Chapter I: Go Getter
“Of all cities, New York looks best in grey. Back when this metropolis began and the frontier of the west was fresh in the mind of humanity we photographed the memory. From then on the black and white indelible ink served us well. We would look and say, This was the beginning of doing things our own way. Now the sun of days and days has bleached the page, and none of us can tell the difference. What’s right is what’s right, if you’re the one doing it. I often find myself wondering; what ever happened to the line between Heroes and Villains? Once upon a time we knew who had our best interests at heart, and who was the enemy of our manifest destiny. But what we thought we knew wasn’t necessarily true, and we’ve been left with the knowledge that our righteousness was a ruse for the darkness shining through. Who am I to say that I am Good? Only that I am here.”
I was a firehouse baby. You know the type. A modern Moses left on the stoop. No Egyptian princess came calling for me though, just the arms of a nameless man whose smell is the reason I smoke. To this day I don’t know how I remember it. After that it was eight different homes in seventeen years. Some of the same kids landed in each one somehow, as if they had us on a rotation.
—Let’s give the orphans some familiar faces.
The one I recall seeing the most was Juke. We were in the same house from 4th to 6th Grade, then sophomore to senior year. They called him Juke because no matter what you said to him, he could always find a song that had the same words in the lyrics. Half the time he would simply start singing whatever song it was. He was a nineties kid on the outside; always wore his shirts one size too big, knee hole jeans, and kept his hair a Cobain Red. Unfortunately I never bothered to learn his real name despite all the time we spent together. You can get lost in all the Johns, Jacks, Mikes, and Matts you’ll ever meet. There are millions after all. Juke taught me early on that you didn’t have to be a genius with the books to make it. To me that was great news because a scholastic genius I was not. Paying attention to a textbook is one of the hardest things to do when it’s the least important aspect of your life. He also spoke like a person twice his age and I honestly didn’t understand half the things he said to me. I suppose that’s why I took him so seriously.
—What they want you to do is turn into street trash so they’re no longer responsible for you. It’s that or chisel you into a square small enough to fit in the wall their trying to build.
Juke’s plan was to be a brick on the outside, but a bomb on the inside.
—It’s people Sal, you gotta learn. What makes each of them tick? If they see you as a stranger they'll write you off, but you give ‘em a mirror to look into and they’ll trust you. Then you let them do the heavy lifting.
Looking back I see how slippery of a slope Juke was on. If I had to guess, I’d say he either conned his way into a fortune five hundred, or he’s in prison. No real middle ground there. I’m not saying kids like him can’t level out, but when you’re eleven years old and you’re mentally capable of saying shit like that it’s safe to assume the attitude is there to stay.
I also don’t mean to imply that Juke was a cynic through and through. He felt that life was originally meant to be a playground, but somewhere along the line we turned it into a battle arena. Being that he wasn’t a physically intimidating person, his first line of defense was cleverness. He kept a copy of Dale Carnegie’s How To Win Friends And Influence People on hand at all times. I’m sure you can gleam from the title why he liked it so much. Ironically, I think knowledge of that sort benefits the people around more than the person holding it. Why do you suppose so many influential people either end up killing themselves or dying at a young age? I believe it’s because they can’t find contentment in normalcy. The average Joe that encounters the influencer learns a great deal, but Joe didn’t have to pay the price for it. Ernest Hemingway once wrote, Let him think that I am more than I am, and it will be so. Time has proven this to be true. After all, this same man who inspired entire generations to be brave, vigorous in their pursuits, and to stand firm against all odds, shot himself. Perhaps the most important disclaimer one can make on behalf of the thinkers of the world is this:
—Do as they say, not as they do.
As for myself, I graduated high school by the skin off my teeth in 2002. It was purely thanks to Juke that it happened at all. I’m not going to open up a taxi of hookers, but being a teenager in New York City during that time was by no means pleasant. After the twin towers dropped we collectively came down which a severe case of Fuck-It-All. I told Juke I wanted to drop out and road trip west. He just stared at me.
—I always wondered if Hollywood programming actually worked on people.
