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 2^nd 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 5^th gear I went, prepping for the moment to move, to turn the impossible to possible, to show the world my unbound potential. 4^th 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 4^th. 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 4^th.”

“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 3^rd 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 30^th 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.”

Cousin 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.”

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

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.

“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 4^th 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.

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.

“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.

“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 17: I’m Never Dancing… Ever, Again… A Wisco Wedding Part 4

I had no idea who this Dave guy was or why he was catering the wedding, but everybody seemed to speak highly of him. And supposedly he was famous too, as they made it their business to remind me of the fact whenever they said his name. Famous our not though, I gotta admit, the guy makes a pretty mean pulled pork sandwich, an excellent choice for the reception dinner; so good, that I eventually found myself also referring to the man as “Famous Dave” whenever the subject of his food was brought up.

Naturally, we found ourselves seated at the table with the largest aggregate of liquor stashed in the middle. While Sean and Wes were main proprietors, our contribution was fair and modest, making sure there was more than a sufficient amount of ingredients to make a night’s supply of Old Fashioneds. Much was needed as well, for a round of toasts were about to commence.

The crowd quieted in tandem with the fading of background music as Maggie stood at the helm of the wedding party’s table, microphone in hand to deliver the first of a long string of toasts. Hers was sweet and sentimental, no need for a funny anecdote or long story to describe the friendship between her and Beth or the special bond shared between Beth and Blake that had strengthened their own bond of friendship. It matched her style quite well.

Billy was up next and followed Maggie’s lead with a sentimental toast of his own. His words about Blake and their friendship were touching and from the heart, and he couldn’t have been happier that Blake had found a girl like Beth to spend the rest of his life with. We responded to the uplifting and impressive toast by lifting our glasses and joining him in a well-deserved “cheers.”

“Well, I’m the father of the bride,” started Beth’s father with the full expectation that words of wisdom would follow. “I… I produced her…”

“Cheers,” all of us replied with spurts of laughter, followed by a good sip of liquor in response. The toasts continued, some funny, some heart-warming, and some requiring a heavier intake of alcohol than others.

“Meet me and Gretch over on the lawn after the mom and dad dances,” whispered Bill during one of the toasts. He wouldn’t hint to why, a bit concerning as sneaking away could very well come off as rude, but curious of what it exactly was that he had devised, I did as I was told. As soon as Blake finished his dance with his mother, I made my move.

***

Spread out across the lawn was an equilateral triangle, each leg approximately 15 feet long and made up of three full cans of Keystone Light. Bill handed me a dart and sent me a nod, for we both knew exactly what I was supposed to do. Out in the distance was a lone can of Keystone Light, one waiting for my company.

Bill, Gretch, and I each stood over our designated can with a dart in hand, each of us taking turns sending one in the other’s direction. The game’s competitive nature requires a great deal of patience and concentration in order to drive your dart successfully into your opponent’s beer. The consequences of holding ownership to a pierced can are severe. Not only do you loose the game, but you are also called upon to pop the top and shotgun your beer as punishment for losing.

Many rounds had passed, and yet, other than a couple of close calls, no cans of beer had been pierced. A simmering of determination sparkled in my eyes as I held the dart up to my face, the sun shinning a quick sprinkle onto the knurled steel gripped between my fingers, pointed directly in line with the can below Gretch’s feet. Her persistent taunting would prove paramount to her failure, a cockiness that caused her to overshoot several times. I blotted out every distracting image in my head, setting up a calculated effort to send the dart to its final location. Perhaps for once in my life, my engineering degree was actually about to pay off as iterations of equations derived from the laws of physics ran through my head.

Ok, with an even trajectory and the force of gravity accelerating at approximately 32.2 ft per second squared, that means with a straight shot I’ll have less than a second until this dart reaches the ground. If I tilt the trajectory upward, that buys me a little more time, and being that the center of mass is placed in the front of the metal tip coupled with the tendency to follow a parabolic curve, the dart will naturally be pointing down towards the ground upon impact. Provided my aim is precise, I say a velocity of 18.34 feet per second at an angle of about 25 degrees should just about do it…

My arm pushed forward and the dart left my hand, sailing through the air and down towards the beer can. Gretch’s arrogant smile turned to a frown in direct proportion to the position of the dart, itching closer and closer to the can, the milliseconds feeling like seconds and the seconds feeling like minutes, until—

“Pfffff.” The dart penetrated the can, sending a fountain of beer up into the air and spraying in all directions, including Gretch’s feet.

“OHHHHHH!” Bill and I cried, for it was a truly impressive shot, as is the case with every successful shot made in beer darts. Gretch, however, didn’t quite share our enthusiasm. Her mouth was shut at first, as exceptionally deep and heavy breaths went in and out through her flared nostrils, giving way to a rising fury much above our level of comprehension. Her eyebrows dipped down and her face turned beat red, shaking and radiating heat like a nuclear bomb within seconds of detonation. As the pressure built to unsustainable levels, the whites of her teeth became exposed, gritting them like a rabid dog forcibly starved. A shot of panic surged through my spine as her head tipped back and she stared up towards the sky. With a pair clenched and shaking fists, she let out a deafening scream, the source of so much anger and frustration that a lifetime of punch cards couldn’t sustain the damage it would cause; an anger and frustration that could only leave her mouth as—

“GAAAAARRRRRRRRYYYYYYYYY!!!”

“Heheh Gretch that means you have to shotgun the beer, haha.” I couldn’t help but egg her on over my most outstanding accomplishment. “You better hurry, don’t keep the game waiting, heehee! C’mon, you can drink faster than that! You shotgun beer like a girl, heeheehee hohoho hahaha—“

A soft release of pressure resonated near my feet, sending my gloating to an abrupt stop. My eyes peered slowly down towards the ground, resisting as much as possible the image I feared would appear. A dart had impaled the can, sending a geyser of beer shooting up into the air. I took another slow peer up towards its presumed origin. Bill stood 15 feet away and delivered a sharpened grin in my direction. My feet lost all feeling, causing a drop to my knees and a solid gaze up to the heavens for an answer. How could this happen? How did he—Why… Why—

“GAAAAAAARRRRRRYYYYYYYY!”

***

A steady beat resonated down to the lawn from the tent above. The reception area had been transformed into a dance floor, one being utilized by a select few party guests who had the rare ability to muster up enough courage to dance without the assistance of alcohol. It was a group mostly made up of babes, a group that looked more and more enticing after each shotgunned beer and each Gary. The combination of heat and humidity presented an unfavorable environment to the human body however, where even the most modest of movement would result in excessive perspiration, something I was trying to preclude as much as possible.

“We ran out of beer…” said Bill with a look of concern smeared across his face. The lack of beer though wasn’t the real issue. We were well capable of walking up to the cooler and grabbing a few more rounds. He was however fully aware, as was I, of my compulsive tendencies when it came to music and the effects it has on me, having survived a night with me at the 1029 karaoke bar. It consumes me like a drug, making my body move in ways beyond the moral capacity that any God-fearing man can tolerate. But there was no choice in the matter. More beer had to be procured, and walking past the dance floor bustling with hot babes and hot beats was a risk we all were forced to take.

A familiar drumbeat pulsed through our ears on our way back from the beer cooler, heavy on the hi-hat and bass drum. “I know this song…” I told Bill right before the lyrics came on board accompanied by a low-pitched horn section.

I stay out too late…
Got nothing in my brain…
That’s what people sayahay, mmhmm.

