” Way too much information Bapu. I’m so fucked.

“She should be in school.”

“Yes sir, I agree completely.” Swallow. Gulp. Is he going to buy this?

“She needs to go back to school.” Tracy (all my girlfriends have stripper names) wages her finger in the air. I gather she doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“I guess I could drop her off.” I say, having no intention of actually doing it. Drop a drunk sixteen year old off at school? Jailbait Popsicles.

“I’m going to come get her.” Shit that’s fucking worse.

“Um are you sure? School is pretty much over anyway, she’s probably better off just staying here.” Look at me telling this guy what’s best for his daughter. I have big feet and big nuts. I gear up for a shit storm. He takes a deep breath.

“Young man I’m going to tell you something, you don’t have the faintest idea what’s best for my daughter.” OMG. Your fucked dude.

“No of course not... I didn’t mean to…”

“Listen to me. Don’t speak. I am going to assume that you are a decent young man because I have heard good things about you. I heard about everything you did for Katie. “ (Katie is Tracy’s cousin who was recently the victim of a violent sex crime, I helped her handle the cops and later “took” care of the people involved. But that’s a whole other story.)

Father continues:

“So I am going to assume that you are not trying to molest my daughter.” I had up until that moment been absent-mindedly staring at her ass. Look up. Out the window.

“Of course not sir.”

“Exactly how drunk is my daughter at this point in time?” this guy talks funny. I glance down at Tracy. She is half way off of my bed with her head on the dirty tile floor. Mumbling. Jesus she is wasted.

“Not very.”

“Then I will pick her up at five, I hope she will be presentable by that time.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir. I’m very sorry about all this.”

“Good. You should be.” He hangs up the phone.

Tracy throws up all over my floor. Great. Welcome to college sweetheart. I carry her to the showers. (Co-ed). See my RA as I walk down the hall. Fuck. Gulp. Be brave. Act normal. I smile and nod. Ignoring the fact that I am carrying a half conscious, half naked girl into the showers. She waves. Jesus I am so lucky I know how to get good drugs. You should have been kicked out of school on the spot. Fuck off. Tracy sobers up in the cold water. Slowly her French becomes English again. Thank god. She apologizes profusely. I make her brush her teeth and then we make out. Her dad picks her up two hours later. He shakes my hand. I stare at his mouth. He has no teeth. What the F?

I’m glad to see her go. Miss her panties. Back inside. Hit the pipe. Drink the rest of my gin. Clean my floor and my sheets. More gin. Need to get wasted. First smart thing you’ve said all day. My heart is still thumping from all the excitement. This room needs to air out. I open the window. Take out the screen. Climb out (I’m on the bottom floor) and begin wandering around the campus. Looking for strange. Staring up at the sky I spot an orange glow from across campus. Fire. Yes!

Running now. Excited. I love fires. Maybe my science building is burning down. No tests on Monday. Fantasy. When I get there the blaze is about ten feet in the air and about thirty feet long. There is a little knoll next to one of the buildings. The brush is on fire. Small bushes. Lit up and blazing. I look around. There is no one to be seen. I wonder if the building will catch on fire. It might. Where is the FD? Fuck it. Get in there.

I take of my sweatshirt and roll it up. Heading to the edge of the small inferno I begin beating at the flames. The brush is dry and breaks easily under the crushing blows of my jacket. The fire goes out quickly. Success. One bush is no longer burning. Should I keep going? Fuck it. I attack the bushes. Before I know it I am in the middle of it. Having fun. Laughing. Drunk. Dancing. I swing left and right. Turning. Spinning.

“Get some!” take that and that. Fire got nothing on me.” Jesus your ridiculous. I don’t care. This is fun. I give no thought to being surrounded by burning bushes. No thought to the inherit danger I’ve put myself in. No thought to burning skin. I’m drunk. I feel no fear; Just the exalting feeling of fighting something anything. I beat the last bush to submission. The fire is out. I’m covered from head to toe in black soot. My clothes are ruined. Smiling. I haven’t been this happy in years. The Fire department shows up. I hop down off of the small hill. Suddenly wondering if I am the prime suspect in starting this fire. Shit. Going to jail after all.

The firemen give me dirty looks as they spray the charred bushes. I guess they were looking for some hot action. You snooze you lose suckers. A cop takes my statement. I tell him what happened. He looks at me like I am fucking nuts. At the end of everything he tells me next time to wait for the FD. Whatever.

I head to my buddy’s dorm room. Drinking. Smoking. Covered in soot from head to head. The best of times.