Condescension aside, he was right. The quaint freewheeling pathos of the 50’s died with Helter Skelter. Running away hasn’t worked out for anyone since.
—Even if you’re going to cheat, you still have to play the game.
I hated that. Unlike Juke I had no interest in beating the odds. I just wanted to avoid them all together. In the end his reasoning won out over mine, but it caused a chain reaction. From then on a claustrophobia started to rise up. It didn’t matter where I went, it didn’t matter who I was, the world had its own trajectory. It was waving a gun in my face saying, There’s nowhere else to go. A wiser man would’ve considered posting up in some deep corner of Wyoming or the Dakota’s. Perhaps a hippie commune or converting to some obscure religion for the sake of living ascetically off the grid. But even for the people living off the grid there is still a pin in the map that says, this is where they aren’t on the grid. Besides, what kind of life is that in the first place? No more driving through the city with the stereo cranked; no more downtown nights; no more uptown dates; no more television flickering in the background at the end of said dates—the modern kissing booth—no more smoking on the balcony; going to midnight b-movies; arcade sounds; rock shows; bar lights; diner coffee; airports; planes; trains; automobiles. Maybe some people don’t care for those things, but I was a millennial head-case who wanted the modern luxuries random chance had bestowed upon me. If I was meant to be a monk I would’ve been born in a barn near a monastery a thousand years ago.
All that to say, I stuck out my senior year by partying it to the ground.
One such party was at a sorority up in Syracuse. Juke had been going around school bragging that he had a rich girl upstate. Coupled with the fact that she was older by a few years, that won him some points with the popular dudes. No more getting slammed into lockers. The problem was, he didn’t have any evidence to back it up. After a while the claim started to lose its wait. So, along came a three day weekend and he decided to amp things up a notch.
—Here’s what’s gonna go down Sal. Marley said the Phi’s are throwing a mixer on Saturday with one of the other frats.
—Her name is Marley?
—Yeah. She said she can get us in if I pretend to be her boyfriend and you…
—Wait, aren’t you?
—Would you just listen? We’ll hitch up there tomorrow after school. I’ll assume my role, and you’ll be my bro trying to figure out where to pledge next year.
—What’s the point of going up there if no one here is gonna see it? When we get back you’ll be in the same boat.
—Right, like you don’t wanna party with college chicks.
—I’m not sayin’ no. We’re going for sure. But your problem still isn’t solved.
—That’s what I’m getting to. I’m gonna tell the guys they should meet us up there. Say somethin’ like, ‘Hey, you find your way into town and I’ll find you a way into the party.’ All I have to do is go at it with total confidence and they’ll believe it.
—What happens when they actually show up?
—It’s five fuckin’ hours away. The chances are virtually nil.
—Virtually.
—Oh come on.
—I still think they aren’t going to buy it.
—I’ll bring a disposable camera and we’ll take pictures of the house and the chicks and the party and shit.
—Borderline Creeperville, right.
—That’s what people do on trips!
—Fine. All I care about is the beer anyway, I don’t know why I’m complaining.
—Exactly.
Tomorrow made it’s way around; as it often does. The bell sung like a choir of angels at the end of sixth period. Juke swung by the locker room to make his big announcement, and we hit the road. Somewhere around Poughkeepsie we decided to ditch the hitching and spring for a bus. We didn’t get into town until nearly midnight, and neither of us had cell phones—oh, the turn of the millennium—but we were resourceful. It was prime time for shoulder tapping, so we got ourselves some Old English forties and made Brass Monkeys. An hour was spent smoking and sipping on the dark side of some engineering building before we set out for the twenty-four hour library.
—Neither of you have student I.D.’s.
—Since when do you need one of those to get in the library?
—You’ve always needed a…
—Miss, we’ve got a 20-page paper due Tuesday for our Archaeology 101 class. Thanks a lot Mr. Romsfeld—and I for one would much rather finish it now than sacrifice the next three days of freedom and bliss the gods have blessed us with.
—…….
—Seriously, let us in.
BUZZ
There you go people. Juke at work.
—Mr. Romsfeld, what on earth kind of name is that? Archeaology 101?