The lyrics sucked me in, casting its evil spell to draw me onto the dance floor much like the wicked witches did in the movie “Hocus Pocus.” Bill may have tried to stop, but his words, his actions, anything and everything said was blotted into the black hole recently formed inside my head. My legs moved side to side, my arms swung left to right, and my fingers began to snap to the beat. I opened my mouth and words came out, matching the ones coming through the speaker.

But I keep cruisin’, can’t stop—won’t stop movin’, it’s like I got the feeling
In my mind sayin’ it’s gonna be alright!

As soon as the chorus hit I was twisting back and forth with a full 180-degree rotation, my knees bending, my torso lowering closer to the ground, my limbs dangerously flying in random directions and my head shaking back and forth as directed by the song.

Cause the haters gonna hate hate hate hate hate
And the fakers gonna fake fake fake fake fake
Baby I’m just gonna shake shake shake shake shake
Shake it off. Shake it off!

The music had taken full custody of my body, for I was no longer capable of controlling any physical movement. I remained in a foolish jiggle the remainder of a song, a mix of Chubby Checker’s “Do the Twist” and the fluid hip motions of “Teach Me How to Dougie,” but by the end of the song, it was a solid mess of body parts flinging themselves about the dance floor as she repeated the hook of the song.

Shake it off, shake it off (you got to…), shake it off, shake it off!

Luckily I wasn’t the only one caught in a foolish twist of limbs, as a handful of little girls joined me with their own version of shaking and stirring, their fingers spread, wrists limp, and arms, legs, and head flinging about, just like me.

Just as soon as it was over, believing that the spell had come to a close, another familiar song hit the floor, starting with its signature horn intro that directed everybody into position. A larger crowd gathered, both men and women this time, for the effects of alcohol were starting to kick in and give everybody their much-needed liquid courage. And as for me… it just wouldn’t let me go.

“Young man…” there’s no need to feel down, I said, “Young man…”

The entire dance floor stood with their legs spread and knees bent as if they were riding an imaginary horse, or as the Japanese would say, “kiba-dachi.” One hand was placed on the hip, the other pointed in front, moving across their field of vision like a controlled water sprinkler while voicing the words of the song, a combination we all had been anticipating since the song’s introduction. After our outstretched arms had made a full wingspan across our bodies over the course of a line, the process repeated itself with the opposite hand as the verses continued, until 5 blaring quarter notes led us into the chorus.

It’s fun to stay at the…
YMCA!

My hands motioned the shape of each letter as it was announced in the song, a procession of moves that everybody flamboyantly participated in. Heck, even Bill and Gretch joined in! I love it how a couple of simple notes, a percussion beat, and voice mixed together can get a group of people to think the exact same thoughts and let loose, with an end result of a smile on everybody’s face. It’s actually a pretty extraordinary feat if you ask me!

The sudden presence of a slow song cleared out most of the dance floor except for a few predetermined couples. As it turns out, when forced to choose a sole partner of the opposite sex to dance with, it’s not just a couple of timid and hormone saturated Jr. Highers that aren’t willing to take a risk. Not me though. Hey, if I have to wait 15 years for a boundary babe, who says I can’t enjoy myself from time to time? That’s my motto.

I scoured the edges of the dance floor, flooded with an abundance of babes. So many to choose from, but how can I? I mean, I don’t want to make the wrong—

That’s when I saw her; her head down and shoulders slouched, on her way to one of the empty tables to wallow in sorrow if I had to guess. In any other circumstance I would’ve just ignored the situation and stayed the course to execute my initial plan, but there was something about her dejected demeanor that suddenly sent a sense of guilt through my body. That if maybe for once in her life, somebody might actually ask her to dance… and all it took was a good lad to perform a good deed. Then maybe, she just might—

What are you doing? Stop it! This isn’t your problem! Just walk away and move on! But I couldn’t move on. I mean, she just looked so miserable over there, and perhaps I was the only person capable of turning it around. Every time I looked to make a move towards the congregate of babes, something kept holding me back, my conscious equipped with a dagger, continually stabbing at my heart. In a way, I kind of wanted to—

“What the heck are you even talking about? I can’t do—I don’t want to… no, I won’t do it! Screw her, she’s not even worth it. And man, Ayn Rand would be pissed! In fact, she’s probably rolling in her grave right now with all the bull crap going through my head! What the, why are you so freaking nervous? You don’t even like her! What in the world is going on?”

A disappointment to Ayn Rand or not, I just couldn’t shake the remorse that was eating away at my insides with nothing but my selfish motives keeping me from making the move. Maybe it was the spirit of the 4^th of July getting to me, but whatever it was, it just wouldn’t let go. I guess I was still a human being… that maybe, I had a soul after all…

“God, I can’t believe I’m actually going to go through with this…” I took a deep breath, an even deeper exhale, and approached her, preparing myself for a world of backlash afterwards and mustering up all the courage that could be gathered through my short stroll across the dance floor.

“…Hey Gretch… Would you like to dance?”

Yea, me and Gretch danced… so? Who cares? I know we danced too, because the photographer snapped a stupid picture of us (sorry, but I’m not sharing the photo. I look kind of fat in it). And geez Louise did her face light up like the 4th of July fireworks show later that night.

The stupid song seemed to drag on and on too. It was ridiculous! And of course, everybody else seemed to take resplendent notice to us. Beth mouthed a big ol’ heart-melting “aww” while dancing with Blake, who gave me an elated thumbs-up, of which I responded with nod of appeasement. A half of turn later put me right in the line of sight with Bill, who smugly stood with a growing grin on his face. I just shook my head in annoyance and looked away. That didn’t stop him though from making a stupid comment afterwards.

“Move over Boundary Babes,” he said to me with a stupid chuckle under his breath.

“Oh come… freaking… on…”

***

When you see a faded sign at the side of the road
That says “15 miles to the—”
LOOOOOOOOVE SHACK!

Any potential disruption caused by my dance with Gretch was quickly forgotten once the famous phrase from the B-52’s was heard, followed by a twangy guitar rift that really got the party guests in the mood to hit the dance floor again. My body was at the risk of overheating, and provided that the sun had only begun its decent over the lake, there was still a lot of dancing left before the nights end, but this was just one I couldn’t sit out. I mean, everybody was movin’ and everybody was groovin’ baby, kids, adults, anybody with a sense of rhythm, and I refused to be an exception to that.

As the night went on, the hits continued and moved in a more contemporary direction, you know, the Nicki Minaj, Flo Rida type of songs. The music sent smooth and seamless motions from my arms, through my upper body and abs, and down to (and especially) my hips and legs, a combination of moves that had a tendency to flaunt my greatest assets. Although I found a way to keep myself hydrated with a beverage either in hand or in close proximity, the intake of beer failed to produce the same results as it usually does, as if the alcohol somehow just seeped out of my skin as soon as it entered my body. With the assistance of beer or not, the atmosphere of the wedding reception still triggered provocative behavior, some of which Sean was not ready for and reacted in a way that caused him to spill his drink all over the floor. We all rushed to take part in the clean up so we could continue to party, using the special wedding napkins which were provided to us with special instructions, “not to use for cleaning up spills;” instructions that we conveniently ignored, for spilt beer on the dance floor became a reoccurring problem throughout the remainder of the night.

***

I walked out of the bathroom (or more accurately the port-o-potty) in the middle of the lawn with every intention of heading back to the dance floor, when a sparkle of light flickered across the sky. Over the lake, a series of fireworks were exploding in sequence. “Oh my God, I almost forgot. It’s the 4^th of July…” At the edge of the lake Coti and Sean were sitting in observance of our natural holiday. It was imperative that I join them and pay my respects as well.

