Friends Like These

Friends Like These

 

         “You guys look like you’re having fun.”
         I gulp my shot of Jack, let the bartender’s words ring in my head, then reply with a forced smile. Small talk has never been my thing.
         Today is my twenty-fourth birthday, so I’m out celebrating an undeserved sense of accomplishment with some friends. For “old times’ sake,” we decide to check out ClubSoda. I remember living up the street from this place, and I have many memories of stumbling home after copious amounts of whatever I could get my hands on. The place looks no different today than it did the first time I was here; I don’t even think the staff has changed. The music they played here changed over the years; there would usually be a different DJ every three or four months. I know this because I came here at least once a week from when I was eighteen until twenty-two.
         Tonight is my first time here in what feels like ages, and the sound is really different. Crappy. I can tell that none of my friends are into the music either but we’re still dominating the dance floor. It’s probably the pills. Still, we look like we’re having fun, apparently.
 
         Eight years ago, on the night of my sixteenth birthday, I was with Sylvie, Bonnie, Jake, Jett, and Eva. That was my crew of friends. We’d rented a limo for the night and bought several bottles of gin and vodka. Fake IDs weren’t hard to get back then, plus the guys at liquor stores and bars didn’t care; why would they? It was more cash in their pockets. Anyway, there were glasses and ice in the car, so we just cruised around the city, through the parks, and along the beaches, drinking the night away. I’d been clean of all drugs except alcohol and nicotine up until that point. I was only sixteen. I‘d always fancied myself an experimental person, so it wasn’t that I was particularly against doing drugs. I simply hadn’t had the opportunity. Yet.
         We rolled down all the windows and opened the sunroof, allowing the breeze to swivel around the inside of the limo. New Order’s “Thieves like us” was playing on the radio─ a top-ten favorite song of mine. I can still remember the smell of the ocean as we drove slowly along the coast. The moon was big and bright and its distorted reflection in the soft ocean waves was comforting to me.
         At midnight, we’d been driving aimlessly for a few hours. We were all tired and drunk; but I had just officially turned sixteen. Jake pulled a couple of mini zip-lock bags full of some white powder from his pocket and began singing Happy Birthday. Soon after, everybody joined him in the song and faced me. Jake handed me one of the bags and rubbed my head playfully.
          “Let’s do a line, birthday boy.”
          “Here?” I felt stupid asking that, but I couldn’t think of any other way to respond to his suggestion.
          “Where else would you rather do this?” he chuckled.
         Eva handed me her makeup mirror and Master Card. I knew what I was about to do, and I knew how I was gonna do it. Television leaves very little to the imagination. Without hesitation, I emptied the contents of the zip-lock onto her mirror, and cut several uneven lines of the white powder. I was an amateur, but no one complained. I did a line and passed the mirror to my right. A tingly sensation scudded up my nostrils, leaving a bitter taste at the top my throat. That was all I felt at first. Then, a few minutes later, I noticed that my buzz had disappeared, so I poured myself another drink. A stiff one. With that, I began a cycle of drinking and passing Eva’s mirror around that lasted until the early hours of the following morning. Breakfast went right through my nose along with a vodka-OJ; by then I was wired, and feeling really fuckin’ good.
         After that night, snorting became a regular part of my day. The other parts were a drag; I often felt out of place and belligerent. ‘Out of place’ is short for isolated, indifferent, and irritable. I hated the world and everyone in it, including myself.
         My general social life went to shambles; even my family life became destructive. I would go weeks at a time without seeing my mother or father. I didn’t care; it spared me the lectures about my going out, and staying out late, and slipping up at school, and blah, blah, blah. A lot of times, my only wish in the world was that they don’t see me sneaking into the house at six or seven in the morning, after a night of intense partying. I would never hear the end of it then. They weren’t stupid; they knew the kind of lifestyle I led and the kind of people I spent time with, but they preferred not to think about it, and just yell at me instead.
 