The next day there are two rumors circulating around campus. Rumor one: involves me and multiple naked drunk girls in the showers. Sex is implied. Awesome. Rumor two: A girl who witnessed the fire swears there was some guy dancing in the middle of it all. There is brief moment of panic as teachers check the charred grassy knoll for any remains. Haha.

Legends.

getting arrested on the Bay Bridge

I’m playing pool at a friend’s house. Drinking beer with his ghetto want to be gangster friends. They hate me. Thought I was a criminal but I guess I just don’t make the cut. Phone rings. Check it. Hit the cancel call button. This is the tenth time she has called me tonight. I briefly wonder why then I remember the e-mail. Jesus the fucking e-mail.

In a state of being utterly drunk off of jack and cokes (my favorite drink at the time) I had recently written my girlfriends’ ex-boyfriend an e-mail. He was constantly trying to take my girlfriend out on “dates” and in my mind trying to fuck her one last time. Grieving? Everyone does it differently. I respect that. Lies. Fuck him. So I wrote him an e-mail politely saying that I don’t really care how he feels and to stay the fuck away from my GF. Perfectly Reasonable.

Earlier that night.

Text: Abigail (my girlfriend) writes: how do you spell my name? what the fuck is she talking about. Already drunk. Text back: Abygail?…jesus bapu. That is incorrect. Epic fail. She leaves me a couple of angry voice messages. She needs to talk. He must have showed her this e-mail with her name misspelled all over the place. Nice move dude. Now instead of you backing off I’m in the doghouse. Fuck it. I’m drinking beer and playing pool. Hit the cancel call again on my phone.

The party is over. I walk to Abigail’s house. Stumbling. Drunk. Gearing up for a fight. It’s go time baby. How do I talk my way out of misspelling my girlfriend’s first name? typo? That would have worked if I hadn’t done it over and over and over and over.

Abigail’s house:

“Do you like me? Do you really? Cause you can’t even spell my first name. We have worked together for over a year. I wear a fucking name tag.”

Can’t argue with that. This chick makes a good point. Don’t like her tone though and I tell her so. Balls of steel. This guy.

“Not to mention how wildly inappropriate that e-mail was in the first place!’ Don’t e-mail my x’s! It’s non of your fucking business what kind of relationship I have with my ex-boyfriends. They are a big part of my life and what are you?”

No answer.

“Nothing. That’s what you are. So keep your fucking mouth shut until I tell you to open it.”

Wow she is really handing me my ass now. I feel the stench of rage start to boil in my veins. Fuck this shit.

“I’m sorry. I’m really bad at spelling?” a poor excuse. Mumbling now.

“I do not accept your apology. You don’t even sound sorry.” Her beautiful blue eyes are piercing their way through my heart. Stop staring at her tits. Think. Look sorry. Fuck.

“I’m sorry…. Let me explain, I was just trying to…” she reaches over and flips the light switch. The room goes dark. Something about how she cut me off in midsentence makes the blood rush to my head and explode. Did you just turn the lights out on me? Fuck you. I want to put my fist through her wall. Lacking visibility I can’t punch anything. Acting on instinct I take my glasses off my face and break them in half at the bridge. Now holding my broken glasses I feel the hatred rise up and enter my hands. I chuck the broken glasses at her head as hard as I can. I miss. Fucking horrible throwing arm. I storm out and slam the door. What else was I supposed to do? There go a perfectly good pair of spectacles.

Her roommate, a chunky artist chick is downstairs watching TV. She stares at me. Wide-eyed. She must have been listening. I collect my feelings and slowly walk her way. Offer out my hand.

“It was nice to meet you.” I say.

“You too.” She looks confused.

I turn and walk out of the house. Time: 2:30 AM. I am on Treasure Island. I live in San Francisco. The bus is an hour wait then a thirty-minute ride. Fuck this. I’m walking. I call her phone as I go. Across the bay are the glowing lights of SF. Fucking beautiful. I tell her that we are done. It was a nice ride but obviously it isn’t going to work out. Good-bye Abigail.

I’m walking across the bay bridge now. Totally illegal. Car horns are blaring at me as they past. Fuck them. I turn on some music on my phone; sliding it into my jacket pocket. I’m having fun now. It’s cold and beautiful. The city is in the near future; lit up like giant Christmas tree. The water is sparkling 200 hundred feet below me. I briefly consider jumping. It would be a beautiful fall. The idea of death brings me back to reality.

