TANKED part 1

         Kent Gerra was not in a good mood. He looked over at the two guys passed out on the couch, leaning up against each other like some stupid charismas toy display gone horribly, horribly wrong. Kent considered reaching over and trying to wake them up, but decided that it would be too much of a hassle to get them out of their drugged stupor. Instead, he just took another drag on his joint and started gathering up his shit. It took him a second to find where his new bag of weed had been put, but he found it under his jacket and hugged it to his chest like a doll. When he stepped outside, the light seemed to sear into his skull, burning away bits of his brain. He shielded his eyes and stumbled over to his car and tried to get the damn thing to start. It took several tries before he realized he was turning the key the wrong way. Grumbling to himself, he started the car and backed out onto the highway.

         He was almost home before the red and blue lights appeared in his rear view mirror. He began to cuss to himself as he pulled over to the shoulder, keeping both hands on the steering wheel and watching the state trooper approach.

         "Son, do you know how fast you were going?"

         "Sixty, sixty five."

         "Do you know the speed limit on this stretch of road?"

         "Fifty."

         "So, you know you were speeding?"

         "By about ten or fifteen miles per hour, yes, officer. Is that a problem?"

         "Yes, it is. I'm going to have to write you a ticket."

         Kent breathed softly through his nose, trying to keep his wits about him. He knew he'd get a night in jail if his drugs were found, but he was pretty good at faking being sober when he was as high as a kite.

         "Son, I need you to sign this."

         *Shit! I'll never be able to do that.*

         Kent reluctantly took the pen from the officer and sloppily signed his name to the bottom of the ticket. The officer looked at the scrawl, then more closely at Kent's face.

         "Son, have you been drinking tonight?"

         "No, sir, I have not."

         "How about smoking dope?"

         "No, sir, I don't smoke weed."

         The officer sighed.

         "Son, I can smell it on you. I wasn't sure if it was weed at first, but I know for certain now. Would you please step out of the car?"

         Kent began to curse more loudly in his head as he carefully stepped out of the car. His bag of pot had been hidden in the center console by his body, but was now in plain sight. The officer reached in and took the bag.

         "Is this what I think it is?"

         "If you think it's marijuana, then yes sir, it is what you think it is."

         "You're going to have to come with me. I'm placing you under arrest for drug possession."

         The officer began reading Kent his rights and cuffing his wrists behind his back. Kent barely heard the officer until he said his name several times.

         "Yes, sir?"

         "Do you have someone who can come get your car?"

         "My mom should still be up."

         "Okay, I'll give her a call when we get back to the station."

         

         ***

         

         Kent lay on his back, staring up at the cinder block ceiling of the jail cell he has spent the night in. The only other person in the jail was the officer assigned to guard duty that night. He could see the sun rising though the window behind the guard, obscuring his features and casting an odd halo or aura around him. Kent thought about sketching the scene when he got home, but knew he wouldn't be given the chance. His mother and father would be furious with him after he had led them to believe that he'd cleaned up and was no longer smoking dope. He sighed, turning back to the ceiling and waiting for his time to be up.

         "He's in here, Mr. Gerra. I don't think he took much, but it was enough to intoxicate him. You do realize that we're going to have to send him to court unless he has some kind of intervention from the state."

         Kent groaned, turning on his side to stare at the wall. He hated it when people would talk about him as if he weren't there when they could plainly see him. He never got so stoned that he couldn't function, but so many people assumed that very thing.

         "I'm awake, you know. And I know what the law requires. I'm not stupid."

         Kent rolled over and sat up on the floor. He returned his father's glare full force before standing and walking over to lean against the bars of his cell.

         "Kent, what are we going to do with you. You swore to your mother that you'd stopped this drug nonsense. How can you break her heart like that."

         Kent looked down at the mention of his mother.

         "Look, dad, I'm sorry. You know exactly when I didn't quit and why I might never actually do it."

         "You're hurting your mother more than you could possibly imagine. She cried herself sick when you were arrested."

         Kent rubbed his face before looking back up at his father.

         "I'm sorry for hurting you both, but I can't change what I've done. All I can do is to live my life. Unfortunately, I can't seem to live it without smoking dope."

         "Well, we're going to see about that. I've made a deal with the judge that seems to try all of your cases. If you agree to weekly drug tests and counselor visits, you can stay out of jail and continue to pursue your art career. Your mother and I know how much your art means to you, but we can't let you continue to smoke yourself into oblivion. There are things in life beyond marijuana and Wendy's death."

         Kent flinched at the mention of his sister.

         "Dad, please don't talk about Wendy in this place. It's not right."

         John Gerra walked over to his son and gently touched his cheek though the bars.

         "I know you still feel a lot of pain from your sister's death, but you can't hide from it any more. You have the rest of your life to live, and Wendy would want you to be happy, not so drugged out that you can barely get though the day."

         A single tear escaped Kent's control which was angrily scrubbed away.