         I walked into the house once, after somebody’s end-of-school party; I think it was six or seven in the morning or something. My cocaine supply had run out a couple of hours before, so I tried to get some more, but my dealers weren’t answering their phones. With my senses heightened, every hair on my head was irritating me, every muscle in my body sore, and every footstep I took sounded louder than its precedent. The early morning light was a blinding sight to my blood-shot eyes. I had a throbbing headache, as the birds’ chirping sounded distorted and eerie. My nose was congested, so I had been breathing heavily through my mouth, which left me extremely dehydrated.
         I unlocked the front door and headed to my room, seeking solace in the warmth of my comforter. My parents had been up for some time, and were eating breakfast before they had to be off to work. I tried to sneak into my room without them noticing. It didn’t work.
         My mother walked into my room, and opened the door without knocking.
          “It’s 7:30 in the morning. Where the hell have you been?”
          “I was at my friend’s house,” I replied, grinding my teeth.
          “Doing what? Playing board games and drinking fruit punch?” she asked sarcastically.
          “Yes, mom. I was at my friend’s house, playing board games and drinking fuckin’ fruit punch. Okay?”
          “Don’t you talk to me in that tone. You’re lucky I have to go to work, because─”
          “Because what? You’d slap me? Or wash my mouth with soap?”
         She didn’t respond.
          “What?”
         She took a deep breath. “Cory, I want you to get better. You’re killing yourself, and I can’t stand to watch you…”
          “Here we go again,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
          “…your father and I will be happy to send you to rehab so you─”
          “Mom, can you please just leave me alone so I can get some sleep?”
 
