Road Trip

Chapter 25: Out of the Vein, Part 3

It sounded like snickers coming from outside, but there was no way of confirming, at least not at this time. Alone I sat in the bathroom, once again forced to purvey over violent expulsions, a chronic theme that held the potential for serious medical attention, tremendous and erratic with each blow; a reaction over the abundance of booze and beef that had entered my body the night before—it had to be. There was no other explanation, not for this early morning episode—ugha—not again!

Pressure mounted from the inside, building and begging for a release, testing the structural integrity of my internal components, and nearing the threshold. I took my time, as would any logical test conductor; a clean discharge depended on it. Sweat poured out from my face, my breath’s deep and heavy, yet composed—always cool under pressure, that’s my motto. Steady now, no need to rush things. My muscles relaxed. Nice and slow, allow the natural order of things to once again take its place—

Whoa! Disaster struck at the sound of a thunderous boom; a colossal movement of eradication, leaving in its wake a heaping pile of destruction. The aftermath was just as curious. Strange noises could be heard, a relapse of imminent catastrophe, the combination of snickers and choking, oddly following the reverb of each push, and continuing to do so throughout the duration of my agonizing ordeal.

“What could it be? It’s 8 in the morning, no way could Bill and Gretch be awake. Impossible!” I shrugged it off, realizing it was the least of my worries at this point and refocused my efforts on the enormous struggle ahead of me—there was nothing else I could do.

It was another 20 unpleasant minutes before the rest of the chaos could be ultimately expelled, a process that involved large excretions of unwanted sweat and unnecessary energy, as well as a heavy clean up effort at the end. Ok. Just flush, slip away quietly, and nobody will be the wiser. Nobody…

I pulled the lever and watched as the toilet pushed a large mound of disorder deep into the catacombs of biological waste. Down it went, swirling and mixing into an eventual disappearance, moving closer towards it final resting place. Good. Keep going, keep going—wait, what’s going on? Don’t stop! Why aren’t you moving? Go down—down, not up! No! Stop, please… STOP— “Ohhhh no!”

An explosion of laughter burst through the walls of the bathroom, a full frontal assault on my privacy. I shot my head back and forth in a panic. What the—where’s it coming from? I looked to the door; locked. No way they’d get in through there. I lifted my head, then faded up towards the ceiling, and hauntingly remembered. The walls. They don’t reach the top of the ceiling! We’re connected… Oh God, they heard the whole thing—

“What’s going on in there?” hollered Lea from a distance.

“Uhh… nothing—nothing at all.” I darted back and forth in desperate search of some saving grace. “Say, you wouldn’t happen keep a plunger around the cabin, just in case something bad happens, would you?”

 

***

 

Any issue with a clogged toilet died quickly; nothing a few plunges couldn’t take care of. Besides, there were much more prudent issues facing us on that somber morning that trumped getting worked up over some stinkin’ toilet. I was going home, and this time, I was leaving my travel companions behind… for good.

I took my time packing my bags, holding out on the inevitable by ensuring absolutely nothing was left behind, anything I could do to delay the eventual goodbye. Strewn clothes scattered about the floor, another peculiar and perpetual theme of the trip that brought about flashes of the La Quinta Inn debacle and the rush from the Dude Rancher Lodge back into my immediate recollection, also aiding in my prolonged departure. I walked back and forth across the room, picking up each article of clothing one at a time, an excuse to observe all of the antiques sitting on the nightstand and hanging on the walls. Their presence provided momentary solace, artifacts that sparked a nostalgic reflection, becoming more captivating with each pass.

Pieces of jewelry passed down from generation to generation sat, having been around many necks of many family members throughout many decades, or clasped onto ears of different shape, size, and age; beautiful gems worn on occasions of love, celebration, heartbreak, and tradition amongst a host of others, many of those surely spent at the Pony Bar during a good portion of the 20th century. Pictures ranging from old to not so old spread between family heirlooms, scattered in a random, yet natural arrangement, a historical timeline of the Dutcher heritage. It was as if they were connecting Bill, Gretch, and Lea with past relatives, waiting for their deeply rooted traditions to be passed on to future generations, so they too could continue the story, as did their ancestors before them.

And now, for a long moment I stared, deep into the old family pictures, stuck in a trance and ignorant of any possessions or action occurring outside the bounds of that room. For that long moment, the commotion inside the cabin, the quiet commerce of Pony, the stresses of work, life, and the millions of problems plaguing the world, all of it became non-existent in the face of Medusa, leaving everything in that room frozen but for an idea, a glimmer of hope left floating in my head and barely hanging on, just enough to make me believe. I’ll make time stand still. Right here, right now, forever. I’ll never have to leave. And why can’t I? If only just for another long moment…

 

***

 

Lea, Gretch, and Bill lined up perpendicular to the doorway where my bags lay. I walked back from the refrigerator to confront the trio having retrieved the last of my coveted possessions, a final Rockstar for the ride home, beginning the awkward process of saying goodbye, something none of us wanted any part of, not even Gretch.

“Lea,” I began, having to take a deep breath before continuing. “Thank you for the hospitality—for letting me call this place home. I heard so many good things through the years and… I’m just glad I finally got the experience.”

“Oh,” was all she replied before delivering a smile coupled with the placement of her hand on her heart in a sign of flattery. “We had so much fun.” We went in for a hug. “You take care of yourself Zack. Thank you for looking after those guys this whole time.”

“It was the very least I could do…”

Gretch and I now stood face-to-face, careful not to show any sort of emotion towards each other. “Gretch,” I said, exaggerating the schwa in her name, a particular habit in Appalachian dialect I picked up over the years from conversations with my east coast relatives, as my parting words had not yet entered my head. “I just… I—“ What in the—there’s that stupid lump in my throat again! What the hell? “I think that—“ Oh my God, you’re choking up. Knock it off—get a grip, man!” “I’ll see ya,” I quickly said in a forced confession, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder. C’mon man. “I mean… I think I might—maybe I’ll… I’ll miss you.” My words somehow broke through her emotional armor, revealing a genuine smile for the first time, followed by a hug. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a genuine smile on my face either.

But something hit over during mid-hug. There was a revelation, similar to a message from God, only much stronger. My mind turned to mush, letting the unnatural presence take total control of my body. My jaws moved up and down, involuntarily instructed through a manipulation of muscles working to force out an unfamiliar language of spoken tongue, and succeeding quite magnificently, moving so fast that by the time a coherent thought could be sorted and analyzed through my head, the next one was already spoken—ultimate diarrhea of the mouth.

“Hey Gretch, I don’t know what you’re doing next month, or the month after, or even the month after that, but if I’m in Boise, which I might be, maybe we should get together for a drink, kind of like a date—well, not a date, but I guess it could be—I mean, with Bill’s permission of course—I know, we can go to Applebee’s! And I’m buying—that is, as long as it’s on the 2 of $20 menu—and only if you want to, which I’m sure you will—I know how you guys can’t pass up a free drink, heheh—“

“Oh my God!” Gretch scoffed and brushed the incident off, retreating to the den to act as if she was embarrassed by what had just taken place. Lea watched the interaction, shaking her head with a smile of pleasant disbelief that permanently stuck to her face.

I turned to Bill, delivering unto him a shrug of the shoulders and a sheepish grin. He took in a deep breath that lifted his entire upper torso, leaving on his face a sheepish grin of his own. “You need some help taking anything to your car?” he asked.

“Yea… yea I’d like that.”

 

***

 

I squeezed my suitcase, a case of beer, and enough old fashioned ingredients and whiskey to kill an elephant into the trunk. Bill placed my backpack and a few other items in the backseat and shut the door, leaving nothing but strands of overgrown brush bent by a warm gust of wind between Bill and I, two friends standing in silence in the essence of continental America’s final frontier. “Well, I guess this is it,” he said after a long pause, not knowing what else to say. I was thankful he spoke, for I didn’t have the words either. I hardly ever do, especially during moments like this.

“It’s been one hell of a trip,” I said to him, meeting him in a handshake that eventually turned into a hug.

“I’m really glad this happened. You don’t think this is the end, do you?”

“I don’t think so—no, it won’t be. But if so, for some God forsaken reason, I guess you can say we had one hell of an ending.” We shared a chuckle and then once again stood apart from each other, wishing we had more words to share. Nothing came to mind. In the absence of dialogue however laid a recognition, one too difficult to explain in a single goodbye. Something had changed during that two-week venture through the heartland of America and back, a growth between two men, an ultimate culmination of brotherhood. Something we can’t quite explain, but will never forget.

“I’ll see you soon my friend. Message us when you get home.”

“Will do. Take care Bill.”

 

***

 

The lyrics of Third Eye Blind played through the speakers of the Benz as I made my departure from Pony that late morning with a full can of Rockstar in hand, leaving me with much to think about on the drive to my parents’ house in Spokane, Washington.

I drove the coast just to see you
Why’d you take so long?
And I get that you know that I miss you and I
I know something’s wrong…

And then you speak to me
And everything is easy…

I’ve yet to come across anybody who can accurately describe the feeling one gets the moment an adventure is over in a single word or phrase. It’s like a turning point or a crossroads where a false known awaits you. There’s an intriguing element around the corner, yet a sorrow that exists over what you’ve left behind, and what you have to come back to. And whatever sorrow you’re feeling is partly overcome by a sense of accomplishment, taking part in something not many have attempted before you, something proudly displayed like a medal of honor. It leaves you in a state of ponder, encouraging you to continue your search, to understand the mysteries of life; eerily familiar to what was felt at the onset of your adventure.

Whatever that feeling was, I had a lot of time to figure it out during the 6-hour drive to Spokane.

But I guess if I had to put a label to it, it feels like you’re running out of the gate at your heart’s command… almost like you’re running out of the vein…

 

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Chapter 24: The Lonesome Crowded West, Part 3 – The Emmy Award Winner

We emerged from the shallow depths of the Madison River lobster skinned and fully consumed of energy, the grueling, 7-mile journey by tube certainly taking its toll on our bodies. So thankful we were to have experienced several minutes of relaxation, to become one with the river and to exist, if only for a few hours, amongst a series of hazards that would mold us into honorary Pony natives. How thankful we were to say that we had endured the elements of the mighty Madison, our scrapes, bruises, and burns worn as badges of pride on our trek up the recovery ramp.

But perhaps most of all, we were just thankful that the whole damn thing was over.

In the backseat of the Benz laid my backpack with a new set of clothes. I grabbed for it, and then hesitated, opting to peak outside of the car for a suspicious survey of my surroundings. Bill and Gretch stood near the trunk, their undivided attention focused on deflating their tubes, something I had been ever-so prudent about since our exodus from the river, a calculated move to avoid a squall of harassment for being the last one with an inflated tube. With my backpack in hand and the coast clear, I calmly shut the door and slipped into the public outhouse undetected for a change of clothes and a quick whiz, one that was much deserved.

After my episode of relief, I dipped into my backpack and pulled out the green Old Navy shirt I had bought right before the wedding. The material was light and soft, one of those shirts that aren’t exactly a solid color, consisting of short, dark-shaded fibers of the same color scheme, but make you look both buff and awesome whenever you put it on—my favorite type. Josh Ulrich would agree, being that his whole wardrobe consists of them along with a couple of Patagonias and North Faces. Ben Woodward has a bunch of those shirts as well, but none of them make him look buff, or awesome for that matter. Sadly, the kid just kind of looks like a dingus, no matter what he wears.

With the words “Green Bay Packers” printed in yellow varsity style XXL letters however, I couldn’t help but think that this shirt was far superior to anything that Josh Ulrich ever owned (and definitely better than everything in Ben Woodward’s collection). There was no doubt that this was a one of a kind. I put it on, and dad body or not, I looked buff, and I looked awesome. It was a wonder why it had taken me until now to wear it.

I strutted out of the bathroom, giving Bill the “what’s up” nod as he folded and packed the rest of the deflated tubes into the back of the Benz. He nodded back with an impressive smile. “You guys ready to head back?”

“I think we should stop and get some more beer before we go…“ Whoa, wait—what is this? It wasn’t so much the suggestion that bothered me, but when Gretch lifted herself out of the backseat, a jolt of repulsion shot through my body. There she stood, clad in a thin green shirt with the words “Green Bay Packers” on it, written in yellow varsity style XXL letters, trying to look “buff” and “awesome,” or something stupid like that. I threw my hands up and rolled my eyes in disbelief.

“You just could resist, could you? You had to copy me. You saw the shirt I got at Old Navy, and you bought the same exact one, just because I got it. That’s unbelievable—No. I wish I could say I can’t believe it, but you know Gretch, after everything that’s happened this trip, this doesn’t surprise me; not one bit—“

“Zack, you saw me in line at the Old Navy,” she snapped back. “You knew I bought it, and you watched me pack this shirt in my bag this morning. You’re the one who copied me!”

This time, I actually couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of her mouth. I copied her? What an accusation! How dare she accuse me of copying her, after everything I’ve done for her! Oh, she likes the Green Bay Packers because of that one hunk Clay Matthews? No, she likes the Green Bay Packer because I like the Green Bay Packers. And she’s the one claiming otherwise? It’s revolting. It’s a travesty! It will not stand!!!

I stared at her with a set of impassioned eyes, brewing up a brutal response that would set the record straight, to create an embarrassment so overwhelming that the thought of an assertion much like the one she had just made would make her tremble in her sleep. I was about to make sure she’d never say anything so abominable for the rest of her life! My fists clinched and shook as I opened my mouth, squeezing every ounce of energy from my body into the ultimate comeback, a definitive insult, utter assurance that this would never happen, ever again!

“Gretch, You—I… Get—“ My mind raced with thoughts, thousands of them swirling, converging into a cloud of obfuscation. There was so much to say, any one of them warranting destructive results, yet all of them wanting to be released all at once! I opened my mouth again. “Gret…” It was a complete jam, impossible for anything to escape from my mouth’s tiny orifice. C’mon! Just say something—anything!

“Get in the car…” I said, my voice low and haunting. It was all that came out.

Gretch did as she was told and Bill followed her lead. I climbed in and sped off towards Harrison, stopping in Norris for a quick fill up on gas beforehand. We needed beer, and a lot of it.

20 minutes of Third Eye Blind and little conversation eventually led us to a local convenient store just inside of Harrison city limits. “I’ll be back in a minute,” said Gretch the moment I parked the car. She was quick to exit the car, as was I to follow her. “Why are you coming in?” she asked, confronting me with a look of perplexity spread across her face, as if she was the only one allowed in the store.

“I don’t know, I just want to make sure there’s nothing else we need, that’s all, heheh.” The truth was, I wasn’t really quite sure why I wanted to go in. Maybe it was just for the heck of it. She rolled her eyes and continued on towards the entrance.

“Oh boy, Packer fans eh?” said the attendant manning the store. “We don’t see many of you guys around here.”

“Oh yea, we’ve been fans for a long time,” I started, eager to hold a positive conversation about the Packers. “My family’s from Wisconsin, and we just love watching our boys play every chance we get, right Gretch?” Gretch was already to the back of the store, her focus totally diverted to the search of Coors Light. “Well, you know what she has her mind on, heheh.” The lady joined me in a soft chuckle.

“Oh boy, you kids must be so exited for the season!”

“Oh you betcha! She’s a big Clay Matthews fan, but you know me, I just have to root for my boy Aaron Rodgers.”

“Oh, he’s such a handsome fellow.”

“You know, I don’t want to brag, but I’ve been mistaken for Aaron Rodgers in the past…”

“I bet you have! In fact, you do look a little bit like him, if I do say so myself.”

“Haha, I know, I get it all the time… Yea, I really hope we get a chance to make it out there for a game or two this year. We just absolutely love it, and it’s always such a wonderful experience—” The sound of a 100-pound dumbbell slamming on the counter stopped our conversation dead in its tracks. We turned our heads, shaken up by the sound. There sat an 18 pack of Coors Light, and next to it stood Gretch, shooting us a short and artificial half-smile.

“That’ll be 16 dollars hun.” I reached into my back pocket to hand her my credit card, but by the time I got my wallet out, there was already a 20 on the counter. I gave Gretch a concerned look. She just shrugged back and returned a wide-eyed look like I was a moron. “What?”

“Thank you so much. Gosh, you two look so cute in your Green Bay Packer shirts.”

“Oh thank you mam. You have a wonderful day!” I replied with a giant smile on my face. Gretch nodded her head and gave the lady another forced, half-smile, squinting her eyes in a stuck up manner in the process. By the time we exited the store, her smile had disappeared and her nod had turned into a solid shake.

“What the heck was that all about?” she snapped.

“I don’t know, where the heck did you get 20 bucks from?”

“None of your business, that’s where!”

“GRETCH!”

“I found it in the parking lot of the gas station we stopped at back in Norris!”

“Gretch, that was somebody’s money! You stole!”

“What? I asked around. And it’s not like nobody you’ll be complaining later.”

She’s a criminal, just like her brother… “Whatever, let’s just go back to the cabin. This whole thing just makes me rotten.” We crawled back into the car and began the drive back to Pony.

“Alright! More Coors Light!” exclaimed Bill.

“Yep, another 18 pack,” I replied after a long sigh. “I can’t wait for steaks tonight.”

“Me neither. I think the grill’s gonna cook em’ up real good! You guys get anything else?”

“Nah, just the beef sticks we got back in Norris. I figured I might as well go in there and check, just in case. You never know, right?”

“Right—” A sudden release of pressure was heard from the backseat. Both of us looked back. Gretch had not only opened the 18 pack, but also cracked open a fresh can of Coors Light.

“GRE—“ I almost blurted it out by natural instinct, and for good reason too! She had the audacity to have an open container? In my car? While I’m driving? But as the word began to leave my mouth, I remembered the golden rule Lea had taught us merely a moon ago: You’re allowed to have a beer on the drive from Harrison to Pony. I let it slide without further mention and continued up the road back to the cabin.

Bill was quick to fire up the grill and get a start on dinner soon after our arrival, and who could blame him! If he felt anything like me, he was starved! I did my part by helping Lea whip up a few servings of “Idahoan” instant mashed potatoes, and Gretch even helped by prepping some corn on the cob! Well, at least I think she did. Who knows, she could’ve just stood around drinking more beer, which was more likely the case, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and say she helped.

Each of us salivated at the sight of four thick New York Steaks, fully seasoned and sizzling over a wood tempered fire, and continued long after they were lifted from the hot, grated iron they were cooked on. Our bodies released a heavy dose of dopamine the moment the savory taste of red meat hit our taste buds, sending each of us into our own form of fantastical exultation, proof that the hours of construction put into Bill’s grill was beyond masterful, and his cooking beyond that. But it wasn’t enough. Within minutes, my entire plate of food had been devoured… and I still wanted more.

To my left was Gretch, still with a substantial amount of food left on her plate, but her position and attentive nature towards her meal meant that any attempt at her food was at best a foolish endeavor. Bill on the other hand had grown negligent over his plate. Although a hearty portion had already been eaten, there it lay unattended, resting on the coffee table and still very much edible. He busied himself, toying with a collection of beer sitting next to Gretch and ignoring his remaining slab of meat altogether. “It’s now or never,” I thought to myself. “He won’t even know, playing around with the beer and all. And the way he’s acting, he’s probably all done eating anyway! I mean, I could ask—no, can’t take the chance. What if he says no? What to do, what to do—look at him poke at Gretch, obviously trying to show her something—knock it off! Concentrate—think stupid! He’s not looking! Act. NOW!”

With a single, swift motion, I lifted my steak knife and stabbed down at the slab. My knife pierced the strip like a hot stick of butter—success. I lifted the knife once again; the steak wasn’t there. Another knife had been stuck in it. “Hiya!” Bill screamed and swatted his knife towards mine, clinking together the metal ends.

“Hiiiya!” I returned with a counter attack. It was quickly deflected by another knife swat.

“Get back!” screamed Bill with a mighty swing of his knife across my body, his eyes lifted and his face long and serious.

“It’s mine!” I shot back after leaning back and dodging his swing, Matrix style. I countered, going in with a swing of my own. Bill jumped out of his seat and positioned himself in an aggressive stance. It all happened so quickly, the series of events moving faster than our brains could function, and the next thing I knew we were both on our feet, aggressing over what was left of the steak. “On guard!” I lunged toward him with my knife, my arm extended in front and body positioned like a master fencer. He took a few scoots back and came back at me with a lunge of his own, going straight for the kill shot. I deflected and rang my knife around in a circular motion in an attempt to induce confusion upon my foe. He copied my maneuver, both of our knives swirling around in between our bodies.

“Huwaaaa!” screamed Bill, shaking his knife in random directions in front of his body. I swatted my arm in a fury of madness only to be matched by Bill’s as our knives swung about, hoping that one would eventually make contact with something—hoping that contact would be one of our opponent’s vital organs.

“Yaawwwww!” My arm moved around fast—lightning fast; swinging and swatting in an out of control manner in front of Bill’s face, neck and torso.

“Ahhhh!” he screamed back, mirroring my attack style and speed—so fast that our blades began to appear as a solid sheet of grey, hovering around in front of us, waiting for Murphy’s Law to take effect.

“WAAAAA!!!”

“HUUAAAAAA!!!”

“WHHHHOOOOOOOO!!!”

“GUUUUUUUUYYYYYYSSSSS!!!” Both of us stopped in our tracks and turned our heads at the cry of the beast. Gretch sat back with her eyes wide and body trembling in horror. “What, in the hell, is wrong with you guys!?” Neither one of us uttered a sound, except for a couple of exhausted exhales. “You guy’s are acting like a bunch of animals…”

I took a long, hard look at Bill and he took a long, hard look at me. We remained silent, and nervous for another moment, before I finally spoke again. “…Are you kiddin’ me Gretch?” I blurted out, the words naturally flowing from my mouth.

“Obviously we were just joking around,” answered Bill.

“Yea, you think I want this stupid piece of meat?”

“You think we’re stupid enough to fight like this?”

“Yea, the steak was good, but c’mon!”

“Geez, way to spoil the fun, Gretch.”

“No kidding. Freaking out like we’re gonna hurt each other, give me a break—you know what, I’m not even hungry anymore!”

“Me neither. Come Zack, let us leave this Gretch to simmer in her paranoia.”

“Let’s do. I got a bunch of beef sticks to snack on anyway.” We grabbed our plates and left the party pooper outside to finish the rest of her dinner by herself. “I’m gonna need a stiff old fashioned after that one…”

 

***

 

“Psst, Zack,” whispered Bill as we finished up the last of the dishes. He whipped his head over twice, motioning it towards the bedroom.

“What?” I blurted, watching him tiptoe away.

“Shhh.” He made another head nod, this time towards the bathroom where the shower was running. A smile slowly grew on his face, causing a smile to grow on my face. He waved me over and I obediently followed. Whatever Bill had up his sleeve, it was going to be good… real good.

“Ok, here’s the plan. You lay on her bed and I’ll lie on mine. She wants to go to the Pony Bar really bad, so we’re gonna pretend to have fallen sound asleep. She’ll try to wake us up, but she wont be able to, and then she’ll freak out, really bad. What do you think?”

“Bill, you gotta know that I’m not some guy off the street that’s gonna suck up…” There was a serious look in his eyes as I spoke, ready to except any sort of news with a stroke of dignity. “…But that’s probably the best idea I’ve heard this whole trip.”

He paused for a second, acting as if he needed to hold back the tears before speaking again. “Then let’s hurry and get into position before she gets out!”

“Oh God, the shower just turned off. Quick!” We hopped into the room and jumped into position, letting a couple giggles out of our system before go time.

“Ok ok, she’s coming, shhh!”

I could hear her shuffling around the cabin, taking her sweet time wandering about, looking everywhere except for the most obvious place. “Bill? Zack? Where are you guys?” I clenched my jaw shut, doing everything I could to keep from letting out a chuckle and blowing our cover. “Is this a joke?” she asked as she continued her search, heading towards the den and asking Lea for additional help. “Mom, have you seen Bill and Zack?” I heard from a distance. Again, it took an extra effort to lock my jaw in place and refrain from making any sort of noise.

10 minutes had passed and the constant sound of shuffling continued to make waves through the cabin. It grew faint, then loud, then faint again, each iteration causing an increased stress on the muscles holding our mouths shut. The shuffling noise grew once again, and this time it maintained its presence, growing louder and louder, piercing, earsplitting, drumming into my skull—ringing over me now! Pounding and pounding, ready to explode!

Then, there was silence, but for the biological release and intake of air. The shuffling had stopped, and my heart was throbbing. A loud flick of the light revealed two bodies, completely motionless in the absence of darkness. “You guys look pretty stupid right now,” said a girl’s voice. No response was given. “Actually, you look really stupid!” Wow. It was like we were dealing with an amateur. “Oh well. It looks like I’ll just have to go to the Pony Bar all by myself then…” Gretch? By herself? To the Pony Bar? The statement in itself almost blew our cover it was so hilarious.

Suddenly, I felt a close presence next to me. It must have been Gretch, and she was up in my face, foolishly thinking she could break me. “Get up Zack. You’re faking, I know you are!” It took every muscle in my body, tensed in unison to keep me from letting out a snort. The culmination of up close and personal Gretch remarks was almost too much to bear. She hovered over my position for another minutes before walking up and taking a stab at her next victim—Bill. She had given up on me… for now.