—Yeah, Marley’s taking it.
Personal questions always come with personal reasons.
—So, you wanna find a study room and take a nap or gab about how I know things?
—I vote nap.
Twenty minutes later we were face down on a table drooling on blank papers; selling the illusion no doubt. In the morning we waltzed out looking haggard and went in search of a bagel shop. After a nice poppyseed with the works and two cups of black I was ready to meet the legendary Marley. When we got to the house I tried to read the name of the sorority, but it was all greek to me. I knew there was a Phi in there somewhere. Juke pulled me aside on the front step.
—By the way, I told her that your uncle was the bass player of The Velvet Underground, so run with it if she brings it up.
—I don’t know shit about that band. How am I supposed to do that?
—Well, she doesn’t either, she just likes them.
—What’s his name?
—I don’t know, Doug or John, either way.
—I tell ya I gotta remember more lies when I’m with you than…
KNOCK KNOCK
—Just a minute!
—Who is it?
—I don’t know I haven’t opened the door yet.
*door opens*
—Ew, who are you?
—Call me Juke. This is Sal. We’re Marley’s friends visiting from the city.
—Marley! Do you know someone named Puke?
—It’s Juke, Courtney.
And there she was. Taller than I expected. She didn’t make firm eye contact with either one of us. She brought us into the house and casually told us to grab a drink. The kegs were already laid out. A few other girls were lounging around, but you could’ve cut the apathy in the place with a knife. I felt as though we were ghosts. Luckily Marley was an intuitive gal.
—It’s nice outside. I’ll show you the Beer Pong table we made for tonight.
—Lead the way.
Out back there was a shared space with the opposing house; all concrete except for a pathway that lead out to the street. I remember asking why there weren’t any windows on the first story of the other house. I also remember feeling stupid when Marley said it was just a garage. Leaning up against it was a sheet of plywood painted black. There was a stenciled portrait of the Blues Brothers on it as well as several bright silhouettes of cocktails, marijuana leaves, the like. A fine Beer Pong table indeed, but I was more intrigued by the person showing it to us. I hadn’t noticed before, but Marley walked with a limp that seemed permanent. Limp might be the wrong word, but I’m not sure what else to call it. She didn’t appear to have as much control over her left leg as with the right. I never asked about it for fear of causing offense, but whatever the explanation I found it tremendously endearing. Something like that acts as a bookmark in the mind. I only spent this one day with Marley, but here I am twenty-five years later remembering her as if we were together yesterday.
Sadly, we smoked a joint shortly after the table showing and that put an end to any other clear memories of the afternoon I may have had. I know there were smiling eyes and plenty of jokes. I’d like to think the funniest ones were told by me, but Juke and I had a competitive nature when it came to humor. Half the time it was unclear who delivered the punch line and who devised the setup. Regardless, Marley must’ve been enjoying herself. She was present at the very least. The one image I still maintain is composed of roughly two seconds of her complete attention.
Who is that in there?
Eyes can talk, apparently.
—What’d you say?
—I didn’t say anything.
There was an awkward silence, followed by shouting from the back door.
—Marley! The pledges are going to be here in ten minutes!
Juke stood up, and Marley with him. I was confused.
—What pledges?
—The fraternity sends their new pledges to our house to serenade us before the brothers arrive.
—Is that a metaphor?
—Oh god no. Literally they stand on the front porch and sing to us. The first one to miss a note has to announce the brothers as they walk in.
—Is that considered hazing?
Then Juke butted in:
—Obviously you’ve never been in a fraternity.
—No, Juke, I’ve never been in a fraternity. We’re still in high school remember? We go to the same one.
—Oh right.
Marley set us straight.
—Just a friendly piece of advice, never say the H-word again. Not so long as the guys are here anyway. You’re better off calling my one of my sisters a cunt.
—Jesus.
—Loves you!
—Anything else I should know?
—Yeah, don’t use the phrase, I get the gist.
—Seriously?
—Seriously.