I call my best friend. Tell him where I am. Bragging. Laughing. Drunk on the rush. He is worried. I hang up. Fuck it, I’m having the time of my life.

Whoop whoop.

Blue and red lights flash behind me. On the loud speaker I hear someone yelling at me.

“Get down on the ground!”

I turn to see the police cruiser for the first time. They have their guns out. Smile. Really? Guns? You really gonna shoot me? I lay down on the steel bridge. Face down. Cold hard steel on my cheek. I briefly think about germs. They cuff my wrists and throw me into the back of their car. Roughly. Whatever.

These seats are so uncomfortable.

“What were you doing?”

“Just trying to get home, my girlfriend kicked me out of her place.”

“You weren’t trying to jump?”

“No sir. I love my life. I just didn’t have money for the bus.” Lies. I have exactly a dollar fifty in my pocket.

“You know it’s illegal to walk across the bay bridge?”

“No sir. Although in retrospect it seems obvious.” (There is no pedestrian walking path on the bay bridge.) They bombard me with a series of random questions, to which I answer “no sir” and “yes sir.” (This is how you talk to cops BTW)

Parked underneath a bridge now. Open the door. Get out. Breathe into this tube. Longer. Longer. Winded now. I get back into the back seat.

45 seconds later.

The cop leans his head into the back window.

“Your not as drunk as we thought you were.” No shit? Sweet.

“I told you, sir I am just trying to get home. My girl friend kicked me out and I didn’t have money for the bus.”

I have been secretly trying to get the dollar fifty out of my pocket this whole time. Gotta make that lie real. Strangely every time I have been arrested I have never been searched. White boy.

“Where do you live?”

“I live on Sutter and Taylor.”

He nods his head and gets back in the Po-Po car. They drive me to about five blocks from my apartment. The worst part of town. Park. Lights on. He opens the door and lets me out.

“If I catch you on the bridge again, I will take you to jail.”

I laugh. How could I not?

“You will not sir, I promise.”

He un-cuffs me.

“Get home safe.”

“Thank you sir.” I reach out my hand and we shake (I do this to all the police officers that arrest me.) Thanks.

Walking home. Need a drink. Fuck you Cali! Don’t sell booze past two in the morning. I buy two packs of smokes. Walking home now. Jesus I’m lucky. Stepping out of the shadows is a bum covered in dark green shawls. I see the flash of steel. A Knife? Really?

“Give me your wallet.” He says brandishing his four-inch fold out blade.

“Fuck you.” I say. I just got arrested and let go; like a catch and release fish. I’m not dealing with crack heads.

“Give me your wallet or I’ll cut you!”

I laugh out loud. Weird reaction. Reaching into my back pocket I pull out the smokes I just bought and throw them on the ground. Here. I run up the hill.

Home now.

Calm the best friend.

I’m safe.

Smoke some pot.

Drink every drop of booze left in the house.

Draw a bath.

Climb in.

Fall asleep.

Wake up to my best friends’ girlfriend peeing.

My phone has one text message from Abigail, it reads: What happened last night? I was wasted. Don’t remember a thing.

Fuck.

We date for the next three years.

Go figure.

Bloody Turkey dinner

It’s my first thanksgiving away from home and I am spending it with my girlfriend. Lucy; the sweetest girl I have ever loved. We had been dating for three months. Lots of sex. Great. She is a good Midwest girl. Big tits. Bad teeth. Her hair is big and curly. Sex hair. Open the door. Kiss on the cheek.

“Sit down on that couch” she says. “I put the game on for you.”

The Giants are playing and I’m as happy as a clamshell in butter. She brings me an opened beer. Drinking now. The smell of the turkey is making my stomach growl. She has been cooking all day. She looks stressed out.

“We have to leave for my brothers’ house soon,” she says. Fuck.

“We are going to bring all this food over there? Wow.” I say as a slug more beer. She glances over and smiles at me. I know that smile. I swoop in for a kiss. 1 second. 2 seconds. 30. We are on the bed now. Push the panties to the left. Back and to the left. I’m laughing now for reasons only known to a select few (mostly JFK or Kevin Costner fans). She stops for a moment until I stop laughing then pulls me inside of her. I’m still thinking of JFK and his pink mist. She bits my lip as she comes.

“It’s time to go,” she says as she gets up and fixes her dress. I lay in bed for a moment. She smells like berries and sex. Love it. Load the car. Burn my hands. Fucking turkey. Driving now. At her brothers best friends house. Seven people in their late thirties. Awkward introductions. One friend is a DEA agent. He shows me his badge. Narc.