Out of a small crack in my eye, I watched Bill, whose performance was impeccable. He even had a slight buzz under his breath, a delicate snore that sounded completely natural… almost too natural. “Bill, wake up!” she commanded in a stern and frightening voice. Yet again, she was afforded no response except for another set of rhythmic breathing. Man, Bill is good! Gretch went unphased, stepping up in her attacks.

She went straight for the face, grabbing his cheeks and squeezing them together like a bloated puffer fish. “Listen Bill, get up. We’re going to the Pony Bar, or else,” she said, speaking in some mystic dialect of evil (Actually, the conversation had much more substance. But because so many curses were used, about 90% of it had to be omitted due to personal blog standards). Yet, she continued. “If you don’t @$#$@&g get up right #$#@&% now, I’m going to beat the #$@&! out of your $&#@$ $#@, you $#@# $#*&$ $@^@&$@ @$@!(!#&^ @$%!!!!!! !!@#*$@#@!&*$^@%!*^! !^@@!*^$%!# ^$!@#^(^!%#(!^!!!!!”

To my absolute horror, the conversation went on. And to my amazement, Bill miraculously managed to keep his mouth shut and his body perfectly still. Gretch began throwing his head around like a chew toy, then proceeded to pick it up by the cheeks, giving Bill the old, cold stare down. “How can one man endure so much?” I asked myself. Then it hit me. No wonder he’s is keeping such a good cover. I think he’s actually out cold!

Gretch slammed his head down on the bed, where it bounced off the mattress and joined the rest of his limp body. She whipped her head back around and stared me down. I had seen that face before, a face where someone’s all pissed off for no reason at all—the worst kind—Ronda Rousey—screw this!

“Ahhh, oh boy, what a nap,” I said, stretching my arms and legs out. “Oh hey Gretch, what’s going on, heheh?” She continued her pissed off stare; no way of clearing my name. I leaned over and took a peak at Bill. My hypothesis was correct; he wasn’t faking, not one bit. He truly was dead asleep. As it turns out, a full day of floating the Madison mixed with a belly full of beef and beer had induced a state of sleepiness, and at this point, the poor kid wouldn’t wake up for the end of the world. “Well, I’ll leave you guys alone to deal with whatever it is you got to do for a little bit. I’m gonna see what Lea’s up to.”

I slipped out of the room, careful and light on my feet not to make Gretch even more enraged. And honestly, I didn’t want to bear witness to what Gretch was about to do next. And what was the point if I was utterly powerless in stopping her? Bill had carved his own destiny; his life was no longer in my hands.

 

***

 

Lea and I were watching the evening news in comfort when Gretch walked into the den, her head down and arms crossed. She took a seat next to her mom on the couch and shoved her arms deeper into her chest for an extra pout. “What’s wrong honey?” asked Lea, somehow unaware of the troubling events that had just taken place. Gretch said nothing, her only response being a sharp turn of her body away from her mother. By her overtly obnoxious shift, we could correctly assume that she was trying to say, “I’m mad.” Yet, her actions still warranted the obvious question. “Are you mad?”

It was another sharp shift, deeper into the couch, her face barely visible at this point; no chance of possible eye contact. Why yes, by the looks of it, it seems as though Gretch is indeed a little upset. I lifted my hand and cupped it over my mouth in a direct path towards Lea as to call out into a deep canyon and create an echo. Yet, only a whisper was uttered, barely audible as to prevent anybody except for Lea from interpreting my message, both visually and orally. “She’s a little grouchy because Bill fell asleep.”

“That’s not even!” snapped Gretch, whipping around and confronting my accusation head on. Crap! How did she even hear?   “All I wanted to do was go to the Pony Bar tonight. Bill knew that, so he went to bed—on purpose. Just to make me mad!” Well, that worked out brilliantly if I do say so myself. “What are you smiling about Zack?”

“…Um, nothing, I eh just…” C’mon, think of something. Quick! “I was just thinking, since it’s my last night in Pony and all, that I wouldn’t mind going out to the Pony Bar with you for a drink or two, even without Bill.” Good save—wait!

“Oh Gretch, that sounds like a wonderful idea! How about you two just go for a couple drinks?” Like most good ideas that are given by a mother, Gretch wanted no part in accepting Lea’s. So she stood up with her head down and slowly walked out of the den. There had to be a kink in her neck and a strain in her arms or something, for her head remained stuck in the downward position and her arms looked to be permanently attached to each other in the crossed position as she walked away. And once again, Lea and I were left in the den to watch the local news by ourselves.

“I don’t know what happened? I really did want to go to the Pony Bar on my last night for a couple of drinks!”

“Oh don’t worry Zack. She’ll come around,” Lea assured. “Gretch never passes up a chance to go out to a bar, especially in Pony.” Her words ameliorated my concerns, but only slightly. There was still much uncertainty stirring in my mind, let alone the anxiety bustling about.

Sure enough, the Gretch came back five minutes later with her shoes on and covered in a sweatshirt, dressed like she was ready to brave the elements of nature. “Alright, I guess I’ll go,” she said in a melancholy voice, doing her best not to show positive emotion. “But all I want is one beer. That’s it!”

“Ah great!” I said, and with a mighty zip in my step, I jumped to my feet and headed straight for the door. “Lea, do you wanna come too?” I asked, leaning my head back into the den, nearly forgetting my manners.

“Oh, no thank you.” She wiggled her can of Coors Light in line with her head. “I’ve got enough here to last me through the night.

“Well then, what are we waiting for Gretch?” I zipped right up and out of there. Gretch followed behind, shuffling her way to the door as if she was unable to lift her feet off the ground, forced towards a place she wanted to go to all along.

 

***

 

It was a mild night at the Pony Bar, something you’d expect for a typical Thursday in the small, rancher’s town with most of the big-time cowboys waiting until Friday to come out and party. “What will it be,” asked the bartender as we took a seat at the bar, the same one that served us a day before.

“I’ll have a Coors Light,” said Gretch after taking some time to peruse the menu, a baffling maneuver since we all knew what she was going to order all along. Whatever.

“I’ll have a bud light, draft please.”

“That’ll be two dollars each.”

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Oh check it out!” Amongst the pile of crumpled bills laid a Wooden Nickel. I showed Gretch; it looked as though she had one as well. “Here you go mam.”

“Thank you guys. Enjoy!”

Gretch and I sipped on our beer and furthered our examination of the knick-knacks lining the bar’s walls from the day before, a small respite of time before I threw a deluge of questions her way. “Don’t you have a lot of friends around here?” I asked. “Where are they all at? Don’t they like to party?”

“I dunno? They’re probably working and stuff. It’s still Thursday after all.”

“Oh yea. Where do they work?”

“At the ranches.”

“What’s so good about the ranches?”

“A bunch of rich people own em’.”

“Do they all live there?”

“Ya.”

“Really?”

“Ya.”

“All of em’?”

“I think so…”

“Do they make good money?”

“The engineers do.”

“Whoa, maybe I should work there…”

“You need connections.”

“Good thing I know you guys then!”

“Yea, sure… good luck with that…” The last comment seemed to have killed off any further discussions of Gretch’s friends and their places of work. We took another sip of beer and revisited our examination of the bar’s unique decorations, each of us choosing to remain silent until we figured out the next thing to say.

“So what the heck are all those semi-trucks doing driving by your house and spreadin’ dust everywhere? What a drag on the Dutcher Estate!”

“Oh yea, they gotta clean up all of the old gold mines.”

“What happened?”

“Back in the day this use to be an old gold mining town. It thrived, and there were all sorts of things! Town stores, inns, bars, brothels, you know, the usual stuff you find in the old west.”

“I hear ya.”

“Well, the industry started dyin’ and people moved away. So later down the road, some rich and greedy dudes came over to try and find more gold, but just ended up pouring a bunch of chemicals into the mines instead. And as it turns out, those chemicals are bad for the environment, so now they gotta go out there and clean it all up!”

“Sounds terrible…”

“Yea, but who knows? Maybe it’s good for the economy?”

“Yea, maybe.” I took another swig of beer and stared at the wall of liquor in front of me. It wasn’t a lot, but impressively large for a small bar in rural Montana. “Man Gretch, I can’t believe this is my last night here. I really starting to like this place… I hope I can come back sometime—I really do.”

“I hope so too.” Gretch’s amiable response threw me off a bit given our recent history, but I gladly accepted it after taking another sip of beer. “And to tell you the truth, I’ve had a lot of fun this trip. I’m glad we all got to go to Beth’s wedding together.”

“You know, I did too. In the end, I’m glad you decided to come with us.

“Really?”

Did I really mean what just came out of my mouth? “…Sure.” Whatever, I just needed a little appeasement to get her off my back. And once again, a mug met my lips and its contents entered my body.

“Oh look, it’s Revin’ Evan!” said Gretch, her face glowing bright as if Nickelback had just walked into the bar. I turned my head toward the entrance; in came a scraggily looking dude with glasses and curly black hair, sort of a Ben Woodward type of look.

“Revin’ Evan?”

“Yea, Revin’ Evan! He’s one of the most popular guys in Pony! He comes to the bar all the time!”

“Huh. Revin’ Evan, I would have never guessed…” And neither would’ve anybody else for that matter. His oversized black T-shirt with a creepy picture of Marilyn Manson definitely did not fit the style of fashion the rest of the patrons at the Pony Bar were wearing. However, he was quite colloquial in his dealings, immediately joining in jovial conversation with a few of the other regulars at the end of the bar.

Out of nowhere, a hard rumble sent a gasp out of Gretch’s mouth. Stumbling footsteps crept up from behind us, their lack of rhythm striking a sense of fear, reason to abstain from looking back and to instead take in another giant gulp of beer in preparation to the possibility of an unwelcomed encounter. The footsteps stopped—the deity was near. We set down our beers to a loud clink and slowly turned our heads to the left. A bulging belly enclosed by a long sleeve plaid shirt that was mere moments from bursting apart and tucked into a tight pair of wranglers covered the view of the regulars at the end of the bar. Within a matter of seconds, Revin’ Evan’s notoriety had literally been overshadowed.

“The name’s Wade,” said the deep and raspy voice next to us. “Is this seat taken?” Each of us raised our heads slowly upward towards the man whose cowboy hat and thick mustache perfectly matched the rest of his outfit, our stereotypical idea of an old, drunken rancher living in small town Montana.

“Please. Be my guest,” I said after a short moment of silence. He accepted my offer and to my luck, took a seat next to Gretch.

“Ain’t never seen none of you folks before. Where abouts you from?” asked Wade, the smell of hard liquor reeking from his breath.

“Boise,” answered Gretch, her answer short and succinct.

“Seattle,” answered I, my answer short and succinct.

“All you damn city folk are always comin’ here and visitin’ now a days,” he said, prompting each of us to take another swig of beer. Wade’s response was surprisingly welcoming, even though his intention appeared to show disgust. Whether or not he liked to admit it, I think Wade enjoyed meeting the new folk who passed through Pony on their travels. “What in the hell brought you out to a place like this?”

“My family owns the Dutcher Estate,” replied Gretch.

“Oh yea, I heard that name before. The Dutchers… Well Dutchers, looks like you’re almost outa beer.” Wade signaled for the bartender. “Hey miss, get these two another round and get me a shot of bourbon.” Despite his heightened level of intoxication, his good deed sparked further conversation, as well as a strange and mutual respect for the man we had just become acquainted with—at least for the time being. A minute later, the bartender came back with a fresh set of beers for Gretch and I and a bottle of whiskey to be poured into a shot for Wade. “Cheers,” he said, lifting his glass in the air.

“Cheers,” we replied, mirroring his gesture by raising our mugs. Wade wasted no time in drinking, already having his shot downed by the time our beer touched our lips.

“Another one,” said Wade without hesitation. The bartender wasted no time in accepting his request, most likely having previous knowledge of Wade’s drinking capabilities. We however, did not, and watched with a bit of dread as he waited for his next drink, which apparently couldn’t come soon enough. “You know, I’m a writer,” he added.

“No kidding? I’m a writer too,” I added, excited for the opportunity to talk, writer to writer. How happy I always am to speak of the frustrations our kind goes through when writing the next great novel, hardships that nobody else can understand; the months and years of preparation that goes into writing the perfect story and the reward you get after it touches somebody’s heart upon reading your work for the first time; a single gesture that reminds you that all the time and effort put into your creation was well worth it, a creation that nobody but yourself could have come up with. And with at least 20 more years of writing experience over me, I was dying to pick the man’s brain. “I’m actually in the middle of writing my first book right now!”

“Oh, you’re one of those types of writers,” he said in a disparaging tone, prompting me to take another drink of beer. “You see, I’m a song writer; a poet!”

“Oh… that’s great. Poetry’s very hard to write. I have a lot of respect for people who can do that.”

“You see, what it takes for somebody to write in 4 chapters, I can do in 4 minutes—one song. Let’s see you do that!”

“Yea, you know, I wish I could do that…” And yet again, I was overcome with the urge to take another long drink of beer.

“I even have an Emmy Award!” Ok Wade, I finally get it. You’re way better at writing than I am. Please continue to berate me with your awesomeness. “I used to write country songs for daytime television, you know. I’m sort of a big deal.” Oh yea, I bet you are. “Say, look at these guys over there. I’ve never seen them before.”

Gretch and I looked forward to the other side of the bar where a new group of young patrons sat, picking at a large pizza they had brought in. “Maybe you should go over there and introduce yourself,” I politely suggested. I’m sure they’d be just as thrilled with your drunken ramblings as I am.

“Hell no, they can come over here and have a drink with me! Are you trying to get rid of me or something?”

“Of course not, Wade.” Damn it!

“Hey!” yelled Wade across the bar, sloppily pointing to a taller boy with thick-rimmed glasses and wavy, long hair. “Come over here!” The boy acknowledged Wade, but couldn’t understand him, or at least pretended not to understand him, and understandably so. “…I said come over here!” The boy mouthed ‘what’ again, and the exchange went on for several more minutes. In the meantime, Gretch and I sucked on our beers. It was required if this madness were to keep up.

The realization must have finally sunk into Wade’s head that the boy was not going to come over to him. Thus, he succumbed to another conversation with Gretch—better her than me, I hate to say. For the next five minutes, Gretch entertained Wade by listening to one of his ‘stories’ while I happily sat at the bar, entertained by my mug of beer.

“I’ll tell you wait,” said Wade. “You guys wanna drive up to the mountains and smoke a little pot?”

Uh, gee Wade, sounds fun,” replied Gretch. “But I don’t know if we can swing it tonight—“

Oh, you guys’ll be fine. I’ll drive ya. Don’t worry, I’m a good driver, even when I’ve had a little bit to drink.”

“I’m sure you are Wade.”

“We can all crash up there till the mornin’ too. My truck’s got plenty of room, and plenty of liquor too.”

“Sounds fun Wade. We’ll let you know if we’re interested.”

“I bet these guys like to party over here. Hey, you with the glasses—yea you!”

“I think we should get out of here soon,” whispered Gretch to me. It was an opportune moment, for the boy across the bar had caught Wade’s attention again. “Wade’s starting to weird me out a little bit.”

“Ok, but let’s just take this nice and easy. No sudden moves; that’ll arouse unwanted suspicion. Just finish your beer and we’ll make a nice and quiet Irish goodbye when the time is right.” Wade sat back on his stool, having been denied a drinking request for the second time that night. Strike two. Unfortunately, that meant his attention was redirected back to us.

“By the way, did you ever watch that show Gilligan’s Island?” I heard Wade ask Gretch. Gretch slowly nodded her head, not exactly showing interest in continuing the conversation. Wade however, conveniently didn’t get the hint and continued his slurring. “I always thought that one lady on there was the best looking girl I’d ever seen. Her name was Marian, and my God was she beautiful. But then she became a lesbian…” Wade took a nice gulp of beer before continuing his tirade about Marian and her sexual preference. Neither Gretch nor I was quite sure why he thought she was a lesbian, but arguing with the man at this point would’ve led to nowhere. “It broke my heart! I hate her!! We were supposed to be in love with each other!” It all makes sense. How else could she not be in love an Emmy Award winner like yourself?

“And I’ll tell you what. I used to go to bed and look at pictures of her, and watch her on the television screen. Yea, I’d sit there, and get nice and comfortable, and I’d undress. And then after awhile, when I was all alone, I would reach down and—“

Whoa whoa WHOA! The hairs on my neck rose and my senses ignited like that of a pup sensing an intruder trying to enter the house. That is sick! What is you major malfunction Wade?! He was oblivious, and continued on with the unnecessary details of his exotic fantasies involving the Gilligan’s Island character. Are you kidding me? Nobody talks to Gretch like that, and I mean NOBODY, drunk or not—Not while I’m around! This will not stand. If there was one thing I knew at that moment inside the Pony Bar where Gretch was being accosted right in front of my very eyes, it was that Wade had to go, and it was up to me—careful now. This Wade guy is drunk, heavy, and highly dangerous. His thought process is beyond rational. Play it smart, and whatever you do, do not piss him off… not on your account.

“Hey Wade, see that guy over there?”

“The hell you talkin’ bout, boy?”

“That guy across from us, with the curly hair and the glasses. See?” Wade looked out, meeting the boy eye to eye and starting a stare down. “He said he could out-drink you anytime, anywhere.”

“That son of a B—“ Wade rose from his chair, a mightily concerted effort that involved intense concentration and coordination and stumbled over to confront the boy across from us. Words were said, inaudible due to distance and incoherence, and shots were taken. For the moment, it looked as though Wade had forgotten about us and that we were in the clear… for now.

“Ok, can we go now?” asked Gretch.

I studied the scene, watching Wade interact with the others while adding excessive forms of poisonous liquid to his already bulging belly. “I have a feeling maybe we should hang out for a little bit, just in case Wade decides to get back in his truck…” I reached over to the spot where Wade left one of his beers, its contents low and far from refreshing, and picked up two thin, wooden discs. “Besides, we have two Wooden Nickels to use.” I called over the bartender. “Miss, can we get one more round?”

 

***

 

We waited around and watched as Wade made his rounds across the bar, attempting to convince everyone in his wake to share a drink with him. Most refused, including Revin’ Evan, but that didn’t stop him from insisting. Eventually his stumble of shame sent him through the door and out of the bar. And by the looks of it, he wasn’t coming back.

“You ready Gretch?”

“Yes… Yes I am ready. I’m very ready.”

I called over to the bartender. “Mam, we’re ready for the check please.”

“You guys are good. Your Wooden Nickels took care of everything.”

“Wow,” I thought to myself. “Three beers each and we didn’t have to pay a single dime.” A sense of guilt hung over me. I knew I had to compensate the Pony Bar in some sort of fashion, for never in my life had I been shown so much hospitality at any drinking establishment. It truly was a special place. I looked to my left passed Gretch and pulled out a couple of dollar bills. “You see those two babes next to Revin’ Evan? Give them each a Wooden Nickel, from me—no, from the Emmy Award Winner.”

She nodded back a most serious nod. “Will do.”

We turned towards the entrance and watched as Wade climbed into his truck and pull away. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

We kept our distance between Wade’s rig and ours on our way back to the Dutcher Estate. His truck swerved back and forth along the gravel road and we watched in terror before taking our turn off. Whether his destination was home, or to the mountains where he could smoke his pot, I just prayed that nobody else was around to meet him on that stretch of road, wherever it took him.

“Dear God,” blurted Gretch, the experience finally sinking in to its full extent. “Who in the hell was that?”

“…Wade… the one and only Emmy Award Winner of Pony. He’s famous… He’s infamous! He’s forever changing the culture. And as long as he’s in Pony, nobody should sleep safe… nobody…”

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Chapter 23: The Lonesome Crowded West, Part 2 – Dad Bods

The livestock vastly outnumbered the locals during my morning run. However, none of those animals came close to affording me the type of courtesy received from each car as I ran several miles up a gravel road on yet another gorgeous, sunny day in Montana. Each person who passed greeted me with a smile and a friendly wave, a pleasant rarity for someone from the city, and the same mountainous landscape that had captivated me a day earlier was again on full display, overlooking the exotically named ranches on the outskirts of town. I had a good feeling we were in for another adventurous day in Pony.

Bill was already hard at work fixing the finer details of his stone-made grill upon my return. It was pertinent that it be designed to his meticulous specifications—that night’s dinner depended on it. I walked around the yard, noticing a higher than normal weed to grass ratio, and remembered that Lea had even made mention of her dissatisfaction over the abundance of weeds that had suddenly appeared since their last visit. Looking for ways to be helpful, and being that I was already a sweaty mess, I cracked open an ice-cold Rockstar from the fridge and went to work.

“Where’s Gretch?” I asked Bill as I tugged at the base of a large weed deeply rooted into the ground. It was imperative that I pull both the weed and root in order to ensure the weed’s elimination once and for all.

“Haven’t seen her since I got up?”

“Hmm, that’s weird. I wonder what’s going on?” With one last pull, the weed released its grip on the soil, causing me to nearly fall to my backside from an excessive amount of unabated force once the roots gave way. I gathered my balance and tossed the weed, adding it to an already impressive looking pile.

“Hey guys, what’s going on, heheh?” We turned to investigate the familiar voice coming from the deck. Gretch stood there in her pajamas, holding a freshly opened can of Coors light. “Were you guys having a snoring contest or something last night? I’m lucky I got any sleep, haha,” she continued, letting out a shameful, cringe-worthy chuckle in the process. I stared back at her unimpressed with the back of my wrist resting on my hip while I used the other free wrist to wipe away the combination of sweat and dirt that covered my forehead. “Gee, it looks like you guys are breaking a little sweat. It’s about time, heehee!” Bill kept shaking his head, doing his best to ignore. Like me, he was growing much more exasperated with each subsequent syllable leaving her mouth. I worried that it would soon hit a breaking point, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d be on the receiving end of a major eruption. “Well, you guys are sure doing a great job… sort of. Keep up the good work!” Gretch walked back inside (thank God) while Bill and I turned the other check and went back to work on the yard. There was just too much that had to be done in order to get the Dutcher Estate into tip-top condition, are number one priority for the present, and getting worked up over Gretch wasn’t going to do us any favors.

A few seconds later she bursted back out of the cabin, unprovoked. “Ok, ok, I’ll help you with a couple weeds. Sheesh, no need to get all worked up over it.”

Another half hour of weed pulling and grill tinkering provided us with enough satisfaction to head in for a mid-morning breakfast. Bill and Gretch grabbed a bagel that Lea had toasted for them. I opted to pound the rest of my Rockstar, grab a change of clothes and claim first dibs on a shower.

 

***

 

A deflated piece of plastic film hit me in the chest as I stepped out of the bathroom, fresh and clean, right off of a hot shower. Bill looked at me with a mysterious grin spread across his face, the assumed origin of the plastic projectile. “What is this?” I asked.

“Blow her up. We’re floating the Madison today.”

I examined the tubes solid, pink background that had outlines of flowers drawn over it, obviously a product intended for 6-year-old girls. “How do you expect me to float down the river in this?”

“Don’t worry, me and Gretch have the same kind.”

“But I’m like 100 pounds heavier than you guys!”

“Well, we were going to get some bigger tubes, but these were only 97 cents each!” mentioned Gretch, gleeful in her response.

“Yea, no way we were gonna pay 4 bucks for the other ones!”

“Well gee… thanks a lot.” I shook my head in disbelief and began the arduous task of blowing through the plastic valve on the side of the tube.

“Are you guys almost ready? I need to take care of some things around the cabin while you’re gone,” said Lea.

“Well, me and Bill are,” said Gretch.

“Wait, I still have to get my shorts on!” I pleaded.

“Well, hurry up then,” said Bill.

“Here, finish blowing this up then.”

“No way! You slobbered all over it!” yelled Gretch. “It’s got your germs all over the place!”

“Just do it really quickly,” suggested Bill. I began to blow, really quickly, just like Bill suggested.

“You guys, I keep blowing, but nothing’s happening!”

“Just keep it up, it’ll start!”

“But, I’m… I’m starting to get a little dizzy—“

“Less talk, more blow!” snapped Gretch.

“She’s got a point. The more you talk, the less air that goes into the tube.”

“But I think I’m hypervent—“

“Zack! Just blow!” blurted Gretch again. I blew, fast and hard, and the faster and harder I blew, the faster and harder feeling left my body. “Geez, we’ll never get out of here at this rate.”

“Yea, Zack. I hate to say it, but you are blowing kind of slow.”

“Kind of slow? More like I could make a quilt faster than this slow.” It was yet another baseless insult hurled from Gretch’s mouth. My face turned beat red, wanting to respond so fiercely, yet bound by the pressure of blowing the stupid tube up in a timely manner, partly for Lea’s sake, but mostly motivated to put an end to the abuse.

By the time I had a fully inflated tube, their words were barely decipherable, my body a mere seconds from collapse. I struggled to cap the tube shut before falling onto a chair, dropping the tube on the ground beside me. “Not bad,” said Gretch during her examination. “Not good either, but not bad. I guess it’ll do. Now go get your shorts on. We’re already late.”

I looked up at Bill in desperation, a giant plea for mercy. Please.

“Zack, I’m sorry but we… we gotta go!”

“Did you fill the backpack up with beer Bill?” asked Gretch.

“I thought Zack was going to do that.”

“ZACK!”

 

***

 

We traveled 7 miles up the Madison River from the recovery ramp where the Benz was parked, looking out at the rock formations scaling the sides of the river and the 100’s of other patrons who braved the float. The intention was to make our way the entire distance back to the car by tube. I prayed we had enough beer to last the entire journey.