Marley went upstairs by herself to get dolled up. We made the executive decision to wait out the festivities in the kitchen. As much as I wanted to see the serenade go down, being out of sight seemed like a better idea. I’m sure we were only in there for fifteen minutes or so, but it felt like days. It was one of those awkward transitions where you know both of you would like to keep talking, but you’re too stoned to come up with anything to say. At one point I turned on the sink simply because I needed to break up the monotony of staring at the grout lines in the tile. Juke and I briefly shared a glance before bursting into laughter. Neither of us had to explain why.
The mood shifted when we heard the voices. It wasn’t necessarily a negative shift, but it was a rare instance in which Juke seemed equally as nervous as me. He knew this was the big leagues, and being that Marley was our sole anchor things were going to go one of two ways.
A: We somehow impress a group of elite socialites enough for them to be interested in strangers.
B: We spend the whole night standing around like idiots while a bunch of dudes flirt with the one person we know in the place.
No matter what, the next six hours would be spent in full on performance mode.
Through the living room window we could see the pledges lined up in black tie garb, each with a bouquet of roses in hand. As they stumbled their way through the first chorus of I Want It That Way by the Backstreet Boys our tension subsided. The look on their faces paralleled our thoughts. They too were young—a year older maximum considering their status—and their only semblance of confidence was derived from the tradition. It didn’t matter if they butchered the song or embarrassed themselves because that was the whole point. The girls would laugh, fingers would be waved, half of them would sing along, but not one of them would take it seriously. The imperfections were part of the act, and that vulnerability would eventually become their strength.
Sadly for Juke and myself, we had no such starter. Once the serenade was over the worst performer assumed the position of the announcer.
—And now I present to you the man, the myth, the legend, and president of our fraternity Kristofer Roberts!
I turned to Juke.
—Is his name really Kristofer Robins?
—Roberts, Sal, Roberts.
—Ah.
There was a staggeringly high pitched cheer, and the girls parted for the grand entrance. Kris stopped on the threshold and struck a serious pose.
—Ladies, first off I would like to thank you for all the homework you’ve put off to make this night possible. Second, I am sad to announce that I will not be joining in on this year’s Best Bod competition.
—Aw!
—I know, I know. But as you can see…
Kris motioned to the pledges, then to himself.
—I have a bit of an unfair advantage.
The girls cooed at the boys on the porch. Kris took his time working through the crowd; kissing hands and brushing elbows until stopping at the last of the sisters.
—How you doin’ babe?
—Better now. I see you’re feeling pretty good about yourself.
—Well Katie, I’m standing in a room with 33 beautiful women and my girlfriend is in charge of all of them. So, of course.
—And what exactly do you think I’m going to make them do?
—Oh you never know…
Kris let lose a mischievous smile, and the Katie gave him a smack on the shoulder. Then he saw us.
—Who the fuck are these fools?
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
—See that girl…
Katie pointed to Marley.
—This is her boyfriend and the other one is thinking about pledging next year.
I’d forgotten that Juke set me up for that.
—So you two queers think you can just show up huh?
—Well we um…
—Um what? You think because you got a girl in the house you can have carte blanche?
—I don’t…
—Listen to me you little shits. Ten seconds from now my brothers are gonna march through that door and kick the ever-loving...
—We’re just…
—Just what?
—Um…
—Just Um. Alright, I’ll tell you what, how ‘bout we throw you’re teeny Ums through that window right there.
We looked to the left; paralyzed with fear.
—Hey Larry! Rich! Jackson! Get over here and help me show these morons the quickest way to the street.
I wanted to run, but Kris immediately jumped in front of our only way out. Next thing we knew they had us four feet off the ground. They brought us both to our own window and swung us back and forth like battering rams. I looked at Juke’s terrorized face and closed my eyes.
—THREE!
—TWO!
—ONE!
Then…
—DRINK!
Suddenly, we were swung over to the nearby kegs. Everyone in the room was chanting as we dangled feet to the sky. We drank for our very lives—so it seemed. A few seconds later we were tossed onto the floor. Juke and I sat up; dizzy, burping, and in shock. Kris walked over and knelt down. He put one hand on each of our shoulders.
—You didn’t think we were actually going to throw you through the window did ya?
Neither of us were ready to speak. Kris was all smiles.