Man, the older I get, the more I learn to appreciate moments like Independence Day, and I realize not only what it means to be an American, but also how lucky I am to live in such a place like America, a place that dared to try an experiment called freedom. A freedom that was fought for, a freedom of which many great men fell, dying for a great cause and believing that their lives could mean something greater for the rest of us, that there was this idea that all men were created equal under the eyes of their creator. It’s a freedom that led us to become the most prosperous country ever to grace the Earth; a freedom that realized the evils harboring in its own country like slavery and the lack of civil rights and produced warriors like Abe Lincoln and Doc Martin King who fought tirelessly to make it right. A freedom that defeated Nazi Germany, initiated the tear down of the Berlin Wall, and became the shining star on the hill, a beacon of hope for the rest of the world. It was indeed this freedom that facilitated the creation of the automobile and airplane, and eventually put us into space to land a guy on the moon. The freaking moon! A feat that no other country has ever been able to accomplish—Ever! Think about that. Going into space and landing on a giant freaking rock hundreds of thousands of miles away and coming back! Don’t tell me we ain’t the best until you’ve put a couple dudes with balls of steel on the moon and live to tell about it, damn it!

But perhaps most important of all, the one things that makes us stand out above all the rest over the history of civilization, is that we are the one and only country to ever—

“Wait, they’re playing that one Usher and lil’ John song aren’t they? You know, the one that goes ‘YEAH!’ over and ever again? Man, I haven’t heard this one since I was a freshman in college! I can’t believe—I mean, what was I saying earlier? What I’m trying to say… I wan’t to—Sorry guys. I gotta go.”

***

The crowd went wild at the next soulful, lyrical lead in:

“You know you make me wanna SHOUT!”

Each one of us put our hands up and let out a big “SHOUT” to match the beat of the song. Our bodies jumped left to right on each foot with our hands in the air and our heads moving side to side, a natural reaction to such an up tempo song. And staying true to the song’s structure, one among us took command and acted as the song’s narrator, a role I’ve had the pleasure of playing at parties before. But if I remember correctly, that man could’ve very well been Bill this time.

“Hey-A-Hey-A!” he said.
“Hey-A-Hey-A!” we repeated.

“Oow-whoaoao-whoa!”
“Oow-whoaoao-whoa!”

“A little bit softer now…” he repeated over and over again, a command that told us to get lower to the ground. Each of us did, our knees bent near our chests, yet still twisting side to side, singing and dancing as quiet as humanly possible, then going even quieter at the next segment, anticipating the lyrical change to send us back up to our normal state.

“A little bit louder now. A little bit louder now…” we repeated during our ascent back to an erect body, wiggling, shaking, and dancing in a natural and comfortable fashion as little by little the music got louder and louder.

“C’mon now! C’mon now! SHOUT!”

Once again, the uncontrollable feeling to move my body overcame and took control. And this time, the enchanting effects had spilled over to the rest of party guests, who like myself found themselves shouting and dancing with boldness. Beth and Blake were moving of course, Anna was getting down, Sean was dancing like an animal, Wes, in gentlemen like fashion danced and twirled with a few of the mom’s, Maggie was doing her thing, and Coti was dancing like she—wait a minute… whoa, I never realized—I mean, I know she’s a babe, but holy cow, Coti’s actually a huge babe! Oh no, she caught me staring—great, she saw me. Act like you didn’t—wait a minute, she’s checking out my moves—I think she’s actually impressed! This is awesome!

The shouting came to a fade and mixed in with a slower paced song. The DJ, who had been on point the whole night with his music selection, figured everybody could use a good rest before the upcoming finale, a rather logical assessment in my book. The usual couples took their places and conjoined on the dance floor while I filtered away with a number of others, heeding the implied advice of the DJ. Something caught my attention however out of the corner of my eye, something I just couldn’t shake off. It was a babe, and she was standing by herself at the head of the wedding party table. Hey, that’s Coti. I can’t believe nobody’s asked her to dance—wait a minute, could this be… my big chance? I mean… it has to be! It’s fate! Maybe I should go over and ask—heck! Yea, I’m gonna go ask her to dance!

There was an elevated sense of intrepidness to my step as I approached her. A smile spread across my face, beaming not so much with undisciplined excitement, but more from a high level of confidence. I was a man among and above men, valiant in my mission and boldly setting forth to seek out life’s purpose. I was going to dance with this babe, and I was… I… I—

I felt the sleeve of my green dress shirt, brushed by my swinging hand in caught in a zealous stride. What in the… why is this all wet? I felt further up the shirt, only to feel the same consistency of moisture and fabric. My dark green dress shirt had turned two shades of green darker and my head looked as though I had taken a dip in the lake. I looked down to check if my pants followed the same pattern. Unlike my shirt, my pants weren’t fully soaked; only enough to give the impression that I had just peed myself.

“Hey Coti… I—“ I stood as a deer peering into a pair of shining headlights, unknowingly forcing her into an encounter with me and my repulsive layer of sweat. “I wanted to know… I mean, I was going to ask you if you wanted to… never mind…”

Under the penumbra of defeat, I walked back to the bar in the basement of the mansion, my head lowered in shame, my legs dragging and arms hanging, pulled by a force further magnified by acceleration of gravity. Every square inch of my body was covered in a grotesque bodily fluid released from each pore of my skin. The warning signs were vivid and frequent, yet ignored time and time again. There was no one but myself to blame for my sodden state, a state that left me in the torment of my ultimate collapse. I simply just couldn’t keep myself from dancing.

“Looks like somebody got a little sweaty, heheh,” commented Gretch as I entered my the basement. Gee, nice observation there Captain Obvious… Bill looked at me and shook his head in disgust. Even members of Beth’s family found themselves providing commentary to the amount of saturation that had occurred through the natural process a body undergoes in order to release heat. A process commonly known to scientists as “sweating.”

“Have a little too much fun out there?” asked her Uncle. I just shook my head and repeated the traditional incantation, the mantra of error and acceptance of omission made famous by Joey Carter.

“I’m never dancing. Ever… again…

***

It had to be less than a minute later when a bustling piano introduction caused an involuntary reaction of cheers to bellow from the dance floor. Everybody knew, as did I that it was the beginning of Journey’s greatest hit, the single-most popular music staple in the history of wedding parties.

She’s just a small town girl
Livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere…

“Screw it. Bill, Gretch, I’m goin’ back out there.” Leave it to the graceful pipes of Steve Perry to make me renege on my vow to never dance, ever again. In a body covered in a film of sweat I walked back out to the floor and flung my green shirt that had been crusted with an extra layer of salt out over the lawn, making the choice to dance in my wife beater, perhaps amongst the most inappropriate of articles to wear at a wedding. At this point though, I hadn’t a care in the world for fashion. No matter how grotesque I may be at this point, this is what I was born to do for this moment in time. To dance and act a fool; to celebrate Beth and Blake’s marriage and to enjoy myself, and in turn, bring joy unto them.

And dance I did, as did the rest of the crew. And in usual fashion, each of us belted out the lyrics to Don’t Stop Believin’. And in that moment of time, each of us actually believed that every note coming out of our mouths was matched in perfect tune with Steve Perry’s voice. And for some beautiful reason, nobody seemed to care that the person singing next to them was off pitch. We moved, grooved, and gave it our all, our voices turned raspy and our muscles swollen from a nights worth of celebration. However, it was not quite over. Blake and Jordan had one last request before the nights end…

The Cold War Kids.

Jordan took center stage, clenched his fist, and sent a mighty roar across the dance floor, singing a set of lyrics delivered straight from the heart, and next to him was Blake following his lead. Each of us watched in awe at the display of sheer jubilance shared between father and son. We listened to the excitement in their voices; felt each thrill of happiness vibrating as the music moved them around the dance floor. It was a special moment they had been waiting a long time for; a moment that brought them unbounded joy… a special moment and happiness we were lucky to witness… to experience… and join.

