coming home. I stayed in my room most of the time, and Dad buried himself in work. We just went our own ways for a while and didn’t really speak for days on end. Dad and I just recently started talking like normal again, but Jim’s still far away. It’s almost like he died, too. I miss him just as much as I miss Mom. Maybe even more because he’s still alive.
I take a break while letting some of the glue dry. In the meantime I make a big batch of spaghetti for lunch so Dad can have some for dinner. I wash it down with a glass of mango juice.
It isn’t until late in the afternoon that I completely finish building the F-16, which I place on the windowsill to dry out completely. The paint and glue smell good, but I know if I stay in there I’ll get a headache, so I go outside.
I’ M SITTING ON THE FRONT steps thinking about those deformed babies again, picturing them in my mind like it’ll help me understand something, when I feel this vibration come through my body. But it doesn’t make me sick or cold in the guts. In fact, the whole neighborhood is shaking. It’s the booming sound of a huge bass speaker. I can hear them coming from a mile away. David’s Cavalier convertible has a speaker system that shakes the window frames of houses when it passes by. David pulls up with Will up front and Brad in the back. I hooked David up with Will and Brad a few years ago. Since then we hang out whenever we can, even though I’m probably a little closer to David than they are. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” says Will.
“Go where?” I say.
“Party.”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on, it’s Friday. We’re not going until you get in.” Davidturns up the bass even louder. The ground shakes beneath me. It feels like the apocalypse.
“Okay, okay! Just wait a goddamn minute!” I say.
I go to my room and throw on a new T-shirt. I smell my still freshly glued plane and admire its shiny newness once more before locking up the house and hopping in the backseat with Brad. We take off down the road with the bass speaker creating a vibration that goes up my gut through my neck up to the top of my head.
T HE PARTY WE’RE GOING TO is way out in the country. David’s heard about it through a friend of a friend who’s way older than all of us. So we’re thinking we’re going to a college party out in the woods. The West Georgian College was known more for partying than its academics, anyhow. David heads due south in the general direction of Underwood.
“Why’re we going this way?” I ask him nervously.
“Do you know any other way?” he says. We end up going way past Underwood, farther south out into the country. I’m talking red dirt roads surrounded by thick jungle-like woods. We go on like this for a while until these cars and motorcycles parked along the side of the road turn up.
“I think this is it,” David says. We slowly back the car up and park. In the distance we can hear loud heavy-metal music coming out of the woods.
“Are you sure this is it?” asks Brad.
“This has got to be it. I mean, it sounds like a party, doesn’t it?” says David. “And there’s only one way to find out.” It takes a good long walk to reach the clearing, and when we get there it’s full of old people, not college old, but middle-aged old. Some of the old guys are wearing uniforms almost like the ones Boy Scouts wear, some ofthe others like Hells Angels. It’s a weird mix, but they all look pretty tough. And a lot of them are watching us intently. On a makeshift stage is a band playing that loud heavy metal we heard from a distance. The main singer has this greasy blond mullet and beard. I will say this, he has a kind of charisma that makes watching him strum his guitar and sing entertaining. The guy is chock-full of attitude. I’m not into heavy metal but the band sounds okay at first. Then it starts sounding terrible when the three backup singers start screaming in unison. I mean, it sounds like
I take a break while letting some of the glue dry. In the meantime I make a big batch of spaghetti for lunch so Dad can have some for dinner. I wash it down with a glass of mango juice.
It isn’t until late in the afternoon that I completely finish building the F-16, which I place on the windowsill to dry out completely. The paint and glue smell good, but I know if I stay in there I’ll get a headache, so I go outside.
I’ M SITTING ON THE FRONT steps thinking about those deformed babies again, picturing them in my mind like it’ll help me understand something, when I feel this vibration come through my body. But it doesn’t make me sick or cold in the guts. In fact, the whole neighborhood is shaking. It’s the booming sound of a huge bass speaker. I can hear them coming from a mile away. David’s Cavalier convertible has a speaker system that shakes the window frames of houses when it passes by. David pulls up with Will up front and Brad in the back. I hooked David up with Will and Brad a few years ago. Since then we hang out whenever we can, even though I’m probably a little closer to David than they are. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” says Will.
“Go where?” I say.
“Party.”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on, it’s Friday. We’re not going until you get in.” Davidturns up the bass even louder. The ground shakes beneath me. It feels like the apocalypse.
“Okay, okay! Just wait a goddamn minute!” I say.
I go to my room and throw on a new T-shirt. I smell my still freshly glued plane and admire its shiny newness once more before locking up the house and hopping in the backseat with Brad. We take off down the road with the bass speaker creating a vibration that goes up my gut through my neck up to the top of my head.
T HE PARTY WE’RE GOING TO is way out in the country. David’s heard about it through a friend of a friend who’s way older than all of us. So we’re thinking we’re going to a college party out in the woods. The West Georgian College was known more for partying than its academics, anyhow. David heads due south in the general direction of Underwood.
“Why’re we going this way?” I ask him nervously.
“Do you know any other way?” he says. We end up going way past Underwood, farther south out into the country. I’m talking red dirt roads surrounded by thick jungle-like woods. We go on like this for a while until these cars and motorcycles parked along the side of the road turn up.
“I think this is it,” David says. We slowly back the car up and park. In the distance we can hear loud heavy-metal music coming out of the woods.
“Are you sure this is it?” asks Brad.
“This has got to be it. I mean, it sounds like a party, doesn’t it?” says David. “And there’s only one way to find out.” It takes a good long walk to reach the clearing, and when we get there it’s full of old people, not college old, but middle-aged old. Some of the old guys are wearing uniforms almost like the ones Boy Scouts wear, some ofthe others like Hells Angels. It’s a weird mix, but they all look pretty tough. And a lot of them are watching us intently. On a makeshift stage is a band playing that loud heavy metal we heard from a distance. The main singer has this greasy blond mullet and beard. I will say this, he has a kind of charisma that makes watching him strum his guitar and sing entertaining. The guy is chock-full of attitude. I’m not into heavy metal but the band sounds okay at first. Then it starts sounding terrible when the three backup singers start screaming in unison. I mean, it sounds like
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