Travis was quiet as we headed south to the quarry. I could smell his old underwear and socks even with the window rolled down and his heavy splashing of Brut 33. I chewed up and swallowed the two hits of blotter that had been under my tongue. I knew it would be creeping over me at any moment and wanted to go into it with just about anything on my mind other than Travis' body odor.

"So, I guess Piper and Whitney are gonna be there tonight and probably a bunch of their hot friends."

"Yeah. They'll all be doing acid, probably."

"Yeah. Does that bother you?"

Travis shrugged, "What's it like?"

I pondered a moment, "I can't really explain it. It's something you have to see for yourself."

"You got any?"

Whatever sensibilities I had left told me to say "no." I had no idea how Travis, with his Tourette syndrome and the medication he was taking for it, would react to acid. Considering his strength, it wasn't something I really wanted to play around with. Still, unlike most, I could see past the pure brutishness of his exterior. Travis had shared some of his deepest dreams with me. I knew he was basically a good person.

"Yeah. I have one hit. I'll split it with you."

His eyes brightened a bit, "Cool."

We made it to the quarry and I emptied the last hit of blotter from an unlabeled vial in which I kept it. I cut it diagonally in half using a razor blade I carried for splitting pills. I put one half under my tongue and gave Travis the other, "Let that sit under your tongue until it gets soft. Then just chew it up and swallow it."

"Okay!"

"So, ya ready to mingle?"

"Let's just hang out in the car a while."

I shrugged, not exactly anxious to move either, though I wanted to get rid of the quarter pound of pot I was carrying around. I decided it would be best to observe Travis' reaction to the acid before unleashing him onto the unsuspecting public, "We can wait a bit."

After about forty minutes of idle chit-chat Travis looked at me intently, "Man, I need to tell you something."

"Okay..."

He looked away, "It's hard. You have to promise to keep this to yourself."

I was intrigued, "Okay."

"Nylons really turn me on."

"Oh. What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I wear my sister's or mom's nylons."

"Oh."

I sat blankly a moment. I could almost hear the sizzling in my skull and thought I detected the distinct scent of a burnt capacitor. The part of me that stayed up days in a row programming the PC-XT I had bought with my drug money wanted to analyze this fascinating revelation into oblivion, savoring every aspect of it fully. The part of me under the strict tutelage of opiates and LSD wanted no part of this, self-absorbed as it was. The two met somewhere in the middle, working together to avoid having to deal with someone else's psyche.

"Well, you know, that's no big deal. I mean, whatever. Everyone has their thing."

"Yeah. What's your thing?"

Some blood, desperately needed by my brain, found its way to my face, causing it to redden.

"I guess I have this fantasy involving needles."

"What do you mean?"

Oh Jesus, why do we have to do this now?

"Well. Like, when you do morphine, you stick the needle in your vein and draw some blood up into it so it mixes with the dope, then inject it."

Travis eyed me suspiciously.

"So, if there was a girl and she drew her blood into the syringe, then I injected it and the other way around and then we did it... that kinda turns me on."

Travis broke out into an insane laughter, then abruptly stopped. I realized he was starting to trip. He was staring out the front windshield and slowly turned his head toward me. The look in his eye was so terrifying I had to turn away. It was as though his mind had been completely emptied. He had the same cold, insane hatred on his face as Charles Manson. He broke out into laughter again and didn't stop for at least ten minutes. Tears were running down his face and his eyes were red.

"Oh my God this is fuckin' hilarious!"

It'll be okay, I tried to comfort myself.

I finally dislodged Travis from the passenger seat, convincing him to roam around and enjoy the acid while it lasted. I sold two ounces and a quarter bag of pot and paused to chat with Josh and Piper. Travis ended up sitting on a rock near the edge of the quarry, staring out into the darkness.

It was approaching midnight when I noticed several headlights pulling into the quarry. I thought I saw dim rows of red and blue on the tops of the cars, but realized that in my condition, that could have been anything. Still, I watched closely. As a couple of the cars came closer and stopped, the headlights of the others illuminated them and revealed that they really were police.