And how lucky we were to be there with them… to have them as friends… to get a glimpse of love, life, and liberty all in one place and one time—Wisconsin, aka the motherland, on the 4^th of July. The verdict was conclusive. By all accounts, it certainly was a Wisco Wedding that we attended, a textbook example of how to celebrate love… and a perfect end to a perfect night (well… almost).

Billy, I guess you were right. The Cold War Kids are all right after all… Respect.

But they’re still no Kanye West.

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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 4^th 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.

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 14: A Wisco Wedding Part 1

The private drive was long and winding with trees and brush draped over its paved surface. Each of us looked around in wonder under the protection of the Benz, wandering deeper and deeper down the road of the unknown, a path that grew denser and darker the further we drove. Minutes passed and questions over our progress rose, for the path had no guarantee of sanctuary, if there was ever an end in existence. We continued however, having faith in Beth’s directions, hoping they wouldn’t turn us into another horror story statistic.

As quickly as we had been encompassed by darkness, a bright light overcame our despair, one sourced from the sky, a friendly presence that was thought to have departed long ago. A great, acre-long lawn surrounded a mansion, and beyond it laid home to a lake hidden just within the limits of Muskeego, WI, the backdrop for Beth and Blake’s wedding. We parked the car near a basketball court and made our way through the grand residence in search of our soon-to-be-wed friends, passing through an expansive deck area consisting of a large gathering of adults, swimming pool, and a custom built table with a gas fed fire pit in the center, the solid flame rising from an even spread of black pebbles similar to the fire pit seen at the Surly Brewery.

Through the mansion we went, passing a state of the art kitchen and the mansion’s foyer that housed a giant crystal chandelier, making our way down to the basement where an arcade machine and full-sized wet bar lay, a welcoming home for our hefty procurement of booze. With beers in hand, we made the trek through the vast lawn and down towards a group of bikini clad babes and topless hunks sitting at the edge of a dock, accompanied by a set of wave runners, a jet boat, and a water trampoline shining under the golden rays of summer. Our faith in Beth had been rewarded. As it turned out, her family was loaded.

“What’s up guys?” greeted a dripping wet Blake having just come off a fresh ride on the wave runner. “Beth and everybody else are hanging out on the dock. C’mon back and take the waver runners for a spin!” We took the first part of his advice and made our advance onto the dock to reunite with Beth, whose eyes grew with delight upon our arrival.

“Oh my God! Zack! Bill! And… oh… Gretch…” welcomed Beth, eventually making her way over with hugs.

“HEY!” said Anna who was sunbathing on the dock, her voice heightened, being that we had just snuck up on her. “Sorry that my butt’s all sticking out.”

“Oh that’s ok. I don’t really mind,” I replied. It was true. For some reason, I actually didn’t mind at all!

“What’s up Coti? Whoa, Maggie! What’s goin’ on? Hey dude’s, my name’s Zack…” I made the obligatory rounds that are required upon one’s arrival, saying hello to some familiar faces and introducing myself to some unfamiliar ones. There was Coti, a member of the wedding party and certified babe, and Maggie the maid of honor, who was also a babe; in fact, one that’s considered to be among the most respected from the Lewis-Clark Valley! And honestly, I don’t think anybody has ever had a single bad thing to say about her, ever! Not even from Gretch (and that’s really saying something)! I can’t even remember how many times I’ve asked Gretch to stop talking trash behind Meagan Mills’ back (a subject matter that’s really been upsetting me as of late, and I really wish she’d stop). And don’t even think about getting her started on the subject of Ben Woodward unless you have a couple of punch cards you’re trying to get rid of…

There was Wes, who turned out to be a pretty awesome dude, and Sean who really liked to party, and who also knew my sister somehow, of whom was later able to convince him to slap me in the face (not cool Emily). There were peeps from Minnesota, visitors from Idaho, and a couple of natives of Wisconsin, everybody from all around our favorite states!

And then… there was Billy…

Billy was a groomsman, an admirable position at any wedding, and our acquaint relationship seemed to start off on good footing… that is, until I used “Kanye West” and “Musical Genius” in the same sentence. Tension immediately came to a head at the mention of the rappers name, and it didn’t let up as I expanded on his cultural significance and the idea that he was the artist of our generation. The sullen look on his face and the sour tone of his voice gave me the impression that his disagreement on the issue was quite ostensible. Unfortunately, it was to be a prolonged feud, lasting all throughout the wedding weekend, much longer than anticipated.

“Holy Mol—Kassie, I haven’t seen you in ages! I didn’t know you were going to be here!” I said, rushing across the deck to greet her. Any debate involving Kanye’s generational influence could wait, as I was much too eager to catch up.

“Hey, how the heck are ya?” she asked. “I moved back to Wisconsin… I’m a farmer now!”

“No way! Wisconsin? That’s like, my favorite state! So what kind of farmer are you? Dairy and stuff?”

“Actually, organic.”

“Hey, that’s pretty cool. I can dig that!” Through my peripherals, I noticed Bill rolling his eyes. The reason, I couldn’t say. Maybe he had something against farm girls, who knows? It was no matter, for I was able to ignore it for the time being.

Kassie and I conversed for a while longer, talking about the organic farm and hitting up the important Wisconsin issues of the day, a subject matter that always led to the current state of affairs surrounding the Green Bay Packers. “Yea, I gotta make my way out to a game at Lambeau this year. It’d be really awesome if I could make it out to their home opener and watch them exact revenge on the Seattle Shi—“

“Me and Gretch are going out on a wave runner,” interrupted Bill. “You wanna take the other one out?” His question seemed to come out of nowhere, but the wave runners did look enticing, and I’m never one to say no to a friend.

“You’ll have to excuse me Kassie, but we’ll have to catch up a little later,” I regretfully told her, for fun was calling my name. I jumped up, grabbed a life jacket, and hopped on the wave runner opposite of the two siblings.

“I thought you said you hated organic food?” asked Bill, sending a little sassiness my direction.

“I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about it, and really, it’s not all that bad. Heck, it may even be good for me in the end!”

“Yea, I’m sure,” he replied, shaking his head while starting the wave runner. I did the same, unsure why he was being so sassy, but then again, if I had to ride on a wave runner with Gretch, I guess I’d be a little sassy too (I mean, talk about a boring ride…). The motors gave a nice kick and we blasted off across the lake, our wakes breaking the shine off the water from the setting July sun.

Something had gone awry, the observation coming after a couple cruises around the lake, where I had been preoccupied with performing all sorts of cool waver runner tricks for everybody: cookies, driving between boats and jumping off their wake—the whole bit! It looked as though Bill and Gretch were stalled in the middle of the lake. “You guys alright?” I asked from a distance, as I was rightfully concerned. I focused in on Gretch, who seemed to have this stupid grin growing across her face. “Strange… Why would she be grinning if they’re stalled—what the?” Two closed fists shot towards my direction, followed by a raised middle finger on each one. “Flipping me off—are you kidding me?”

Bill suddenly gunned the throttle, and a dumbfounded look of panic was released, sending Gretch’s brush of disrespect to an abrupt end. With her eyes wide, jaw opened, and arms a flailing, her ill-mannered gesture had turned into a disgraceful attempt to combat a sudden acceleration, one that would ultimately prevent her from staying dry. Serves her right!