         "Kent, will you try to quit again? I know we're being harsh, but we can't think of anything else to do to help you. Your mother and I will always be here for you if you ever need us, but you need to stop smoking marijuana."

         Kent nodded, hanging his head.

         "Son, you'll have a weekly meeting with a parole officer here in town until school starts next month, then you'll be transferred to an officer there on campus. You'll also have to start seeing a counselor on campus within the first two weeks of the beginning of classes. If you fail to do these things, we will come, arrest you, and try you to the full extent of the law. Do you understand, Kent?"

         "Yes, officer. Can I go home now?"

         The officer nodded and unlocked the cell.

         "I just need you to sign a form saying you've agreed to the terms the judge set forth."

         

         ***

         

         Kent stood quietly in the living room of his parents' large colonial style house. He could hear his sister Anne playing the piano in the family room, but didn't want her to see him before he got a chance to change. His mother nearly flew into him with a small cry, wrapping her arms around his neck. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around her, trying to soothe her.

         "Kent, baby, why do you keep doing this? Why did you lie to me?"

         "I lied to you, mother, because I didn't want to see you cry anymore, but couldn't stop smoking."

         "How can I help you? Why are you still addicted to marijuana?"

         "Because it's still my fault Wendy's dead. It still terrifies me that she'll blame me, and I can't stop all those thoughts unless I'm stoned. I'm so very sorry, mother, but I can't function without pot."

         Jacqueline Gerra stepped back a little to cup her son's cheeks and give him a light kiss on the nose.

         "Then let us help you find something else to ease the pain. Something that isn't illegal or so dangerous. It almost as if you're always drunk. I miss my son, and Anne misses her brother."

         "I will try, mother, if only for you and Anne. I just can't see anything working. I'm stone cold sober right now and all I can think about is getting a joint before I start thinking about Wendy. I don't know if I can stand to cry anymore."

         Jacqueline wrapped her arms around her son again and just held him for a moment.

         "Why don't you take a shower and see your sister. We didn't tell her what happened, so you can decide if you want her to know. And, Kent? I believe you can quit and that you will. I think you know, deep down, that your sister would never blame you or be angry with you. Wendy would want your memories, but not your grief or for you to stop living your life because of her death. Please, will you think about that?"

         "I will, mother."

         Jacqueline gave her son another kiss on his forehead before nudging him towards the stairs and the shower.

         

         ***

         

         When Kent came back down the stairs, he was dressed in a clean t shirt and jeans. His sister was no longer playing the piano, but had been told she needed to do her homework. She was sitting at a desk in the kitchen while their mother finished preparing lunch. She looked up and beamed when her brother softly knocked on the door frame. She hopped out of her chair and ran to him, throwing herself into his arms.

         "Kent!"

         Kent swung the seven year old up high before setting her back on her feet.

         "You're getting a bit old for me to cart around, Anne."

         Anne wrapped her arms around his waist and stuck her tongue out at him. He tried to snag it, but she pulled it back and giggled, pressing her face into his stomach. He ruffled her hair before swinging her up again and plopping her down in the desk chair.

         "So, what are we working on today?"

         "English. I have to write a story, but I can't think of anything to write about."

         Kent crouched down and quickly skimmed the directions on the top of his sister's paper.

         "Well, Miss Granger didn't really give you a subject, so you're going to have to come up with something on your own. What have you been reading lately?"

         Anne reached down to her back pack and pulled out a large picture book about a boy who sails to the moon on a make shift raft. Kent chuckled, setting the book aside.

         "Why don't you write something like this? A little girl going off on an adventure?"

         Anne's brow furrowed a bit, then she smiled broadly and kissed Kent's cheek.

         "Thank you, Kent."

         He ruffled her hair again as she turned back to her paper and began to scribble furiously. He glanced up and found his mother smiling softly at her two children. Kent smiled sadly up at her, glancing at the four places set at the table. He stood and leaned against the counter near where his mother was finishing a salad dressing to receive a quick squeeze of his hand.

         "It'll be fine, Kent. I promise."

         The words were whispered low enough that Anne never heard them. Kent nodded a bit, then glanced at the covered bowls.

         "So, what are we having for lunch today?"



         ***



         Emmerson took a deep breath before knocking on Kent's door. He was surprised when a young man with Japanese features opened the door.

         "Hey, is Kent here?"

         "No, I think he went to the dining hall. Do you want to wait for him?"

         "Nah, I'll just come back later."

         Emmerson turned to leave and saw Kent step off the elevator. Kent nodded in his direction as he hefted up a box from the floor of the elevator and walked over.

         "Hey, Em, what's hanging?"

         "Oh, nothing much. Just wanted to have a word with you."

         Kent's roommate stepped back from the door while the other two stepped in. Kent set his box down carefully on his desk while Emmerson sat on his bed.

         "So, Kent, what are you doing tonight? It's our last night before classes."