I boldly challenge her brother, Erick, to a game of ping-pong.

“I’m one of the best pong players in the world,” I say laughing. Liar. He kicks my ass. I’m mad but having fun. Lucy looks worried. I kiss her and telling her it’s all in good fun. Lies. I’m a competitive motherfucker and if I weren’t trapped in a 12 year olds body I would have been a professional athlete. Bullshit candy corn.

It’s time to eat. The seven friends bring out paper plates and plastic silverware. Are you fucking kidding me? I glance Lucy’s way. She is on the verge of tears. I agree. Who wants to cook all day and then eat off of paper plates? Disaster. Fuck it. I gorge myself.

It’s bathroom time. I take a long piss. Looking around I snoop into the cabinets. Suddenly the seat of the toilet slams shut. A loud shout emanates from my lips. More like a screech. Too girly for a man. I hear them laughing. Her brother calls out to see if I’m ok. There is piss everywhere. I start to clean it up. Leaning over the toilet bowl with some paper.

Drip.

Something falls from my nose and lands in the toilet bowl. Blood. Fuck. I quickly grab more toilet paper and hold it to my nose. Bleeding like a stuck pig now. Please stop. Please. I’m praying. I’ve already been in the bathroom for 15 minutes. The blood is not stopping. Some of it gets on my shirt. Fuck. Shit. Balls. She knocks on the door.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Nothing. Be out soon.”

The blood simply refuses to stop. I lean over the sink and begin blowing it out my nostrils. Like a snipers “pink mist” the blood sprays the entire sink. I’m so smart. Panic. What do I do? I’m trapped in some fucking Narcs bathroom and there is literally blood everywhere. Oh and piss. I think about jumping out the window and just bouncing out. The smell of berries and sex enters my mind. Can’t do that. Stop bleeding. Stop bleeding this very fucking instant! Repeat. Concentrate. And repeat. The blood is slowing now. I stuff some paper up my nose and then get to work re-cleaning the toilet. Great thanksgiving. At the table now.

“What happened in there?” her brother asks me. “Is that blood on your shirt? Dick head.

“Yes”

“Are you hurt?” some stupid person asks from down the table.

“No I just had a bloody nose is all.”

“From all the coke you have been doing?” her brother jokes. I make eye contact with the DEA agent. Gulp. Smile. Casual. Jesus. You’re going to be fine. He doesn’t say anything. They bring out the pies. All is forgotten.

So far the stats for this thanksgiving are as follows: devoured turkey meat, ½ pound. Ping-pong record, 0 and 4. Beers consumed, 8. Gotten laid, once. Made a complete fool out of myself, 3 times. It’s time to play trivial pursuit. I fucking hate trivial pursuit. It makes me feel dumb. Fuck people that know the absurd answers to those questions. Number of questions answered during game. None.

After an awkward series of hugs and handshakes we make our way back to her little one bedroom apartment in the mission. We fall asleep on the couch with I love Lucy on the Tele.

Three months later, Lucy moves to North Dakota.

She never speaks to me again.

I miss berries and sex.

Ear licking in H wood

Park my car in a lot in downtown LA. It’s too dangerous to park on the street I tell myself. Walking now. Aviator sunglasses? Check. Cool shoes? Check. Open v-neck with gold chain around my neck. Check. I’m about to go on my first date in six months and my hands are dripping wet. Hugs not shakes. Outside the bistro now. I stand and loiter letting the nervous energy flow through my body. Fuck it. I’m a rock star baby.

I get on my phone and start rambling to a friend of mine about a film we are working on together. I bitch and complain and bash the director as much as possible. This is Hollywood right? Glancing behind me I see a 12-inch Mohawk and a dog. What the f? It is sitting at a table outside my restaurant and orders a pink vodka drink. I ignore it. Keep talking.

Crossing the street I see my date, summer dress, red lipstick, looks like a 40’s diva in living color. Cool. I cross the street to meet her. Don’t forget to smile. Asshole. Suddenly the screech of a gay man yelling.

“Betty! Where the hell have you been?” brushing past me is the 12 inch Mohawk and a pair of torn up jeans. I spot an ass cheek. Gross. Look away. Look away. My date gives the walking hair cut a hug and they chat for a moment. I stand awkwardly in the street. Hand in pockets now. She smiles at me and introduces me too Derek? I never pay attention. Before I know what is happening he is sitting at our table. Talking. Jesus this kid can talk. I want to break his face. My date has been high jacked! Fuck.