"It's the fucking cops!" I yelled.

There was a flood of chaos. Red and blue lights started flashing obnoxiously. If I hadn't been faced with such depths of shit, I would have savored every second of it. I ran to my Monte Carlo, yelling out on the way, "Travis, get in the fucking car!"

Travis bounced to the car, laughing without care. I started it up and waited nervously for him to get in. As soon as he touched the seat, I threw the car into gear and hit the gas. The tires spun uselessly on the loose gravel a few moments before latching onto something solid and propelling us out of the pit, past several cop cars.

"Oh shit! Oh shit!"

No other words could express what was in my head. I repeated them until I reached Travis' house.

I waited in the driveway watching him giggle his way inside and trying to collect my thoughts. I left to find someplace else to meditate, since having a county cop next door to Travis was a bit disconcerting. Quietly, I slipped out of the driveway in the Monte Carlo and headed for home, ending up in the same spot where Shafto had stalked Travis and me with a rifle. I decided to wait there for a bit and count my pot, which was all divided up into quarter bags, and ride out the LSD storm before going back into the house.

My mom was still at work and I didn't see Shafto's van in the driveway. I assumed he was at the bar, hanging out with the waitress there he was screwing behind my mom's back. I could only imagine that woman's desperation. I could slap a dildo on a chunk of overcooked roast beef and give her a more attractive love-interest.

I had a tendency to drive the car pretty hard, ignoring anything resembling a speed limit or the laws of physics. It had a blown gasket somewhere and was leaking oil all over the engine block. Whenever I stopped it, a large cloud of thick smoke would billow out from under the hood. As I sat counting my bags and taking hits off of a joint, the smoking oil burned my nostrils and throat.

I noticed a car pass by on the highway, a short distance from where I was parked. It had come from the opposite direction Shafto would approach, so I didn't worry about it. Until I saw the headlights turning onto the gravel driveway.

"Oh great."

The dickhead must have gone to the gas station down the road to pick up some Pall Malls or something. I began to calm myself mentally. Maybe it wasn't so much calming as dissociating, which was very easy with the LSD. I put out the joint I was smoking and buried it in the ashtray. Suddenly, the two headlights were overpowered by a bright beam of light focused directly on me. I knew instantly what it was.

"Oh shit!"

I began shoving the quarter ounces of pot under my car seat, knowing it was futile. My mind raced. I had to stay calm. Clinging to one tiny shred of hope, I popped the hood of the car, got out and walked around to the front, opening it completely. The billowing smoke of the oil was an impressive display and I knew they wouldn't smell the pot over it. Maybe I could worm my way out of this. How stupid.

A county cop walked up to me. He was shining his flashlight in my face.

"You know this is private property?"

"Yeah. I live down there, " I pointed to my house.

"What are you doing parked here."

"My car was smoking. I stopped here to look at it."

I cringed as some sane relic of my brain realized what it had just uttered.

"What did you shove under your seat?"

"Nothing."

He reached down and felt under the seat, removing the baggies one by one. At that point I shut down. There was now no point in saying a word. This dickless fuckhead would screw me no matter what I said.

"Well. Look at that! You're just full of lies, aren't you? Get up against the car."

I complied silently, not even respecting him enough to look at him.

"Put your hands behind your back."

He slapped on the metal cuffs. I was so skinny, he could barely get them tight enough. He felt me up, probably enjoying it in more ways than I cared to contemplate and found the empty vial in my pocket.

"What are you doing now? Cocaine?"

What a dumbass. Please, go ahead and have it tested for cocaine, you fucking idiot. I'm sure whatever process is used will completely destroy any evidence of LSD.

At least I hoped.

The cop hauled me over to his car and sat me in the front passenger seat. He closed the door, while I stared blankly ahead, and got in the driver's side.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you go."