“Ok, you kids have fun. Do you have everything you need?” asked Lea. “Don’t forget to put on sunscreen!”

“We wont,” I replied while we grabbed the necessities out of the car and stripped down to our shorts. “Bill, hand me a cold one, and while you’re at it, lather me up!” Bill reached into his backpack and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen and a ‘cold one,’ which wasn’t really that cold anymore.

“Ok, I’ll see you boys back at the cabin. Hurry up now. Gretch is waiting,” said Lea before leaving us to set sail on our voyage down the Madison River.

“Ok, get my back and then I’ll get yours.” I told Bill. I turned around and felt a cold mist fall over my backside. Bill handed me the spray bottle and I returned the favor.

“Give yourself a good spray and then hand it back so I can get my belly,” he said.

“Haha, you’re gonna need a lot of sunscreen for that then, heheh.”

“Speak for yourself tubby!”

“Who you callin’ tubby, porky?”

Porky? Look at you.”

“Look at you!”

We looked down at our bellies that bulged over our shorts before giving each other a long stare down, starting from the bare belly and up to each other’s blank face, shocked and appalled at the sight in front of us. Two weeks worth of burgers, brats, beer and booze had taken its toll, and the results were devastating.

“We… we have…”

“Dad bodies…”

“You guys coming or what?” Gretch’s voice was faint as she called out to us, already wading in the river.

“…Yea, Gretch. Be right there…” said Bill. We walked out into the water, our heads and bodies buried in shame; a shame that was buried deeper and deeper with each sip of beer, our solution, our temporary escape… the primary contributor to our ultimate demise.

 

***

 

“Hey, this river isn’t as deep as I thought it’d be.” I said. “I’m barely to my shins!”

“Maybe that’s why people like floating it so much. I guess you’re not gonna die if you get too hammered and fall out of your tube!”

“Good point.” I placed my tube down and sat in the middle. “Hold on Bill. I think I’m stuck.”

“I’m stuck to. Here, just push off and find the current.”

“I’m trying, but I think I’m too heavy! I just keep on sinking and hitting the ground!”

“I knew we should’ve gotten the 4 dollar tubes!”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Gretch thought it was a waste of money.”

“Well, where is she right now?” We looked forward. 100 feet down the river was Gretch, relaxed and floating with ease, having been picked up by the current and rapidly pulling away from us. She nodded at us, smiling a large smile that bordered mockery.

“GRETCH!”

 

***

 

“Hey Bill, what’s this green stuff at the bottom?”

“It looks like algae, or an underwater Christmas tree or something. But it’s like—alive…”

“Gross. I dare you to touch it?”

“Screw that! You touch it.”

“It’s too far down. I can’t.”

“Look you guys, it’s not that bad,” said Gretch, holding up a long piece of the slimy green stuff she ripped off the bottom. It wrapped around her forearm and dangled off her elbow, flapping around like a live tentacle.

“Oh Gretch, that’s disgusting!” I yelled. “Bill, hand me another beer. I can’t handle this.”

Bill reached out, holding in his hand a fresh can of Coors Light to meet my outstretched hand. “Hold on, you’re pulling away.”

“Well, what’s the matter?”

“I’m stuck on a rock. Stop for a second.”

In my path the water turned a shade lighter, indicating that shallower water was up ahead. I steered my tube towards it, eyeing down at the bottom for a rock to hold onto. The color of the surface went from blue to brown as the water became shallower. I threw my legs down, ready to anchor myself into position. “Almost ready Bill, I think I have something.” I looked down, feeling a slight tingling sensation brushing against my toes. “What the—“ The ground was no longer a rocky brown, but a solid sheet of living, parasitic, soul-sucking green fungus. “Uh, Bill… I don’t think I can stop right now…”

“What do you mean? It looks shallow where you are—“

“Um, dude, more like I think I’m in some real trouble.” The water became shallower and shallower as I nervously looked from side to side, surrounded by the slimy, green, plant-like invasive species at bottom of the river. “Uwha!” I screamed as I felt its appendages brush against my bottom, edging my backside up out of the middle of the tube. “It’s all around me man!”

“Just stay above the water, you’ll make it!”

“I’m trying man! It’s brushing against my tube!” My breaths increased in frequency and severity. I flung my legs straight out in front of me, raised high above the raft and pushed my body up off the tube, supported by my elbows, anything I could do to keep away from the field of mutant mold lying below. The friction between tube and surface became rougher and rougher, decelerating the tube towards a slower pace. “Oh God Bill, it’s slowing… it’s slowing… it’s—“

It all happened so quickly. The green scraped against the bottom of the tube like Freddy Kruger’s claw across a wall, his signature gesture before slaughtering his next, unsuspecting victim. It brought the tube to a crawl, until it was only me, stuck and stranded, and wedged atop a peak of green, solidly formed mucus. “Bill… help.” I leaned my elbow against one side, a tactic that put a heavy amount of stress on one side of the tube, hoping the pressure would create enough force for a press off, an all too risky proposition; an act of desperation, for Bill was taking way too long. “HELP—“

The tube shot out from underneath me like a fist slamming on a tube of toothpaste. My body hit the water with a splash, sending my back through the barrier of water and onto the bed of fungus. There were thousands of them, crawling, clinging onto my back with their slimy appendages, sucking the life and infecting me with a grotesque poison of which there was no cure. They worked their way up my back and onto my sides, where my abdominal muscles once lay. Soon they would wrap around my torso, my legs; my entire body, turning me into a mutant pile of scum that would forever dwell at the bottom of the Madison River.

In the middle of my turmoil, a glimpse of every tragic event that had ever occurred in my life up to that point flashed through my head: Failing my Driver’s Ed test, my date to the senior prom barfing her brains out and not making it to the dance, falling off a 12-foot rock onto my head and almost dying, waking up in intensive care and having the doctor remove the catheter, watching the Shi—Seahawks beat the Packers three times in a row… but this—this one second, down at the bottom of the Madison river amongst a company of a thousand jumbo-sized, protozoa-like creatures… this was the worst—hands down.

“OH GOD BILL, GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!” I yelled and screamed, rolling around in the water as if I were trying to put out a fire. “It’s all over me! What do I—“

“Quit rolling around, you’re getting it all over you! Get up and—YOUR TUBE!” All of a sudden I was up on my feet, driving forward, powering out of the vile platform I had mistakenly stumbled upon with a new, immediate purpose in life: get the hell out of there. Nothing else was of importance.

The water level dropped and I stepped forward, sinking into the river, face first. As quick as I was ungraceful, I popped back up, pushing through the current, only to be thrown back down into the shallow depths of the Madison once again, and again, until my body waded against the rough current above my knees, looking onward at a pink ring of polyurethane radiating against the pastels of the rocky Madison River landscape and accelerating several feet away from me with the pulling current. A new goal simmered into my head, entrapping my mind to prepare for another mad dash. I pushed off the rocky floor and high-stepped it down the river, running as fast as I could to catch the tube that was in peril of being forever lost to the mercy of the treacherous Madison. I drove through the river, my legs pushing against the current and my belly fluidly jiggling up and down, left to right; man versus a nature whose viscosity was hell bent on holding me firmly in its control. Nearly an arms length away, I reached out for the tube, only to swat at a handful of air. I trotted forward, but the force of water, now past my thighs was just too much. Spent from the hardest 100-yard dash of my life, I could only watch as my prized 97 cent possession floated away to the whims of the roaring Madison. “I didn’t work this hard for—screw this!”

I bent down, expelling every working muscle left inside of me and lunged into the air. I dove forward with my body spread, hoping meet a bed of soft plastic, but realistically anticipating a belly flop. Below me was water and rock, and then a mix of pink and white overtook my direct line of vision. My arms, head, and upper torso fell through the donut hole, flipping the tube over and under my body, and together we floated down the next stretch of the river. Finding myself back on top in the proper tubing position was a struggle just as difficult, and even more time consuming.

After several minutes of precise positioning I was back in business, my arms and legs sprawled out across the edges of the tube and my butt sunk into the middle of the hole, looking as though my entire body was being sucked down by an underwater tractor beam, an unforgiving weight that left the tube deformed—Homer Simpson style. I panted, and wheezed between spurts of water coughed up from my lungs. Looking clumsy was the least of my concerns at this point.

Another tube of lime green and white floated up next to me. I tipped my head over, also laying victim to the effects of the tractor beam, giving the impression that I had been prescribed with a heavy dose of anesthetics. It was Gretch, looking down upon me with an aura of comical condescendence. She was trying not to laugh; I know she was. I pressed my head forward, foregoing any further contact, and held my mouth taut over my tense face.

“Looks like you need a beer,” she said to me after heavily studying my depleted demeanor. I afforded her another look. She held out her hand. In it was an open Coors Light. Don’t fall for it. It’s empty. She’s playing a trick; I know she is. Another few seconds of hesitation went by. Ah, what the hell?

To my surprise (and pleasure), the beer was mostly full. I pressed it to my lips, using both of my hands as a little child would a sippy cup and took a giant swig, an action that would’ve produced a smile if it weren’t for my severe state of exhaustion. I let out a great sigh of relief and tipped my head back.

“I mean, it wasn’t like you really need a beer or anything with that dad belly and all—“

“Oh, shut up Gretch!”

 

***

 

In time we all managed to meet up and float down the river as a friendly trio, and for miles, we held ourselves together in close proximity, talking the issues of the day and marveling at the natural architecture surrounding us. Flat meadows of brush, level with the waterline stood side by side high, rock walls with ridged edges against the river, serving as coves for the weary tube traveler around each river bend. For over an hour we basked in the sun, so relaxed and so full of carelessness that the logical thought of recoating ourselves with sunscreen dissolved into oblivion, joining the rest of the worries in the world that were obliterated by a blissful drift down a short passage of the Madison River in the heart of rugged Montana.

“Hey Bill, can you pass me another beer?” asked Gretch.

“This is the last one,” he replied, holding up a full one above his head in the ‘cheers’ position.

“It can’t be—that’s impossible!”

“You’ve been drinkin’ em all up. There’s no more left!”

Gretch hesitated for a moment, a switch of tactics. “Please Bill, can I have it?”

“Dude, Gretch, I’ve had like two, maybe three this whole ride, not to mention you dropped the last one in the water and wasted the whole thing.” It seemed as though her plan had failed.

“Just… let me have a little bit.”

“Sorry Gretch, this one’s all mine,” replied Bill, motioning his beer around with his hands like he was about to open it.

“Just let me see it, for a second.” She stuck her hand out, reaching over towards him.

“Stop it Gretch!” She didn’t stop. She kept grabbing, working hard to snatch the beer from his grip.

“Gretch, be careful! You’re going to fall out of your tube!” She didn’t listen, insistent on the beer in Bill’s possession, thinking by pressing hard on one side on the tube, she could successfully balance herself on the tube while fighting for the beer at the same time.

“Bill, gimme—“

With one big swoop, the tube slipped out from under her, flying forward as she made a daring lunge for the last full can of Coors Light. Into the water she went, sending a harrowing splash that resounded down the depths of the Madison. I stuck my hand out as the tube flew past me—well out of reach. It blew down the river, picked up by an aggressive current and gaining speed with no signs of stopping.

“Haha Gretch, serves you right,” said Bill. “You got greedy and look what you got, another mile to go with no tube! Sucks to be you…” he rambled on with the insults as Gretch stood there, watching her beloved tube as it was thrown across the river by the rapids and bashed against the protruding rocks of the Madison, unrelenting with its penchant of sending light objects down the river and thrashing them about all along the way, something I had witnessed first hand. Her face turned droopy and her arms went limp against the rushing current of the river, stuck in a downward spiral leading into depression as it sucked every ounce of life and motivation from her defeated body. It wouldn’t be long before a swell of tears broke through the barrier around her eyes.

“Don’t even think about it—why are you thinking about it?” My heart tore and twisted at the sight, like staring at a little boy as he watched his puppy run away from home. “She screwed up, it’s her own damn fault!” I watched the tube move down the river, 200 feet away… 250 feet away… 300 feet away. I looked back at Gretch; her demeanor took a turn for the worst. “That tube meant so much to her, and she’d be devastated if it was forever lost. It’s now or never—it’s never! She doesn’t deserve it!” Bill continued his relentless attacks on Gretch, only exacerbating the situation. I shifted my head down river, then back up river, and down again.

“Ah, hell!” I set my feet and dove forward onto my tube, paddling and kicking against the rough and shallow waters of the Madison in pursuit of a tube that was thought by conventional wisdom to be long lost. “I can’t believe I’m doing this… again!” There was no thought of the shear difficulty of retrieving such a silly object that for some reason meant so much to Gretch, or the amount of stress and strain that would be exerted over my body throughout the arduous journey; my concern was directed towards one goal—reclaiming that stupid 97 cent piece of plastic.

 

***

 

They emerged around the bend a quarter mile up the river. My dripping, wet body stood, battered but not broken in a steady pant, in through the nose and out through the mouth, focused on my two companions making their way towards my position. In one hand was Gretch’s tube, held high above my head, a prized trophy, a representation of will and determination over nature and adversity. The other tube was wedged against the weight of my body and the rolling river, finding comfortable leverage as I sat through the donut hole, waiting for them to finally catch up. “I got it!”

“Bring it back over here,” hollered Gretch. No offer to come to me and pick it up? Not even a simple offer of thanks? She expects me to walk all the way back there for her? News flash to Gretch: I didn’t even do this for her! In fact, the only reason I did this was so our vacation wouldn’t be ruined with her stupid pouting and cursing all over the place. This was for us, and that’s it! I don’t want to put up with that crap! I’m dealing with it! If this is how it’s gonna be, I’m not coming down anymore! And she’s got another thing comin’ if she things I’m coming back to her!

“No Gretch, you can come and get your tube yourself,” I yelled back, the distance between us calling for an unintentional screaming match.

“But I don’t want to walk that far. I might spill my beer.” Oh gee, she got her beer after all. How convenient.

“I’m not walking back there after all of that. You come here. You come here now!”

“What’s the big deal? It’s only a couple of feet. You walked all the way there, and now you can’t walk back? Sounds pretty lazy to me.”

“Gretch, I’m not going to ask you again. Come over here and get your tube.”

“Don’t be selfish… Please…”

I couldn’t take it any more. I stood up, using what was left of my worn-out body to send her a final, stern message.

“HEY! YOU GET OVER HERE! YOU GET OVER HERE AND SIT ON YOUR TUBE!” My head shook, my eyes beamed with madness, and the veins bulged out of my neck while my arms pointed in all different directions, directing orders just in case my words didn’t get the point across. “GET OVER HERE GRETCH! I DID THIS FOR YOU! I DID THIS FOR YOU! I SWAM ALL THE WAY OVER HERE AND GRABBED YOUR TUBE FOR YOU AND YOU’RE ACTING LIKE AN ANIMAL—“

A gust of wind blew past me and the contact felt between the tube and my buns disappeared. I turned around and watched as a 97-cent piece of pink and white plastic flew down the river, forever lost to the depths of the Madison. My face turned droopy and my arms went limp against the rushing current of the river, stuck in a downward spiral leading into depression as it sucked every ounce of life and motivation from my defeated body. I stared out at my prized possession as if I were a little boy watching my puppy run away from home; 50 feet… 75 feet… 100 feet…

“Can I have my tube back now?” asked Gretch. I looked back. She was right behind me.

You can’t be serious…

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Chapter 22: The Lonesome Crowded West, Part 1

It was a decent run. Not great, and not a long run by any means, but long enough to cause the average person to break a decent sweat on a sunny, summer morning in Montana, and leave a particular individual with over-stimulated pores coated in a thick layer of the perspirated fluid, surprisingly a nice adhesive for synthetic clothing; about as good as anybody can do after a full night of spooks. And not to spoil the work I had achieved, I opted to purchase an ice cold, sugar free Rockstar that morning instead of my usual original flavor, saving me about 250 in empty calories.

“Alright, when do we head to Pony?” I asked as I burst into the room with a swift and expended strut. “Oh man, that felt good… you know, exercising and stuff? You’ve heard of it right? Gretch?” There wasn’t much of a response. It was like I was talking in a foreign language or something. “Well, you guys should do some research, and maybe consider trying it out sometime. It might actually be good for you. Definitely works for me, as you can tell.” Still, no response was afforded, even as I continued my mellow strut across the room. Man, what crawled up their butts? “So, what time’s checkout?”

“The usual,” said Bill, lying on the bed while surfing the web on his iPad.

“Well, in that case, I’m going to take my time in the shower,” I said strutting towards the bathroom, taking my sweet time, of course. “…Because I pretty much deserve one after a nice run, considering our solid night of drinking. I mean, that’s what I do in order to keep my physique. Drinking and life choices have consequences, and if you don’t do anything about it, it’s going to knick you in the butt one of these days; at least that’s what Pat says. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. He’s your dad after all… Gee Gretch, I wonder why I haven’t seen you on a run this whole trip? Don’t be getting all lazy on me or anything.”

Gretch just shrugged her shoulders and kept scrolling through her phone, pretending to ignore me (although she didn’t do a very good job). It was as if something kept grabbing her attention—something of concern, causing her to constantly look up at my direction, an offense that eventually wore me into boredom.

“Hey, what’s that sign say behind you?” she asked.

“Oh, let me see.” I quickly rummaged through the items, anticipating their low significance. “Room rate one hundred and something bucks, don’t do any damage, checkout time, no smoking… nothing really. But enough chitchat, time for a shower. Let me gather all of my stuff…” Another ten minutes of chitchat passed before I finally gathered all my “stuff” and went into the bathroom, Bill and Gretch remaining relatively quiet through the whole thing.

“Bill, what time did you say checkout was?” I heard Gretch ask through the shower door, already stripped down to my birthday suit.

“12:00. It’s always 12:00. It’s the standard at every hotel.”

“Are you sure? This says 11:00”

“11:00?” I uttered with a growing sense of apprehension.

“Well what time is it now?” asked Bill.

“It is… 11—11:20!?”

“NOT 11:20!?” I exclaimed, whipping my head out of the bathroom door. I looked at Bill and Gretch and they looked at me, and then at each other, and then around the room. It was covered in a large scattering of clothes, computers, and old-fashioned ingredients. Each of us shot up, reacting to an internal siren that suddenly went off inside our heads. Their faces were just as wide and shocked as mine. It was a disaster, a complete disaster.

“Oh God, we’re late!” screamed Bill.

“We’re all screwed! I yelled back. “It was the ghosts!”

“Gretch, stuff everything you can!”

“I can’t—I can’t fit anything else into my bag!”

“You have to! Zack—“

“Getting dressed! Where’s the supervisor? Stall her!” I hurried to cover my superfluously sweaty body with a fresh, clean pair of clothes, cringing as each article of clothing became soiled the instant it made contact with my skin.

Bill peaked his head out the door. “Super’s coming!”

“I can’t get my pants on! They’re stuck to my—“ I tipped over, falling out of the bathroom and onto the floor. Gretch began panting, which eventually led to strenuous breathing, then to hyperventilation, desperately attempting to zip up a suitcase that was well beyond its volumetric capacity.

“Zack, your pants are on backwards!” screamed Bill. “C’mon Gretch, I need that suitcase closed!”

“I’m trying, but I can’t—“

“30 seconds!”

“The Old Fashioned mix! It’s still there!”

“Leave it, we don’t have time—“

“I’M NOT LEAVING WITHOUT IT GRETCH!”

“20 seconds!”

Gretch ran across the room with a load of clothes and threw them onto a random bag. Only a quarter of the clothes made it in. The rest were thrown in random directions, flying across my face and across the beds, a frantic panic with a one in a million chance of landing in the right place.

“Gretch, quit screwing around!”

“Why are your pants on your head?”

“What do you mean on my head?”

“10 seconds!”

“Damn it Bill, get in here! We need your help! Here Gretch, throw the rest in,” I said, holding the bag open.

“Even the whiskey—“

“Everything—NOT MY PANTS! I NEED THOSE!”

“5 Seconds! Zack, get to the bathroom. Pants on, now! Gretch, it’s go-time. Wrap it up!”

“God, I can’t—“

“Gretch, do it—DO IT!”

The door swung open and in came the supervisor. “What’s going on in here?”

“Just two guys packing a suitcase,” said Bill who was standing side by side next to Gretch.

“And one guy takin’ a dump,” I said as I walked out of the bathroom with my pants on; each leg correctly placed in its correct and corresponding hole. Even the fly was zipped completely up. The supervisor perused the room, our bags packed, clothes on, and besides a couple unmade beds and full trashcans, relatively spotless. Each of us stood perfectly still. None of us dared to make a move.

“Two guys packin’ a suitcase, and one takin’ a dump… I don’t know. Somethin’ don’t seem right here…” She studied our demeanor as if she were waiting for one of us to crack.

“…Somethin’ ain’t right…” She took a good look around the room once more. She didn’t like what she saw. Yes, there was something else going on, some other presence lurking about, but no evidence to convict.

“Keys mam?” said Bill, sticking out his hand with a set of room keys. She grabbed them and turned to the door, muttering under her breath as she walked away. “Something ain’t right. Somethin’ ain’t right…”

 

***

 

It was a two-hour drive west on I-90 from Billings to Bozeman, the last harbor for modern culture where we stocked up on goods before heading out to Pony—bagels, butter, pizza, beef, beer, liquor—the basic necessities.

“Oh Zack, go ahead and put the Coors Light up here,” said Lea while we loaded the groceries into the Subaru. “And put a couple in the cooler, just so they’re nice and cold when we get to the cabin.” The idea sounded legitimate, and we had no quarrels with cold beer, so we did as we were told. “You know what, never mind, I’ll just carry the cooler myself. There’s not enough room in the back.”

“But Lea, I think I can make enough room in the trunk,” I suggested. “I mean, look at the back seat. There’s barely anything there!”

“Oh, it’s fine, I’ll take it.”

“But mom, how about you just put it in the back seat?”

“Bill, just—I don’t want it tipping over and spilling around on the ground.”

“But if you set it on the floor, it won’t. Here, you can wedge it and it’ll hold firm—“

“Bill!”

“…Ok mom, hold it in the front seat…” Bill acquiesced to the stern and alarming tone his mother directed him with. Any further objections were useless at this point, let alone dangerous, even if they were rooted in common sense.

 

***

 

The Benz had much more difficulty picking up AM radio waves as we turned onto Highway 84, and the rock cliffs scaling the Madison River between Norris and Harrison didn’t help either. Thus, we were forced to forego our usual choice of conservative talk radio for the more contemporary sounds of Third Eye Blind, not the worst consequence in the world.

Onward we went behind the Subaru, our guide to the cabin as it followed the signs from Harrison leading to Pony. “How come Gretch is driving right now—wait, is that what I think it is?” I asked, staring at a hazy silhouette of a figure lifting a cylinder to its mouth.

“Oh my God. Caught red handed!” blurted Bill. “She just couldn’t resist.”

“Unbelievable,” I said shaking my head. “I mean, that’s something I’d expect from Gretch, but Lea?”

“I wish I could say I’m surprised…” said Bill with a look of defeat spread across his face. We finished the drive to Pony, a little more solemn about the world, and a little wiser.

The first road at the onset of town led to an abandoned school. Made from bricks that were easily over a century old, it was the first of many of its kind from the community’s gold mining days. A few more gravel roads branched off like capillaries from the main drag, leading to more old building and homes sparsely scattered about with their own, unique homemade decorum. We continued on, looking up from the bottom of a valley that looked to eventually lead to a mountain peak overlooking the town, one that gave me a craving for exploration.

That exploration would have to wait however, for coming up on our left was our immediate destination as determined by Gretch and Lea. “Pony Bar,” the sign said, hanging above a set of deer antlers, sharing its property on a Main Street only a couple building lengths long. We parked and entered with a flavor of cautious excitement. The Mercedes was widely outnumbered by the horses parked along side of the weathered bar, an old, wood-stained saloon that was absent of change but for one, single renovation soon after its conception during the days of the Wild West.

“What will it be guys?” asked the bartender.

“I’ll take a Coors Light,” quickly replied Lea. Taking after her mother, Gretch ordered the same.

“What do you have on draft?” I asked. “Anything local? What’s your seasonal on rotation—better yet, what’s the best IPA you have on tap?”

“…Hun, we got Budweiser and Bud Light. Take your pick.”

“Uh… I guess… I’ll just take a Bud Light…” I hung my head, not quite in shame, and not quite in disappointment, but somewhere in between.

“That’ll be two dollars.”

“Whoa, two dollars!?”

Lea looked as if she were rather popular around the joint, greeted by each patron who came by like she was a long lost daughter of the town, all grown up and returning for the first time in years. It gave Bill, Gretch and I plenty of time to observe the array of knick-knacks decorating the bar, many of which you’d find at your grandmother’s house, an oddly fitting look for the joint. There were cowboy hats, skulls, horns, mounts for a variety of different animals, pictures of old, pictures of new, pictures of athletes and country stars that found their way into town, and even a .22 caliber rifle that was up for raffle. “I want that,” said Bill as his eyes fixated on the firearm, devising a strategy to win and bring it back to Boise with him.

“Man, there are lots of black and white pictures around here. How old is this place?” I asked.

“Pretty old,” said Bill. “Been around since the old days. I hear it used to be a brothel too.”

“A brothel? You mean, there used to be prostitutes?”