I whipped my wave runner around to scope the scene. “You guys need some help—oops!” The curving motion of my wave runner’s sent a giant wave right into Gretch’s face. “Gee, didn’t mean to splash ya, heheh. C’mon Bill, let’s ditch this lame pool part and shoot some hoops! Look out Gretch—whoops, not again, heheh…”

***

“What’s wrong?” asked Maggie upon our return from the basketball court. It was a slow and hesitant walk across the dock, my lowered head a dead giveaway of gloom—a precursor to the humiliation that was about to be on full display…

The court was smoldering, for Bill and I couldn’t help but sink in shot after shot, unable to miss a single basket even if we tried—and it was supposed to be an easy in. “Alley Oop,” I cried out to Bill standing at the apex of the three-point line. I took a couple of lunges forward, gaining momentum as to meet his pass midway in the air. His trajectory was high… too high. With all my might, using every muscle in my leg, from the calf all the way up to the gluteus maximus, I lifted off the ground. Every effort used to project my body into the air seemed to be constricted by my water soaked, skinny jeans. But suddenly, there was freedom, a full body spread as an orange sphere fell into the palm of my hand. My legs scissored and I thrust the ball back into the air, watching it settle into the basket before my return to the ground—success.

“Bill, did you see that—“ I paused as my hand brushed past my leg, feeling a gap between the continuity of jean fabric. I tilted my head slowly towards the problem area. “Oh… no…”

I spread my left leg, exposing the giant gash in my favorite pair of cut-offs, a special pair that had honorably served through two tours of the Sasquatch Music Festival. It had been the second favorite pair of pants that I had ripped in recent years, the first also from playing basketball at a wedding, coincidentally.

Gretch immediately released a giant giggle, a nearly perfect rendition of the kid brother in the Christmas Story after he sees Ralphie in the bunny suit. “Shut up Getch,” I snarled, but it was no use. Her uncontrollable laugh continued to reverberate across the lake, no matter if it were as equally embarrassing as my exposed undies. The shame however, was not universally felt.

“It’s ok,” said Kassie. “You’re in Wisconsin. Nobody really cares about that kind of stuff.” It was a voice I could trust, being that it came from one who was well versed with the culture and customs of the land. “Besides, you’ll forget all about it by the time you eat a few burgers and brats.”

“Hey, we had burgers and brats yesterday!” Bill and I looked at each other like we had just scored a date with a Victoria’s Secret Model, even against Gretch’s foolish giggling that was still going strong. “Well what are we waiting for?” I said, sensing the seductive aroma of beef product through my nostrils.

Beth, the bride to be and I chillin’. Go Pack Go!

***

“You know, this isn’t the first time I’ve ripped my pants playing basketball within a day of a wedding,” I explained to the group sitting around the table with the fire pit in the middle, each of us in satisfaction with an influx of burger and brat inside our stomachs. “I ripped a nice pair of leather pants sinking in a lay in against Collin Morlock during a game of one-on-one right after Jill’s wedding!”

“So why were you playing basketball in leather pants?” I knew the question would come up. It always does every time I tell the story (something I’m starting to find quite annoying as a matter of fact).

“I was just wearing them at the time, I don’t know! Ever since I saw that 2Chainz video with Kanye wearing them, I’ve always wanted a pair of my own, and so when Collin and Joey Carter asked me to play basketball out of the blue one day, I—“

“Kanye!?!?” burst a voice out of nowhere, its rapid response catching me off guard. I looked straight across from me to its source. It was Billy, and he was giving me the ol’ stare down. Not again.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t lie. The guy’s a musical genius. There’s no other way to put it.”

“No he’s not—are you crazy?”

“Dude… My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is the single greatest album since Thriller, and Yeezus??? That album will literally blow your mind.” The intake of information was so enormous and mind-blowing, that he was literally rendered speechless, much like the first time I had read an Ayn Rand novel. Before he had a chance to speak again however, I took a different approach.

“Hey, everybody has their different takes on style, and that’s ok. You don’t have to like him, and I can respect that. But you can’t deny that the man’s an artist. There’s nobody else like him out there, just sayin’.”

Billy wasn’t amused, and the Kanye insults continued to fly, and of course, I continued to defend. “…Oh yea, well what about the Cold War Kids? Do you like them,” he asked. I hadn’t heard that band’s name in a long time, so his choice to use them as an example caught me a little of guard. Regardless of their current popularity though, anything short of a favorable answer would end in catastrophe. Lucky for us (although not a huge fan), I had nothing against the Cold War Kids.

“…I can rock with them,” I said back to him with a nod of agreement, not the exact answer he was looking for, but enough of an answer to ease the tension. “I’ve been to a concert or two of theirs, and they put on a good show. And I kind of like that one song about the hospital beds!” He sent me back a nod of approval. “Good, we’re making progress,” I thought to myself. “Just keep this going, and don’t say anything stupid...“

“Of course, he’s no Kanye West,” I said with a shrug of the shoulders and a turn of the head. “But hey, nobody’s perfect…” Whoops—slip of the tongue!

There was no over-reaction to his order, no rising of his voice, just another cold, hard stare to press his softly spoken command. “You can leave…” The rest of the table joined in on an awkward silence, each with a shiver of unease shooting through there cold spines, as if they had sensed the rotten smell of death brewing in the air. I could see it in his eyes, the morose state of his face—he was serious, and there were no witty anecdotes to save me, not even one involving Gretch. I hadn’t the slightest clue of how I was going to get out of this one with my pride intact—

“Can I tell a fairy tale?” asked a soft voice at the end of the table. All eyes redirected towards it—a little girl with golden, curly hair holding a staff with a clubbed end that was twice her size.

“Why, I’d love to hear a story,” said Anna while she helped the little girl up onto a high stool, taking her rightful position as head of the table. For the moment, it seemed as though our feud had fallen into suspension, for neither Billy nor I had the gall to deny this adorable little girl from telling her story, thank God. With our undivided attention, she clasped the clubbed end of the staff and began the telling of her epic tale.

“Once upon a time, there was a princess, and she was very pretty. And she had a pony. One day, she met a prince, and then the prince asked her to marry her and she said yes. The prince and the princess got married and moved into a big castle with a beautiful garden and they lived happily ever after. The end.”

The story was met with thunderous applause, all of it well deserved. I feared however, that it meant the standoff between Billy and I was to resume. It certainly wasn’t out of the picture for Billy to garnish enough support behind him, for he was a groomsmen after all, and Kanye West isn’t always the most popular figure among certain crowds. I mean, neither was Jesus, but that didn’t stop him from being right. “Would you like to hear another story?” asked the soft-spoken little angel. How could we say no?

“Once upon a time, there was a pretty princess, and she lived in a pretty castle with lots of horses. One day a prince came to the castle and asked her…”

The stories went on and the day grew dim, and by nightfall our little princess had tuckered out, her final departure requiring the assistance of her parents—our signal that it was also time for us to conclude the day’s festivities, for the real party was just around the horizon, and believe me, we needed all the rest we could get. “Does somebody want to drive my car back to the hotel?” I asked, knowing I probably could’ve driven myself, but not wanting to take any chances since alcohol consumption was involved. Hey, we made it this far; ain’t no way I’m screwin’ this thing up now!

“Don yu eve werr bout it! I’ll drive bak to us the hotell…” slurred Gretch while stumbling towards the car.

“Thanks, Gretch, but I don’t know if that’s such a—“

“I don’t mind driving you guys,” said a voice from behind. “I haven’t had anything to drink all day.” I turned around to discover it was Kassie, thank God. “Anna will drive your car to the Holiday Inn where we’re staying since I’ll have to drive my car back there anyway. We’ll switch cars, and I’ll take you to the La Quinta where you can check in. We go up to the room, drop off the bags, change, then we drive back to our hotel to hot tub before calling it a night.” It was a full proof plan, and I liked it… I liked it a lot!