         Kent studied Emmerson for a while, then turned to his box. He began to unpack his new art supplies, waiting for Emmerson to say something more.

         "Well, I was just wondering. If you're busy..."

         "Nah, I'm not busy. Do you want to go to a bar or something?"

         "Sure. Only for a while though. I really don't want to be hung over for the first day of class."

         Kent chuckled, shaking his head. "Only you would say something like that. You'll have a great time, I promise."

         Emmerson gave Kent a look that Kent couldn't really decipher, but he didn't really care all that much about his friends state of mind.

         "See you around eight thirty in the lobby?"

         "Sure. See you around, K."

         

         ***

         

         Kent saw Emmerson sitting on a bench just outside of his dorm with his head in his hands. Kent frowned and went to sit next to his friend. Emmerson didn't respond even when Kent put a hand on his shoulder.

         "Em, what's going on? Last time you looked like this, you were worried sick about your mom. She's not sick again, is she?"

         "No, my mother's fine. It's me I'm worried about this time."

         Kent frowned, but waited for his friend to say something. When he didn't, he sighed, and moved to stand in front of Emmerson.

         "Is this about you and I?"

         Emmerson's head snapped up and he let out a long "shh" while glaring at his friend. "Don't say stuff like that out here."

         "Well, do you want to talk about this somewhere else? Masato's gone for the night, staying with his girlfriend overnight."

         Emmerson didn't say anything, only stood and walked back to the dorm. Kent heaved a heavy sigh and followed his friend up to his door. He unlocked it and flopped down on his bed while Emmerson sat in his desk chair. Kent just glared at Emmerson, willing him to speak.

         "Okay, look. I can't stand this anymore. I don't want to be gay. I want to be normal and get aroused thinking about women like every other guy I know."

         "Oh, for Christ's sake! Gay is normal, dumb ass. Do you think I was always okay with the fact that I enjoy fucking men and women? I wasn't, but I got over it. You really don't have much of a choice if you don't want to be miserable. If you don't get used to the fact that you're attracted to men, you'll be fucked up in your head. And I've seen you try to get it up with girls, but it's kind of sad to see you cry afterwards. And yeah, I followed you. I was worried that you'd get mugged or something."

         "What would you have me do? Being gay is still stigmatized and I won't have anything stop me from getting the best grad school or the best job."

         "You are such a tight ass! Why does your nonexistent career come before your very real sexual needs? You've got all your priorities completely out of whack and you'll drive yourself into the ground ant the rate you're going. You need to take care of yourself before you can do anything else. How well do you think you'll function in the real world if you're sexually frustrated? And do you think paying guys for sex, which is illegal almost everywhere, would be helpful for your reputation. Honestly, the best thing you could do would be to admit you're gay and just live with it. It doesn't have to be what defines you, but you need to accept it."

         "The hell I'll accept it. This...this thing I feel is an abomination and I won't have it."

         Kent growled, then jumped Emmerson as he got up to leave. Kent pinned him to the door, wrestled his belt open and shoved his hand down the front of Emmerson's slacks to get a hold of his dick. Emmerson's head kicked back with a groan and his hips pushed forward. Kent nipped at his throat before speaking against the skin.

         "You're already hard. You intended to come here and get some relief. I can help with that, if you'll just let me."

         Kent's hand rubbed up and down Emmerson's shaft, causing him to let out a long, shuddering groan. Kent adjusted his grip to thumb the head of the shaft, his own body starting to shudder.

         "Just let me, Em. It'll feel better than fighting it."

         Emmerson's breathing was heavy, but Kent made out the gasped affirmative and grinned.

         

         ***

         

         When Emmerson's breathing had evened out, Kent had already sat up next to him on the futon. Emmerson groaned and grabbed a pillow to bury his head under. Kent sighed, then nudged Emmerson's shoulder.

         "Dude, you have to get up. You can't spend the night there."

         "Like I would."

         Emmerson got up and started pulling on his pants. His skin was crawling, but there wasn't anything he could do about it now. He felt Kent tap on his shoulder and turned. He shuddered at the towel, wash cloth and bar of soap his friend was holding out to him.

         "How can you stand the fact that I need to shower after having sex with you?"

         "Em, some people just need to do stuff like that. Now, if I were a romantic partner of yours, I'd be totally insulted, but I'm not, so it's okay."

         Emmerson could feel his eyes starting to sting, but wouldn't let himself cry. Kent shoved the stuff in his hands and shoved him out into the hall and towards the showers. Emmerson took ten minutes to scrub himself down and towel off, thinking the entire time about his homosexuality. As he was pulling on his clothes, Kent stepped into the bathroom to hand him his shoes and a fresh pair of socks.

         "Take care of yourself, Em."

         Emmerson could only nod as he sat down on a bench in the hall to pull on his socks and shoes. Kent didn't look back as he slipped into the bathroom to take his own shower.