         In the summer following tenth grade, there was a country-wide psychedelic craze involving techno music and many forms of drugs. Ecstasy was the most popular of those drugs because it was more accessible than fresh fruit. There were labs making this stuff everywhere; there was one in the basement of the house next to mine that I didn’t even know about until the police raided it a couple of years ago. If only I’d known about it, I wouldn’t have wasted all that time commuting to my dealer’s house every day or two.
         One night Jake called and told me about an underground rave that he had heard about from Sylvie. Sylvie was gonna meet us there with her friend, Dana, who was one of the DJs.
         Jake picked me up in his electric blue ’88 Camaro, which he’d bought a week or two before. The new PVD mix CD blasted through the car’s speakers. He had it turned up so loud, I felt my chest cave in at the thump of every single bass note.
          “Just getting warmed up,” he yelled.
         I smiled at him, bopping my head to the beat.
         We zipped towards the outskirts of the city, in search of this ‘secret’ party. A while after, we pulled up at some abandoned warehouse in the suburbs where the party was, and entered the space. It looked strange inside though it seemed well thought out. Psychedelic was the key word. Sylvie had visited her dealer beforehand and picked us up some seven or eight pills. We each took one for starters, but because I hadn’t had much food that day, it hit me hard and quick. The sound became intense and vibrant and every particle in my body was bouncing to the rhythm of the music. My heart pounded in synch with the drum beat, and the dark synth lines haunted me for hours. Of course the lighting and decorations made much more sense than earlier.
         Several hours later and after a storm of a dance session, I found myself curled up in a corner, waking to the sound of silence. Well, not complete silence; the music had stopped by then but some people had stayed behind, smoking cigarettes, chatting, and reflecting on the night. Some people were passed out like I was, and others were making out in various corners of the warehouse. Sylvie and Jake and that DJ guy were nowhere to be seen, but I didn’t think much of it. I got up, rubbed the sand out of my eyes, and stumbled outside. It was around eight o’clock by then and the sun was so bright it illuminated everything in sight, forcing me to squint.
         When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I observed the clear blue sky and the few birds flying in it. Beautiful day. Then I looked around me and realized that I was in the middle of nowhere. There were only more warehouses around; a car would occasionally whiz by along the freeway. Far in the distance, I could see a bus stop, so I lit a cigarette and started walking in that direction.
         On the bus there were people with briefcases and suits, drinking coffee and reading newspapers. They all looked the same to me, every single one of ‘em. I loathed their generic and robotic lifestyle. It struck me as empty, predictable, and unfulfilling. The bus ride back to the city took long enough for me to observe and contemplate the typical nine-to-five office lifestyle. One guy kept looking up at me and back down at the business section of his newspaper.
          “What are you looking at?” I asked.
         He looked away.
         I was wearing ripped jeans with safety pins that kept the tears from expanding, an inside-out faded black T-shirt, and five-year old cloth sneakers that I had never washed. I basically looked like a bum. My messy hair and slight stubble didn’t help either, but I didn’t care. The party life required no uniform. The bus, however, was transporting an army of office workers─ in black and white uniforms─ who fought for eight hours a day, from behind their desks, to make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Capitalist bastards.
         The bus passed by Dexter’s 24hr Diner, where Bonnie was working, so I decided to stop in for a visit. She was just finishing her graveyard shift, so we ordered breakfast and chatted about nothing in particular. Once the food arrived, our conversation came to a complete stop. All I could hear then was the clanking of utensils, the clinking of plates, and the mind-numbing background music. Of course it was turned down so you couldn’t make out the song, but it was loud enough to get on your nerves. Muffled melodies. Neither of us was eating much, just looking at our food, dazed and drained.
          “Cory, I’m pregnant.” She broke the silence.
         Oh shit. How long has it been since the last time we slept together? It feels like ages ago. It was on New Years’, wasn’t it? Is she tellin’ me this because I’m the father?
          “I got tested a couple of days ago, and… yeah.”
          “Ummm─”
          “It’s not your fuckin’ baby. Don’t worry,” she broke out violently.
         Phew. I guessed that she just needed to get that off her chest, and I would have been happy to talk about it, but I couldn’t come up with anything to say in return.
          “I don’t know who the father is,” she added and then broke into tears.
         I continued to chew on my toast.
         Bonnie drove me home after our awkward little breakfast and asked me not to tell anyone about her pregnancy. I agreed and was glad to be home after that meal.
         The phone rang repeatedly, waking me from my afternoon nap.
          “Hello?” I said sleepily.
          “Hey, it’s Sylvie. I need to─”
          “Hi Sylvie. That was so much fun last night, huh?”
          “Ummm… no, Cory. Jake OD’ed and had to be taken to the emergency room.”
          “What?”
          “Yeah, I looked for you, but we had to get outta there right away!”
          “Fuck. Is he okay?” I asked.
          “Well, he’s still at the hospital. I was calling to see if you wanted to go visit him with me. I feel like shit about the whole thing, you know?”
          “Yeah, definitely.”
         Sylvie picked me up and we went to visit Jake, but he was passed out. He looked so pale and rigid; I imagined that dead people look just like that, but I hadn’t ever seen a dead body so I was unsure. The nurse said that he was lucky to have been brought to the hospital in time because he was minutes away from dying. The thought disturbed me, not just because I would have lost a friend, but also because of how unpredictable life can be.
 