—Come on get up. I'm messin’ with you. I mean, crashing the party isn’t the chillest thing to do, but it might be the best decision you ever made.
In this way we got the conversation starter we previously lacked. Most of the brothers couldn’t care less about us, but the pledges saw a reason to commiserate.
—Well dudes, welcome to a day in the life.
Red cups were passed around as two different DJ’s set up shop; one in the corner of the living room, and one out back. Lights went down; eyes lit up; music got louder, and the voices followed. Once the party was in full swing, the girls dropped the veil of apathy they’d been wearing all afternoon. At least, that’s when I realized it was a veil and not a state of being. I’d lost Juke to a Beer Pong tournament and I was posted in the kitchen—the only well lit room in the house—taking shots with a group of five people whose names I can’t remember. All girls save for one disinterested boyfriend. Normally I’m a very conservative speaker, but somewhere between the liquor and the music I found an enthusiasm for storytelling. The girl on my left asked where I was from—A fire station in NoHo—and the one on my right turned it into a drinking game. I’d dish out some anecdote with my arms flailing:
—Forth Grade, home room. I had a leather jacket and Juke had a jean jacket, but he wanted mine so he could look like a fighter pilot. He had the sunglasses to match you see, but I wanted to look like McFly. So we switched, and that gave us an idea. A plan was hatched as they say. We wanted to see if our foster parents would notice if we swapped identities. We did everything we could to look like the other person. Eventually there we are, waiting out front to get picked up. Then when we finally do…
—Did they notice?
—NO!
Shots were thrown back, and it was on to the next story from the next home. By Story #5 I was paying less attention to my own words and more to the girl who took my arm during Story #3 and put it around herself. I knew I’d soon be out of material. My stories were nearing the present.
All of us were beyond buzzed, so time was starting to jump around. I don’t recall telling the last story, but I know it resulted in me and the girl being the only two left in the kitchen. Squared up, you know the drill.
Then along comes Marley to grab a fresh 30-Rack from the fridge. I took my eyes off the girl for a moment and thought about saying something, but Marley was seemingly uninterested. My distraction didn’t go unnoticed. The girl turned around on me and faced Marley.
—Whacha doin’ Mars?
—Me and Juke made it to the finals.
I was going to comment, but the girl put an end to that with a not-so-subtle reach into my pocket.
—Awesome! Good luck!
Marley made for the door silently with a grin on her face. The girl spun back around and took me by the hand.
—C’mon, I wanna show you something.
Before I could voice my approval or opposition we were on the move. I sent one last glance toward the back door and locked eyes with Marley.
There it was again: Who is that in there?
We were on the move, the girl and I. Passing through the living room was an event in and of itself. Couples strewn about the place; coke on the coffee table; dancing up on it; bodies all over the floor; beer bongs; another keg stand for me somehow; Kings Cup; strip it up; kick the green man off the top; base drop; dead mouse; party in the grindhouse.
The stairway to the second floor was a mesh of black light and silhouettes we had to push through. I was on another level beyond the physical. Things were getting real hazy real quick—and it wasn’t about to stop.
There was an open door on one side of the hall. I saw someone down the way knocking on another door.
—Hey I paid for half of that you know!
The girl brought me into the open room and went straight for the dresser. She produced a ziplock baggy and a bottle.
—Do you know what this is?
I assumed the ziplock was weed, but on further inspection it looked more like tea; thin leaves like needles; deeply black. The bottle was clearly a prescription of some sort. The girl took some of the leaves and put them in a glass pipe. Next she took a pull from the little bottle.
—Your turn.
—What is it?
—Codeine
—…?
—Cough Syrup. Cools the smoke.
I can’t for the life of me figure out why I stuck with the girl past this point, but I did. She handed me the pipe.
—You first. Sit here.
I sat at the foot of the bed and took out a lighter. She looked at me.
—Say when.
No sooner had I flicked the lighter than she lost the dress. What I didn’t expect was the invisible brick wall that pushed me back. She remained standing but I fell into some sort of abyss; her body elongating, stretched thin and white; curving and widening; eyes bright; sweetness shining from tip to toe.