“Yep, some pretty greasy stuff.”

“There’s also been a couple of shoot outs too,” added Gretch.

“Yea, I’m pretty sure people have died here. Possibly right on top of where we sit…” I sat and wondered about the old tales of the Pony Bar, which ones were true, and whether or not I’d survive in a time like that.

The gentleman talking to Lea excused himself to the bathroom. A short window—now was my chance. “So Lea, I hate to be a narc, but I saw you participating in illicit activities earlier.” My heart pounded over the confrontation I so much wanted to avoid, but my principles disallowed it, unable to live with the heavy burden of guilt weighing me down.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?” she replied.

“Mom, we saw you in full view pounding the Coors light in the car while Gretch was driving. That’s illegal, big time.”

“Oh, don’t you guys know? You’re allowed to have a beer on the drive between Harrison and Pony.” It’s not that we didn’t believe her; we just weren’t fully comfortable with the supposed rule. But who was I to question a Pony native? I looked forward and sipped on my beer, pondering in deep concern over Lea and her well being while I finished it.

“Don’t worry about it…” It was a tough request to swallow; my perception of Lea had just been altered, and permanently I feared. “I’ll tell you what, here’s one on me,” said Miss Social herself, flipping me a small, wooden disc. “Does that make you feel better?”

“What’s this?” I asked.

“It’s a Wooden Nickel.” Under further investigation, the picture of an Indian outlined with the words “Wooden Nickel” was a dead giveaway. “It came from the gentleman that was just talking to us. Good for one free drink of your choice. Go ahead!”

“Wow, I uh… heheh, gee, I’ll take another Bud Light then. A Wooden Nickel… I could get used to this.”

 

***

 

We each helped ourselves to one more beer before departing to the Dutcher Cabin, only a half-mile from the Pony Bar as the crow flies. We passed the school and a few other old structures, and then drove up a gravel drive where we parked on the outside of a wooden fence that marked the bounds of the Dutcher property. Perched up on a hill, the cabin overlooked Pony’s main street and the mountains beyond it. After a quick unpacking, Bill drew his attention to the large stone placed in the middle of the yard, sending his imagination into a creative spin. It didn’t take long before a makeshift fire pit came into production, built using spare pieces of wood, metal grating, and stone hidden around the cabin with the intention that it could eventually be used as a grill.

While Bill busied himself perfecting the details of his grill-in-progress, I couldn’t help but stare out into the precipitous landscape that surrounded the small town. On the other side of the Pony Bar laid a long, mellow hill. Up close, logic and experience deduced that the hill was made up of rough and treacherous surfaces, sharp with rocky objects and steep in unsuspecting areas. But from the distance, it looked to be a rich source of lush grass that spread down a delicate slope, sending delusions of grandeur through my head—dreams of youth and carelessness; three kids, running up to the top, racing and laughing the whole way before making our journey back, a long descent to the bottom by laying down and rolling our way to its base like the wheels of a steamroller. And when it was all over, we’d make the trek all over again, and again after that, until Lea would call us home for dinner, bringing about a bountiful amount of rest and sustenance so we could do it all over again at the emergence of another long, summer day.

And beyond those hills laid the unknown, virgin to all eyes except the mountain peaks laid directly to the west in the path of Main Street, the watchful mothers of Pony and all her surrounding land. It was a world that had yet to be explored, waiting for a group of avid explorers to finally arrive and discover it, for there was still much frontier left to be unveiled. Although the right thing to do would’ve been to assist Bill with his imaginative inception, I was rendered useless by an imagination that was running wild on its own. So I sat and sipped on my old fashioned, gazing out at the landscape in wonderment of what could be uncovered by our eyes for the very first time, while Bill, brandishing a vodka screwdriver of his own, tinkered with his grill in meticulous fashion, looking for any way to improve upon his creation.

And Gretch… well, let’s just say that Gretch did what she always does, and did so until Lea called us in for dinner…

IMG_1609

We gathered around a table next to the kitchen area where a box of pictures had been placed in the middle. With a plate of pizza slices in front, each of us took our turn sifting through the pictures, giggling and laughing at old photos of Gretch and Bill in their childhood sporting the typical, goofy little kid haircut, as well as family reunion photos of Bill’s parents as young adults clad in short shorts and bright T-shirts, as was the appropriate style in the 70’s and 80’s. One picture in particular showed the family before a sports run posing with matching outfits, while Pat, Bill and Gretch’s father, stood alone on the side, aloof, his outfit out of sync with the rest of the family’s. That one was probably my favorite, or at least the most memorable.

Bill took a quick trip to the bathroom while I snuck off to finish unpacking my belongings, something that none of us really put much concentration into, but not before taking a quick peak into Bill and Gretch’s room. There were two twin-sized beds with bulky, wooden frames on each side, the same one’s they had slept in as kids.   Two quilts that looked as though they had been woven by their grandmother covered each bed, and laying on them were artifacts from Pony’s past—clothes, toys, and a stack of magazines. One of them, entitled “Life,” featured a picture of their grandmother sitting with her schoolmates. By the looks of it, nothing in that room looked to be younger than 50 years.

The walls that separated each room didn’t quite reach the ceiling, meaning that privacy was not easily attained inside the cabin, proved by the distinct sound effects that were more than vivid during Bill’s private time in the bathroom. Next-door was the master bedroom of which Lea graciously offered me. It seemed as though she was content with sleeping in the den that was past the living room area on the other side of the cabin, where she could lay on the couch while she fell into a slumber to the hilarity of late night television. And really, the den wasn’t so much of a bad deal. Jimmy Fallon has been on a roll as of late!

The sun’s fading glow brought us back to the outside so us kids could revel in the beauty that dressed the final hours of daylight hovering over the west. “Hey Zack, wanna put on some tunes?” asked Bill.

“Sure, what would you like, some Modest Mouse?”

“Yea, and maybe that new Third Eye Blind CD we were listening to.”

“Coming right up.” I began to set up my computer for music, noticing a slight shiver in my fingers as I moved the mouse over the selection of artists on the screen. “It’s getting a little chilly out here! Good thing I brought that big, blue raincoat that I bought from Costco a few months ago with me.”

I ran into the house and dug through my suitcase, pulling out my big, blue raincoat that I had bought from Costco a few months ago. Being that it was a quality coat for less than half of what you would pay for a Patagonia or any of those other stupid REI-equivalent rip-offs, I was eager to put it on and show off both my fashion and bargain sense to everybody. “Alright guys, I’m ready. Let’s make ourselves another old fashioned and head out—“

I couldn’t believe it. Across the room from me stood Gretch, wearing a big, blue raincoat that she had probably bought from Costco a few months ago. Well, maybe not exactly from Costco, but nearly identical to mine, or close enough to piss me off, which I’m sure was her intention. “Come. Freaking. On.”

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Darkness overcame the Montana Sky, leaving a large splattering of stars above to entertain us throughout the night. Each of us stared up in amazement at the mysterious balls of fiery gas above us, wondering how many millions of miles away they were and if there was anything of importance among them. There were tens of thousands, possibly even hundreds of thousands lying out there in front of us to gaze upon, and millions more beyond the sight of the naked eye. Is something else actually out there? The odds on that night looked very favorable.

“Look, a shooting star!” screamed Gretch.

“There’s another one, make a wish!” I told them.

“What about that one?” asked Bill, pointing to another light moving across the sky.

“No, that’s a satellite.”

“Oh…” Each of us remained quiet for a moment. It sounded like there was a hint of disillusionment in his voice before he decided to speak again. “You know, you’re the first friend I’ve ever brought out here.”

“Really?”

“No joke.” A slight grin grew across my face. I couldn’t help but take in the statement with a nice serving of pride. “In fact, there’s only been one other person who has ever come with us to visit.”

“Who’s that?”

“…Megan Mills,” replied Gretch.

“Megan Mills?”

“Yea, Megan Mills. And you guys got in traaaaaa-ble!” said Bill in a nudging manner.

“What happened?”

“Oh nothing. We were out drinkin’ with some of the locals at the Pony Bar and then went into the mountains and got stuck. No big deal.”

“Dad was piiiiiised!”

“I don’t even know why. I’ve been in worse situations with Megan Mills and survived.”

“Probably because you were with Megan Mills.”

“Yea, Megan Mills.”

“…Megan Mills,” I whispered under my breath as my eyes opened wide and my mouth hung agape, consequences of zoning out into deep space. The name was starting to become as legendary as the sea of stars above us. “Oh look, another shooting star!”

“Where?” asked Bill, darting his head across the sky.

“It flew right under the North Star.”

“Where’s that?”

“Here I’ll show you.” I came in close to Bill and hovered over his backside, pointing my arm across his cheek in an effort to guide him in the right direction. “You see, first you find the Little Dipper. It looks like the Big Dipper, but the cup is smaller and the handle looks longer. The North Star is at the end of it. See? In fact, if you look over at the Big dipper, two of the stars at the end of the dipper part line up and point right to it over there—“

“Click.”

“Wait, what was that?”

“A camera—Gretch?”

“GRETCH! Knock it off!” Gretch snickered away as she pointed her phone in our direction and snapped away. Once again, her immaturity ruined another educational moment, unable to fight the urge to snap a picture of Bill and I in a somewhat “suggestive” pose.

Bill and I looking at the stars

“Ok, ok, sorry you guys. Let’s walk down the street a little bit,” She suggested. “We’ll have a better view of the stars.”

“I mean, we really don’t need—you know, that’s actually a good idea Gretch,” I told her. The suggestion bought her some time to regain what little respect she had remaining after her antics, which were inappropriate at best. “I should probably get a flashlight, just in case.”

“No need, I already got one.” Bill and I looked at each other and nodded our heads. Impressive…

We followed Gretch a quarter mile down the road where we were free to view the sky with little obstruction. “Look there’s another one!” hollered Gretch, her reaction to another shooting star floating across the sky.

“I see it too,” yelled Bill.

“Make another wish,” I said as we focused on the last remnants of a fireball leaving a streak across the sky. “Let’s see if we can find one more. That’ll be five!”

“You know I sort of miss this type of stuff,” mentioned Gretch. “Being out here, away from it all. You just don’t get this in the city. It’s almost like you’re truly free—you get to escape, and remind yourself of what really matters… like family.”

“It’s sort of like— That’s weird…” I thought to myself. “Gretch kind of sounds like a boundary babe right now…”

“Like what?” asked Bill, catching me lost in a heavy trance among the stars.

“It’s like the Bou— never mind…” I twitched my body and threw my head in a downward direction.

“Yea… this place sure brings back some good memories,” said Bill. “Even with the crazy neighbor girls.”

“You mean the ones with the weird house made out of glass bottles that used to yell at mom and dad about snow plows?”

“Yea, they’re the ones.”

“Do they still live there? Maybe we should go over there and say hi? Maybe they’re a couple of babes now…” I added, nudging Bill with my elbow and letting out a slight chuckle.

“I really doubt that,” he fired back.

“Yea, maybe that’s not so much of a good idea,” said Gretch. Bill let out a slight chuckle, giving the impression that a reunion would simply be awkward and possibly troubling. “Too bad you couldn’t visit when we were younger, Zack. You would’ve liked this place.”

“I think I already do.” I looked over at Gretch, and couldn’t help but release a mysterious smile. Maybe she has a soul after all… “Hey Gretch, no wrong answer, but just out of curiosity, who was your favorite of Bill’s friends when we were growing up?”

“Oh, I’m not quite sure actually…” The answer should’ve been quite obvious, but I let her take her time, being that I was in such a congenial move. “I mean, I was friends with Josh’s sister, but he was always busy doing push-ups and being way too awesome for us.”

“Yes, keep going…”

“And Collin was nice, but he was also kind of weird, in the best, Collin way possible of course.

“C’mon G. C’mon G!”

“I guess I would have to say you—“

“That’s right, you—“

“Your one friend. He was kind of weird looking, but was always nice to me,” she said with a large grin growing across her face.

“Weird looking? Weird looking, like how?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an alien or something?“

“Wait, you’re not talking about Ben Wood—“

“Yea, Ben Woodward!”

“Ah Ben Wood—BEN WOODWARD?!?! Are you freaking kidding me?” I turned my back and stomped my way back towards cabin. Bill reached out for me.

“Zack, wait, she didn’t mean it—“

“Forget it! She blew it!”

I walked the quarter mile back to the cabin—alone. In the dark. All. By. My. Self. It was a risk I was gladly willing to take. My pride was on the line after all.

I stormed into the cabin, without saying another word to anybody. Immediately, I crawled back into bed, foregoing the courtesy of shutting off the lights or stripping down to my pajamas. I had nothing to say to them for the rest of the night.

 

***

 

“Oh look who’s back,” snapped Gretch, with once again, one of her overly astute observations.

“I forgot my computer, and I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Yea, sure you do.”

“Yes, in fact, I do. And just to let you know, I don’t need your attitude. All I need is this computer. And that’s it.” I shut my laptop and snatched it from the deck, stopping Third Eye Blind mid-track, and stormed back inside, with nothing left to say for the rest of the night.  “That’s all I need…”

 

***

 

10 seconds later I swung the door back open. “I need my power cord. I don’t want to run on a depleted battery.”

“Zack, we’re about to go in. Do you need help with anything—“

“Listen Bill, I don’t need any help, I don’t need you, and I certainly don’t need her! All I need my laptop and this power cord. That’s all I need.” I stormed back into the house. Bill followed me, or at least I think he did. I didn’t bother looking back.

 

***

 

“I don’t want to leave a mess, so I’m grabbing my old fashioned cup too,” I said to Gretch as she slid passed me through the doorway. “And don’t pretend like I need anything else. All I need is my laptop, this power cord, and this old fashioned cup.” Gretch slammed the front door shut, leaving me outside by myself.

“And that’s ALL I NEED!” I turned the doorknob.

“UNLOCK IT!”

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Chapter 21: The Ghosts of the Dude Rancher Lodge

900 miles is a long long long long WAYS in a car…

-Modest Mouse

 

“What exit do I get off of again?”

“How should I know? It’s probably the first one when you come into town. What does your phone say?”

“I don’t know, I’m talking to you on it.”

“Oh… Um, I think there’s an Arby’s or something close by when you get off.”

“Mmmmm… Arby’s… Hold on.” I reached over and clicked the “previous” button on the music player.

“Just open up Google Maps and type in ‘Dude Rancher Lodge.’ You should be there in a couple minutes after you take the exit.”

“Oh. Well gee, now that you mention it, that’s actually a good idea. I’ll see ya soon!” I ended the call and did exactly as I was told, my coordinates set to the Dude Rancher Lodge of Billings, Montana. Hmm, better start the song over, just in case.

10 minutes had passed without any sign of a Dude Rancher Lodge, or even an indication that I was getting close. “Seriously, where the hell is this place?” I let out a sigh of exasperation as I firmly pressed on the “previous” button one last time—for the third time. “I swear this is the last time.”

And then there it was, a mere 2 blocks away; the Dude Rancher Lodge, a two story brick and mortar motel topped with wood siding, proudly erected to my immediate left. I happily pressed the “previous” button one last time and called Bill. Aside from the fact that it was located in the middle of a city, the motel was appropriately named given its appearance.

“I’m here. Come out and meet me— Dude, I don’t know which room you’re in—well I don’t know where that is… C’mon that’s just confusing, just come ou— Well, I have a lot of crap to carry— Just meet me outside… I’m in the parking lot—DUDE! Why can’t you come out? It’ll take you like, two seconds… because man, I just need you to— dude, please, just come out and—oh, ok, cool. See ya soon.”

Another minute passed. C’mon Bill, where the hell are you? It’s been two minuets, hurry up why don’t you—damn it!” I paused the music. The amount of time it was taking for Bill to get out was really starting to get under my skin and spark a fuse. “What the hell’s wrong with him? I just drove 12 hours to get over here and he’s taking his sweet time! I grit my teeth and started shaking my head, frustrated with pernicious thoughts bubbling inside. “And now I have to start this damn song over again. Why must I be so disrespected? In what way do I deserve this… this insolence? Why, the moment he shows up, I’m gonna jump out of the car and—BILL!”

I quickly pressed play on the music player, cranked up the volume and jumped out of the car. Bill walked across the parking lot with a giant smile ripped across his face. I matched him smile-to-smile and spread my arms out for a hug, while an upbeat tune played from the Benz.

“The boys are back in town…” The chorus by Thin Lizzy repeated, coupled with a scale of notes plucked rapidly in the scale of G Major. “Oh man, what a coincidence!” I exclaimed. “You started to come out, and this song started playing. That’s awesome!” His smile grew even larger.

“It’s like it was meant to be! You mentioned you needed help getting your stuff?”

“Oh me? Naw, I got it. Just my backpack and a couple of Rockstars is all I need.” I grabbed my goods and followed Bill to the room, barely able to hold in my excitement. “You know, it feels like years since the last time we hung out.”

“I know right! Actually, when was the last time we hung out?” he asked, the lock on the door to the room giving him trouble.

“Honestly, I sort of forget. Yesterday, I was in Minnesota, and before then I was in Wiscon—“ Bill popped the door open. “Gretch! Oh my God, how are you! You look grea—uh, I mean… hey… what’s up?” I nodded my head and shrugged my shoulders. “Good to see you… I guess.”

“Hey,” she said while lying on one of the beds, giving me a quick nod before burying her head back into her phone. After all I’ve done for her… typical.

“Well, you wanna hang out for a while? There’s going to be a BBQ at our Aunt and Uncle’s house.”

“Bar-Be-Que! Bar-Be-Que!” I began to chant. I wouldn’t stop until Gretch was forced off the bed and into the car. Bill soon joined in on the incantation.

“Bar-Be-Que! Bar-Be-Que! Bar-Be-Que…”

***

“Hello, I’m Zack,” I said and waved as I walked through the front door, making the customary introductions to Bill and Gretch’s extended family.

“Hi, I’m Bill’s uncle, Bill,” said Bill before greeting Bill. “How are you Bill?” said Bill to Bill.

“I’m doing well. It’s good to see you again Uncle Bill,” answered Bill back to Uncle Bill. There was something about their conversation that developed an ever-growing grin across my face, though I could never quite figure out what it was.

“Well Bill, Zack, and Gretch, are you guys hungry?” asked Uncle Bill.

“You betcha!” I answered. “Why, I haven’t had anything since I stopped at Carl’s Jr. back in Bismark!”

“Well good, we have a few burgers and brats cookin’ on the grill for ya.”

Burgers and brats… again? “…What the hey, burgers and brats sound good… for the 4th time.”

“Do you have any beer?” asked Getch. We knew she would pop the question; we just didn’t think it would be this soon. No amount of preparation could’ve prevented Bill and I from sinking our shaking heads into our hands. We quickly made our way towards the backyard patio, retracting ourselves from any previous association. No shame, whatsoever…

“Lea, how the heck are you?” I said with a heightened pitch as I walked through the doorway and onto the deck. It had been ages since I had seen Bill’s mom, a great and festive lady through and through. And wouldn’t you know it, sitting beside her was a signature can of Coors Light, a sight that called for a hug.

“Welcome to Montana,” she said back to me before introducing me to the rest of the family. There was Bill and Gretch’s Aunt Ann, Aunt Sue who was married to Uncle Bill, and their cousins Michael and Helen. They offered me a Coors Light of my own, of which I gladly accepted and joined them in the social circle, gazing over a landscape that was still in transition between the barren plains of North Dakota and the rugged frontier of Montana with the setting sun finally making its grand entrance, late, as I knew it would be; a setting that unlocked the gregarious side of my personality. Forget small talk. Let’s get right to the issues! Our conversation started out on the conservative side, for I was unwilling to pull a Gretch and blurt something out that would have even the mildest consideration of being labeled as offensive.

“Have you guys seen the new Rihanna video that just dropped? It’s called ‘Bitch Better Have My Money,’ or BBHMM for short.”

Helen and Aunt Sue’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Helen and I listened to that song the other day,” said Aunt Sue.

“Oh man, the music video is pretty bad! They kidnap this girl and beat her up and make her do drugs and stuff.”

“Maybe we should all watch it a little later,” replied Helen. It was an activity I wasn’t the least bit apposed to.

“So what else do you do besides watch BBHMM?” asked Aunt Sue.

“Well, that takes up a lot of my time, and usually the rest of my day is spent trying to build submarines and stuff. Yea, I know, it’s kind of boring. In the meantime though, I’m trying to be a writer!”

“Oh that’s very neat,” replied Aunt Sue. “What have you been writing?”

“Well, I’m trying to finish up this story about a boy who has to deal with his dying dog. It’s pretty sad and all. It’s like the dog is really old, and the boy comes home, and then he has to re-examine his life, and wonders what he did wrong, and eventually has to make a decision whether or not…” I could tell the mood was getting a little somber. Not to spoil the evening, I quickly switched topics. “…I mean, I don’t want to ruin the whole book or anything, But I write other things too. I have a blog that I keep up with from time to time, and I even wrote a screenplay a couple of years back.”

“Oh really, what’s it about?”

“Well…” I hesitated, unsure how to explain the intricate plot of the screenplay. “I mean, it’s kind of complicated, so I don’t know if I should to go into details. It’s almost better if—“

“Just go for it, I’m sure we can figure it out.” I took a deep breath and a nice swig of Coors Light, finishing the rest of the beer’s contents. Here goes nothing… 

“So there’s this cat burglar… and when he robs a house, he leaves a calling card. He uses the bathroom and… he doesn’t flush. I call it, ‘Turd Burglars’.”

“Oh,” was the common reply around the social circle, coupled with a wide-eyed look and a long, taught, “lips-are-sealed” look.

“Oh look, I’m out of beer. Better grab another one.”

“We still have that bottle of wine in the fridge, don’t we mom?” said Helen.

“We do indeed! Why don’t you get some for our guest Helen,” said Aunt Sue. What the heck, why not? Helen disappeared into the house, only to reemerge with a half-full liter sized bottle of cheap rosé.

“Here you go. It’s all yours,” said Helen, eager to hand me the bottle.

“Anybody else want some?” I asked as I looked around. The rest of the group seemed just as eager to watch me drink it straight from the bottle—so I did.

“Dinner’s ready!” suddenly cried out Uncle Bill, making his way to the kitchen with a plate full of burgers and brats. We all scurried to load up a plate of our own with a unique arrangement of burger, brat and all different types of fixin’s. After filling our plates with grub, we reassumed our positions on the porch and continued our conversation between bites of meat and sips of wine.

“I’ll tell you what Lea, I love those two to death, but oh my gosh were they bad,” I began, preparing myself with a hearty sip of wine. “After the wedding, they kept laughing, and giggling, and chuckling in the backseat. It was so distracting, and it made me miss the turn off to the hotel! And don’t even get me started on the roundabouts or how they wouldn’t shut up in the hotel room. I could barely sleep that whole night! And Gretch, boy oh boy has she developed quite the potty mouth as of late…” Lea sat and listened, shaking her head harder and harder in disbelief the more I continued. That wasn’t the way her children were raised, that was for damn sure, and her distress caused me to take another good gulp of wine.

“Don’t get me wrong though, we still had some really good times on the road,” I continued. “And for most of the trip, we were on our best behavior, at places like Jackson Hole, especially Denver, Kanses, Iowa, and Minnesota!” Both Bill and I filled them in on our adventures and they happily listened, although there were probably certain details that were inadvertently left out, being that so much had taken place during our travels.

Our plates gradually became empty as our conversation went on, my bottle of wine turned from half full to a quarter full, and the sun continued its decent across the semi-rugged plains of Billings, suggesting that darkness would soon overtake the sky. “Hey Zack, before you guys leave, would you mind taking a family picture of us?” asked Aunt Ann.

A loose rumble came from my insides as she asked, warranting suspicion of an allergic reaction. “Maybe I should slow down,” I told myself, for I had felt this way after drinking wine before, and the results were always devastating. Shake it off son. You’re on a roll. “Sure, I’d love to,” I said, graciously accepting the request. I lined the family up in the living room, Bill and Gretch on the left side, Michael and Helen on the other, and all of the aunts and uncles in the middle.

“Ok, here we go. Say cheese!” I clicked the middle of Sue’s phone and the camera app made a clicking noise. “Wait a minute, something’s wrong. It didn’t take the picture correctly.”

“Well let me take a look,” said Sue, rushing over to see what was the matter.

“I did exactly what you said, but it just took a picture of my face.” Sue took a look at the camera and paused, as if she were holding her breath. After a second, she let out a snort, and then exploded into bursts laughter.

“Oh my God Lea, look—he took a picture of himself!” It was all she could let out before another round of breathless laughter overcame her. Lea came over and examined the close up of my face sprawled across the screen, so resolute that you could see the fine details of each strand of unshaven facial hair under my chin. She suffered the same fate.

“You have to press the button and it’ll switch over—“ Sue continued before once again succumbing to the hilarity of the situation. The reaction was contagious too, for everybody joined her in expressing their amusement, Ann, Helen, Michael, everybody, except for two… Bill and Gretch crossed their arms and shook their heads, their faces seething with jealousy. “Ha ha, very funny Zack,” said Bill in a very sarcastic manner.

“Oh my God. Typical Zack joke,” followed Gretch. Years of family gatherings and a lifetime of work and preparation in order to create such joy and comedic celebration had paled in comparison to what I was able to achieve in just one evening, and in it producing a response of pure envy, boiling and firing so fiercely that it reached the inevitable breaking point of containment. It was understandable, but unfortunate, really; a joke so funny, that it actually caused me to laugh—at my own joke! That rarely happens, ever!

