| The Last Party (The end of an era?) Baggy Jeans, black T-shirt, brand new black shoes, brand new black hat and I�m ready to go. One last check in the mirror and��(wait, why do I have so much black on? Because it�s your favorite color dumb ass. Oh yeah.) I�m off. Time to start another long trip in my sweet 87� gray Buick with the multicolor paint job. Time for another night in that dark dusty small community known only as �The Creek�. I had made the trip a hundred times. Hell maybe a million. I had lost count over the past couple of years. Each trip, and I call it a trip because even though it was only 40 minutes away, it was like taking a journey into a new world, a different section of Earth or a different dimension of space. Once I hit the Bladen County line, time slowed down. Things became simple again. The �big city life�, which I had just become accustomed to, died, but I knew that it would be resurrected on my return. The night didn�t seem any different. I liked to ride with the windows down and the radio off so I could hear the sound of what life used to be like, or rather should be like. The air was always thick and muggy and I could hear the bullfrogs croaking even as I passed by them at 60 miles an hour. The drive would bore some to death but I had done it so many times, it almost became a daily habit, like brushing your teeth or masturbating. If it was still light enough you could see in between the rows of corn and when you drove by, the repetitive nature of cornrow then dirt path seemed like a flickering picture show. It was too dark to see this night, but in my mind, I could imagine it. I could drive the trip blindfolded. I knew where every turn was and I rarely ever had my mind on driving, but rather on the new experiences I was going to have that night. Who would get drunk and pass out before the party really started? Would I get laid tonight? Probably not, but I always kept plenty of rubbers that I bought at an out of the way gas station in my front jeans pocket just in case some nice drunk girl wanted to get to know me a little bit better. I�m passing the old Baptist church I used to attend when I was a boy now. Half way there. It was always about this time in the trip that I thought of the time when I lived in the area. I lived on a farm about 2 miles away from the old church and the memories I had of that place were a little mixed. The memory of me working in the tobacco fields once in a while always came to mind. I remember how much hatred I had for it and how the tobacco gum would stick to my hands and clothes. It�s kind of hard to imagine if you haven�t experienced it. I remember fishing in the pond behind my house with my next-door neighbor and wrestling in the old hay barns. I also remember how much I hated living in that singlewide trailer. Between the marathon style arguments my mother and her second husband had and the occasional beatings I received, with items varying from tree branches to novelty fly swatters, life seemed bearable. Those bearable times were not very frequent however. I once had to strip down to my underwear outside in the November cold in front of both my mother and stepfather because they thought that since I had just visited my next-door neighbor, I had contracted fleas from their dog. Instead of letting me walk into my own home and change, I had to take off my coat, shirt, jeans, and boots out on our front deck. I remember shaking from the cold weather while my mother picked up my clothes with a stick and carried them hastily to the washing machine. It was like I was a fucking leper. I left the farm around the age of 15 to live with my father, after my mother and second husband divorced. The whole experience with him (my real dad) wasn�t much better than what I had left. So I ended up living with my mother once again in a suburb of Fayetteville. For a while, I didn�t know which was better. Living with my mother, whose wild mood swings made Mike Tyson look like Richard Simmons, or living with my father who abandoned me at the age of 3 and never looked back. It was safe to say that I had been alone and raised myself from the day I was born. There was a group of good little boys and girls waiting for me about 20 minutes from here. Most of them still wandering aimlessly not knowing what to do with their lives or what even life was about. No one there cared though, nor did I, but tonight wasn�t just another night of seeing who could drink the most and it wasn�t just about having fun. Each party was a chance to grow up just a little more. We would all grow up a little more that night, and it would become more apparent to us that we were slowly changing into the adults that we would be for the rest of our lives. It was 9:15 now. The sun had set over an hour ago, but the day was just about to begin for me. |
 |