I was lost.
She fractured into a shadow of invisible hands like—dripping tar in the shape of a woman—losing sight of the real but not the feeling. All images were layered with geometric glass and pointillized. Soon my whole world consisted of a cube with green dots confirming the various planes of dimension. Something I could not see swept over my rib bones. My internal compass told me I was upside down. Possibly hanging over an edge. I was there for a prolonged period of time before being overwhelmed with a peculiar sense of definite location. I suddenly knew exactly where I was despite the fact that I had no idea.
I was in a dark room in a hotel that was somewhere in the sky—somewhere other than Earth. It was a chamber where no time existed outside of the observed. I saw a door open to a hall, also denoted by green dots traveling in a perpendicular direction. Through this door came a man; staggeringly quick; moving faster than my eyes could see, but I was not seeing with my eyes. When he opened up his mouth to speak red flames produced from his tongue and I was terrified—
Wicked be where, Sunshine?
In retrospect I know who he was, and where I was, but when I was eighteen the details were a mystery to me. The quickness with which the vision wore off was astonishing. I awoke from the strange dream in a snap to find the girl arguing with Juke in the middle of the room. She was covering herself with the dress and there were people watching. Thank the good lord I still had all my clothes on.
—You have no idea what you’re doing! Are you kidding me with this??
—It’s legal you fucking idiot!
—No it’s not! Anyway that’s not the point!
—It’s not like I gave him heroin. You’re acting like a little bitch.
—This?! This right here is just as dangerous!
—No it’s fucking not!
—Not everything legal is safe, and just because it doesn’t hurt your body doesn’t mean it can’t hurt other things!
—Like what, you’re fucking feelings?
—No!
—I think you just wanna be his little daddy telling him what to do.
—That’s not…
—Just because you don’t have a daddy of your own doesn’t mean you can pretend to be someone else’s just to make yourself feel better jackass, face it!
—Fuck this.
Juke stormed out of the room. He shoved a group of people out of his way. My head was still spinning so I couldn’t run after him, but I stood up and looked at the girl—Jordan as I now knew.
—Guess this means I don’t get to take my turn?
—How did Juke know I was up here with you?
—Who cares? Here, gimme that.
The pipe was on the bed next to where I had been laying. I handed it to her and walked out the door.
—Bye boy.
Downstairs I found Juke in a heated discussion with a very drunk Kristofer Roberts. I walked up to them and Juke looked me square in the face.
—You can party and drink and do whatever with chicks all you want Sal, but I’m not going to stick around and watch you open gateways to things you don’t understand.
—Where is this coming from? You’ve never said anything like this, ever.
—I’ve never brought it up because people our age shouldn’t know the things that I do!
—And what exactly is that, that drugs are bad? Save it Juke.
—You might know me but you don’t know where I came from. There are things outside of this world that lie in wait for stupid, naive young people to come along thinking they’re just havin’ a little fun. Experimenting with some psychedelic shit. Well guess what?? If you aren’t careful those things are going to come after you and literally eat you fucking alive! You might still be walking around but you'll be dead under the skin. You have to know how to interact with them before you go tramping around in there.
—You sound…fucking insane! What the hell is with you? How drunk are you right now dude?
—Forget it. Do what you want. Find your own way home.
With that Juke bolted for the front door. My initial reaction was to go after him, but Kris held me back.
—Hey man, not worth it. He’s fugged up. I seen it all the time. By tomorrow you’ll both forget all about it.
Unfortunately, Kris was wrong. I never saw Juke again after that night. Not even back at school in the city. He left the house, his things, all the stuff in his locker, the works. He just disappeared—even after all those lectures about how running away is bullshit.
At the time I believed Kris, so I was inclined to stick around. We both got fresh beers and made for the back yard to clear our heads.
—Did Marley see any of that?
—Nah man. She’s been outside the whole time. You like her don’t you?
—Oh no. She’s the only person I know here. Or knew.
—Right. So you smoked somethin' weird?
—Eh, it’s pretty much gone by now. I don’t wanna talk about it.