***

“Hey, this is one of my favorite David Bowie songs,” said Kassie as we pulled out of the Holiday Inn parking lot. The horn intro of “Young Americans” marked the beginning of a lengthy journey back to our hotel due to its non-intuitive location and the complex of roundabouts that sent us in multiple wrong directions.

“Hey, it’s one of my favorite’s too,” I said, my voice growing with excitement. “You should’ve seen me at karaoke the other night,” I went on, naturally leading into a brief recount of our road trip. Bill and Gretch remained relatively silent throughout the car ride. I guess they weren’t up for a little conversation, which I found odd. Usually I’m doing everything in my power to get those two to shut up!

“Where are you guys going after the wedding?” she asked.

“Those two are flying to Montana, and me… I—I have may have some family, but… gee, I guess I don’t quite know yet…”

“Well, if needed, there’s always room at the organic farm. Just let me know if you need a place to stay.”

“Yea, you know, I’ve always had this fantasy about living on a farm…” I wasn’t lying when I said it either. I must’ve seen it in a movie one time, an old farm hunk and his old farm wife sitting on a bench swing at the end of the day, thinking about life and looking upon its sustenance during a sunset, giving thanks to God for the gifts that have been provided… you know, that kind of stuff. So I was pretty eager to grasp the whole organic farm experience if it indeed came into place.

We drove through the parking lot of a dilapidated strip mall, the once hopeful source of commercial capitalism nearly dwindled down to a ghostly remains. The heart of the strip mall, a 90’s Movieplex, served as its constant source of beating life, and even that was nearing an inevitable doom. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” asked Kassie.

“That’s what Google Maps says. Follow this road a little farther maybe, passed this Applebee’s.”

A quarter mile later we rounded a corner to find the La Quinta Inn and Suites shinning in all of its neon glory, tucked into a corner next to the highway overpass. It was no Holiday Inn, but then again, it was no Motel 6 either—something we could live with. “Let’s check in and get this party started!”

***

“Room 421. Take a left and go down the hall. The elevator is to your right,” said the receptionist while handing us our keys.

“Thank you miss,” I replied. “You ready guys? Elevator’s this way I think.”

“Maybe we all should just take the stairs,” said Bill. I twerked my head and narrowed my eyebrows, a natural reaction to such a silly comment.

“Why would we take the stairs when we can just—“ Bill notioned over to an unsuspecting Gretch using an exaggerated tilt of the head and an obviated wink.

“You know, after what happened in Des Moines and all…”

“What do you mean Des Moines? I don’t remember anything—“ I took a quick look at Gretch, unable to control my grin. “OH YEA—uh, I mean, yea… I hear ya. Yes, I agree, let’s take the stairs. Me first!” I took running start to the staircase. “Oops, forgot my suitcase. Look out guys—“ I turned back. There, Kassie stood next to my suitcase with the same look of confusion I had given Bill a moment ago. “…You know, on second thought, maybe we should just take the elevator…” Bill stood in shock, his body positioned in a way that suggested he was using everything in his power not to strangle me. There was a strange vibration coming from his red-hot face, staring me down with a pair of eyes glowing with fury, acting like he had been delivered the ultimate betrayal, that a sacred vow of brotherhood had been broken between us… that he was staring at the reincarnation of Judas… “What?”

After dropping off our suitcases and making a quick change into my Speedo, we were back on the road, navigating through the maze of parking lots and roundabouts that separated the La Quinta from the Holiday Inn where Wes and Sean were out front waiting for our arrival. “What’s up guys?”

“The pool’s closed,” said Wes with a look of regret, sincerely bummed out and unable to fully lift his eyes from the ground. We felt his pain, for the same feeling of disappointment came over us as we drove past the dimly lit poolroom. His statement only confirmed that our hypothesis was correct. “…But we can still party…”

Wes led us up to the 4^th floor and knocked on his door—no answer. He knocked again. “Don’t you have a key?” asked Gretch.

“Yea, but for some reason, it’s not working…” replied Wes, the knocks now turning to fist bangs with his lower lip tucked under his front teeth to gain leverage. “Wait a minute… this might not be our room…”

“Maybe we should bail,” whispered Kassie. I couldn’t help but agree, for the situation had devolved into every man for himself. We booked it down the hall, through the elevator and then to her and Maggie’s room, where I plopped on the couch with a giant sigh of relief—the coast was clear.

“Oh man, get this… so we came back and met up with Wes and Sean, and they were all ‘let’s go to my room and party,’ only it wasn’t his room, so we booked it, and I don’t know what happened to those guys, but Bill and Gre—wait… what happened to Bill and Gretch?” I whipped out my phone and texted Bill, my thumbs twitching across the screen in a frantic fashion.

“Is everything ok?” asked Maggie.

“Theoretically yes, I mean… I think Bill will be fine,” I said while dialing his number, my patience reaching its threshold after not receiving an immediate text back. His number went straight to voicemail. “I mean, we traveled all the way across this country together, so what’s a little time apart? But Gretch… she’s in this strange city all alone, and I just don’t want to see her… I just hope she doesn’t… I guess I’m just a little worried about her, that’s all…” I paused, noticing I was surrounded by a slew of funny looks. “I mean, it’s not that I’m ‘worried’ worried—no, I’m not worried about—Well maybe—It’s just… I’m worried about her because I’m worried about me, ok? Look, if she’s out there getting in trouble and stuff, I’m automatically guilty by association, and I can’t have that! No way, not in Wisconsin… I just need to find them, that’s all I’m trying to say, and if I don’t—“

“Well how about we give her a call?” suggested Maggie in a clear and calm manner. Her wealth of common sense continues to astound me to this day.

“Ok, yes, let’s give her a call.” And just like that, Maggie found her number and gave her a call. I continued. “All I’m trying to say is that I have a reputation to uphold, and it’s my responsibility to make sure it stays intact. Therefore, I have to keep her in check, no matter what; you know what I’m saying? I won’t let her—“

“Her phone must have died, but it sounded like they were going to get some food last time I talked to them. Don’t they have an Applebee’s around here or something?”

“…Applebee’s??? Dear God… I’ve gotta go…”

***

The door opened with a slow creep before I slouched into our room at the La Quinta, expended of all energy for one day. It had been an hour since I’d seen their faces, searching high and low between the Holiday Inn and the La Quinta, including each of the hotels themselves, Applebee’s, and a couple unintentional trips around the roundabouts. Bill stood opposite of me, neither one of us uttering a word; his pissed off look a mirror image of mine. We walked passed each other and to our beds to act as a pair of dead corpses; no direct eye contact was given. Gretch shuffled over and turned off the lights without our input. Apparently, she was in a bad mood as well. A mutual agreement was met that we were to pass out that night with nothing less than a grumpy mood.

Bill clicked the roof of his mouth with his tongue like any annoying, pretentious speaker does, before making an annoying, pretentious statement; a very unprecedented move at the time, but I was all ears. “Did you have fun making out with the farm girl?”

That was it. He had pulled the last straw, and I wasn’t in the mood to take his facetious attitude. “Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me?” I smacked him across the body with my pillow. “POP!”

“You do this every time… Every time!”

“Yea, well you deserve it. Every time!” I took another swing. “CRACK!” Bill began to chuckle. “Oh, you think that’s funny, do you? BAM, SMACK, BOOM!”

I beat him into the bed as an Alabama man would his children, using any excuse to give his kids an old-fashioned belt whippin’ after coming home in his drunken stupor. “What do you have against farm girls, huh? POP!” Gretch lay there like a slug—it was her only defense.