After a minute of calming down (and believe me, it took a while for everybody to settle their britches), I was finally able to take the picture. Bill and Gretch forced their smiles, trying to hide their irate emotions from seeping out any further, unlike the others whose smiles were all natural. And sadly, by the look of the picture, everybody could tell.

“Hey Helen, do you wanna come out with us?” asked Bill after he had given himself a minute to calm down. “I think we’re going out to some of the bars tonight.”

“That sounds awesome!” she replied with a spurt of excitement. Before hoping into Lea’s Subaru (previously borrowed by Bill to initially get to the BBQ) and headed back to the hotel, we made our rounds and said our goodbye to the rest of the family, including Michael, whose age unfortunately hindered him from partaking in the nights festivities. Bill ensured him however that when the time came, he would with no doubt guide him through his rite to passage.

“So what hotel are you guys staying at?” asked Lea, parting her concentration between her kids and a battle with me over the volume of the music playing over the radio. However rude it may have seemed, I felt it necessary to support our penchant towards classic rock, a fondness I knew full well that Lea once loved, making her sudden opposition baffling to all of us.

“Isn’t it something about dudes?” I replied. “Dude Ranch Inn or something?”

“…You mean, THE Dude Rancher Lodge?” asked Helen, each succeeding word more alarming than the last.

“That’s the one!” answered Bill. We continued the conversation about the hotel while Helen grew mysteriously quiet, almost completely sinking into her seat. Her silence was buried under a mixture of our excited chatter and The Cars, “Just What I Needed” that kept being turned up against Lea’s will until we were dropped off at the hotel.

It was straight to business the moment we entered our room at the Dude Rancher Lodge. “Alright Helen. We’re giving you an honorary punch card,” I told her, followed by an explanation of its use and the number of derogatories allowed. “Gretch blew through hers in no time, a horrendous experience I never want to live through ever again. Even I, I’m ashamed to admit, had a major blow up due to some behavioral issues of certain individuals, but you my friend, get to start out with a clean slate!” I handed her a makeshift card with her name on it made out of a paper coaster provided by the hotel. “Go ahead and start! You can use swears, racial slurs, anything that comes to mind!”

“Um, I might just wait a while on that one,” she said. “And actually, maybe we should start heading out to the bars soon—“

“Oh nonsense! Let’s have a couple of Old Fashioneds before we head out! We need to pre-funk a little bit anyways. And besides, there’s still the premiere of Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” music video!”

“You know, on second thought, we can probably skip the BBHMM premiere, and really, the bars around here aren’t that expensive, so there’s really no need to pre-funk—”

It was no use, for I had already set up the computer and had BBHMM on queue. I clicked play and for the next 7 minutes, we studied the theme and message behind the explicit music video that involved the kidnapping, drugging, and torture of an unsuspecting executive’s wife, images that were both disturbing and at the same time, intriguing. All the while, my body was engaged in a torture of its own. It could no longer be ignored, the excessive intake of wine had no doubt caused a reaction, and an allergic one at that; my body actively rejecting the toxins I had put into it. For several minutes, I masked the symptoms—swollen throat, runny nose, and rumbling bowels, hoping each would go away with time while we analyzed the finer details of the video, looking for a deeper meaning associated with the madness… until the madness inside me reached the point of no return.

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BBHMM Premiere

“Uh, you guys, I think the wine… it gave me… I… I gotta go to the bathroom!” I ran to the door and turned, one final request before go time. “Do you mind waiting a few minutes?”

“Well, how about you just meet us over at the bar?” suggested Helen. She was ambitious in her quest to get out of there, and maybe I couldn’t blame her. From the sound of it, the nightlife in Billings had potential, much more than waiting around and listening to some dude destroy a toilet.

“Ok, yea whatever. Text me.” It was all I could fit in before succumbing to a fast and effective relief forced upon me by the laws of human decency. I’ve been known to do some crazy things in my day, but making a mess when it’s not necessary isn’t one of them.

For the next several minutes after the initial wave I sat and waited, making sure there weren’t any further eruptions. People tend to do a lot of thinking when they’re stuck in a helpless situation, which has been the case for a good portion of my life so far. You pay better attention to detail, and notice things you normally wouldn’t. And in that moment of solitude, I could hear a faint tapping. The further I paid attention, the taps seemed like they had turned to knocks—audible knocks on the door.

“Hello?” I called out. There was no answer. “Bill, is that you? Helen? Gretch? Gretch, is this a joke?” Still, no answer. “C’mon you guys, this isn’t funny anymore!” Another set of soft knocks resumed. “Who’s there?” I tried to stand up, but could not, as I was cemented on the ring of which I sat until my task was complete—a task far from completion. By the time I had finally finished, the knocking had ceased and there wasn’t a soul in sight. I hurried out of the room and to Hooligans Sports Pub, where Bill had told me to meet.

***

I walked in and found the trio right as the server set a fresh pitcher on the table. “Is there anything else you guys need?” he asked.

I perused our table, eventually coming to a collective and steady nod with Bill and Helen. “I think we’re good—“ I caught one last glance at Gretch. “Um, on second thought, you better bring us another pitcher.

“Coming right up,” said the server before making his way back to the kitchen. Helen watched as he disappeared into the depths of the bar, ample distance to ensure a private conversation could be maintained. She looked left to right, one more check to make sure the coast was clear, and then leaned in, prompting us to do the same.

“You guys do know about the Dude Rancher Lodge, right?” she asked us, her voice soft and quiet.

“What about it?”

“Well, some lady and her husband started building the place in the 1950’s. A couple years after it was finally built, the husband died in a tragic car accident, so the lady lived in the hotel with her kid until she died sometime in the 80’s. Ever since her death, people have seen strange things going on all over the hotel.”

“Like what?” asked Bill, leaning even closer in to set his level of intrigue.

“TV’s turn on and off, people will hear a knock on the door, only to find nobody’s there, and people have even heard and seen children roaming the halls at night.”

“Oh my God…” It was a subconscious reaction that neither Bill nor I could refrain from saying.

“So, you’re telling me, there’s like ghosts and stuff?” asked Bill.

“Yea. The place is haunted by the lady, her husband and her son.”

“Whoa…” both Bill and I replied, leaning back just as if we just had our mind’s blown. “I knew I heard something when I was on the crapper!”

“What room are you guys staying in again?”

“226 I believe,” said Bill. “Why?”

“226… oh God. That’s one of the—never mind. You guys will be fine.”

Bill leaned back in his seat and dozed off into space. “So we’re in a haunted hotel… Weird.”

“I don’t believe it!” It was a sudden, out of character shriek. We whipped our heads around to Gretch, sitting back in her chair and pouting, her face so tight face it’d scare a pit bull. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Gretch, don’t be disrespectful to the dead,” I pleaded. The last thing any of us needed to do was to piss them off.

“Screw the dead! Why don’t you all just shut up?”

“C’mon Gretch, we’re just having a little fun.”

“I don’t care. There’s no such thing as ghosts!”

“Gretch, how do you even know—“

“Zack, just—just drop it. Ok?” requested Bill, hoping silence would eventually defuse the situation. I honored his request out of respect, timed perfectly with the arrival of another pitcher of beer. Gretch poured herself a pint, immediately drowning herself in the sorrows of alcohol, the cause and solution to all of life’s problems. No emotion besides anger was displayed. As fast as it was poured, it was emptied into her body for processing; its contents filtered through the liver for future distribution, a process that was to be repeated until Gretch became a much more tolerant person.

Four or five pints later, we called it quits and returned to the hotel. I looked back at Gretchen and Bill, happily stumbling together as a loving pair of siblings would. “Lea would be proud.” I thought to myself. From that sight, I came to a conclusion that Gretch was able to find peace with the ghost after all, making the outing a success.

IMG_1598

What the heck was in that whiskey???

“Well Helen, if you need to, you can bunk with us tonight,” said Bill as we walked back into our room at the Dude Rancher Lodge. “We have more than enough space for one more if needed.”

“Um…” she contemplated, staring into our room as if she could sense an evil presence lurking about. “Thanks for the offer, but I… I think I’ll just head home. My dad’s on his way to pick me up anyway.”

“Well, can I make you an old fashioned while you wait?” I asked, already starting the process of making one for myself.

“Eh… thanks, but I think I’ll pass on that one.” A quick jingle sounded from her phone, informing her that she had received a message. “Oh, that’s dad. He just got here!” Helen gathered herself while the rest of us positioned ourselves to say a proper goodbye.

“It was awesome hanging out with you Helen,” first said Bill along with a hug.

“Yea, I’m glad we finally got to go out to the bars,” followed Gretch, her turn for a hug and goodbye.

“It was nice meeting you.” I said to her. “Hopefully we can all make it back here again. I think I like Montana a lot so far.”

“Agreed. I really hope I see you again,” she said, parting words that left me with a hint of concern. I took a long sip of my old fashioned and then rattled the glass around, pondering over the silence that filled the room.

“Hey, did you guys feel like Helen was a little agitated whenever she was in the room?” I looked at Bill who shrugged his shoulders, then to Gretch. She awarded me no sign of acknowledgment. “Gretch? GRETCH!”

“What?” she replied with irritation, her eyes buried into her phone and fingers tapping away, feeding the gluttonous social media beast.

“What the heck’s on your phone that’s so damn important, Miss Anti-social?”

“Oh nothing really. Just messaging your future wife, that’s all.”

“What do you mean future wife?”

“Her name’s Brecken.”

“Oh yea. That is your future wife,” replied Bill. “You guys are like perfect for each other! Like peanut butter and jelly!”

“Two peas in a pod,” added Gretch.

“Milk and Honey.”

“Bread and butter.”

“Dude, I already have a future wife. And you know that Bill! 15 years! Remember? Do you really think I need to get myself in any more trouble?”

“But this one’s the real deal! You have to,” again said Gretch.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’ve already fallen in love with way too many people so far this trip. One more—that’s just overkill.”

“Just look at her picture real quick, would you?” asked Gretch. She held up her cell phone with a picture of my “future wife” on the screen.

“Ok, she’s a babe, I get that, but c’mon! Now’s not the time to make any sort of commitments.”

“Just give Zack a break Gretch. He’s had a long day of driving, and I think it’s past his bedtime. You know he gets a little cranky at the end of the day.

“Thank you,” I almost said out loud. At least somebody has some sense to quit.

“Isn’t her family loaded too?” asked Bill.

“Wait, loaded?” I asked, with slight confusion.

“Oh yea, she’s super rich,” answered Gretch.

There was a slight pause. Bill and I looked at each other, as if a great epiphany had been bestowed upon us. We could feel it, moving through our legs and up into our bodies, slowly widening our eyelids and diluting our eyes, a heavy force overtaking us, awakening us into convulsive retractions the longer we stared. It drove us towards insanity, to a point of no return, a total blackout of reason, where all forms of resistance had become futile. I had to speak, had to say something, had to release this energy suddenly built up within me, energy that didn’t seem natural, or normal; almost as if it were… paranormal. Something was just edging us to act, to move, to—

“MAMA MIA WE GOT THE MOOLA!!”

“HELLO!” hollered Bill. We grabbed each other for a hug, nearly going in for a kiss. We hopped up and down, grasping each others arms as we circled round and round in place at the edge of the bed.

“Mama mia we got the money WE’RE RICH!!!”

“Time to get paid!”

“We got the mowwww-nay!” I jumped up onto the bed and bounced up and down like a stiff Billy Goat.

“QUACK QUACK QUACK,” Bill blurted back before hopping up onto the opposite bed.

“AHHHOOOOOOOGA!”

“ARRRGG, WOOF WOOF WOOF!”

“AOHHH-OHH-OHH-OHH-OHH-OHH-OHH-OHH-OHH,” I cried out and repeated, patting my hand against my mouth to signal an Indian war call.

“Haha ha,” said Bill using a laugh that insinuated calming.

“Haha ha,” I joined, feeling the calm myself.

“Ha.”

“Ha…ha.”

“Ha-HA ha.”

“Ha-ha, hee, haha…”

“haha ho. Haha heehee hee, haha hooooo hoho. Heeheehee hahaha hohoho—haha HA haha—hahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“HOOOOOOOOOOOO—“

“WAAAAAAAOHHHHHH!!!”

“WE DID IT BABY!”

“MAMA MIA WE DID IT!”

“WE’LL NEVER HAVE TO WORK AGAIN!”

“WE HIT THE JACKPOT!”

“DWOOBLE-WOOBLE-WOOBLE-WOOBLE-WOOBLE!” It was a sound that came from my mouth as my index finger flicked against my lips in an up and down motion, over and over again until an obnoxious scream from Bill broke my attention span.

“OHHHHHHHH—“

“WOAHHHHHHHH—“

“WOOOOOHHHHH!”

“HAHAHAHA!”

“HEEHEEHEE!”

“HOHOHO…”

Nobody’s sure what made us act like we were in the middle of a Tim and Eric Haunted House sketch that night. It wasn’t known exactly how long it lasted or when it finally came to a stop. In fact, there wasn’t even much evidence that the event ever occurred. But it couldn’t be denied by any of the guests that a strange and disturbing occurrence was heard, coming from room 226 of the Dude Rancher Lodge that evening.

***

“Man, I don’t know about you, but I feel like a million bucks,” I said to Bill the next morning as I rose out of bed.

“That was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years!”

“What about you Gretch… Gretch?” Bill and I looked over at her, pinned against the corner of the wall, eyes wide and bloodshot. “What the heck happened to you?”

“Are you guys freaking kidding me?”

“…What are you talking about?”

“You were acting like animals. Literally, both of you.”

“What do you mean animals?” I asked. Gretch had to be talking crazy talk. “Look, this is what happened. Helen left, and then you tried to set me up with some babe, and you showed me her picture and told me she was loaded, and then… then…”

“Then what?” asked Bill.

“I… I don’t know.”

“You’re tellin’ me both of you don’t remember anything?”

Bill and I looked at each other with bemusement. “Well, what happened?”

“You guys were totally out of control. It’s like you went psychotic, like you were… possessed…”

“Possessed? By… by who?”

“By gho—” she paused for a second. “Ghosts…” said Gretch as she stared off into space. Bill and I joined her, each of us just as stunned. “The Ghosts of the Dude Rancher Lodge…”

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Chapter 20: Out of the Vein, Part 2

You gotta steal the time of a life that’s passing by…

-Third Eye Blind

 

7 AM. The air precipitated as it left my breath. I stood at the edge of a lawn, alone, the last of my kind in a ghost town called suburbia. In front of me stood the Benz, my instrument to achieve the ultimate freedom. A freedom that looked so exhilarating… a freedom that scared the living shit out of me.

I entered the car with caution, a heavy sense of danger looming, with every part of me holding the belief that I was headed towards a catastrophe. My skin formed bumps and opened its passages for easy perspiration. My lungs expanded and contracted rapidly, inadvertently converting oxygen into carbon dioxide at a dangerously abnormal pace. Blood pumped through my vessels at an irregular rate and my mind raced around and around with crowded thoughts, causing a traffic jam inside my head, a combination that led to an indefinite stall.

The infant sun lifted over the streets, a source of life so far way, it looked to be in every way unreachable, its power over me an ostensible reminder of the hopeless nature present when tasked to challenge authority. “What the hell am I doing?” I asked myself while I sat in the car for several minutes, void of any movement. The irony provided a most chilling answer, one that was the least bit pleasing.

My eyes slowly diverted their attention to the center console where a piece of stationary stuck out. First noticeable from my peripheral vision, its unusual placement seduced me, drawing me closer as if it was asking to be plucked. I studied its pose, how and why it was placed the way it was, wondering whether to open it or forever remain ignorant of its contents. I wondered, it’s unique and captivating position sending me deeper and deeper into a dangerous trance, and then I wondered some more…

***

It rained the previous morning when I left Wisconsin. Of course it rained… it had to. It was relentless, and in stereotypical fashion I might add, just like in one of those sappy chick flicks where the hunk has to say goodbye to the babe and everyone’s crying and drenched and the rain is just pouring down all over the place—you know, Nicholas Sparks style, but way cornier. Purely coincidental that every time you have to say goodbye to somebody, the weather turns to crap.

After a hearty lunch with Cousin Brian and one final stop at the Pick n’ Save to stock up on some Old Fashioned mix, I was back on the road, facing the barrage of rain, obstinate in its pursuit to challenge my driving skills. There was no time to feel sad or sorry, or even reflect on life events, my usual routine during a long drive home after vacation. All of my focus went into maneuvering through the thick web of rain punishing the external surfaces of my car as if I was stuck in a never-ending car wash at 60 miles per hour. The windshield wipers thrashed back and forth so fast and so frequently that I questioned the structural integrity of each wiper, whether they were strong enough to withstand the momentous forces acting upon them from each swing. I was almost certain once fatigue stress set in, each one would snap right off of their respective hinges and fly onto the highway, waiting to be crushed by the very structures they are tasked to protect while leaving me blind, sending me towards my inevitable doom.

Even with my wipers on overdrive, each swipe only provided a fraction of a second of limited visibility before the windshield was coated with another wave of rainwater. Despite the fury of water attacking my car, whose goal was to keep me from making it to Minnesota, a set of lights remained in front of me at all times; two, bright red lights coming from a structure whose blurry outline matched that of a truck’s, my guiding light out of the darkness. When it moved, I moved. When its light’s shone brighter, I slowed. I mimicked its every move, without any knowledge of who the man or woman behind the wheel was, whether or not they were a saint or a criminal (like Gretch). Yet, even the thought of a murderer as the operator of the rig wasn’t enough to stop me from putting all of my trust in the two red taillights in front of me; a pair of lights that would either turn my car into a mangled mess on the side of the road or successfully guide me through the three-hour stretch of road from Wausau to Minneapolis.

It was 4:30 in the afternoon when I stepped out of my car, safe and sound at the helm of the State Capital Building in St. Paul, Minnesota, where I was to meet Cambray before heading over to the Tin Whiskers Brewery a few skips away. Believing that my blind faith had been immensely rewarded, I took in a deep breath of relief, only to find that I had arrived in a city filled with smoke. The normally clean volume of air that covers the Twin Cities had been tainted with a thick haze, a result of the many wildfires that Bill and I were lucky enough to evade on our travels, until now.

Luckily for us, the quality of air and beer wasn’t exactly proportional at that time, making the variety of beer at the upstart brewery placed in the heart of downtown St. Paul well received. And although the Tin Whiskers lacked the fanfare and infrastructure of the Surly Brewery with their operation set on the bottom floor of an apartment complex, the brewers were able to deliver a quality product to us at a large quantity (although they did run out of their much touted “PILS-ner,” of which I expressed a small wave of disappointment).

So with an extensive supply of beer in close proximity and time to spare before John met up with us, we caught up on each other’s lives, something we had ceded from during our first gathering as a result of the birthday antics at the Surly Brewery and 1029 Karaoke Bar. I filled her in on the better details of the wedding, from how I ripped my favorite pair of shorts and the debate of whether or not we should be amiable to farm girls, to when we got to watch Beth and Blake get wedded. Of course I couldn’t forget about the excessive dancing that led to excessive perspiration, and I had to touch on the abhorrent behavior put on display by Bill and Gretch. She shared with me the latest updates of her life, and as it usually plays out with all my friends, we diverted our talk to the past, sharing a few laughs and smiles as we recounted the many adventures we had throughout the years.

The conversation became sentimental as the subject of our talk turned to friends, both old and new. I couldn’t help but bring up people like Bill, Mike, and Jay—especially Jay, leading me to share a few memories of him and how his simple presence was so meaningful to the people closest to him. He had a way of retelling a previous night’s adventure with his down to Earth personality and wit that never ceased to put a smile on each of our face, sending us into gut rolling bursts of laughter sooner or later at one point of story. And no matter how fun and wild a night with Jay was, it was always the day after, whether it be sharing a conversation over a lunch sandwich or a group of us sitting in a living room listening to him speak so gregariously that made his friendship worthwhile, that defined him as a great man, brother, and friend.

It was such a simple and meaningful presence in life that went unrealized until his unfortunate passing… a life I’ll always cherish, and a lesson I’ll never forget.

The brief pause of dialogue between us coupled with a stern look strewn across her face sent a shot of anxiety buzzing through my veins. It was a look that needed no explanation, evidence of how much our conversation had turned from colloquial to serious—funny how just a moderate amount of beer consumption can have such drastic effects.

I knew the question would come up sooner or later. It always does, and this time was no different, and just like in its usual, inevitable fashion, it would again catch me off guard. The talk of friends the past and current state of our lives, our dreams, and future aspirations should’ve been a dead give away.

“Are you ever going to move here?” she asked. “We’ve talked about it for years, but it still hasn’t happened…”

She deserved an answer; here at the Tin Whiskers Brewery in St. Paul, Minnesota… she deserved an answer I was ill prepared to give. And so I took another sip of beer and pondered over the question, as I had done, also for several years… “I just want to let you know that I really meant what I said in your birthday card.” Perhaps she knew better than me of where I wanted to be, and where I needed to be… where I belonged…

But I could never seem to provide a straight answer. Only a mush words delivered in equivocating terms was all that was ever forced out, a bare minimum offer for a satisfaction that was rarely attained…

***

Fear drives us in many directions. There’s a reason that stirring feeling swells inside when faced with peril. And for good reason too, at least for the most part, be it a kid staring down a giant bully, or the same young hunk asking a babe out for the very first time. It gives us time to swallow the gravity of the situation, helps us to put a grasp on the risks and rewards involved in such a decision, and in some cases, buys us time to realize the sheer stupidity involved with the thoughts rolling around in our heads (for instance, contemplating whether or not to take Ben Woodward’s advice and go blackface for a Halloween costume). In all facets of life, fear drives us. It also slams on the brakes.

And in that moment of contemplation, sitting in the comfort of the Tin Whiskers Brewery amongst a grand population of Boundary babes and next door to Wisconsin, friends, family, and the world’s greatest football team, it was fear that reemerged inside my head; a fear that provided an excuse, an artificial roadblock to hold me back, to keep me from reaching my ultimate goal.

“I really do think you belong here,” she said, as I was unable to divert from my prolonged moment of silence. “You have Midwest blood. It lives in you. You’d blossom here. You’d thrive here… Give it some consideration, not just for my sake, but for yours as well…”

John walked in a few moments later where he was embraced halfway to the table with the offer of a beer, consolation for letting me off the hook. Soon after we were joined by his coworkers, and being that there was a brew in each of our hands, the conversation turned much more casual. Though I enjoyed the respite, I couldn’t quite shake off the entrapment, the curse of complacency that lingered through my head, a feeling that lasted well past the last sip of beer at the Tin Whiskers.

Later that night we ventured over to the Uptown neighborhood in Minneapolis (near the infamous H&M incident) for a sushi dinner, where we met up with Lauren (the #1 boundary babe herself and potential future wife in 15 years) as well as Claire Brinstagram, always an added pleasure. Truly blessed by their presence and impressed by the restaurants music selection (a number of indie rock hits from bands like the “Yeah Yeah Yeah’s” who played at the 2009 Sasquatch Music Festival mixed with a little Modest Mouse), I offered up a round of Sake Bombs. Only Cambray and John could be convinced to join me for a round of shots, which were set up using a pair of chopsticks that held a shot glass filled with Sake over a cup of Sapporo, similar to what I had learned in Denver a week prior.

“Ok, when I say ‘Sake’ you say ‘BOMB’!” The ritual was met with less excitement than previously encountered with Bill, for John and Cambray, being that their level of sophistication was a bit higher than most, didn’t exactly take to yelling “Sake Bomb,” banging on a table, and spilling beer at a quiet sushi restaurant with much enthusiasm.

At the night’s end, we found ourselves back at Cambray and John’s apartment watching English reality TV. The particular show of interest involved a bunch of people who just go on blind date and talk about it, with some dates ending horribly and others with “happy” endings—and that was it. “Man, no offense to John, but I don’t how you can get into this stuff,” I thought to myself. They seemed to enjoy it however, so I soldiered through it in deference to my hosts, thus giving the show an appropriate chance.

“Hey, have you guys ever seen Baseketball?” Both of them shook their heads, prompting a condensed screening. If they thought that First Date show was funny, they’ll lose their mind over this! “Man, I used to watch this all the time in college. It’s seriously the funniest movie ever!”

Their mouths remained flat throughout the screening, replicating the same look given to me by a group of babes in the college dorms several years back, of whom I was also able to convince that watching the movie would be worthwhile. “Man, I miss English television,” said John. By the tone of his voice, I would’ve guess that he was unimpressed with the humor on display. I, on the other hand, was completely baffled, finding each “psyche out” in the movie beyond hilarious. Well, I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.

“Well, we’re going to bed,” said Cambray. “I think we all have a big day ahead of us.” I agreed and made my way to the respective guestroom where I was to prepare myself for a slumber, but not before saying our goodbyes, just in case the opportunity wasn’t there in the morning. Before crawling into bed, I checked my phone for messages. Bill…

I slid my finger across the screen where his name was placed to open the full contents of his text. Many words were used for persuasion, but the message was clear:

Come to Pony. Meet us in Billings tomorrow by 5. A BBQ is waiting for you…

I lay in bed that night, wondering if it were even possible—if that were even a good idea or if I could actually do it. I checked the Google Maps on my phone for the best route. Minneapolis, MN to Billings, MT—12 hours, 840 miles. Billings… Pony… It seemed so blissful, yet at the same time, a distant dream I wasn’t the least bit prepared for.