Oh, you'd just love that wouldn't you? You're so desperate to watch me grovel. It gets you off. You took my drugs, asshole, I'm not giving you yours.

I continued to stare ahead, not speaking a word. Eventually I ended up in a holding area at the county courthouse sitting next to some middle-aged drunk guy. He demanded a cigarette of me and I gave him one, not interested in starting any trouble with whatever sludge was locked up with me.

The cop had my pot sitting on his desk as he wrote up the paperwork. The holding area had a large window where he could watch me. Or I could watch him. There were two locked doors into the holding area, one on the side and one that split the window, leading into the rows of desks. I could smell my own marijuana from where I sat, it was so strong. The other cops joked about it and made fun of me while my new friend weighed my drugs and scoured through my wallet, finding my license.

"18? You don't even look 15!"

I remained silent.

"Well, you got 42 grams of marijuana here."

Of course I do, asshole. My shit always weighs.

"That's enough for a felony. Intent to distribute."

Whatever.

Eventually the cop filled out his paperwork. Probably the most difficult part of the job for someone who was no doubt completely illiterate.

"Go ahead and use the payphone there to call your parents."

I was exhausted. Completely exhausted. The last thing I wanted to deal with was Shafto. I wanted nothing but sleep.

"I'd rather you just put me in jail. I'm tired."

"No, go ahead call your parents."

Are you fucking kidding me? Don't you idiots live for this shit? Put my fucking ass in jail already.

"I don't want to call them. I want to go to jail."

After a couple more similar exchanges, the cop finally called Shafto for me. I couldn't understand why he didn't just put me in jail.

What a disappointing process. This incompetent boob hadn't bothered to read me my rights, he let me keep my drug money, completely sabotaging the "intent to distribute" case over which he was arousing himself, and he made my one phone call for me. I had been cheated of the full felon experience. At least I had been harassed for a cigarette.

Twenty minutes later, Shafto arrived with a smug look on his overcooked roast beef face. I ended up having to pay fifty dollars to the bail bondswoman, they took my fingerprints and I was set free. Shafto drove me home, gloating the whole time - probably in a good mood from screwing his desperate waitress or maybe he got to feel up her little daughter. When we finally arrived at the house, I was allowed to go to my dungeon and I almost instantly passed out.

The next morning, when my mother got home, Shafto convened an emergency meeting with her and me. Shafto sat in his usual lazy-boy throne, the back of which had a grease stain from his hair.

"Give me one good reason why I should let you stay in this house."

I was finished with everything. Legally, I was screwed. Mentally, I was screwed. Domestically, I was screwed. I decided to throw my hands up and get it all off my chest. If I was going down, by God, I was going down in flames. It would make the Hindenburg look like the potassium nitrate smoke bombs I made when I was a kid.

"Aren't you smart enough to think one up on your own?"

"Answer me boy!"

Ah yes, it wouldn't be a Shafto conversation without that phrase.

"Go ahead and kick me out. I really don't give a shit."

I really didn't give a shit. And I knew I could leave at any time I wanted. But there was more at stake here. This was a chess game with my family and I was going to play for the only parent who gave a shit about me.

"If you wanna go, nobody's stoppin' you."

"I'm not going to leave. You're going to have to kick me out."

I smiled. I was setting up the board and he didn't see it coming. Sometimes I loved morons.

"Why do I have to kick you out?"

"Because then my mother will leave you."

Shafto was silent a moment. I had sealed the coffin on that marriage. Some rusted gears in Shafto's head screeched slowly into motion, barely able to overcome their own inertia. Shafto looked at my mother. I could see the fear and confusion in his eyes. She sat watching with interest, knowing what I was up to. She wanted out as much as I did.

Shafto finally looked back at me and blurted out a weak, "I don't care."

The look in his eyes said otherwise. He regretted it the second he puked it out into the air.

I shrugged and beamed at Shafto, "Bye."

Checkmate.

Posted by DevilMonkey at 8:17 PM

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