         A month before my high school graduation, at the prom, I was caught in the bathroom snorting coke with Jett. Needless to say, we both got kicked out of the prom. It was a dumb party anyway; the only reason I was there was because of Claire.
         I’d seen her around the school, when I occasionally showed up, but I had no idea who she was. I was intrigued by her mysterious and exotic looks. She’d just moved into town I’d been told. The first thing that had caught my eye, looking at Claire, was the way her feathered black hair covered half of her face most of the time. I loved it. At a closer encounter, I’d noticed her gracious green eyes and slightly tanned skin. Her slim body was often wrapped up in coordinated layers of vintage clothing.
         One lunch break, I went to buy cigarettes from the corner shop and she was outside smoking. I grabbed the last smoke left in my pack and pretended to have lost my lighter.
          “Do you have a lighter I can borrow?”
          “Yeah, catch.” She tossed the lighter in my direction.
         I caught it one-handedly. “I’m Cory, by the way. What’s your name?” I lit my cigarette, and handed her back the lighter.
          “Claire.” She stuck a hand out, so I shook it gently.
          “Nice to meet you, Claire.”
         She smiled coyly.
          “You wanna get some food or something?” I asked, despite my lack of appetite.
          “Yeah. That sounds good.”
         She drove us in her little, red, beat-up hatchback to a Sushi restaurant across town. The conversation flowed smoothly, better than I could have ever hoped. We talked mainly about music and movies, but couldn’t escape the inevitable mindless chit-chat.
          “So the prom is in two weeks,” she said.
          “Meh.”
          “Do you have a date?” she asked.
          “I wasn’t really planning on going, but if you’re, uh, free, and, umm, you wanna─”
          “I’d love to go with you.” She blushed.
         Startled at her forwardness, I smiled. “Cool.”
         We got to see each other plenty over the following couple of weeks and until the night of the prom. Aside from the occasional drink, it was good clean fun being with her; we would spend nights cuddling, talking, or even aimlessly walking around the city, hand-in-hand. I didn’t need drugs when I was with her; I felt great just being in her company. She was comfortable to hang out with and she was very pretty. What more could I have asked for?
         We’d been riding our bicycles around town one afternoon, and decided to take a break under a couple of park trees. The fresh smell of the blossoming bushes that surrounded the park was only ever familiar to me as a trademark car deodorizer scent. She sat in the cool shadows cast by the late spring sun, and I lay down, resting my head on her lap. Her hands moved gently around my shoulders, while the greenness of her irises pierced through the black strands of hair, in the same way the sunrays shone through the leaves and branches of the bushy tree we were under. I gazed into her hypnotizing eyes and observed the reflection of our surroundings in them.
          “What are you thinking about?” she asked tenderly.
          “Oh nothing. Just admiring the scene.” The world I once hated suddenly appeared beautiful through her eyes.
         She looked away, giggling. “Hush now.”
          “Come here.”
         She brought her lips closer to mine until they finally made contact, while I softly caressed her face in my hands.
 
         The night of the prom, the crew and I rented a limo and we did the same old thing. We rode around the city, looking sharp in tuxedos and evening gowns, drinking champagne and smoking cheap cigars. Bonnie had decided to have the baby about a year before because she felt that it would straighten her out and because she had “so much love to give.” Anyway, she couldn’t find a sitter so she missed the prom, and Claire took her spot. The actual dinner and dance party that the school set up was terrible but we danced anyway. We weren’t there for the music or the food; this was the final school dance and last chance for high school romance.
         Naturally, most people skipped the food and proceeded to dance. I went up to Claire, grabbed her hand and walked her to the dance floor and moved my body to the beat of the music, as did she. She looked beautiful in her backless, fitted, glittery black dress. I was wearing a traditional tuxedo that I’d rented for the night. Talk about uncomfortable clothing.
         After a few songs, Jett came over to us on the dance floor and asked me if I needed to ‘use’ the boys’ room, and I of course didn’t refuse. I needed a line or two about then. I politely asked Claire to excuse me while I went to the restroom, and followed Jett there.
         We went into the farthest stall, and Jett cut a couple of lines on top of the shiny, chrome toilet paper dispenser, while I rolled up a bill. Just when I brought my nose closer to the dispenser, I heard someone walk into the bathroom. Heavy, echoing footsteps. I motioned Jett to stay quiet. He did. Suddenly, the stall’s door got kicked in, revealing one of the school’s Youth Counselors.
          “Ok guys. Out you go.”
          “But─”
          “NOW!” He reached and grabbed the two of us by the shoulder and walked us out; he wouldn’t even let us explain anything to our friends, thus ruining any chance I had with Claire. I think she thought I walked out on her, so she wouldn’t talk to me again after.
         The school of course didn’t hesitate to inform my parents of what had happened at the prom, and my parents freaked out. They packed me up a bagful of clothes and told me to leave the house. They even took away my key.
         That was a costly rail; not only did the coke get confiscated, I got kicked out of my house, my prom, and I lost Claire. Sure, we had only known each other for a short while, but sometimes it takes seconds to fall for someone, and this was one of those times. I’ve met many girls in my life, but none of ‘em were like her; she was genuine and pretty and smart and funny and more importantly she made me feel good about myself. She ignored me completely for the remainder of the school year and it hurt so badly, and I never saw her again after school was over.
 
