II: A MISERABLE INTERMISSION
HOMESTUCK
NORMAN, OKLAHOMA
JUNE 17TH-20TH, 2022
The next few days pass by in a blur, which is strange, because I’m sitting still for once. Up at noon with aching feet. Breakfast. Pills. Get some stuff out of the car when I feel so bold. Eat. Rest. Savannah calls me in the afternoon. I tell her all about the trip. I leave out a minor detail. I’m still on Pacific time. I’m up late. I’m hungry. An ex texts me. I don’t know why. I mean, I know WHY. But I don’t know why NOW. I ignore her. What would Savannah think? We don’t even know what we are. I don’t even know what I want. I stress about it. I pass out.
I wake up.
It’s black. I’m in a dark tent. It’s claustrophobic. I’m covered with a sheet. I panic a little. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know how I got here. I feel around. Something soft. I pull the curtain aside. A light outside streams in and reveals that I’m in my room. I’ve been away for too long. I felt at home being on the road. Waking up in strange places was the norm. Waking up in my own house was foreign. I go back to sleep.
I wake up. Get dressed. Sam, Tanner and Colin are at Sooner Dairy. It’s their last day off. I walk barefoot across the steaming asphalt and clench my teeth. Everyone gawks. I tell my story proudly. The burger is nothing special. I drive home. Sam and Tanner meet me there. They work on his car. I drink a beer. Nickson visits. He brings me a leaf of aloe vera. I have no idea where he got it. He leaves. Sam and I call the numbers on those cards we picked up in Vegas. We make outlandish requests. The girl on the other end just wants a time and date. The sun sets. Fireworks explode. Juneteenth is tomorrow.
Tomorrow. My feet feel better. They look like hell. The aloe vera works. I help a friend with some furniture. I find a little black and red cooler by the dumpster. My mind wonders. My heart races. It’s empty. I snag it. Score. I mask it off. I set it aside. I pass out.
I wake up. I sit in the passenger seat. I ride to Weatherford. I unload a table. I ride to Elk City. I load a couch. My grandma gives me something. A thing I’d lost long ago. My old switchblade. I clench the wooden handle and get a feel for it. I lost it at her house when I couldn’t figure out how to close it, but now, ten years later, I know the secret. KA-KLICK. It swings out. The silver glimmers. The grip feels right. I put it away. I ride to Noble. I unload the couch. I go home. I paint the cooler. “HUMAN ORGAN.” It’s not well done. But it’s funny. My feet feel better. My feet LOOK better. I still limp to bed. Time passes like molasses. It’s killing me. I’m ready to be healed. I’m ready to MOVE.
THE LONGEST DAY
NORMAN, OKLAHOMA
JUNE 21ST, 2022
I woke up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I waited, expecting the blood to rush down and the pain to begin. Nothing. I carefully put a foot on the floor and leaned forward. No pain. And the next foot. No pain!
I was finally healed! It was finally over! I could walk! I sprung out of bed and started my day with a kind of energy I hadn’t had in a week. Just as I had finished my breakfast, there was a knock at the door.
“You want a beer?”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“I’m aware.”
The Morning Beer. An unmistakable mark of a true hedonist. Where limits and times disappear entirely. I’d only had a few Morning Beers previous to this, so I’m not quite the master of day drinking. I’m not sure I want to be. But after a week-and-a-half of debauchery and frayed nerves, a morning beer was necessary to maintain the unhinged energy of this summer. So I went to the fridge.
The light revealed that the fridge was empty, save for some hot dogs and a half-gallon of milk.
“Sam, I’m out of beer.”
We hopped into the car and made the journey down to Campus Corner Market for a case of PBR and a pack of Lucky Strikes. The owner had given up on us. He sold us the illicit materials without a second glance. I felt a bit of shame buying such a big case this early on in the day. But you have to understand: once you start, you don’t stop. Not because of any sick compulsion, but because if you stop, you’ll slow down. You’ll get tired. You’ll pass out. And you’ll fuck up your sleep schedule and wind up drinking at an ungodly hour like nine. Now THOSE people are freaks.
We lovingly slammed the case into the fridge and started the slow and grinding process of case-killing. We cracked open our cans and any hope for the day’s productivity was gone. Sam had been hyping up “The Warriors,” so we put it on. About thirty minutes in, it was time for another cigarette. We stepped out into the unforgiving June heat and lit up a Lucky each. We dragged down our death darts and slurped our poison until the cans were empty. Just as I’m starting to feel like my arm is cooking in the sunlight, a figure emerges from across the street: Sam’s neighbor, Jonathan.