The beatings continued and the turning point, the fine line between a child’s laugh and his desperate cry had been reached… and surpassed. Bill lay in his bed howling in pain after each blow, unable to utter the word “stop” between his gasps for air and his constant screams of pain. I however, could not distinguish such a moment, for my mind had been too far obfuscated with anger to understand the meanings of right and wrong. The darkness further muddled my head, until there was nothing but my animal instinct, commanding me to pound Bill into a jelly of disgrace, a sorry excuse for a man, all so I could hear him beg for my everlasting, omnipotent mercy—only to tell him “No” after his submission and proceed with another round of blows, much more merciless than before.

Yea, I whipped him, so? I whipped him good! I popped him, and I beat him to feed my satisfaction, one that was no longer understood, one that could never be fulfilled, the fierce contact between his body and the swinging pillow only providing a glimmer of false hope, just enough to deliver the next blow, and the next… and the next…

They say by the time I was over, I could no longer lift my arms for I had swung so hard and so repeatedly. I had blacked out with rage, to which my body eventually shut down, forcing itself back into bed with a subconscious thought in limbo, a wonder if the actions taken were ground for terminating a friendship. I could only pray that the pain delivered to Bill’s body was enough to shut off the brain receptacles that retain memory. It was our only hope, and we still had a full day until the wedding…

God help us all…

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Chapter 13: The Punch Card

“It’s 12:50. She explicitly told us 12:47. Where is she!?”

“I don’t know, baggage claim maybe?”

“Well she’s taking her sweet time then!”

“She’ll probably be out soon. Just circle around one more time.”

“We’ve already done that—three times! We’re going to be late! What are we going to do??”

Bill took a deep, long breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth. “CALL BETH!”

Thanks to the technology of blue tooth, a dial tone sounded through the car speakers that eventually led to an automated voice telling me to leave a message for Beth’s number. “Beth, it’s Zack. It’s taking a little while longer for us at the airport, and uh… well…” I took a deep breath, then a deeper breath. It’s just… I can’t…” I began hyperventilating.

“Zack, just calm down. Breathe, nice and slow—“

“I can’t! I can’t do it man! I’m sorry, but I’m not going to put up with this. She thinks she can just lollygag about like we’re on her time? She’s already making us late, and now she’s going to ruin the whole wedding for everybody! This is an important weekend, especially for Beth and Blake, and I’ll be damn—I’ll be DAMNED if she spoils it!” I exclaimed, my fist slamming hard on the dashboard. “Look Beth, I’m sorry. I am sorry! We’re trying, we just have some set backs, and we’re getting a little stressed out… We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I ended the call. “What time is it?”

“12:52.”

“GRRRRRRRRETCH!”

“Hold up, I just got a text…”

***

There she stood next to her suitcase, waving excitedly with a giant smile on her face under the concrete overpass that housed the MKE loading zone; the sheer arrogance on display absolutely insulting. “Did she bring her entire wardrobe or something? How are we gonna fit that monster in the car?” asked Bill.

“Hi guys,” She said as we exited the car, her voice sweet and filled with glee. We didn’t fall for it, not for one second. Bill took on the grueling task of loading her suitcase, having to make multiple rearrangements in the trunk and the backseat. A million thoughts scrambled through my mind of things I wanted to say, a log jam of words that couldn’t seem to straighten out, even with the roaring current increasing behind it. I stared and opened the back door, until a lone phrase left the madness in a calm, straight manner. “Step into my office…”

She slipped into the backseat and I shut the door behind her. Bill and I looked at each other from opposite sides of the car, both shaking our heads in disappointment, “Let’s try not to make a big deal out of this; for Beth and Blake’s sake,” he said. I nodded and entered the car.

“So what’s up guys? You ready to party and stuff?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Listen Gretch,” I started, whipping my body around, my eyes impeding and face stern. “This whole trip isn’t about ‘partying’ or getting drunk or ‘blasted’ as you kids say these days, or any of that juvenile stuff. It’s about our friends Beth and Blake coming together and professing their everlasting love for each other. We’re talkin’ the holy sacrament of marriage.”

As a simultaneous act, Bill whipped his body around, his eyes impeding and face stern, and I whipped mine back to the front, a cycle that would continuously repeat itself. It was his turn now.

“This is the big time; sacred vows, powers invested by the Holy Spirit, people in dresses and tuxedos, and definitely not the Canadian kind.”

“That means we’re on our best behavior at all times. No screwin’ around!”

“We traveled over 2,000 miles to pick you up, and already we’re off to a bad start. We’re behind schedule, and we have a lot of work ahead of us!”

“This isn’t like Idaho. You can’t just walk around like you own the place! This is Wisconsin. This is my turf!”

“Your history of tooling out in Boise won’t fly here; not in Wisconsin. Getting 86ed from a bar is not an acceptable practice.”

“I don’t want to get kicked out of another Applebee’s! It’s embarrassing!”

“You can’t just start cussing out the bar tender just because they don’t have Steel Reserve on tap. That won’t be tolerated; not in the Midwest.”

“And no—and I mean absolutely NO Caitlin Jenner jokes! Understood?”

There was a brief moment of silence before her reply. Bill turn his head back around to the front.

“…You mean Bruce—“

“GRETCH!”

The name reverberated through the car like a loud shriek making its way through the depths of the Grand Canyon. Both of us turned, our faces taut, using every muscle in our bodies to keep our mouths shut. We gave her a cold, threatening stare, as if blood was coming out of our eyes—Megyn Kelly style. She stared back, mouth agape and eyes widened and overwhelmed. She remained quiet; a smart move on her part.

“Bill, find the directions to the nearest Wal-Mart. We need some booze.”

***

A giant load of anxiety fell upon Bill and I the moment we entered Wal-Mart on the edge of downtown Milwaukee. So worried was I during the car ride with explaining the delicate process of making an Old Fashioned, that the demographics of the superstore had totally slipped my mind, and mixing Gretch’s behavior in that type of environment—talk about a catastrophe!

“First you add ice to your glass,” I told them. “Then pour some Jim Beam about half way. Next you add a little 7-Up with a few splashes of bitters. Now here’s the most important part—you take your Old Fashioned Mix and you give a good pour into the drink. I ask for these at the bar and they screw it up every time, putting orange peels in them and crushing cherries and sugar and all that crap. You stir it all up, and presto, you got yourself an Old Fashioned. Understand?”

Gretch looked at me like I had just tried to explain to her Quantum Physics. Bill didn’t look any better, his countenance not providing any confidence of comprehension. “Ok, let me explain one more time. First, you pour some whiskey…”

It was far too late now. We were in the heart of the beast, and all we could do was fervently pray for Gretch to remain on her best behavior. The odds however, were still very much against us, for even that was a tall order way out of the big man’s hands.

“Ok, we came here for one thing, and one thing only. Follow me to the liquor.” Keep em’ on task, that always keeps em’ out of trouble. “Bill, grab some 7-Up. I’ll get the whiskey and the bitters. Gretch, I want you to look for the Old Fashioned Mix. And remember, get the ‘Jero’ brand. It’s the best. Understand?”

“What about beer?” asked Bill.

“Yes, we can get some beer too, but let’s just focus on one thing at a time.”

“But the beer aisle’s right here.” Yes, Gretch did in fact provide a factual statement, if nothing more. It was an aisle, and it had beer, but any store that has six packs of Rolling Rock tall boys in the “Premium Beer” section constitutes grounds for concern.

“Look, we don’t have to get beer here. If we get the liquor now, we can—“

“Are you freaking serious!” blurted Gretch; her eyes brightened as if she had just realized the potential of Kanye West’s rap career. “A 30-bomb of key-light for $11.50??”