And so I lay in bed, wondering and dreaming, with a hint of anxiety sunk at the bottom my heart. I wondered and dreamed, until I fell into a slumber, wondering if it were possible, if it were a good idea… if I was actually going to do it…

***

“Cheers” said the front portion of the folded card, accompanied by a drawing of a fizzing can of beer, freshly opened. It was in my hands now; somehow, through the workings of a mysterious force inside the Benz, the card with a picture of the most coveted substance on the face of the Earth had found its way into my hands. A curiosity set in, a deadly curiosity, sending an urge fueled by a feeling of intrigue to open the card, to reveal its contents… to read…

Zack – I’m so delighted and proud to spend this milestone birthday with you in person. You are truly loved here in Minnesota, and treasured by your whole Midwest squad. I’m just going to take this opportunity to again request that you move to Minnesota. Please, just consider it. I hope this new era of your life brings you more happiness, closer to the goals you’ve been working towards throughout your 20’s, and maybe getting published. I’m so proud to call you my friend and thankful to have you in my life.

All my love, Cambray.

I stared out at the open road ahead of me, absent of any movement except for the glowing rays surrounding the sun, slowly rising above the Earth to once again proclaim it’s reign over the world. It stared back, an old western outlaw all too eager for a showdown, punctual as always. “How dare he challenge me,” I felt him say as a thickening film of sweat lubricating the steering wheel the harder I squeezed. I set the card back down on the center console—my ticket out, my ticket back to the Promised Land… my answer. With one last deep breath I turned the key, igniting the engine that sent a loud roar through the air, a message that I was not to be trifled with; that I would not be intimidated. I would not go quietly in the night, as was demanded.

With a flick of a lever that set the car into drive, I left the beloved land held so dearly to my heart, that small glimpse of heaven called the Midwest, taking with me a gallon of Old Fashioned mix and a set of memories that was to remain along my side for the rest of my days on this precious Earth. I pressed on my foot on the gas pedal and cruised into the west, where I would eventually meet the outlaw once again, waiting for him to catch up.

My breaths became heavier and more frequent as I merged onto I-94 West, triggering a cold sweat that bled through the cotton of my Surly crew cut sweatshirt. There was no turning back, and nothing to hold me back as I made my way across a barren tundra of crusted dirt and brush, a nearly 900 mile stretch across the sparsely populated state of North Dakota and into the frontier of Montana, not at this point. The weight of my foot held firmly against the pedal unbeknownst to my consciousness, causing a rapid acceleration that crossed lanes and weaved between cars at an expedited pace, knocking on the door of authoritative confrontation; a pace of which I was in complete control.

Several miles outside of Minneapolis, a line of cars clogged the left lane of the freeway, each one with the foolish idea that their single file presence eased the flow of traffic, a dangerous and corrupting idea that left them much too stubborn to admit the error of their ways. I flicked my turn signal and shifted into the right lane, buzzing past the long line of cars who weren’t the least bit enthralled with a man and his audacity to test their presence on the road, as if I were 2nd grader causing a stink by cutting to the front of the lunch line. My position was gaining quickly, inching closer and closer at a breakneck speed to the vehicle directly in front of me, its steady pace appropriate for the right lane. However, the laws of Physics in its ultimate justice were not in my favor, for no combination of time, velocity, acceleration, and displacement could send me safely in front of the line of cars set so obdurately in the left lane. I flicked my blinker once again to signal my return behind the leader.

It was a cardinal error. By informing the car directly behind me and to my left my plan to merge with ample time, I had given the competition prescient knowledge of my next move, who seized upon the opportunity and acted accordingly. The gap to my left went from wide, to modest, to short, and then to even smaller until it was non-existent, closed by the inconsiderate acceleration of an ego-threatened driver. I threw up my hands in disbelief. The driver lacked the courage to give me any eye contact whatsoever. Accepting the fate for the moment, I slipped in behind him to manage both my progress and position until the next opportunity presented itself.

“No! Thwarted once again!” A red sedan this time, having witnessed the whole scene, repeated the offense of driver in front of me, cutting me off and sending my car into an abrupt and dangerous swerve back into the right lane. This driver held no bones about expressing his attitude and all out rudeness with a few expletives mouthed through the car windshield. Again, my hands subconsciously threw themselves up into the air, accompanied a few choice expletives myself.

It wasn’t the first time I had witnessed extreme anger on a Minnesota highway. Coming back from the Boundary Waters a few lovely summers back, a rather sweet and soft-spoken Cambray had turned hot with psychotic rage when confronted with rush hour traffic near the outskirts of the Twin-Cities. Thus, the action on of the two drivers further cemented my opinion that road rage was an epidemic plaguing the usual and otherwise friendly people of Minnesota, who once again made their point loud and clear. I was not to pass, under any circumstance.

I retreated to the back of the line several cars away, a position I was doomed to stay in as long as they had their say, a long and dreadful line bound by a set of imaginary rules. They were rules that had no registry within me; yet, I was forced into their submission by the others following with blind obedience. We crawled passed the cars on the right, each one with just enough set distance to make a full pass impossible. The scenery, a forest separated from the freeway by two long strips of grass lining it received little acknowledgement from me except for the fact that it simply existed, for I remained in place at the rear, the bulk of my concentration waiting for my chance to strike, not knowing if that chance would ever come, but fully prepared nonetheless.

For several long minutes I lingered, my demeanor smooth and calm, not letting the evil deeds done unto me to deter my focus or keep me my from completing my mission. I stayed back, lurking in the shadows; waiting for my chance, a chance to get off, to show them that despite their best efforts, despite all of their power, I could not—I would not… be… restrained. I sat and waited… just one time…

Inch by inch I crept closer, my mind racing faster, a circulation of air flowing faster, in through my nose and out through my mouth; my heart pounding, faster! Each passing second increasing in its intensity, driving my desire to go faster, for these mobile roadblocks ahead of me to move faster, faster—FASTER! Faster and closer to a decision I was forced to make, a one and a million shot—odds I would take in a heartbeat!

My eyes gleamed passed the last remnants of a passed car, calculating the available distance between it and the one ahead, real estate with a severe diminishing return. Into 5th gear I went, prepping for the moment to move, to turn the impossible to possible, to show the world my unbound potential. 4th gear—the Benz revved and grinded well over 3000 RPMs…. “Any moment now…” I glanced over at the open space to my right, pinpointing the exact moment to release; every inch was precious. I glanced again, looking for evidence of a car, evidence I didn’t see, that wasn’t there—open space—GO!

I swerved to the right. A fierce roar of an engine pierced the atmosphere, sending shocking pulses across the freeway. “80… 85… 90,” the speedometer’s dial rotated, moving across the front dashboard console at a steady rate. Rekindled with a state of intense concentration fed by a psychosis previously felt only once before within the treacherous terrain of Wyoming, I blasted past my opponents with the remaining distance between me and the car in my immediate line of view quickly diminishing.

100 feet. Time slowed. My breaths, the engine, the beat of my heart; every audible sound augmented, forcing an acute concentration into the past and present. Flashes of Idaho and the majesty of the Gran Tetons drove through my mind. Then came a pint of puke from a Sushi bar in Denver, a never-ending cornfield, the sight of pure beauty softly cutting through a delicate plane of water lined with an untouched forest, a representation of all things wonderful and natural in the world. Then there was love… love sealed by two partners, created and confirmed in the company of friends and family, watching with delight over a body of water sparkling with rays of fading sunlight, sunlight that would disappear and allow an amazing sprinkle of stars, both natural and artificial to light the world for the remaining hours of darkness.

This was the end. “But… it can’t be…”

50 feet. “I won’t make it. Stop!” my mind screamed. I had misjudged the distance. There wasn’t enough time. “Go back. It’s not worth it!” Every cell in body pulled at my leg, working in tandem with my mind, begging for the release of the gas, anything to prevent turning a beautifully engineered piece of machinery into a useless mush of metal scattered across a plot of pavement. My eyes darted back and forth throughout the car. Panic set in. Death entered my head—flying, living and dying, a battered body lying next to his heap of steel, the remains of a disfigured frame once recognized as a car, its spilt fluids joining that of its operator’s, until both are fully depleted and marked useless.

My eyes continued to dart back and forth and front to back; then stopped, fixated on an anomaly in between—a miracle. “Cheers,” it said, a piece of stationary sticking out of the center console. My eyes darted back to the road while my body pulled with all of its might to send my stubborn foot onto the brake… but it could not… overpowered by a single force, a beating heart pounding against my chest. Faster… faster… faster—FASTER! It pushed my foot harder on the gas pedal, one entity against an entire army, standing in sheer defiance with one simple message. “No. You’re wrong.”

20 feet. A single instance of life struck through me, sending a wave of confidence through the body it was once against. No longer did I fear death or pain. There was just absolute freedom, for at least one, beautiful moment—absolute freedom.

10 feet. I turned my head, staring directly at my original rival forbidding me of progression. We were to never see each other again. However, I was to make sure he would remember this moment. He would remember this day, the day he failed, the day I conquered, for all time. He twitched his head my direction, a microcosm of acknowledgement, just enough to fulfill my satisfaction.

5 feet. Time sped back into its normal form.

1 foot. I braced for impact; my eyes set forward, guided by some unnatural force, beaming towards the vehicle in front, readying for it. Fully expecting it.

0 feet—

A twist of the wheel jerked the car left. The motor shifted into third, thrusting me across the pavement. The engine screamed louder—louder, harder and faster! An angry howl, one seeking revenge on its enemy after several years of torture.

“WHAAAAAA HOOOOOO!” I screamed, delivering my final deathblow to my enemy, an enemy separated by mere inches; inches that turned to feet as its puttered engine breathed its final breaths over I-94 West. I didn’t wait to watch him perish, didn’t care to watch such a pathetic display as the feet turned to miles, and then to many miles, miles that would eventually become states.

I flew across the highway, past the last traces of the Midwest. There was no apology as I disappeared into the Siberian-like landscape of North Dakota, an unstoppable force with the world at its fingertips, a world waiting to be conquered as a challenge—one I gladly accepted. My heart continued it’s heavy beat, injecting my body with a double shot of adrenaline across the 850-mile stretch of I-94 West with several hours of daylight at my disposal. My eyes beat down the highway, eyeing its first victim like a madman possessed. This was what it meant to be alive. This is what it was like to love. This was what true freedom was.

“Bill! Gretch! I’m comin’ for ya!”

Pony, Montana. It seemed like such a lovely place…

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Chapter 19: I Miss My Friends When They Are Gone…

“There’s something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.”

-Johnny Cash

There’s some truth behind Johnny’s words, evident by the somber mood looming in the Benz. Not much was said during the car ride to the Milwaukee Airport. Was it because the whole night before was spent dancing and sweating out half our body weight, thus lacking any extra energy to move our mouths? That was a good possibility. Could it be that there was still a little disdain felt amongst us, having dealt with a pair of sardonic siblings that stayed up too late raising hell? The probability was high—quite high in fact. Or maybe—not likely, but just maybe, the morbid feelings were simply based off sadness? After all, we were only a few minutes from having to say goodbye.

To be honest, I’ve never been that good at goodbyes. I never say anything until the end, and then it’s like I can’t shut up, blabbering on for 15 extra minutes sometimes, a deficiency in my personality that has annoyed the hell out of my friend Austin Moody for decades, going as far as to coin the term “World’s Longest Goodbye.” And judging by Bill and Gretch’s lack of dialogue, they weren’t very good at goodbyes either.

“So you’re going to see the farm girl tonight?” asked Bill, finally breaking the long period of silence.

“Yea, I think I will.”

“…That’s cool,” he replied, shaking his head while perusing the cityscape, followed by another minute of awkward silence. Although I never saw Bill as a liar, I wasn’t quite convinced that he thought me seeing the farm girl was “cool.”

“Oh man, they have a Cheesecake Factory here too! I wish we could’ve gone there,” I said as we passed the restaurant, an appendage of an upscale shopping center. There was no response, which is typical whenever I favorably mention the Cheesecake Factory in front of anybody for some reason. I don’t know why? They have a great selection of cheesecake, and I really do like their fried macaroni and cheese balls. “…So, how long are you going to be in Montana for?”

“I don’t know. A couple of days maybe. Possibly a week?”

“That sounds fun.” Honestly, there wasn’t really anything said that alluded to “fun,” but the reactionary phrase came out anyway. “What is there to do over there?”

“You know, just hang out and stuff. Go to the bar. Drink beer maybe; go to the river…”

“Oh, right on.” I nodded my head and did a little perusing myself, giving up on the whole talking thing altogether. It would be at least five more painful minutes that were scarcely filled with random comments about the weather, scenery, news, Seattle Seahawks, and a myriad of other topics that nobody cared about until we would reach the airport.

I pulled up to the curbside drop off area and immediately began unloading the luggage from the trunk, as if it were part of an important mission. Bill and I stood a body apart facing each other after all of the luggage had been placed along the side of the curb. “Well, I guess this is it,” I said. “For the most part, it’s been a pleasure.” I stuck out my hand and he extended his, initiating a shake.

“Glad I could be a part of it,” he said as our handshake seamlessly turned into a bro hug.

“Have a safe trip, and take care of yourself.” Gretch stood few steps back form him and to the side. “Gretch, look after him for me.” Gretch sent me a nod, assuring me that she would.

It was the stupidest thing. Right after I said goodbye to Gretch, I got this weird feeling, like somebody had punched me in the throat, making it swell up and all. There was this bump, or lump, or something. It’s not like it hurt, but it kind of made me sad, then kind of made me mad. And to be honest, it kind of pissed me off a little bit! “What’s going on? Why did that happen?”

They waved a final time before turning and walking through the sliding glass doors of the Milwaukee International Airport, disappearing into the wonderment of airline infrastructure, becoming one with the thousands of others taking part in public commerce, each with a story and destination of their own. “I guess this is it, just me, a Benz, and 2000 lonely miles. No more Gretch… no more Bill…” I stood at the edge of the curb, staring through the hectic congregation of travelers, jammed into one solid image of moving, human flesh, an image that Bill and Gretch easily became lost in, one that I feared would consume me in time. “Whatever, I got an organic farm to go to.” I slid back into the car, slammed the door shut, and stepped on the gas without saying another word to anybody.

“Let’s see, Maggie gave me Kassie’s number.” I rummaged through my phone, ignoring the dangers of performing such a maneuver while driving. “Voicemail?” I swiped my finger across the screen and let the message play through the speakers of my car.

“Hey Zack, it’s Cousin Brian. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, I just got back from the lake for the 4th. Anyway, me and Cousin Erin are at the house hanging out. Give me a call back if you need a place to stay. We would love to see you.”

“Oh man, Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin, I remember telling them I’d be in town. I haven’t seen those guys in over a year! But I already had made plans… I’m going to the organic farm, and it’d be unorthodox of me to go back on that. I mean, I confirmed it in my head and everything! But then again, they’re family. What kind of cousin would I be if I didn’t go and see them? The more I think about it though, Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin have always been reasonable people for the most part. They’d understand my dilemma. They have to! It was all thrust upon me out of nowhere! Besides, it’s always been my dream to live on a farm—well, not a “dream” dream, but you know, it’d be fun to hang out on the farm and stuff, especially with a farm babe at the end of the night, watching the sunset on the swing over the cornstalks, thinking about life and the universe… And besides, there’s something about farm babes that I kind of dig. And one day at a farm—heck, that wouldn’t be half bad. They probably have a bunch of good food there too, since they grow it there and all, even if it is just vegetables and stuff. I mean, vegetables aren’t my favorite thing in the world, but I’m sure they’d be all right if I gave them the chance. All of those yuppies at Whole Foods seem to be fond of them. Then again, so do the hippies—oh geez, I bet ya there’ll be tons of hippies there… exactly like Whole Foods. That means no Rockstars for a day—whoa, I haven’t done that in, gosh, I don’t know how long… And man, what would Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin think about that, ditching them for a farm babe and a couple of hippies who don’t like Rockstars? Now that I think about it, I might be a little heartbroken if I was in their shoes. And the disappointment in Bill’s face… I don’t know if I could bear it—wait a minute, why do I even care about that guy? He ditched me for Montana! And if he was around, I’d have to deal with all the crap I’d get from Gretch, and… and—“

Then it hit me, a wave of sense smacking me like a 2×4 to the face. “Ah, who am I kiddin’? I don’t even like organic food! Never have, and probably never will! That stuff’s for freakin’ sissies! Not me though. I like my Slim Jim beef jerky, easy cheese straight from the can, Applebee’s 2 for 20 menu, my daily Rockstar Energy Drink, whether it’s the original 280 calorie—56 grams of sugar kind with a bunch of chemicals or the white cans with all the aspartame. I live off that stuff! I haven’t gone without one in almost five years, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about it! I’m half man, half preservative! What can I say? I love my genetically modified foods! I’m not even ashamed to admit it! Always have, and always will…”

“Kassie, you’re the best farm girl I know, and you’ll always have a special place in my heart, but the organic life’s just not for me… Not to go all Bill O’Reilly on everybody, but I just can’t go against my principles—not this time. I sincerely hope that you find it in your heart to forgive me someday…”

I picked up the phone and clicked on the last missed call entry on my phone. “Cousin Brian, it’s Cousin Zack. I’m coming to Wasau. Let’s party!”

***

I walked into Cousin Brian’s house after a grueling three-hour drive from Milwaukee that required a nap at a rest stop, arriving right at the tail end of the US Women’s soccer team’s thrashing of Japan in the World Cup. I mean, I’m not a huge soccer guy, but I love America, and man (or woman in this case) did Japan get womped! Like 5 to 2 or something. Even I know that’s a ridiculous score for soccer! Good moods were flying all around.

“What’s up Cousin Zack?” said both Cousin Brian and Cousin Erin at different intervals. I proceeded forward and delivered a set of hugs before jumping into some customary small talk. “Have you had any dinner? We have a bunch of leftover burgers and brats we need to get rid of from the 4th.”

“Well… uh, what the hey, why not? Let’s have a couple burgers and brats!” My response was a bit hesitant, for it was almost my 3rd dinner in a row that consisted of burgers and brats since my arrival to the motherland, but hey, I’m not going to complain about food that’s offered to me, especially if it’s free! So each of us loaded up a plate with a pile of burgers and brats along with some of the fixin’s on the side and treated ourselves to another good ol’ fashioned Wisconsin feast.

“You should try some of these beers I have. Most of them are brewed locally in Wisconsin!” I grabbed one that said “IPA” on it, opened it with my keychain and took a swig, issuing a nod to show my approval.

“Man, I love how everybody’s getting into microbrews these days. They’re popping up all over the place! People are actually starting to appreciate the taste of good beer now!”

“Really Zack?” butted in Cousin Erin. “After the whole MGD incident?” Of course she had to bring up the time where everybody got mad at me cause I bought “Miller Genuine Draft,” acting as if I had performed a sacrilegious act. One time. I guess it wouldn’t be a Wisconsin trip without its honorary mention.

“That was like 2 years ago!” It didn’t matter, for they still found it necessary (and will for the rest of time) to pummel me with insults for the next few minutes. “But seriously, enough about the MGD talk, you guys should come back out to the Northwest sometime. They’ve got a bunch of great breweries all around. You’d love it!”

“Yea, I’d really like to,” said Cousin Brian. “Actually, the last time I was out there was I think for your Eagle Scout Ceremony, right when I turned 21. I remember hanging out in the hot tub and drinking a beer with your dad. That was pretty rad!”

“Didn’t we go out there when we were younger too?” asked Erin.

“We did!” replied Brian. “I got to ride my bike to another state! It was awesome!” What Brian always forgot to mention whenever he retold the tale (of which he has numerous times throughout his life) is that our house was only a 5-minute drive from another state.

“Yea, you also farted in my face in front of everybody, for no reason!” I had to rudely remind him of the incident. “All I was doing was sitting in the family room playing with Legos, and you came up to me and ripped a huge one!” They all laughed, for it was in fact a pretty silly memory before moving on to more contemporary topics of how I can perfectly push grandma’s buttons, recounting a couple of my more recent successes. Soon after, the sun began its slide beneath the Earth’s horizon, marking my last day spent in Wisconsin. We cleaned up the patio table and moved inside in order to prevent a swarm of mosquitoes from feasting on our flesh. “C’mon in Cousin Zack. You can make us a couple of Old Fashioneds.”

“It would be an honor.”

***

 

Cousin Brian’s liquor table was well equipped: Jim Beam Kentucky Bourbon, Jero Old Fashioned Mix, Angostura Aromatic Bitters, Maraschino Cherries, 7-Up, and olives, an extra ingredient that Cousin Brian liked to add to his old fashioneds; his own unique, personal twist that he swore by. I conjured up two cocktails, heavy on the Jim Beam, and handed one to Cousin Brian (Cousin Erin opted out of having one, being that she had to go home soon). He took a sip and nodded his head in approval. “Not bad… not bad at all.” I sat down in relief, taking a sip of mine as well. I too was satisfied with my creation. “So tell me about your trip so far.”

I told of the tales from Idaho, our journey into the Gran Tetons, and the best and worst of what Wyoming had to offer. They got a little (but no too much) insight on the whole Denver escapade (or debacle, depending on whose opinion you receive) and our travels through flyover country. And of course he was briefed on my 30th birthday experience with honorable mentions of the boundary babes. As I began talking about Wisconsin though, something else suddenly interrupted my train of thought. “So tell me. What exactly is a Supper Club?”

“Oh man, we used to go to Supper Clubs all the time back in the day! There was one we’d go to in Appleton on Thursday’s that served this awesome prime rib. We’d get a couple drinks in us and stay for like 4 or 5 hours sometimes!” He went on about Supper Clubs for a while, seemingly forgetting the true nature of the question. Reminding him of its original intent however seemed inappropriate at the time, thus prolonging the mystery of the Supper Club. “They have a couple of good ones in Neenah by Lake Winnebago. If we have time during the family reunion, maybe we can convince everybody to go to one in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh yea, the family reunion, I almost forgot!”

“Yea, I’m really looking forward to it. I’ll bring the Wave Runner out and we’ll have a good old time.”


 Me and Cousin Brian SurlyCousin Brian and I with our Surly’s – Family Reunion, Lake Winnebago

“Oh man, I do like Waver Runners! It’s crazy that I’ll be in Wisconsin twice in one month. And of course I’ll have to make myself out here for a Packer game before the end of the year. It’s just too bad we couldn’t have it all at the cabin. I would’ve loved to hang out there one last time.”

“I know, I’m going to miss that place. We had a lot of good memories there. Luckily I got to go and visit a few more times before they sold it.”

“Man, the last time I was there, I think around two years ago, Nick made me do the belly flop off the dock in front of a bunch of people, like 50 total—some of which were babes. That sucked, big time!”

“Haha, I remember that, quite well,” added Erin.

“Remember the first time we all went there?” I asked. “It was right before grandma and grandpa’s wedding, and you and soon-to-be Cousin Hans took an old Champaign bottle and filled it with a bunch of soda and started drinking out of it while Cousin Hannah played the piano?”

“Oh geez… yea I remem—“

“And then you went upstairs where all of the parents were at and started stumbling around acting like you guys were all sloshed! That was hilarious!”

“…Yea, yea, I know… we were all pretty crazy back then.”

“And then Grandma got all mad, and mom and dad—“

“Yes, Cousin Zack, I do remember. I remember it all too well…”

“And what about the time you walked through th—“

“C’mon, who doesn’t remember that story?”

I beleaguered Cousin Brian with a few more embarrassing stories, sending his head into a constant shake from side to side. “Haha, well, I better get going,” said Cousin Erin. “Unfortunately, I have work tomorrow. Not really looking forward to going in.”

“Understandable. It was awesome seeing you,” I told her as I stood up and gave her a hug.

“Tell everyone I say hi. See you all in a couple weeks.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” I settled back onto the couch with my old fashioned in hand and took another swig, readying myself to resume our conversation. “Man, I thought you guys were the coolest kids back then. Why, I remember how you and Cousin Kevin each got paid 5 bucks to walk Grandma down the aisle at the wedding! I only got a dollar for being one of the flower boys!”

“And then Cousin Kimmy started dancing up a storm on the dance floor.”

“Dude, she was losing her mind, and she was only like 8 years old, same age as me! She danced so hard she fell on the floor! I was right next to her when it happened!”

“Haha, she was definitely one of the craziest of the cousins back then.”

“Well, I think we all kind of had our moments growing up… like when we were all at the cabin and you couldn’t stop talking about American Pie and how it was the best movie in the world!”

“That was a good movie for the time! When was that, 1999?”

“Yea, the year we drove out there all the way from Washington. That actually became one of my favorite family vacations of all time!”

“Ok, yea, I think I remember now. Cousin Holly and Cousin Kimmy came over with Cousin Kevin, and they were playing Limp Bizkit and stuff. And Cousin Kimmy had a really big potty mouth.”

“Oh my gosh, I know it! She couldn’t stop swearing! It was awful! Speaking of potty mouths and crazy people, Alicia’s coming to the reunion. You’ll finally meet her husband Derek.”

“Oh yea! Do you like him?”