“You guys drinkin’ beer?” he asked, sounding just like the upper midwesterner he is. I expected a bit of judgment, given the hour and the fact that we’ve been out here drinking and smoking on my porch for the last year, but this was too late for shame. I was having a good time and didn’t need whatever negative energy this interaction was going to impose on us.
“Damn straight.”
“You mind if I join ya?”
I was surprised to find that Jonathan’s good people after all. We enthusiastically invited him over and he comes out with a can of some cheap beer for himself and two brown jugs. He let Sam and I sample, but it’s too dark for my taste. I’m a simple man. I like cheap and light. We crack open more PBR’s and by this time I’m feeling buzzed. We slowly try to break the ice. Sam and I tell him all about the road trip and Vegas and LA and Frisco and the prostitute I flirted with. My cheeks flush red and it’s not the sun nor the beer. My high levels off for a minute. I still need to talk to Savannah. I keep sipping and try to forget. It works. We talk about guns. We talk about girls. We talk about the Sooners. We talk about strippers. And strip clubs. And how fun it is and how nice it would be to go to one.
The conversation pauses. Eyes dart from one member to the next. We’re all thinking it, won’t somebody just say-
“Y’all wanna go to a strip club?”
I’m still drunk trying to light a cigarette I took from Jonathan in the backseat. Tanner came down. He’s driving my Lincoln. It’s still filthy. It needs new oil. Sam is directing him to a club in OKC as I slur and stumble through stories. We pull up and my stomach turns. This is it: The ultimate Den of Sin.
Strange things happen behind these doors. Scary things. Illegal things. Things you can’t unsee and you don’t talk about unless it’s pried out of you. A Playground of Passion. Home of the Hedonist. I’m right where I belong. Cool air rushes out the door and I feel as if I’ve just walked into my living room.
My eyes strain against the darkness. The faux brick path beneath my boots leads straight to the back, where the kitchen is. On the right, the bar. On the left, the stage. There’s pool tables and lounges. Perfect spaces for a pack of degenerates like ourselves to crowd around for an hour or five. The smell of cigarettes, cheap perfume, and something I can’t identify finds it’s way into my nose. Crap rock fills my ears. The room is damn near empty. No line to get in. I give the man my money and compliment his jacket, trying to appear sober. It’s no use, but it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t kick us out if we were nodding out on dope. Straight to the bar and the fun begins.
I think I played pool. I don’t remember against who. The redhead I’ve been looking for is long gone and the Cuban girl from last time isn’t here. The remaining talent is semi-impressive. Some girls were very obviously taking care of themselves. They’d been gifted with a good body and shown how to use it. They knew what you wanted before you could even ask. These girls were the desirable professionals that you’d be confused to find in a place like this. The rest heard that you could make money by popping a tit out at a horny stranger and decided to pursue that career, taking their fleeting youth and beauty for granted. These girls did not get tipped.
The former was tipped generously. Tanner brought back a bucket of Coronas as I walked back from the stage two dollars poorer. The song changed and the DJ called another performer to the stage. She was like a white trash Anna Kendrick. She looked like she held the record for quickest catalytic converter theft and undoubtedly bites people when she gets into fights. Real thin without much to offer, but better than most of what we had seen on stage so far. I went up with my dollars in hand and leaned forward until she came closer. She asked my name and introduced herself before pulling her waistband out and letting me stick my singles in. She worked me over with what little she had and I went back to the table smiling.
“That good?” Sam asked.
“No. But they’re here to work for money, and we’re here to spend ours. So why not?” I replied.
“I think she’s hot.” Jonathan offered.
“Then get the hell up there and pay her. You saw what she did to me.”
Without hesitation, Jonathan stood up and went straight for the stage. He came back with stars in his eyes. By now I’m starting to drag. I can hardly finish my Corona. I’m pretty much out of cash. All I want is a bit of rest. But I haven’t gotten a lap dance yet, and I’d be damned if I went home without one.
“Do any of y’all wanna dance?”
I look up and it’s the girl who was just on stage. She saw that we were the only table and more importantly, we had MONEY. Or, so it seemed. I borrowed a twenty from Jonathan and followed her to the corner where the benches were. I enjoyed her dance for the most part, but I became a bit melancholy. I started to wish that I wasn’t with this strange woman and that Savannah were in my lap instead. Did I really want this lap dance? Or had I bought it out of principle?
She walked me back to the table and chose her next victim. When she came back, she sat down and started pulling things out of her purse. A grinder, a small tray, and a pill bottle.
“Are y’all cool?”