I order a beer and some bacon fries. Betty helps me eat them. Delicious. I pay for her drink. Soon its time to go. She asks if I want to head to a bar down the street.

“You will absolutely love it there. It’s Fab,” she tells me. I am skeptical. But I cannot refuse a smile and the smell of liquor. Derek decides that he will be joining us. Fuck you dude. So for the second time today my date is high jacked.

Second bar is classy, smells like leather and lawyers. The bar tenders’ name is Chris. He pours us shot after shot of lemon drops. I hate lemon drops. She loves them. I order another and smile as I drink it. This Bee better be worth it. I’m out of money now. Drunk. Embarrassed. We leave to go somewhere else. The bartender Chris decides he wants to come with us. So Betty (who is no longer really my date) her friend Derek and now the bar tender Chris all head over to a dirty and dark bar down the street. I like dark and dirty. No money. Derek buys me a beer and a shot. He puts his arm around my shoulder as he drinks it. Please don’t touch me. The thought never leaves my lips. Big Mistake.

Betty invites me back to her house. Sweet. I’m getting laid. As I make my way to the door I hear her invite Derek and Chris and someone else? The third fellow is a small man who sells pot down the hall from her. Betty. Derek. Chris. Pot dealer. Me. Jesus. I think I’m going to invite the bum on the corner too.

Her place is small. Her walls are brick, which I love. The whole place is about the size of my freshman dorm room. Bad sign. How old is this chick again? Drinks go around. Pot goes around. She goes around. From man to man. Flirting. Laughing. I’m too drunk to care. Everything is spinning. Lay down. Close my eyes. So much worse.

Open. Everyone is gone. I’m alone. Derek opens the door and jumps into Betty’s bed next to me. Eyes closed. Stop the spinning. He is talking and I am mastering the art of nodding at all the right moments. I wonder if I should be listening. Decide not to. Big mistake. Suddenly his hand is on my chest. Why? He is slowly drawing his fingers across my skin.

“Does that feel good?” he asks.

“I guess I say.” How the fuck do I get in these situations? Fucking alcohol. Saved! Betty opens the door. Grinning. She jumps into the bed on my left. I turn my head and pucker my lips. She kisses me. Sweet. She tastes like candy and vodka. I could get used to this.

Something wet slides it’s way into my right ear. I flinch. What the F? I feel the wetness start to move. Wiggling. Sliding. Darting. Is this kid actually licking my inner ear? A flash of extreme violence erupts through my mind. Bashing skulls. Blood screaming, the kind of shit that is only appropriate in wildlife documentaries. I do nothing. Pussy. She breaks off her kiss.

“Help?” I whisper to her. She doesn’t hear me as she jumps off the bed and heads to the bathroom. Has she lost her mind? Derek is breathing heavy and sucking on my ear lobe now. I decide that enough is enough. Stop.

“Look dude whatever you think is going to happen is not going to happen.” I wonder if this is too harsh. Again the image of his head breaking the brick wall of her apartment flashes through my head. Not too harsh I decide.

“What do you mean?” he asks blowing hot air on my neck. This guy thinks I have a cunt. Neck blowing? Really? Yeah cause that makes me want to fuck.

“THIS IS NOT GOING TO HAPPEN” I repeat firmly. He jumps up and starts pacing the room. He is pissed. Ha Ha. Betty comes back from her bathroom escapades. Frowning.

“What’s the matter?” she asks Derek.

“Your friend just told me I need to leave! That fucking prick. I’ve known you for longer and I’m the one that is leaving? Ahh hell no bitch. Who is he to tell me I should leave? Fuck you dude!” He started of quietly and slowly rose to a high-pitched scream. I giggle. Bad timing. He freaks out. She freaks out. I feel awkward and offer to leave. He leaves instead. Slamming the door. Betty and I stare at each other for a long moment. I’m a getting laid now. I smile. She smiles.

Knock knock. Click. The door behind me slides open. Pot dealer. Fuck. He smiles and says he has brought his bong. Now we drift into a breeze of smoke. Awkward dancing. Check my phone. 2:30 AM. Fuck this I’m not getting laid. I have to go. Peace bitches.

I’m out the door now. Lost in her maze of hallways. Puke in the corner. Now this place IS college. Find the street. Where’s my car. Parking lot. You are too drunk to drive. I call my roommate. He is up playing FIFA. Thank god.

I’m home now.

Safe.

Damaged.

Fuck dating.