“Well, he’s a little brash, and kind of funny looking. You know, a little deformed around the edges here and there, like a hunchback. But overall, he’s a good guy. So yea, I think you’ll like him.”

“Well good! I bet grandma and grandpa will be happy about that.”

“I know it! It’ll be good to have the family all here again. I love it whenever we have an excuse to come out to Wisconsin.”

“The only thing after that is to just move out here! By the way, when are you moving out here?” His question was delivered in a facetious tone, however I felt the hint of a serious undertone in its framing.

“Man, wouldn’t that be the dream. I got friends trying to get me to move all over the place! Boise Idaho, Minneapolis Minnesota, Nick and Cousin Holly are even trying to get to come out to Milwaukee. Just so many decisions you know!”

“Well, at least you know you’re wanted. I’m sure you can find something anywhere you go. My company has me flying all over the place, and I’ll actually be going to Austin in a couple of months. I’ll have to get together with Emily while I’m down there.”

“Nice, she’d like that! What are you gonna be doing down there?”

“Well, it’s a new region for our company, so we’re trying to expand our client base. You know, doing the usual sales pitch presentation, going out to dinner and schmoozing with the potential customers, giving them the whole spill, that kind of stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“You know, they treat me pretty well. Every time I let them know I’m think about finding another job, they seem to give me a raise and more responsibility, so I guess it’s good. What about you?”

“Hey, it pays the bills, and I can’t lie, I do get to work on some pretty cool stuff. But man, working for the government can be a pain in the ass sometimes. You gotta deal with inspectors looking over your shoulder for the most minute of details, all the way to the tiniest squeeze of a turd pebble out of your butt crack. It’s drives me crazy! And when you make a mistake, it’s like you just committed a deadly sin! And trying to get everybody together at the right place and right time to get a job done, it’s like it takes an act of God just to get a job certified or something! And man, don’t get me started on signatures on paperwork and material ordering.”

“Well, you probably get good benefits at least.”

“Yea… can’t complain about that. A decent amount of leave each year, good 401k matching… they even send me on travel every once in a while. Like last month, I was in Alabama doing some Quality Assurance and auditing stuff for a sub-contractor of ours. The work wasn’t all that fun, but I liked the traveling part.”

“Well, I guess that’s why they call it work isn’t it?

“You have a point there. Damn, they way we’re talking, it’s like we’re already ready to retire.”

“I mean, we’re pretty much almost there.

“Ha, yea! 7 years down, only about 20… 20 to go…”

A cold chill shot through my veins, shooting thousands of little bumps all over my skin. Something struck me, a ton of bricks slamming down on my chest, leaving me completely breathless. My God, it happened… I’m… we’re… we’re adults now…

“You all right Cousin Zack?”

I thought it’d never get me, but it was the shock of time, the ultimate killer. It finally snuck up on me, the most deadly of physical dimensions, and perhaps the most unforgiving. It doesn’t wait up. It doesn’t stop. And one day, it gets you and rolls over you, leaving you stunned and wondering how to catch up… catch up to a time that is so far ahead, with no sign of slowing; a time that slays you, leaving you with nothing but thoughts… thoughts of purpose, meaning, and the people that make them up…

“Yea, I’m good… I uh… I think… I just… I miss my friends when they are gone…”

There was silence, except for the sips and ice rattles coming from our old fashioneds. Maybe a similar thought had gone through Brian’s head too. “You’ll be alright,” he finally said to me. Remember, you still have family. And that’s above and beyond the most important thing of all.”

“Yea… God, family, and the Green Bay Packers…”

Both of us stared outward and pondered the phrase made famous by Vince Lombardi for a minute. Cousin Brian looked at his watch. “Man, it’s passed 11 now. Better get to bed. Got a full day of work tomorrow.” He took a final swig of his old fashioned, finishing the rest of it off then popping the leftover olive in his mouth. “By the way, if you’re serious, we really should go to a Packer game this year. We have a hook up for tickets. Front Row, near the 50 yard line.”

“Yea, let’s do it. Maybe for Packers and Shi—sorry, Seahawks.”

“Heheh, sounds good Cousin Zack. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yea, see you tomorrow. Thanks for everything Cousin Brian.”

“Anytime. We’re family.”

Green Bay Family

We in fact, made it to a Green Bay game.  Packers and Seahawks (PS, we won)

Me at Green Bay

And here’s an extra one of me, just because I look so freaking awesome!

I stayed up a while longer, finishing the last bits of my old fashioned. I took my time with the drink, time that was diminishing with every passing second, thrusting me back to a world I had escaped from what seemed like so long ago… It was time that I desperately needed, but could barely afford.

***

Having found the will to move again, I placed the old fashioned tumbler glasses in the sink and readied myself for bed, knowing it was wise to take advantage of a good nights sleep after such an eventful weekend. After brushing my teeth and slipping into my gym shorts, I slid into the makeshift bed that Brian had set up for me in the spare bedroom. Hoping to squeak a quick run in the next day if the weather permitted, I grabbed my phone to set an alarm for a decent time. “Wait, a missed text?” It was Bill.

“Hey, I was doing some thinking on the plane ride over. If you’re up for it, and/or if it’s on your way, you should meet us in Montana and hang out in Pony for a couple of days. I think you’re going to like it over here…” 

Pony Montana… Sounds like such a peaceful, wonderful place… I laid in bed, imagining a quaint little mountain town tucked away in the rugged landscapes of Montana. I wonder what it would be like, living in the Wild West? I bet they have a lot of cowboy types, being that it’s most likely a small rancher’s town. It probably hasn’t even changed in years either… like a place where time stands still… yea, I think I’d like that. I’d like that a lot… Pony Montana, maybe I still have time… I kept my eyes closed and thought of such a magical place filled with cowboys, friends and family. I thought, and then thought some more, until my mind joined the state of my tiresome body, sending me into a deep slumber.

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Chapter 18: You’re Acting Like an Animal! – A Wisco Wedding Part 5

For what it was worth, Coti, Maggie and I enjoyed a nice conversation during the car ride back to the hotel. That is, for the short bits of time when we weren’t interrupted by Bill and Gretch’s sudden and obnoxious outbursts. I don’t know what had gotten into them, but they kept sitting in the back, laughing, and giggling, and whispering, and shifting, and acting like a couple of adolescent jerks; a bunch of hyperactive kids suspended in loaded inebriation having just snorted a pound and a half of pixie stick dust!

“What’s up with you guys?” I asked in a decent manner, honestly trying to understand how every word that came out of my mouth had suddenly become the source of such extreme hilarity. The question warranted no comprehensible response, only more erratic bursts of laughter. “Whatever…” I responded in a melancholy tone, banking on my belief that ignorance is the best weapon of defense in these types of situations. Soon, their juvenile tactics would grow tiresome, and we’d cap off the night with peace and quiet back at the hotel. They had to, for they weren’t strong enough, not to outlast me, that is. Their deficient attention spans would not allow it.

“Hey, how about we get some breakfast before you guys leave tomorrow?” I asked, addressing Maggie and Coti specifically, for the two hooligans in the back had all but isolated themselves from any civil discourse with their perpetual urge to giggle.

“Oh, I wish, but my flight leaves early in the morning,” replied Coti. Dangit!

“I think I can do breakfast,” said Maggie. “I’d actually like that. Give me a call when you get up. How does 10 o’clock sound?”

“Sounds great!” I replied. Soon after, another string of giggles shot through the car. I just looked forward and shook my head, knowing the exact origin. I wouldn’t let their antics get the best of me, not in front of a couple of babes. I knew better than that.

We pulled up to the Holiday Inn and we said our goodbyes to Maggie and Coti for the night. I climbed back into the car to see that Bill had jumped into the front seat. I shut the door and gave him an annoyed look. He responded with a sudden burst of laughter. “You know, I don’t know what’s up with you guys, but it’s sort of starting to get on my nerves. You’ve been a bunch of gigglin’ little dingles ever since we got in the car!” And sure enough, my question prompted yet, another string of giggles. Ok, this is really starting to get out of hand. What the hell was so damn funny? I switched the music to the Smashing Pumpkins and screeched out of the Holiday Inn Parking lot. And wouldn’t you know it, they thought that was freaking hilarious too!

“I have an idea,” I thought to myself nearing a gas station down the street from the Holiday Inn. Maybe a different tactic, let’s say appeasement or compassion may work in my favor. Hey, it’s worth a shot at least…

“If I get you a drink, will you guys try to calm down a little bit? Please?” The lunacy started to die down, ending in a couple putters of laughter, putters that they tried desperately hard to hold in, a sign of progress. “What would you guys like?”

“Surprise me,” said Bill. Easy enough.

Two minutes later I exited the gas station with a Rockstar, a water, and a bottle of Mountain Dew. “This otta shut em’ up.”

“Here you go,” I said as I handed Gretch the water. “Here you go,” I said to Bill, handing him the Mountain Dew. I held onto the Rockstar; that would be sucked down soon enough. A few more putters of laughter were released from their mouths upon reception of the drinks. So far, it seemed as though my generosity had done nothing to aid the situation. In fact, judging by the growing occurrence of snickers, there was a good chance that it would only get worse.

“Gretch, type in the direction to the hotel on your phone,” I ordered as I pulled out of the gas station. She did as she was told, scrolling through and looking for the La Quinta Inn on the Google Maps app, at least as far as I could tell through the rearview mirror, although she still just couldn’t help but let out a few snorts every few seconds. Whatever. “We’re almost at the roundabout? Which way do I go? Gretch… GRETCH!”

“Sorry. Turn here,” she replied, her apology coming off as callous as she added a couple more snorts after the response. Bill was looking straightforward, his mouth super glued shut. Something was up.

“Um, I think this is the wrong way guys,” I said. Again, only intermittent chuckles over the Smashing Pumpkins filled the otherwise silent dialogue between them, leading me farther down a road to a modern, yet abandon office building, its parking lot so dark and empty that you could easily believe there was evidence of paranormal activity. “Dude, Gretch, I thought you said this was the way?”

“Sorry, I was checking my Instagram,” she said, followed again by another stupid chuckle.

“Instagram? I told you to—I thought you looked up the directions? Why are you on Instagram—you know what? Bill, give me my phone.” He picked up the phone from the center console and placed it in my hand. No eye contact was given. “What the? Why do I have 3 likes on Instagram right now?” Gretch’s chuckles increased in frequency, and Bill let out a couple of snorts himself through his mouth, now covered by his face. I typed in my pin number and opened the Instagram app, only to find this piece of art.

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“What in the—how did this get on my Instagram?” I asked with fury building in my voice. “Bill, did you get into my phone?” Bill replied with a growing mixture of chuckles and snorts that sounded like he was trying to scream through a gag. Gretch was no better. “Dude, that’s my personal security! A violation of my privacy! My property! That’s my pin number for—IT’S NOT FUNNY! I could put you in jail for that crap!” The laughter only got worse as Bill rocked back in forth in his seat, his gut rolling up and down and a consistent rate. He finally opened his mouth, if only for a desperate gasp of air. “DON’T TALK!” He snapped his mouth back in the shut position, only to continue the verbal rampage against it.

“Gretch, get it together and call out the directions for me. I’m sick of this crap,” I hollered while throwing my phone back to her with the directions on Google Maps already loaded. I popped into reverse, whipped the car around and blew out of the parking lot, the music turned up to threshold hearing levels, just so I didn’t have to listen to all the Stupid laughing going on.

“Ok, which turn do I take?” I asked Gretch.

“This one,” she replied.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“This one!”

“You mean the one coming up?”

“No, the one you just passed!”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“I did say so, but—NO! Not here—Za—we just came from there!”

“Damn it, Gretch!”

“Go around again!”

On our third trip around with Gretch hollering directions, Bill giggling like a little school girl, and music blasting, we managed to find our way onto the correct turn off, although who really knew for sure. I’ll tell you what, all these roundabouts were really starting to piss me off! “What’s this? Another one—are you kidding me?”

“I think you take this one.”

“Are you sure—“

“What?”

“Are you sure?”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Ok, cool.”

“Wait! Not this one!”

“What?”

“Turn the music down—NO, NOT THIS ONE!”

“Well which one then??”

“I don’t know! You have to go around again!”

The heavy blast of distortion coming from the speakers mixed with Gretch’s voice and Billy Corgan’s bleak lyrics seeped into my brain, infecting it with a poison that induced psychosis. My teeth grit and my stare hardened, petrified by the destruction forming inside my head, a destruction I was hoping would come to fruition with each passing—

“This one—you’re in the wrong lane!”

“AHHHHHHHH!”

Intoxicated…

With the madness!

I’m in love with…

My sadness!

 

“Screw this!” I swerved the Benz over to the exit, illegally crossing lanes and cutting off a line of cars in the process. I’m sorry, but there was no way I was going to make another damn circle around that stupid roundabout! “Dude, Gretch, this is the turn off to the movie theater—we’re going the wrong way!”

“Just go through the parking lot!” I drove through the parking lot, just as she instructed, only to be thwarted by a grass median separating the movie theater parking lot from the La Quinta Inn. I stared into the bright neon sign across from me, building a rage inside my body equivalent to that of Jim Harbaugh’s after a blown play call, one just waiting to explode. Bill still hadn’t said a word. His mouth was clasped shut by his hand bolted over it while sweat and tears squirted out from his beat red face, unable to control the involuntary and violent shake of his body. Innocent bystanders not knowing any better would believe they were looking at a strangled boy, screaming desperately for help with a girl in the back seat showing no signs of shame in expressing the “humorous nature” of the situation. The end result was sudden, angry, intermittent outbursts, matched word for word with a series of honks.

“I—hate—Bill— I—hate—Gretch—I—hate—them—so—much— I—hate—them—so—baaaaaad—They’re—so—stu—pid—they’re—so—dummmmb—they—will—pay—I—hate—Bill—I—hate—Gretch—I—hate—Bill…”

***

“Will you guys shut up? People are trying to sleep!” My deduced answer was a firm no, for the two just couldn’t control themselves as we walked through the lobby of the La Quinta Inn.

“Elevator’s here, huhuh,” said Bill.

“I’m taking the stairs. There’s no way in hell I’m riding up that thing with you guys!” I turned the corner and made the arduous trek up to the 4th floor. “God, what an embarrassment,” I muttered under my breath. At this point, I wouldn’t be caught dead with those turkeys.

After four long and grueling flights of stairs I swung open the door to our room and presented my haggard self to Bill who was jogging in place with his hands over his crotch, spitting out giggles during the whole process. “What is your problem?”

“I have to go pee, heehee!”

“Well that’s just too freaking bad, cause I’m going next!” Gretch exited the bathroom and Bill made a move for it, only to be stonewalled.

“Noooo! Please, I have to go baaad, hoho!” I sent a mighty shove his way, thrusting him back towards the bed before I ran into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it behind me. “Zack, please,” he begged, banging on the door. I ignored his pathetic plea and took my sweet time taking a whiz.

“Oh man, I think I have to go number 2! In fact, maybe I’ll just go ahead and take a shower right now,” I taunted, even going as far as to turn the shower on. The banging eventually died down, and the complaints had even stopped for the moment, filling the bathroom with silence… beautiful, wonderful silence. “Wow, my tactics actually worked—finally, a moment of peace. It feels good to win one every now and then.”

I stepped out of the bathroom a minute later. “Alright Bill, you can use the bathroom now. I hope you’ve calmed down and learned your—why in the world are your pants down?” I walked over to examine the situation. “Hey, that’s my Gatorade! I don’t remember getting a lemon-lime… wait a minute—oh my God, are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me??” Bill waddled his way to the bathroom with his pants around his ankles and the bottle of “Lemon-Lime Gatorade” in his hand, again with an unabated giggle. “That’s freaking disgusting Bill! Get rid of it now, before I really lose it—You’re spilling it everywhere!”

I stood amongst the wreckage of a hotel room gone awry, my posture straight, hands on my hips, face taut and head shaking, trying to sort out my thoughts of irritation into a lecture of substance for Gretch to understand; Gretch, who sat snuggly up against the edge of the bed, of whom I still hadn’t given full eye-contact. “How could you let this happen? You’re in the same room and you let him pee all over the place!” Gretch remained silent, her eyes lowering down into her lap in deference. I actually may be getting through to her… Ok, take it down a notch. Don’t be mad, just be disappointed. That works every time.

“The sad thing is, I was actually starting to like you Gretch. And believe it or not, but I had even gained a smidgen of respect too, but it’s pretty obvious that you two have a little bit of growing up to do. I’m not even mad anymore! I’m just—oh crap!” A sudden revelation struck me. “I forgot my shirt at the wedding! Quick, where’s my phone? Maybe I can text Beth before its too late.” I darted my head back and forth for a moment until Gretch pointed to the nightstand where my phone sat. I snatched it, nearly knocking Bill’s iPad off in the motion. Although she wasn’t laughing, there was still an unacceptably large smile on her face that was poorly covered by her lazily placed hand. “Wait, there’s a text.

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What does she mean black pics? There’s only—wait a minute… what is this?” I swiped my finger across the notification, revealing this gem.

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“You posted. Another picture. On my Instagram?” Bill was out of the bathroom now, his stare only feeding my frenzy, a furious rage that was rattling my head, turning my eyes inside out, had my teeth grinding and growling, bracing for an explosion. Gretch let out a snort, the first of a long chain reaction between her and Bill that became exponentially worse over a short period of time. The snorts turned to snickers, to chuckles, to giggles, to laughs, and then to a couple of immature brats floored and gasping for air, nearly choking on their own tears.

“You know what? I’m sick of this crap! This ends now you little—“

***

A momentary lapse of reason swallowed the room, leaving each of us in a completely delusional state for the immediate seconds that proceeded. The next set of words came out like a flashbang explosion, a high-pitched ring that slowed the pace of time with a calamity of chaos enduring in the background. My coveted punch card, the one I’d been saving just in case of an emergency, was now gone; demolished, shred to pieces, completely disintegrated, obliterated… burnt to a crisp. I cracked open my Rockstar and took a mighty swig, fuel for the carnage had just begun.

“You guys are sick! Both of yas! If it were up to me, I’d kick ya both out of the damn hotel! Yea, you think it’s all fun and games don’t ya? Don’t ya?” A few more curses, uncontrolled in my release of fury left my mouth between phrases. “Yea, I’m out of punch cards, and guess what? I. Don’t. Care! I don’t care! I’m going to continue to yell, I’m going to continue to scream, and I’m going to keep on using swears, thanks to you. You think I just drove out here just for the wedding myself? No, I could’ve flown my ass across the country, saved a bunch of time, and money! But I didn’t. Why, you ask? Because I did this for you. I did this for you!!! And now you’re acting like an animal—No, I take that back. You’re acting way worse than that. You… you’re like…”

“What?” Interrupted Bill, a question that obviously left his mouth without balancing the consequences in his head. “We’re acting like what? I swear you do this every time. Every time—”

“YOU’RE ACTING LIKE BEN WOODWARD!!!”

Jaws dropped and an immediate silence filled the air, an air that had become still, still with the stench of death, the subtle resonance of vibrating bodies being the only audible sound heard and felt after the revealing of a shocking truth; the terrible (my God was it terrible!), but honest truth.

“That’s right. I said it!” I pounded the rest of my Rockstar and stood, a warrior against a pair of brutes stung by the blow of brutal honesty with nothing but the hope that it was I who would crack, I and only I to fall on my sword, to admit defeat and seek forgiveness for the insidious behavior on display and the vile temperament sprung from dark corners of the La Quinta Inn and Suites, Room 421, a space forever fouled by the indecency of two demonic creatures. They waited, and waited, and waited some more for a confession, but it would not come. It would never come, for my words—yes, my words; they would stand the test of time. They would stand a thousand years and then thousands more. They would in fact hold for eternity; they could and they would, for I meant every… single… word of it.

It started with a slight snort, sharp and short, released from the nostrils of Bill, breaking the minute long silence in the room, a deviation I wasn’t the least appreciative of. I stared him down as a crazed serial killer staring down his next victim. Another snort shot across the room. I darted my head a quarter turn, my facial expression unfettered. Gretch stared, the whites of her eyes showing and her mouth clamped shut, desperately trying to hold back a burst of noise, possible diarrhea of the mouth. Another Snicker came from the other side. I whipped my head, then another. I whipped it back. Then there were giggles, followed by the rolling of guts, and then without warning, the sudden outburst of full-fledged laughter. It wasn’t finished either. The innocence of laughter transformed into ineffable screams of lunacy, the culmination of madness, anarchy, and all other destructive forces in the world, all sourced from the lungs of two individuals on a possessing mission, hell bent on making my life completely miserable. I hadn’t seen such a disgusting display of inhumanity since the movie “Grown-Ups” starring Adam Sandler, Kevin James, Chris Rock, David Spade, and Ben Woodward’s favorite, Rob Schneider… you know, from “The Animal,” a movie of which I’m sure they’d find hilarious and react accordingly.

“Oh God…” I said to myself in a pitiable retreat under the protection of the covers. “I give up…” I buried my head between the pillows in desperation to save me from the cacophonous bellows coming from my counterparts. The hoots and hollers continued long into the night and by miracle I eventually drifted into a slumber, haunted by the apparitions sending ghostly howls across from me, only to greet me once again in my dreams… dreams that turned to nightmares matching the hell I found myself currently trapped in.

***

I woke up and sat at the edge of the bed in the aftermath of a war zone, a cluttered destruction with clothes, sheets, pillows and various bottles strewn about across the unrecognizable floor. “Dear God, what the hell happened?” Two bodies lay across from me, unable to decipher whether they were a pair of corpses or two axis soldiers exhausted of all energy from a furious battle the night before. For the moment, neither outcome mattered, for their sprawled out and motionless bodies were still many hours from full replenishment of a life that had recently been sucked from their spent bodies.

I grabbed for my phone sitting on the nightstand next to Bill’s iPad. “9:15, still some time before I meet Maggie… and I’m still getting likes on Instagram. Those bastards…” I set my phone down again next to the iPad and placed my head in my hands. “Never in my life would I get on Bill’s iPad and do something like that. Never, at least not to a friend.” My head shot up in realization. “Bill’s iPad… I wonder if he even has a password on that thing?” My curiosity was too overwhelming, and with a swipe of a finger, full access was granted to every application located on the iPad: Safari, Notes, Music, Facebook… even his camera.

Pernicious thoughts scorched my head of the potential disasters to be created with such a device. “The dastardly deeds of the night before must not go unpunished,” said a dark voice inside my head. “Just really quick. They won’t even know until it’s too late…” More and more thoughts popped into my head, guiding me towards a decision of wrongdoing, acts that were too good not to pass up. Besides, it would be ridiculous to let them get away with such childish behavior. In a daring maneuver, I clandestinely snatched the iPad from the nightstand and snuck into the bathroom, locking the door behind me, unbeknownst to Bill and Gretch, both of whom were still temporarily disabled.

With my pants half down, I placed the iPad under my backside, trying desperately hard to contain a giggle of my own. Within three attempts, I had snapped a perfect picture, and two rosy red cheeks were plastered across the screen of Bill’s iPad. A couple of manipulations later and the round mounds of posterior flesh became permanent wallpaper for Bill’s iPad. I snuck out of the bathroom, undetected of any mischief and set the iPad back in its proper place. Nobody was the wiser.

“Crack,” the sound of an opened can of Rockstar caused a slight shuffle in the bed, prematurely waking Bill from his slumber. “Oh hey Bill. I’m going to go get some breakfast with Maggie. Make sure you clean all this crap up before we leave.”

“What the heck time is it?” He asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you go check on your iPad?” As I turned for the door, I caught a glimpse of Bill reaching for the device. I swiftly made my way to the exit before any substantive blowback could be felt.

“Oh my… what in the, UGGHA! AH, GARGAOL…” Many more illegible words came out of his mouth, a verbal representation of vomit. I was easily able to interpret the translation as I made my escape from the hotel. “Mission success.”

***

“You know Maggie, I just don’t get it. Those guys can be so immature sometimes. I mean, I try to set them straight, and I even worry about them from time to time, but it’s like no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to get through to them,” I explained over a bagel sandwich at a local café in Muskego. She nodded her head like she understood exactly what I was saying. “Their behavior just isn’t acceptable, plain and simple.”

Aside from our dealings and frustrations with the demented duo, Maggie and I caught up with the new and exciting details of our lives, happy to see that each of us were becoming successful in our own ways. It was really nice to get my mind off those two for a while.

“So where are you going after this?” she asked.

“Well, I actually don’t quite know to tell you the truth! I guess I have cousins around and stuff, but I haven’t talked to them yet, and… hey, what about Kassie? She said I could come up to the organic farm if I needed to, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did! Do you need her number? I can give her a heads up that you might be heading that way.”

“That’d be great! Let me get my phone out and get it from you—what’s this? Notification: 5 likes on Instagram—Oh no…” In my rush to leave I forgot that there was another iPad left unattended at the hotel, one without a password. I nervously slid my finger across the surface of my phone to reveal its horrific image, an image that was once normal but had been augmented into a disgusting display by some evildoer with the sole intention of making me look like jerk. And clearly, she was successful in her endeavor.

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“What’s wrong?” asked Maggie.

“Gretch. She hacked into my iPad. She got into my Instagram… She’s a criminal, just like her brother.”

I lowered my head in defeat, my body weakened, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked out of me by a parasitic bug.