We all enthusiastically agreed and she passed the joint to me. I took a little drag and passed it to Jonathan. He took a puff, then passed it to Sam, who took his hit and gave it to Tanner. Tanner drew hard and blew a giant cloud. He was an experienced smoker, as opposed to me who rarely smokes and only took a sample puff. It came around again and I took another. I gave it to Jonathan and it went around until it was back to me. I was starting to come up and I wanted to see how these two hits played out. I passed it on without smoking, thinking “surely everyone else is as deliriously high as I am.” Nope. Jonathan took a big puff and passed it to Sam and Tanner who dragged it down like a cheap cigarette. Now I was coming up HARD. I looked to Jonathan and could see that it was starting to hit him too. I rushed to the bar and bought all of us waters. I passed them out and chugged as much as I could. I was already so full of beer. Up to my ears, seemingly. The conversation taking place to my left was drowned out, the music was coming in ear-piercingly loud. It was a fucking pop song. I tried to look around the room for salvation. But all I found was flashing lights strobing green, blue, red, and orange to the music. I looked to Jonathan. He was fried. Sam was hanging on. Tanner was still puffing. The giant, open room started to close in. The walls extended up into a darkness so black I couldn’t see the ceiling. The lights, the music, the women. It was all too much.
“I’m going to step out for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I walked towards the door, ensured the doorman would remember me, then sat on the trunk of my car. It was still daylight. Traffic streamed by in a blur of gray and white. Grass glowed a phosphorescent green in an abandoned lot across the street. The cracks in the sidewalk looked like tiny streams of oil flowing towards the street. The warm summer air baked me inside my clothes. The pale blue was starting to dim.
It was just as stimulating. I didn’t feel much better. I called Lydia. She still hadn’t said anything about her COVID diagnosis. Sam approaches me.
“Hey, we’ve got a problem.”
I hangup and follow him across the parking lot. Nightmare scenarios begin to run through my head. Someone started a fight. Someone grabbed a dancer. Someone scammed the bar. I couldn’t even guess. But I didn’t know why they elected ME to handle it; someone who is clearly incapable of managing a tense situation right now.
“What the fuck happened?”
“We don’t know. He got up, walked off, and when we looked back, everyone was rushing towards him.”
The doorman let us in. I ignored his glare and looked straight to the back. Jonathan was sitting on the floor, holding his head. Before I had even made it over, the bartender handed me a bill and Jonathan’s card. I signed with an “X” and cleared a path through the small crowd. An official looking man stood next to me. Adrenaline had given me a temporary clarity.
“What happened?”
“He was walking to the restroom, fell face-first, then stood up and fell again.”
“He’s overdosing!” someone panicked.
“He’s not overdosing. He’s just had too much to drink. We’ll take care of it. We’ll get him home. Jonathan, we’re gonna take you home, alright?”
“Y’all gotta get him outta here now! OKC is on their way!” another panicked voice cried.
The fuzz. The situation had just become WAY more serious. Just then it all clicked. The quickness and efficiency of their response was the result of having to go through this routine at least twice a week. They were trying to save their own ass. We were running out of time to save ours.
“Tanner, bring up the car.” I tossed him my keys and he ran out. Sam and I grabbed Jonathan under the arms and helped him to his feet. The manager walked with us and I spoke with an elegance and sobriety that only this kind of anxiety could muster up.
“I’m sorry for the scare my friend gave you. This was our first time drinking with him and I think we all expected his limit to be much higher. But I really appreciate y’all being so helpful and understanding, and I hope we haven’t caused too much trouble for you.”
Jonathan would stop every few feet and talk to the stripper he never got a lap dance from, apologizing and trying to explain himself. But we didn’t have time for that. Sam and I pulled him away before he’d stop again and start all over.
“Jonathan it’s alright, man. You’ll see her again. We’ll come back for her sometime.” We’d never set foot in this establishment again.
Tanner pulled up under the awning and we stuffed Jonathan into the backseat.
“Drive. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
Our exit was blocked by an approaching fire truck. Tanner reversed the car and pulled us onto the street. The tension was unbearable. Behind us, more sirens wailed and I just waited for the blue and red lights of a police cruiser to shine through the rear window. We pulled onto the highway and sped down. The road was empty. We were clear.
“Guys… I think we made it.” I said.
“We made it! We made it out!” the front seats rejoiced.
“Here, I wanna play a song, it’ll be good. You alright Jonathan?” I asked.
He gave an unenthusiastic thumbs up and focused on his shoes. We rolled all the windows down and blasted “Fortunate Son” at top volume. I was riding a natural high now. We had escaped! No one got arrested! The sky was glowing orange to our right as we came around a curve heading towards a purple horizon. All but Jonathan sang at the top of their lungs. This was a good moment. This is how every night in America should feel. Everyone should do this. Peace and euphoria washed over me. In the seat next to me, Jonathan was leaning his head forward in misery.
“Really, man. Are you okay? They said you hit your head pretty hard.”
