Drudge - Jake Walker (trending books to read txt) 📗

Drudge

By Jake Walker


“Life is the farce which everyone has to perform.” –Arthur Rimbaud


The sky was void and black. Trees flew past us on either side. The headlights hit the empty road ahead of us, bringing into view out of the darkness, lightning fast yellow strips that licked the undercarriage of Ian’s truck. Ian was smoking a cigarette, slouched in the driver’s seat like a white Rastafarian thug. I nudged him for a smoke and he threw me his pack. I lit a cigarette gaily, the smoke seething from my orifices like acrid magic.

“So what are you expecting out of tonight?” I asked, looking for conversation. It was too quiet for too long.

“Oh, I dunno,” he began with a shrug, “I guess some hash, couple of lines, a beer or two…” He trailed off. Normal guy dialogue.
“Cool. Hey, do you mind slowing down?” Ian purposefully sacked my request.
We sped our way out of the wood into a clearing, I holding onto the door for dear life. Each subtle twitch of the wheel and every slight dip left or right sent my stomach lurching, the queasiness palpable. We were approaching our destination. To our left, before the quiet road curved away into another patch of forest, we saw a house, the square lights that were windows seemed to beckon us forth. The house was two stories, and was quite unlike the carbon copy homes of modern Suburbia. It was a very stoic brick abode, with two small wings jutting out from both sides. One very obviously was the garage, the other I could only guess was a dining room or a kitchen or some other contemporary home mainstay.
Pulling up to the house, Ian threw the lever into park. I was thrown forward by the sudden stop. Ready to find escape from the deathcage that was Ian’s truck, I made to open the door, but he stopped me. “Before we go in,” he began, jabbing his cigarette in my general direction, “several things: first, be cool. I don’t think you’ve met most of these people so just remember shallow waters until you get acquainted.”
“Shallow waters?” I interjected.