         The night after the prom, when my parents kicked me out of the house, I went over to Jake’s, hoping I could stay there for a little while. I walked through the front lawn of his parents’ house, around the back to the basement, where Jake lived, and rang the door bell.
         Jake cracked the door open, shirtless, and poked his head through the gap between the door and its frame. “Cory! What are you doin’ here?”
          “Hey. I got kicked outta my house.”
          “Uh-huh. And?” he said.
          “Well, I could use a place to stay for a night or two.”
          “Right. Ummm, the thing is,” he said and then brought his head closer to me and whispered. “I got a girl in there, and I was about to get her clothes off just before you came, so…”
          “I’ll just sleep on the couch or something.”
          “Yeah, no. I don’t think that would work. Go to Jett’s.”
         Jett’s place was out of the question; he was fighting with his parents over what had happened at the prom. “Yeah, I guess I could go there,” I replied. It was obvious to me that Jake had been drinking, so I didn’t want to get into a whole thing with him, explaining why I couldn’t go to Jett’s. Besides, it was pointless to try convincing him to let me stay. He made clear he didn’t want me there.
          “Cool. Call me tomorrow; we’ll go out for a drink or two.”
         Where the fuck am I supposed to go now?
         Sylvie and Eva weren’t even in town; they’d gone on a post prom trip for the weekend, and Claire wouldn’t answer any of my calls. I certainly wasn’t gonna go to Bonnie’s and stay with her and the baby and all. I had nowhere to go and that felt really depressing. I walked around aimlessly for hours with my duffel bag in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The night got cold and my legs got tired so I resorted to a youth hostel uptown and spent the weekend there, looking for a new place to stay.
         After a month or so of sleeping on random couches, I moved into an apartment with one of my coworkers from the record shop. At that point, I had already finished high school and was working full-time. That was the apartment up the street from ClubSoda. I went out and partied intensely every night of the week for as long as I lived there. It was unhealthy.
         At twenty two I was a pale, skinny mess of a guy. I didn’t sleep much, I didn’t eat much, smoked near a pack a day, and spent all my money on drugs and alcohol. I didn’t even like the way drugs made me feel anymore, but it was the only way to get through the day. I really felt the need for a break so I moved out of that party-house apartment and got an office job, working nine-to-five as a customer service rep for a telephone company. Yes, it was boring and I hated that I had become what I always wanted to avoid, but I felt better physically and mentally. The crew and I kinda separated, as a result of my new-sought lifestyle, and because they partied even harder than they ever did. I still smoked cigarettes and drank occasionally, but I stayed clear of drugs altogether. I couldn’t deal with that stuff anymore.
 
         This morning I got a call from Eva, wishing me a happy birthday (I can’t believe she remembered it was my birthday). She said that we should re-unite with everyone, and reminisce about all the good times we once had; I agreed to go out with them, but silently disagreed with the “all the good times” remark.
 
         So now we’re at the club with all the old faces getting drunk and celebrating my twenty-fourth. The tired and puffy eyes of the crew remind me of the many nights I spent awake, abusing my body, and killing what’s left of my brain cells. Bonnie interrupts the thought, offering pills to everybody.
          “Here, Cory. Take this.”
          “Nah. I’m good.”
          “Come on,” she says. “It’s your birthday.”
          “I really shouldn’t.”
          “What the fuck, Cory? When did you turn into such a tool?” She laughs.
          “Fine. Give it to me.”
         She tilts her head, raises an eye brow, then smiles.
          “For old times’ sake, right?”
          “Ya!” She giggles and walks off.
         So I take the pill and go over to the bar and order a shot of Jack Daniels. The bartender pours a quick one and looks up. “You guys look like you’re having fun.” He smiles.
         The words get me thinking of the last time I really had fun, but I struggle to do so and that makes me unhappy. Then I glance over at the dance floor and see everyone high as kites, drinking and dancing and finally I recognize that the bartender is right; we look like we’re having fun.