“I can’t win… I’ll never win… ever…”

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Chapter 16: Come Away With Me… To a Packers Game… A Wisco Wedding Part 3

Stephen Jenkin’s angelic voice faded as the cycling of a V6 engine came to a stop.  We climbed out of the Benz at the edge of the mansion’s estate, receiving more sets of impressive looks from arriving guests doing the same. Bill and I gave our suits a few straightening tugs and Gretch did the same with her dress, and with our heads up, posture straight, and each stride hit with perfect poise, we made our way up to the mansion.

A drink accompanied the hands of each of our friends, prompting a visit to the wet bar as to be in conformance with the rest of the party guests. “If you want, I can make you guys an old fashioned to go with your Keystone Light—Oh… hey, Billy…” He stood behind the counter fixing a drink of his own, his presence a surprise to us all.

“Hey what’s up guys?” he said to us. “Man, last night got a little wild. I wasn’t mean to you guys or say anything stupid did I?”

“Well, we kind of got into it over Kanye West…” I reluctantly replied. The reminder was likely to bring up contention, something I was hoping to avoid before the wedding’s festivities began, but nothing less than an honest answer was what he deserved, even if we were fighting the day before. He was a groomsmen after all.

“Oh man, I’m sorry. You know what I say: to each his own. That’s my motto. I’m not a big Kanye fan by any stretch, but if you are, I have nothing against that. You know me, I would never say a mean thing to anybody.” His apology was sincere, and in my book, fully acceptable.

“You know, there was a little drinking going on, and people say things they don’t mean, and it just got a little out of hand I think, that’s all. I tell you what, after the ceremony is over, I’ll make you an old fashioned.” We shook hands and added a smile to console our differences.

“Alright you guys, we’re going to start any minute now,” said Maggie having just ran down the basement stairs. That was our cue, for nobody was allowed to see the bride in her wedding dress before the start of the ceremony, and for good reason too. With drinks in hand and sunglasses over our head, we joined the rest of the guests on the lawn and took our seats for the ceremony.

***

Blake stood at the alter waiting for Billy and Coti to make their way past the rows seated guests and accompany him. The unforgiving humidity set by the red summer sun resulted in large patches of sweat left under the armpits of the wedding party’s dress shirts, a common theme that was to be shared by the rest of the male party guests, including yours truly.

Next came Maggie, the Maid of Honor, escorted by Jordan, Blake’s son. At 9 years old, he performed the important, yet demanding role of best man, and an appropriate title it was, for his manners and maturity were far above and beyond that of the rest of us, and only he was capable and deserving enough to walk a babe like Maggie down the aisle. Thus, he truly was, the best man.

Jordan took his spot next to his father and Maggie stood opposite of him while a classical tune continue to play and spill out over the glistening lake, a most perfect backdrop for a wedding, minus the few passing pontoon boats unaware that such a special occasion was taking place. With Blake standing amongst the company of friends, family, and the most important people in his life, the stage was set. All the required members were present, all except for one, whose grand entrance was only a few, long seconds away.

A jazzy brush drum roll sounded followed by a few strokes of a piano, a rhythm and melody that was instantly recognized, as it was the introduction to one of the most beautiful songs ever written (second only to Jewel’s “You Were Meant For Me, and possibly a couple of Kanye West beats), a song I had listened to every day for months while delving into the literature of Ayn Rand (quite an excellent pairing)—a song of which you can’t help but think about holding close the most lovely of babes among babes. Norah Jones led in with her signature soft and graceful voice, “Come away with me, in the night…” and a procession of guests rose to their feet. “Come away with me, and I will write… you… a song…”

All eyes turned to the bride clad in a stunning white dress, her elegance on full display. Walking side by side with her father, Beth made her way down the aisle and joined Blake. Standing together, hand in hand at the alter, they looked into each others eyes, millions of thoughts rummaging through their heads, a million thoughts that by some miracle of life, may just happen be congruent within the short distance between them, a lifetime of knowledge, memories, and love shared between two individuals. Thoughts of which neither me, Bill, Gretch or anybody else in attendance could possibly know or would ever know… all we could do is sit back and wonder with thoughts of our own…

***

The Palouse was in its typical Fall transitioning period, unsure of whether it was suppose to be warm or cool that early October Tuesday in 2006, much like the young emo kids struggling to find their identity. The day’s events were exceptionally vivid, for The Killers had just released their new album “Sam’s Town,” the much-anticipated follow-up to their debut album “Hot Fuss.” After my purchase from Hastings in Moscow, ID, I immediately rushed over to Connie and Bill’s apartment, for my house in Pullman was far too long of a drive for me to listen to a CD I had been waiting months to get my hands on.

Emily Dokken answered the door and informed me of three important issues. 1: Bill and Connie were still in class. 2: she had to take a massive dump. And 3: I could hang out with her friend Beth until Connie and Bill came back. Little did I know at the time that Emily’s half-hour outing with the toilet would mark the beginning of a friendship, sort of a blessing in disguise if you ask me.

From that forced encounter on that early Autumn day in Idaho, and with the help of a few Chach Chugs, multiple Moscow outings, and a road trip or two, our friendship grew and blossomed, to the point where we eventually discovered a coveted admiration evolving from our family upbringing—The Green Bay Packers.

Fast forward to 2010; a time where Lady Gaga ruled the airwaves, half the country was going nuts over a terrible film called Avatar, the Shi— uh, I mean Seahawks’ (for some reason I mess that up, every time…) fan base was still limited in size, and I was about to take a temporary position working for the Navy in Washington, DC. Before I was to embark across the country however, there was one last important matter to tend to: the Packers were scheduled to come to Seattle to play the Shi—er, Seahawks (there I go again), and being that game tickets were still decently priced at that point in history, Beth and I made it a point to go to the game, even if it was only preseason.

“By the way Beth, I’m going to bring my friend Cambray. I hope you’re not mad, she’s kind of a boundary babe,” I told her through text.

“That’s fine. I’m going to bring my friend Blake.”

“What the… Who the heck is Blake?!?! He better be a cool guy or else!” I threatened. And soon enough, I would meet this Blake fellow and find out just how much of a cool guy he actually was…

Readers note: in an effort to remain factual, upon my writing of this, I just remembered that the Packer game was actually the second time I had met Blake, but the first time I met him involved him running out of the shower in nothing but a towel, and that story’s not as good. Besides, the Packer game is where we actually got to know each other, so if it’s no difference to you, I’d like to talk about that time instead.

Beth brought Blake to the rendezvous point to meet Cambray and I before the game. In my Belltown apartment across the street from the Space Needle, we made our preparations for the evening’s festivities, for it was dangerous territory we were walking into, making it rather imperative that we gather the appropriate supplies for the mission ahead. I made everybody take a few rounds of shots before leaving, but it was Blake who stepped up the game up by convincing Beth to hide a Ziploc bag full of rum in her shirt, a move that encouraged Cambray to follow suit. Although a bit jealous over the fact that he came up with the idea, it was still a strategy I was most impressed with, and from that point on, I had a feeling that Blake and I were going to get along just fine.

The walk to Qwest Field (now Century Link) was filled with dirty looks and heckles. Apparently, not only was having a giant wedge of cheese on my head considered terrible camouflage, but it also wasn’t much of a popular look on that particular day. Lucky for us we were equipped with a sufficient amount of booze and good conversation to keep the two-mile trek fresh.

“Beth tells me you went to Asotin High School. Did you know Danny P?” asked Blake.

“Yea I know Danny P! Me and him go way back!”

“Nice! We went to the Gorge together for Sasquatch a few years back.”

“What?! I love the Gorge, and I go to Sasquatch every year! It’s probably my favorite place to go actually. You probably know Moody too if you know Danny.”

“Oh yea, I know Moody. That guy shreds on guitar.”

“Dude, Moody’s been my best friend since the third grade! That’s awesome!”

Our conversation got a little carried away, for we seemingly forgot about Beth and Cambray who were several strides behind us. For what it was worth though, it looked as though our acquaintance was quickly turning into a friendship. That friendship however, and the respect it garnered came under jeopardy when we heard the singing of the national anthem beyond the stadium walls, a signal that our arrival had been a late one. To add to the dire circumstance, I had to go to the bathroom… really bad.

“Hey, why can’t I relieve myself and show my patriotic support all at the same time?” I asked myself. The question was a valid one, and I couldn’t find any objection within me that told me not to, even though I only took a few seconds to think about it. So in total support of America and all of the blessings she has given me, I entered the porta-potty and belted out the lyrics to the Star Spangle Banner, a song that has always filled me with pride and jubilance every time it’s been played, while all at the same time taking a whiz, a move that further rendered our presence as suspect.

Unfortunately for Beth, Blake and Cambray, that was only the beginning of my obnoxious behavior, as I couldn’t help but notice every passing Packer fan through the halls of the stadium and acknowledging their presence with at least a high-five and a favorable comment. And I do have to say, the Packers had a rather plentiful showing, even though they were in foreign territory. The excitement held deep inside all of us to see Aaron Rodgers and company play in person was evident. With me though, it was just too great to keep bound, and I let it show in the most impudent of ways.

“You know, the University of Washington did a study and showed that those cheeseheads cause brain damage,” the man next to me said as we took our seat. It was the first of many jabs we were to receive from Shi—Sea… Seahawk fans (c’mon man, get a grip on yourself) in the form of curses, raised middle fingers, and a pointed finger slowly sliding perpendicularly across a tensed net, all by gnarly looking dudes who could easily play convincing roles as homicidal maniacs in one of those crime dramas on TV.

“Well, that’s because UW did the study. You have to go to WSU if you want it done right,” I replied, a surprisingly quick and witty response.

“Wait, you went to WSU too?” asked a woman in front of me. She was 38 years old (probably around 43 or 45 now), a Seahawks fan, and she had already fallen in love with me. So naturally I talked to her. I can’t help it! I kind of get a kick out of older babes hitting on me (although she looked babe enough to me, Cambray insisted that she wasn’t, but for all intents and purposes, and for the fact she was flirting with me, we’ll refer to her as a babe anyway). “…I dare ya to stand up, point your arm and yell ‘First Down,’ the next time the Packers get a first down.” Easy. 

“FIRST DOWN!” I yelled, pointing my hand in the direction the Packers were marching after the next play was over, a notion that made my new 38-year-old love laugh hysterically. The move wasn’t exactly well received with the other fans, as two black girls (only calling them black to provide an accurate description that will help differentiate them between the other characters in the story, and that’s it. I know some of you out there get all worked up about that crap, so I figure I’ll add this disclaimer. Gosh, the things you have to do to cover your buns against the PC police these days…) whipped around and shot me dirty looks. “What?” I said, shrugging my shoulders and sending a sheepish look back their direction. “I love my team, what can I say?”

As what happens with every outing where alcohol is consumed, the trips to the bathroom became very frequent, and each trip back included a bunch of high-fives to Packer fans and a beverage in hand that would cause me to repeat the vicious cycle. “I’m getting a beer, what do you want Cambray?”

“I’ll do a Roman Coke.”

“Uh… I don’t think they have those. Are you ok with a regular one? I can’t imagine that they’d be that much better imported.”

“No, you see, you get a Coke, and I’ll make it a Roman Coke when you come back.”

“I don’t get it? You’re not even Italian, let alone Roman. How can you make a Roman Coke?”

“Just… get me a regular coke please.”

“That’s all you had to say! Coming right up!”

A few minutes passed and I returned with a beer for me and a Coke for Cambray. “Here you go,” I said to her while handing her the bottle. Immediately she began taking sips then adding her secret stash of alcohol to it. “Oh, you’re mixing Rum and Coke, why didn’t you say so? Wait, it’s Rodgers, and he’s rolling out. He’s passing and… TOUCHDOWN!” We ripped and roared, but the celebration was short lived. The two black girls whipped around once more to deliver another set of dirty looks. Oh great.

“Zack, those girls really like you,” said Blake. “They’re just acting tough, that’s all.”

“I don’t know man, they look like they’re pretty mad every time they turn around.”

“But that’s the key. They keep on turning around, just for you! Trust me…”

A few series later, the Seahawks scored a touchdown. My 38-year-old lover made me give her a high five and the rest of the Seahawk fans cheered on… all except for two. In an unprecedented move, the two black girls whipped around once again, and with them came the same pair of dirty looks that had disturbed us several times over.

“What? You guys did a good job and I’m clapping for you! I like you guys, and I want to like you! We can be friends, I know we can!” My radiant smile and exuberant personality was just too powerful for them to repel, and a smile began creeping up on their face, growing larger until it turned into a couple of laughs. “See, I knew we would be friends!”

A few seats down Blake nodded his head in approval with a big smile on his face to give me a message. “Told Ya!”

The 4th quarter was nearing an end with the Packers ahead and in total command of the game, drawing an exodus of fans from the stadium in order to beat the traffic rush. The two black girls gave me one more set of dirty looks that quickly turned friendly, each of us sharing a hug before parting ways. And sadly, it was time for my 38-year-old lover and I to say our goodbyes. We were never to see each other again, for the future tension between our two teams would never allow it, but she forever sealed our fate that day with a kiss on the cheek, a kiss I will hold dear to my heart for the rest of my life. I guess not all Seahawks fans are bad after all…

When it was all said and done, it was just Beth, Blake, Cambray and I left to watch our team march onto victory. They stuck with me through my vociferous outbursts, unruly behavior, and took the brunt of dirty language, inappropriate gestures, and heckles delivered on my behalf, all with a smiles on their faces the whole time. Eventually we made an exodus of our own up to Capitol Hill to celebrate with friends, not all of who were Packer fans, but who would certainly recognize and rejoice in the accomplishment nonetheless.

During that walk up the hill, I couldn’t help but look at Beth and Blake and reflect on the day’s events, having just learned a great number of things that night. 1: The Packers were going to win the Super Bowl that year (which they did, beating Pittsburgh 31-25). 2: I had made a new friend, one who had easily earned my respect. And 3: Beth and Blake were the real deal, and I had a feeling that this was going to be one that lasted a long, long time.

Packers Game 2010

My 38-Year-Old Lover even took a picture of us at the game!

***

A great man (but not a particularly wise man) by the name of Forrest Gump once said, “I may not be a smart man, but I do know what love is…”

Love is a funny thing. We see it all around us, written in books, shown to us in movies and TV shows, and sung through beautiful renditions created by the likes of Norah Jones and Jewel. The word itself gets thrown around freely between friends and family all the time!

Yet, I don’t think we truly understand it, or even how to spot it, even if it’s staring us right in the face. Ask a thousand people what love is and you’d get a thousand different answers. But somehow, in that moment where you’re standing next to somebody, that one person out of a million that somehow can read your exact mood as if they have access to your mind, the one who can erase every pernicious thought built inside your head with a simple gesture of a smile, that one person who you would unequivocally travel to the darkest reaches of the Earth for, your body musters up a single feeling that blots out all other possible feelings; a feeling that grinds the brain into a pile of mush, leaving the heart to do the talking, an organ void of rational thought. You’re stuck with a feeling of complete submission, the equivalent to a giant black hole that within a moment’s notice sucks you in and doesn’t allow you to escape, an unconditional emotion that will never falter, no matter what hardship or tragedy arises. It’s an emotion stronger than the rest, one that conquers and endures till the end and whose simple essence by itself nearly proves the existence of God.

You’re left with the feeling of love, a love that’s impossible to understand, but perfectly known. You know, because the person standing next to you is feeling the same exact thing.

It was love that was on display in the heart of the motherland, and it was their love that was shared with us that afternoon through a set of heartfelt vows delivered emotionally. A love expressed not only between them, but also towards Jordan. His presence strengthened their love for one another, created an inseparable bond that would not be broken, a special type of bond called family. And on that day, they would officially become one.

And though that love was shared and celebrated amongst us, it was only a glimpse of what was actually between them. And how could it be anything more with such a complex subject? It’s no wonder that love is the one feeling that’s celebrated with such a grandiloquent occasion like a wedding. But even the most spectacular, Kanye West and Kim Kardashian types of weddings can even come close to providing the justice love deserves. It’s just simply not possible! So as humans, we do the best we can, and celebrate and rejoice at the phenomenon, that for a moment, we are part of something bigger and more powerful than any material object or selfish desire; something bigger than our good looks, Mercedes-Benz, the Gran Tetons, Steel Reserve, punch cards, Bar Tender Babes, Seahawks Babes, Aaron Rodgers and the Green Bay Packers, Packer Babes, Farm Babes, Boundary—uh, I won’t go that far, but the list goes on! And in the end, we get to be a part of love, something well worth traveling 2500 miles for, something we can either look back and remember a time years ago where we were up with the same exact feeling, or something that we can someday look forward to with a wedding of our own.

We watched in delight as Beth and Blake were pronounced husband and wife. Their love was sealed with a kiss, and Bill, Gretch and I joined the rest of the guests with a set of raucous cheers. Each one of us in attendance had a reason for being there, had the honor of being a part of their lives in some special way, to help guide them to this moment. Some were friends who had gained trust and respect from years of sticking together through the best and worst of what life has to offer, never turning their back when terrible decisions have been made, and having the ability to say the difficult things that nobody is willing to say or make the tough decisions that nobody else is willing to make. Others were family, integral people in their lives that spent years helping to mold them into the people they have become, no matter how hard it could be at times.

For me, I was just glad to be that person who could put a smile on their face and consistently make their lives better simply by being the person I was meant to be. That maybe, through the help of a Packer game 5 years prior, I played a part in making love come to life, whether it was love at first sight, or love that was always there, waiting to be discovered.

And who knew that 5 years later, what started with the Green Bay Packers would come full circle and end in Wisconsin, the motherland and rightful home to the greatest football team ever to grace the Earth. That alone was enough to celebrate.

And celebrate we would, for it wasn’t the end, but merely the beginning. It was the beginning of a life of full of adventure, wonderful people, and everlasting memories for each of them. And what better way to start such a celebration than with a reception filled with best friends and family indulging in an overabundance of boisterous dancing, fireworks and alcohol? I don’t know about Bill and Gretch, but that was a plan that I couldn’t wait for; a plan that I was definitely onboard with…

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Chapter 15: Forget it. It’s the Fourth of July – A Wisco Wedding Part 2

On each bed we sat, staring and basking in the stagnation between us, neither one of us courageous enough to break the silence, a curse looking to be broken in order to restart time. Our eyes swirled, a captivating effect around each pupil, millions of cells around a spiral galaxy. The air conditioner, augmenting the molecular make-up of air particles had turned off, and I rose to my feet and walked to the mini-fridge near the doorway, careful not to trip over suitcases or step on the piles of clothes strewn about the floor. Inside was a Styrofoam box filled with Applebee’s leftovers. Next to it was an ice-cold can of Rockstar, a possession that was logically mine. I snatched it from the fridge and climbed back over to the clothes to my original spot opposite of Bill. A loud crack rang through the room followed by an aroma of citrus, a pungent sting of soda released in through the crackle of fizz. Bill took a breath, neither long nor short, neither heavy nor light, but a most notable breath regardless.

“I don’t have anything against farm girls,” he said after a short pause. There was no sign of emotion in his face or voice. Our eyes remained fixed, and I pressed the can of Rockstar to my lips, allowing the liquid mixture of carbonated water, condensed sucrose, and energy producing chemicals to pour down my throat, each swallow amplified through the cool and dense air, along with every other proceeding sound effect. I cautiously set the Rockstar on the nightstand next to Bill’s iPad, where a small shockwave reverberated through the room after contact. I waited another beat.

“The stairs. We blew it. Missed a golden opportunity,” I replied, affording him the same emotion he showed me a minute before. Bill wetted his lips, pressed them together, and then hesitated.

“Forget it. It’s the Fourth of July.”

We studied each other for another minute. In a synchronous manner, we turned our heads to the corner of Bill’s bed. Gretch laid, sprawled out across it, one side of her face buried deep within the pillow with one closed eyelid and a half-open mouth exposed. She was to remain in a heavily sedated state for at least another hour or two, unless excessive intervention was to be involved. We both turned our heads back to face one another, our straight faces sustained, as though we were competing in a laughing contest of which no jokes were being told.

“Get dressed. We’re going to the mall.”

***

It was a surprisingly efficient outing at the mall, as a sense of purpose propelled our feet back and forth across the tile, dead set on a mission to look good… damn good. We breezed through the crappy jewelry and cell phone case stands at each intersection, ignoring the calls from salesmen hoping to con us in for a quick buck—it wouldn’t work, not with this amount of focus. Bill stopped in his tracks and peered to his right. A bright red sign burned bright in his line of vision, and out of the corner of my eye, plastered what seemed to be four letters in close proximity—HELL. I turned, only discover it was much worse—H&M.

“Don’t do it—Bill!”

“Gretch said I could probably exchange some of the clothes if I found something I liked,” he said as he walked slowly towards the entrance, his eyes fixated as if he was under a hypnotic trance, inching closer into the store.

“Let’s go Bill, you have to look nice for the wedding today,” said Gretch, nudging him closer and closer into the departmental abyss.

“Screw this, I’m going to Macy’s.”

***

10 minutes later, I came out of Macy’s with a flat green shirt to match my yellow tie, truly appropriate colors for the present geography, foregoing another living nightmare with Bill and Gretch, and all for less than 10 bucks! There was still time to kill however, as I knew there would be, and there was no way I was spending it in that God-forsaken store! Across the way was an Old Navy, a great place to score some 4th of July apparel. Although it wasn’t the premium time to buy (the day after the 4th, you can walk out with an awesome American Flag T-shirt for under 4 bucks), it was still worth a glance.

“Hey, what’s this,” I asked myself, my attention quickly diverting towards a rack of shirts with a color scheme consisting of red and blue. “Wisconsin Badgers? Milwaukee Brewers? I didn’t even know Old Navy made sports shirts… Oh man, they even have a couple green shirts in here too. What’s this say, Green Ba—GREEN BAY PACKERS?!?!” I dug through the pile in search of a shirt in my size and ripped it out of the stack—size large, thin cotton, and solid green with the words “Green Bay Packers” spread across in yellow. It was perfect. Perhaps it was too perfect…

I felt a presence behind me, breathing down my neck, a Golem like figure lurking behind the scenes. I moved my head nice and slow as not to make any sudden moves that would startle the mysterious figure behind me. What could they want? My wallet? My life? Or worse… my shirt… Suddenly, a fight or flight instinct rose within me; make my move or become another victim of this sadistic stalker closing in. I spun backwards to confront the culprit, only to see a streak of blond hair fly behind a clothes rack. A loud bang and crash sounded through the store followed by a number of gasps. I darted my head, seeing a flash of a crouched body, zipping through the store with its head down, using its shoulders to hide its face from detection. It was pitiful attempt, for I could recognize that sneak from miles away.

“Gretch! What are you doing? I know that’s you! Get out of here, and quit creeping on my style! You hear me? GRETCH!”

***

I walked out of Old Navy, a bit disturbed, a bit violated, but at least with a new shirt. Across the way was the big bright sign—H&M, a symbol of despair, a time trap, a psychological torture chamber I unwillingly braced myself for. What a fool Bill was for walking in there, and what a fool I was for not stopping him! If it wasn’t for Gretch… Gretch! The source of all my misery! We’ll never make it to the wedding in time, the reason for this whole trip! We’re doomed! We’ve been doom the moment we left Idaho, and it’s all her fault. It’s been her goal this entire trip! Gretch… Gretch! I curse that name! GRETCH—

My eyes settled on the entrance, my thoughts frozen at its sight. In front stood a man holding up a bag in each arm with a growing smirk on his face. I slowly approached him, his appearance coming into full focus while a girl came up from behind and stood beside him sharing the same smirk. “I have my outfit,” said Bill, lifting the bags shoulder length as if he were shrugging. I couldn’t believe it. I looked over at Gretch, her smirk ever growing, waiting for the respect she demanded, and quite possibly deserved.

“Gretch… son of a B. You pulled it off.”

“And we still have time to change,” said Bill, checking the time on his phone.

I placed my designer sunglasses over my eyes, fitting between my ears and the America Flag Bandana over my head. “Well then, let’s do this.”

***

Bill and I sat at opposite sides of each other at the end of the paired beds in our room as to give each other a quick inspection before show time. Our hair was gelled and parted to perfection, our ties straight and our suits fitted. We looked good… damn good, noted by a single nod of approval provided by both of us. The bathroom door rattled. Bill and I turned in observance, and out walked Gretch in her dress for the wedding. I gotta hand it to her… the girl cleans up pretty nicely.

“What?” she blurted, unfamiliar with the inspection routine. “You guys ready or what?”

We both shot her a single nod of approval. “Let’s get this show on the road boys and girls,” I answered, putting a pair of sunglasses over my head for the second time that day.

Many impressive looks were sent our direction during our strut through the lobby of the La Quinta Inn, acting as if we were a couple of secret service agents whose mission was unknown, but understood to be important nonetheless. We couldn’t help but build a harmonious sense of confidence among us as we entered my Black Mercedes-Benz E350, a confidence that would nullify the chilling effects felt during our first dark and dreary drive to the mansion. We knew where this path would lead and what we were about to be a part of. The turning of a V6 engine came to a roar and Third Eye Blind’s “The Red Summer Sun” blasted through the car speakers. Engulfed by the music and the blanket of light spread across the Wisconsin plains, we sped out of the La Quinta Inn parking lot and towards our destination, the wedding of the summer. The climax of our trip was just around the corner. Beth… Blake… We’re comin’ for ya!

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