Note:
I wrote the beginning of this story after reading
The Basketball Diaries by Jim Carroll. I started writing this in the hospital when I broke my collarbone. I remember writing this down in the span of an album, either
AM or
Modern Vampires of the City. Then I had a nap and sort of moved on to something else afterwards. So obviously there's more in store for Owen, but as of right now it's unwritten. Comments and ideas are always appreciated.
I was too eager to eat dessert. I politely
excused myself, remarking that math homework doesn't do itself, and walked up
to my bedroom. As usual the sheets were pulled up to the top with pillows in
the middle of the bed. It's another night at Timbo's.
It's been a long week between midterms, semis, playing ball,
and the field. There's this girl, Daisy, across the other side of the town. She
goes to that Catholic school where the nuns are too blind to notice how short
skirts are or how many buttons are done up. Daisy was the queen of them all.
After I got out of the change room, fresh of a victory against her school, she
was right outside looking straight through me. I needed a map to get out of her
blue eyes. I swept my hair back and walked her outside. I told her about a
party happening this Friday: no parents or locks on the liquor cabinet. She was
all for it. I watched her walk back to her friend's car. The whole time I was
thinking about what was under that skirt swinging back and forth with her hips.
I hitched a ride home in Chuck's old Ranger. When I got home I
summed up the game for my parents and went to my room to dream about Daisy.
Now, I haven't done the dirty yet. My older brother, Rory, lost his card when
he was my age with some girl from school who had been around the block. On
Monday word had traveled that it was a sad fifteen seconds. That story followed
him, and me, for the rest of the time he was in high school. I want my first
time to be different. Rick says if you bite your lip the whole time you'll last
for ages. Chuck said doggy-style can be good too. Or just get drunk.
Regardless, I'm banking on it happening tonight. I filled up
my trash bin with wrappers, old Sports Illustrated, and any other papers I
could find then walked out to the garage. I put the bag in the tin trash can. I
grabbed the pull string and quietly opened the garage door. I love snowy
nights. The flakes were thick and sticky. Perfect for making snow balls. I
looked out at the red maple leaf waving off the Walker's porch, right next to
that hideous green Rider's flag. Two polar opposites in my books. I walked over
to the fridge to make sure there was still beer. Two cases give or take.
I went back into the house grabbed two garbage bags from under
the kitchen sink then dipped into Rory's room to grab a domer. I put one bag
into my trash can, then opened my window. There were snow drifts all along the
back fence. I put the extra garbage bag in my pocket and the domer in the
other. I threw on my thinnest ski thermal, a flannel shirt, and a zip-up
hoodie. Out the window I go blowing a kiss to the Pamela pin-up on my door.
After climbing down the lattice, I took out the bag and put some snow in the
bottom.
Liquor has never been my thing, so I've been digging into the
old man's stash lately. Either he doesn't know or care, but both are fine by
me. I jam seven tallboys of Molson in the bag and cover them with snow, tie it
off, grab an extra to have on the road and walk off, carrying the black bag
over my shoulder.
Timbo's is about a ten minute walk from my place if you take
the path. I cracked the extra beer to get started before arriving. I pulled my
hood up over my face to stay warm and hidden. An old man walked by me with his
dog. All of a sudden he went off on me. "The hell's wrong with you! It's
natives like you that ruined this town!"
I shrugged and toasted him and kept moving with my head down.
The natives always get a bad rap and parents are just too naive to think their
kids are just as reckless. Natives have some good ideas, like filling a garbage
bag full of snow and beer.
Timbo's got a dope house in the new development. The second
story is all bedrooms and the basement is a furnished games room that can fit
fifty people easily. Their double garage is open and Chuck and some of the prep
kids are sipping beers. I say my hellos, clink a couple cans and head inside. I
took out another beer, tied up the bag again and headed into the basement. You
could feel the room shaking to Cobain's guitar. Timbo grabs my shoulder and
pulls me into a game of quarters versus the ballers from Douglas High. I wasn't
in it at all, looking all over for Daisy. After losing and chugging two pints
in a row Timbo gave me the boot. I walked by the couch to see the Flames beat
the Oilers in OT. She wasn't there. I went upstairs and found some beauties and
teammates slamming back tequila and spinning an empty vodka bottle on the
kitchen table. Daisy wasn't there either. Then I felt a soft hand touch my
shoulder. I turned around and it was the girl who drove her home.
"Hey Owen, where have you been?" she asked sliding
her hand down my arm, giggling away.
"Just looking for Daisy. Did you guys come here
together?" Her hand was still on my arm
"Yeah
she's upstairs with some of the other girls." She was rubbing it up and
down now.
"Well
you should bring them all down to the basement."
She looked up at me as she sipped through a straw. "Why
don't you bring some friends and we can have more fun.
Have you seen how big the master bedroom is?" She winked at me with
unfocused eyes.
Lost for words, I tried to pay it as cool as possible,
"Let me go to the bathroom, I'll check out the bed after." I winked
back at her, starting to sweat. She nodded and ran her hand across my chest. I
went to the bathroom then into the garage to see Daniel Watts, the guru of
private school girls. He's the same age as Rory but he loves high school too
much to turn down the parties. He'd know how to handle this.