—Fair enough. What’s this I hear about you pledging next year?
Kris and I sat on a couch the pledges had brought out to the yard by request of the brothers. We leaned back and watched the losers of the Beer Pong tournament battle for a shred of dignity. Despite the recent events I was feeling pretty euphoric. I decided to start playing the honesty card.
—No, me pledging was just a made up thing. We thought it would make you guys be more okay with us.
Kris chuckled.
—Oh man, I remember I used to do that shit. Tryin’ to get in. I get it. Well, you’ve seen the scene now, why don’t you think about actually doin’ it?
—I couldn’t. I don’t think I’m gonna go to college in the first place. I’m not big on school.
—Who said college had anything to do with school?
—Um, everyone.
—Okay, yeah there’s the school part. But you know there’s a lot more to it. My motivation—as is most I would assume—was social. This is a whole other ball game.
—I’ve figured that much.
—Not just parties man. What’s you’re name again?
—Sal.
I felt a moment of inspiration.
—Call me, Sunshine Sal!
—Alright there turbo. I’ve still got two years left. You a senior?
—Yeah.
—Well, if you do decide to join the ranks I’ll put in a good word for ya.
—A good word? Don’t you have to do this in hopes of making it into the frat?
I pointed to the pledges that were mixing up drinks, catching stray ping pong balls, and handing out condoms.
—Fraternity. Of course, but we gotta pick you first. It’s a whole thing.
—What do you mean?
—Well, I can’t really tell you point blank, but we don’t just let people walk up and become a pledge.
—You vet ‘em or somethin’?
—We just give the brothers a chance to say yea or nay. If they think they know someone who’d be our speed, they make a case for ‘em.
—Just like you’re sayin’ you’d do for me?
—Yeah, man. Marley gave me the low down. I’d say you had a rough go of it growin’ up and that made you independent. Our job would be to take that independence and turn it into determination. Add a network of like minded individuals into the mix and you’ve got a recipe for success in any field of your choosing. Not only that, but if things go south, you’ve got brothers out there for the rest of your life.
—Going for the hard sell are ya?
—See! You know what I’m doin’.
—Only thanks to the guy who just stormed outta here. Juke a cool guy he’s just…
—Let me stop you right there. Every semester when pledge season rolls around and we’re deciding who to take in and who to kick the fuck out, I gather the brothers I say, “Please for the love of god, do not tell me he’s a really cool guy.”
—I didn’t say really.
—Even worse.
Just then there was a shout from inside.
—Marley! Yet another group of your dumbass friends is at the door!
I looked across the yard. Marley was standing in a circle with a group of girls and a few guys on a mission for her attention. She backed out and made for the house. Kris smacked me on the arm.
—Go with her.
—What do you mean?
—Go…with…her.
He shoved me off the couch and motioned in Marley’s direction. I caught up to her right before she got into the kitchen.
—Hey Mars!
—Hello mister enthusiastic. I see there’s no girl in your pocket.
—That’s physically impossible.
—But metaphorically it is.
—For your edification she didn’t get what she was looking for. Well, she did, but in the grander scheme she didn’t. You know what I mean.
—No, I’m not so sure I do, could you explain it to me?
Her sarcasm was drowned out by the music as we entered the debauchery of the living room. At first I thought her intentions were hostile, but she had a smirk on her face that indicated otherwise. A grand scheme indeed—she said. We reached the front door. Even in the cacophony you could tell several people were banging on it. We stood there for a second, and Marley counted down with her fingers.
1…2…3
She swung the door wide open to reveal a group of roughly ten irritated high schoolers in letterman jackets.
—Are you Marley?
—Maybe.
The leader of the pack turned to the fellahs with surprise.
—So she is real.
—What’s the deal guys?
—Sounds like you got a half decent party going on. Is Juke here? He told us to stop by.
Marley looked at me as if I had an answer. I leaned forward and held out a finger.
—Sure he’s here. Let me just go get him. One second.
Then I grabbed the door and slammed it in their faces.
—I vote we go get another drink.
—Absolutely.
—Can I ask you something?
—Yeah sure.
—Do you like The Velvet Underground?
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