“I’m fine, I just think I need to sleep.”
Immediately I thought to the “do’s and don’ts” of concussions. And sleep is a considerable no-no. In Norman, I made Tanner stop at a remote gas station for cigarettes and then asked him to take the long way home so I could keep an eye on Jonathan. We parked the car at my house and he started wobbling towards his place across the street.
“Hey, I really think you should try to stay up. I’m afraid your concussed and I’d really hate to have to explain all this if you don’t wake up tomorrow.”
“I’m fine, I’m not concussed. I just need a little sleep.”
“I can only take your word so far, man. But I’ll compromise. I’m gonna knock on your door in an hour. And if you don’t answer, I’m coming in. Leave it unlocked for me. And if you don’t get up, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“Okay.” and then he trudged off into sleep.
Tanner, Sam, and I sat on the porch for a few more beers and smokes, and to debrief everything that had just happened and how amazing it was that we got away. The energy of the night was simmering and the air was beginning to cool. The sun was all but gone now.
“Well, I think it’s about time we check on him. I’ll go over.” I said.
I walked up the steps and knocked on the door. A few tense moments passed and I started to worry. I knocked again, this time with a little more force. Met with silence, I twisted the handle and poked my head inside.
“Jonathan! You alive?”
An unenthusiastic “yeah” came from his bedroom. I returned to my porch and finished my beer.
“He’s okay. What a helluva first hangout.”
“He’ll probably never drink with us again.” Sam said.
“He probably thinks we’re crazy.”
“We probably are.” Tanner declared.
“You know, I used to be afraid that I couldn’t drink like I did when I was twenty-one. But we drank Jonathan under the fucking table.”
“And Jonathan is a big dude. That’s no easy feat.”
“I guess we’ve just had more practice.”
I swelled with a perverse pride at wiping Jonathan out on his first expedition with us. We’re still as wild as we were when Sam and I lived together. It hadn’t been a long time since then, but there’s been thousands of miles covered between there and here. I was glad to know I still got it.
Sam and Tanner left, and I similarly retreated inside to sleep, and conclude the summer solstice.
YEARNING
NORMAN, OKLAHOMA
JUNE 22ND, 2022
I woke up without much of a hangover and immediately set to cleaning the house and maintaining the car. It was my only day to do all the things I couldn’t do because of my feet. I cleaned the car inside and out, then changed the oil. It was barely three weeks since my last oil change, but I had driven well over five-thousand miles. I loaded my things into the trunk and spent the afternoon waiting.
The original plan from the first leg of the road trip was to visit Lydia in Oregon, then hike Pariah Canyon, then Sam would ride back with Tanner and Colin to Oklahoma, while I met Savannah in Denver. After her birthday in Denver, I would drive up to Michigan to see my grandma, then I would come back home and that would be the end.
But because of my feet and Lydia’s COVID, the plan had been thrown off. I still had three destinations to hit: Oregon, Colorado, and Michigan. All very far away from each other. My new plan was to move from West to East, driving all the way to Eugene, then back to Denver, then up to the Bay City area, then finally home. But it’s two full days of driving straight from Norman to get to Eugene. And if I’m heading west, I’ll inevitably stop to see Savannah, so that’s another day. And coming back to Denver to make it on the 29th, I’d have to leave on the 27th, unless I want to drive twenty hours straight. This means I’d be on the road for five days, giving me one day in Eugene. It COULD work, but it didn’t seem worth it to drive for that long just to rest for a day and start it all over again. And it would be only me this time. No Sam to trade off with whenever I was worn out.
I could also go straight to Denver, but then I’d be waiting for another week, and sitting still for the past week has been miserable already. And it would be kind of a crunch to get to Eugene, spend time there, then drive across the country to Michigan and make it back before my leave-of-absence ended.
I’d been thinking about it all week, and I finally had it all figured out: I’d drive to Michigan first, stopping in Chicago, and seeing my biological father and his family in Indiana on the way. Then I’d book it to Denver. It’s only a day’s drive. Nothing I haven’t done before. I’d celebrate Savannah’s birthday with her, then start heading for Oregon. It would be a long drive, but time would be on my side. I had plenty of time to get there, and plenty of time to hang around. Finally, I would cruise my Lincoln down the Pacific Coast Highway. All the way from Florence to L.A., then I’d make for Cimarron, seeing Savannah one last time before my month-long summer trip comes to an end.
It was the perfect plan. The only reason I wasn’t on the road right now is because I had one more engagement in Oklahoma: Sam, Tanner, Isaac, and I were going to float the Illinois River tomorrow. It all worked out because Sam’s family had some land in Adair County. I’d sleep in the car that night, then set off the next day.
The car was clean and packed and the house was spotless. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t wait!