Zach was in his father's garage, working on the fuel line of his
dirt bike. He banged it up the last time he was out, and this was
the last part that needed replaced before he could hit the hills
again. He fitted the line into place, clamping it with a grin. She
was going to purr.
His cellphone lied dormant on a workbench. Beside this was his
Red Bull, third one for the hour. They helped sharpen him for
mechanical work, and Zach thought they tasted fine. He went over to
the silver and blue can, a victory toast, and eyed the blinking LED
on his phone. The can was half empty. He tilted it up, quickly
depleting it before crushing it in hand and tossing it into a waste
bin. He took up the rectangular bit of technology and swiped past
the lock screen, which was a photo he'd "acquired" from
Facebook of a girl from his Social Sciences class in a bikini, and
got to his messages.
His friend Corey was asking what he was up to, to which he would
respond "nm u?" It always played out that way. When one had some
free time, plans would be made. Corey had something in mind.
What he had in mind specifically was not laid out, but he asked
Zach if they could meet at his place. Corey was older, something of
a big brother to Zach. His girlfriend lived with him, but he was
effectively a solo agent, beholden to no one. He threw the best
parties at his rented trailer, and the look of a recent hurricane
affirmed this.
Zach grabbed another drink and got into his '97 Honda Civic. It
was maroon in color, which blended well with the rusting
undercarriage. There were dents all around, and the brakes made a
horrible squeal, coupled with the high-pitched whine of wearing
bearings. It had no muffler and sputtered every time it shifted
gears with sharp backfires on most stops.
By the time he reached Corey's he flattened another can and
chucked it behind the passenger seat. It rattled with some others,
becoming another bit of indiscriminate refuse. He parked his junker
and got out.
Corey was sitting outside on the impermanent wooden steps, a cheap
cigarette hanging from his mouth, his earnest attempt at imitating
Clint Eastwood. He had better things to smoke, more fun things
anyway, but he kept those inside. Besides, his girlfriend hated
menthols. He wore a long sleeved black hoodie. It was summer, but
he had marks he wanted hidden. He was tall, whiter than his Italian
blood would have had him when he was a child, and bony. The clothes
he wore, the hoodie, torn jeans, and even converse shoes all seemed a
size or two too big for him, and they drooped over his sickly frame.
He flicked away his cancer stick, adding to the minefield of
butts. He stood, grinning with his yellow teeth and displaying his
prominent Adam's apple. "Hey, man! What is up?"
"Nothing. Got my bike fixed up."
"Sweet. That's damn fine, man. Damn fine." Corey spun
about, bounding to the third step, and peeked in through the screen
door. "Hey, babe," He said, half asking, half expecting, "couple
a beverages." Something muffled came back, but Zach couldn't make
it out. "Nah, nah, we'll get into that later. Yea, those."
Zach saw the equally skeletal outline of Chrissy through the screen.
She looked haggard. Corey took something from her with one hand, and
with his free hand he slapped her ass as she went back to wherever
inside she had been. He said something to her in a low tone, and she
looked back, muttering a response and extending a middle finger.
Corey lobbed a can of Monster to Zach. It was one of the large
capacity styles with a pressurized twist top. Zach undid the lid,
and it popped exhaling gas and a bit of fizzing liquid. "Thanks."
Zach said and then let the cold fluid trickle past his tongue.
"Better than that bull piss you're always drinking."
Zach shrugged. It was hard to argue, when he was halfway done
with this new refreshment. He changed subjects instead. "So wha'd
ya have in mind?"
Corey waved him over to sit on the steps, close to the odor of his
trailer. Perhaps to mask this, he lit another menthol. Zach sat by
him, upwind.
"Okay," Corey said between drags, "it's Friday. How do
you want to spend your night?"
Zach smiled. "Wasted and blazing, you know it. I'd like to
get me some too."
"Right. Right. Live for the day."
Corey held out the stub remaining and dropped it like a mic onto the
loose gravel. "Well, Chrissy's cousin is coming over later.
Dude, you never saw shit like what he's got. He's gonna have
some sweet grass. Top o' the line shit!" Corey leaned in, his
bloodshot eyes ecstatic. "I'm invitin' everyone, man. It's
gonna be lit. And," he shut his eyes and grinned, rocking his head
from side to side, "there's gonna be so much pussy, you ain't
gonna believe!" He raised a fist, and Zach, his own face now
beaming, bumped it.
"Fuck yeah, man." Zach said, nodding.
"Just one thing." Corey tapped Zach's shoulder, a
"hold-up-a-minute" gesture. "I need you to run me to get the
booze. Car's still down, and I can't afford the fix. You'll
help me out though, right?"
Zach finished drinking, leaned over, and slung the can under the
trailer with a collection of others. "Hell fuckin' yeah. Let's
go."
Corey lightly punched the shoulder he had just tapped. He went
back in and got Zach something else, a form of payment for the favor.
Zach's fingers had begun to tingle as he drank yet another
caffeinated beverage, and he could feel a flutter in his chest. To
override this, he played the radio loud and headbanged while taxiing
Corey to the strip mall where the state store was. When they
arrived, he parked the noisy old sedan while Corey went in. Zach was
sweating now, and he felt lightheaded, his stomach lurching.
He got out himself, figuring he could stretch his legs, walk it
off. He took a few deep breaths, made some fists, and boxed his
reflection in the side view mirror. As he hopped back to dodge an
imaginary swing, all his breath left him. Stunned, his knees
buckled, and he fell back into the side of his car. Zach expected a
rush of pain in his back, something he'd gotten acquainted with
while wiping out on his bike. This did not come. Or rather, it was
overshadowed by the powerful throb in his chest, the sharp hot knife
running up his arm.
Corey found him like that.
Zach did not survive the cardiac event, and, needless to say, his
death put a temporary hamper on that night's party. Meaning that a
moment of silence was taken, but thereafter it was "in honor" of
Zach, and they all smoked his share and drank his portion as tribute.
The next day the local news outlets covered the story. His
parents claimed Zach to be a smart, talented young man, who had been
seduced by the allure of energy drinks. They asked how many more
teens and young adults would have to die before the substance would
get better regulated. The news cut from this to an interview with a
local politician who swiftly seized the popular opportunity to
condemn the companies. A statistic about heart disease, obesity, and
diabetes was added after this, and then the news continued their
regular dramas of murder and politics, breaking now and then for
weather and sports.
Zach the "intelligent and kind" young man was buried the day
after that.
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