“Yeah, shallow waters.” He took a drag, “Just tread water softly until everyone gets comfortable, you dig?” I nodded. He looked like a madman through the smokescreen that escaped his mouth. “Second,” he continued, “Nathan and Marcus are doing us a favor. Although we’ll probably have to provide on a later date, for the time being, we’re getting the hook up, so don’t be too grabby. And finally…hey.”
I looked square at him, “What, dude?”
“Take this.” he had in his palm some eye drops ready for the hand off. I took it and jammed it in my pocket. “I tend to lose things.”
“I know.”
We made our way out the truck and up the driveway, flicking our butts in the lawn. Ian tossed me his keys. He was awfully forgetful. Even when sober. It was agreed earlier in the evening that I would be the pack mule, so to speak. The front door was dimly lit by quite the quaint little porch light. It was a warm inviting blue with a gold trim. Near the top, there were three vertically placed rectangular windows, giving us a view of only darkness.
Ian rung the bell, and in a matter of seconds, a light came on. Eyes seemed to bore into our soul as a forehead hit the window panes. The door opened, and therein came into view one of our accomplices for tonight’s criminal ventures, Ian’s good friend Nathan.
“Hey, whassap?” Nathan greeted as he invited us in. He had on torn blue jeans and a white tee, typical apparel for these types, from my observation. His eyes already seemed darker than normal, and he wore a long, messy bowl cut—dirty blonde locks placed hither and yon. I’ve only met him several times before, but he seemed friendly enough. Amicable, but didn’t really care what you thought of him. Honestly, that was quite the attractive quality. He and Ian slapped hands and shook. I gestured a nice, neat, quiet hello.
He led us out of the foyer and into the living room. To our mutual surprise, Nathan’s ma was standing in our midst, near the table. “Oh, hi!” She exclaimed, way too ecstatic from the onset. We weren’t even expecting a run in with parents this evening, so we didn’t know how to go about this encounter. “Ian! How have you been? Looking forward to Monday’s game?” Ian nodded. He had exposure to Nathan’s ma seeing as to how they were both on the same lacrosse team. “And who is this handsome young man?” Nathan’s ma approached me oh so motherly, as mothers are apt to do. She placed her hands on my cheeks and gave me a loving look, as if I were her own. I could feel the wrinkles and lines that intersected on her palms, and it felt really cold. I shot my eyes towards Ian—eyes that said help me. He grinned, showing his chipmunk teeth, his hair partly hiding the laughter in his eyes.
“I’m—I’m Vance,” I muttered, making what resembled a kissy face with hands of a matriarch squeezing my head.
“Oh, I love that name!” Like I said, way too ecstatic. “I’m Mary. It’s wonderful to meet you!” She removed her hands thank God, and then reached out to shake. I took her hand as gingerly and gentlemanly as I could.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
Mary began talking to me about the unseen intricacies and meandering ins and outs and stresses that defined a lifetime of being a fulltime housewife. She spoke in haste, as if she was hardly ever given the opportunity to connect with the outside world. I could tell that Ian and Nathan were growing impatient and wanted to get things underway. I felt the same, but it was out of the question that I would dismiss her and take my absence; not when she seemed to enjoy my presence so. She went on. Her stories led to tangents which led to other tangents which led to still more. Lacrosse practices, dishes, laundry, her appointment with the optometrist. I nodded, cordially, at all the right times, I mm-hmm’ed at all the right times, and I even said a “right” every now and again. Nathan finally interjected.
“Ma.” She kept going. “Ma.” She didn’t even hear him. “Ma!” He got between the two of us and put his arm around my shoulders, directing my movement. They locked eyes, mother and son, and he smiled. She smiled as well, but like a child, as if she were the lesser of the two. He looked at me, “Shall we?”
He led me to a door and Ian followed. The door led to the basement and from the top of the stairs, I could already see hints of smoke rising from where they veered around the corner. We made our way down now, rounding the turn into a very dusty lower level. Whereas the house upstairs was neatly polished, with shiny oak and tile and floral wallpaper, the basement had a concrete floor and thin wooden panels for walls. There was a rug in the main room, tattered, discolored and stained so much that you couldn’t tell its original design and pattern. On top of it sat a glass table, scratched and fogged from years of careless use and gradual wear and tear. Curving around the table was a faded, dusky couch. I had mere seconds to take all this in, of course, for as soon as we made our entrance, the three of us, we were subject to a chorus of screams and shouts.
“Ohmigosh! You guys finally made it!”
“Where were you!?”
“What took you so long!?”
There were three girls positioned around a smoking plastic bottle, standing and excited to do the whole greeting bit. They made squeals and scrunched smiley faces while everybody hugged everybody else. One hugged Ian considerably longer than the others. Her name was Lauren. I met her before. Apparently, she and Ian were ‘talking.’ Ian introduced me to the other two and I found out their names were Ashley, and Katie. I waved and gave a nervous little twitch of a half smile.
“Nathan told us that Ian was bringing a friend. Guess you’re it, huh?” Katie assessed me with her eyes, as if approvingly.
“Sure enough,” I acknowledged. I offered my hand thinking it was part of the routine. She ignored it and hugged me. Katie was wearing skin tight, hip hugger jeans, and a grey shirt that was covered by a black hoodie that came down to her naval. It had pink, cursive writing on it. ‘Roxy’ it said. Her skin almost glowed it was so pale, and no doubt her complexion was exacerbated by her oil black hair that came down flat on all sides.
Ashley, who had already seated herself, asked Ian, “So how come we never met him before?”
Ian shrugged finding a spot on the couch, “I dunno. He goes to a different school,” dust billowed up in swirls when he threw himself down on the cushion.
“Oh,” Ashley gave a look of interest as she turned her attention to me, “What school?”
“Bob Jones,” I said, still standing.
“Aaahhh,” the gang sneered and faked a contemptuous glare. Bob Jones and Sparkman, their school, were rivals, but I already knew before hand that Ian’s posse didn’t play such shallow games. Nor did I.
“Take a seat, Vance. Get comfortable,” Nathan insisted. He had the bottle now in his lap, no longer smoking but inside it was milky white, and was taking some green stuff from a little Ziploc bag and breaking it up. I did as he said, sitting down next to Katie. Nathan asked, “You ever do this before?” pointing to the green pile on the table, quickly gaining mass.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“What!?” It was Ashley, “That is so exciting! I love introducing new people to pot!” She laughed, clasping her hands together excitedly, “Eeeeee! Yay pot!” Aside from Ian, who knew, everyone else’s reactions were similar. Nathan kept picking apart the green granules but gave an expression of disbelief, mouth agape, eyes wide. Katie and Lauren beamed. Excitement filled the air. I looked at Ian with an eyebrow raised. Did my simple confession really elicit such a response?
“You’re in for a treat. You’re in for a treat,” Nathan assured, “Especially when Marcus gets here. He’s got stuff that’ll really open your eyes.”
“Oh, he’s done that before,” Ian said.
“What!? You’ve ridden the white pony but you’ve never done the herb?” Nathan was shocked.
I was about to explain, but Lauren broke in, “Whatever. Hey! Are we ready yet?” Her impatience was hung on every word. Nathan didn’t respond right away but quickly packed the plant into some tin foil that sat atop the bottle, jamming down with his thumb to make it tight and dense.
He seemed to admire his craftsmanship for a second, looked up, said, “Yes. Yes, we are.”
We all sort of scooted in around the bottle as if it were some ancient artifact. We were all on the couch, leaning forward towards the table, Nathan, Ashley, Lauren, Ian, Katie and me. Nathan was first up to bat since he packed it (I would later find out that this was custom amongst those of the pot smoking elite). He pursed his lips next to a hole that was on the bottle, put a lighter to the top and drew in. Heavily. The plastic gave diminutive crackles as his grip