“C’mon guys, let’s just stick with the—“

“No way!” interrupted Bill. “You’re practically stealing the beer at that price!”

“You guy’s, we have—“

“Gretch, call mom!”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. All this hype for an abominable beer substitute called Keystone Light? I tried reasoning with them, but it was no use, and frankly, it was starting to annoy me—big time. “Yes, it’s cheap, but seriously, there’s much better choices for beer out there, especially in Wisconsin—“

“Mom, it’s Gretch. You won’t believe it. They have a 30 pack of Keystone light for guess how much… $11.50! I know right! Hold on… Bill, mom says to send her a picture.”

“Right on it.” Bill whipped out his camera, as if he had only seconds to capture the amazing shot—a price tag that read “KEYSTONE LIGHT – $11.50”. “We gotta call Meagan Mills, ASAP!”

“Dude, screw Meagan Mills, we’ve got to get some—“
“Excuse me?” snapped Gretch with a sass so over the top you would’ve thought I had just poached an animal on the endangered species list. “Don’t talk about my best friend like that!”

“Oh c’mon Gretch! You know I didn’t it like that—“

“Zack, that’s my roommate you’re talking about! I’d appreciate it if you showed a little respect!” You gotta be kidding me?

It was total bull crap. How dare she use Meagan Mills against me, and what was with Bill, giving me attitude all of a sudden? The Gretch situation was spiraling out of control. I needed a different approach, something big. This could not stand.

“All right look, I’m sorry, it slipped. Can we just grab the beer and go? We can even stop by the sporting goods section on the way out so we can play beer darts later.”

Gretch led the way, focused in on the mission, as I knew she would. Any game that involves shotgunning beer is nearly impossible for her to resist. Bill followed, but his progress was thwarted. I snatched his arm and furiously swung him around to the next aisle out of Gretch’s sight, my pointed finger thrust into his face.

“What’s the big idea? You totally screwed me back there throwing me under the bus like that! It hasn’t even been an hour and you’re already siding with her. What’s wrong with you?” Bill remained silent, staring a blank stare back at me, a combination of anger and shame forcing his mouth shut. “We had a plan. A PLAN! And now you’re willing to throw it all away?”

“Don’t put this all on me. You’re the one that disrespected Meagan Mills! Don’t act like I’m the one throwing everything out the window after careless statements like that!”

“You couldn’t just let that go for once? I mean, c’mon, I’m trying to keep us on task here!”

“Look, you know she’s just trying to pit us against each other.”

“Well it looks like she doing a pretty damn good job!”

“What, you thought this was going to be easy? We’re dealing with a professional here, and suddenly it’s all my fault?”

“Whoa, let’s just calm down and think this through. I’ll admit I was a bit ill prepared, but all we have to do is get her really good tonight.”

A smirk grew on Bill’s face. Whatever it was that was circulating through his mind, had to be good. “Remember that Tim and Eric episode where they go to the haunted house and they keep falling down the steps?”

“You mean the ‘Oops I forgot my suitcase’ part?

“Bingo. We take the stairs, we drop the suitcases, and then we keep falling down the steps.”

“It’s perfect. She’s gonna go nuts! But… I need your word.” A great sense of importance filled the void between our stare, as the next set of spoken words could very well have been among the most significant of our entire lives. “Promise me… on our friendship… that if we do this, we go all the way. No bailing out, under any circumstance. Kapish?”

“You have my word.” He sealed his word with a handshake. a beautiful gesture that nearly brought a tear to my eye. “Just one thing. We can’t act too suspicious. She’ll fish us out at the first sign of suspicion.”

“I have a plan. Just follow my lead…”

***

We drove away that afternoon to meet Beth, Blake and friends with a car full of the essentials: Beer, darts, and all the ingredients to make an Old Fashioned; and miraculously, all in one piece. We tried to convince Beth to let us bring more goods before picking Gretch up from the airport, but she was pretty adamant that we just stick with the booze, no matter how much I insisted.

“BETH, just wanted to give you an old update on the ol’ road trip sitch. We’re about a half hour outside of Milwaukee. Is there anything you need us to bring, food, snacks or anything? How about we bring over a few orders of triple fried pizza dough with a giant can of Velveeta to put in the nacho cheese dispenser? We can grab some appetizers, a container of French onion dip or two—and you have GOT to try my homemade ziti! Just stick in the oven for 40 minutes, get it nice and piping hot and serve it up, ready to go! And if it’s not the same to you, I got some cold cuts that I need to get rid of, maybe a pound and a half of black forest ham, OH, and what about some of those cheese sticks with the marinara sauce? You know what would be a hit with the guys is if we brought over a nice German chocolate cake. I’m talkin’ key lime pie, ‘a la mode.’ That’s what the French call, ‘ice cream on the side.’ And it wouldn’t hurt to get a bag of sour cream and onion, just as long as they’re RIDG-ED chips…”

“You know Gretch, I think we all started out on kind of a rough footing, but I gotta say, you handled yourself well in there.”

“Not a single outburst. I’m proud of ya sis!”

“So here’s the deal. We’re on vacation, we’re here to have a good time, but we know we’re gonna have to make a few adjustments here and there, which means we have a couple slip ups every now and then. Case in point, the Meagan Mills incident.”

That’s why we’re giving you a ‘Punch Card’.”

“That gives you 10 free obscenities to use whenever and wherever; in front of kids, old people, minorities, whoever. If it comes out, nobody can give you a hard time. We just clip a notch in the card, no questions asked. Understand?”

Her head lifted with a jolt of energy running through her body as though she had just been told she could cut to the front of the line for Space Mountain.

“In fact, all of us are getting punch cards, just for the sake of it. I don’t expect us to use them up of course, not even half way! It’s just more of an insurance policy, just in the case of an emergency or an accident.”

“And we’re doing this because we trust you. We’ve come a long way, and we believe you’re ready… for this… this responsibility.

We handed her the card, an emotional moment felt in unanimity. The graceful concord, the sense of belonging—maybe things were going to be ok after all…

***

Bill found himself in a violent shake, unable to control the sweat pouring out from his pale face or the bodily convulsions in the form of dry heaving, barely resisting the urge to vomit and foul the interior of my new car. The Benz was sent to the shoulder of the road, parked diagonally, having barely avoided a head on collision or two as my mind was sent into a sudden shock of paralysis. A heavy dizziness overcame me, overtaking any and all forms of motor control; I swear I could feel a solid stream of blood pouring out of my ears, a dire consequence of the utterly despicable, ineffable anathema they had been subject too…

Gretch had used up every single one of her punches. Not even a minute had passed…

My God. What have we done? What have we done…

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Chapter 12: Enter the Motherland

Bill’s eyes widened at the sight of four F/A 18 hornets screaming across I-94, the heavy roar and air compression from its jet engines so close to the ground it nearly brought the Benz to a shake. His fascination with airplanes has been no secret, having walked into moving traffic nearly a week and a half before just to get a glimpse of a 747 flying over his house, making the impromptu Blue Angels air show a wonderful welcome to work off the joyous, yet costly obscurity Minnesota had dealt our bodies the night before. The ecstatic feeling remained onward over the many ripe green pastures lining both sides of the highway, each with its own set of silos set at the back corner of the field.

A large water tower greeted us at the onset of each passing town with it’s name plastered across the tower’s circular surface, as it was the first visible sign of civilization between the miles of agriculture during our drive through America’s Dairyland; an unusually unique sight for natives of the Pacific Northwest. Friendly faces and refined manners greeted us at each pit stop, whether it was for food, gas, or beer; a community ever so eager to welcome foreigners (of which we clearly were) to the lovely place they call home.

“You know, Wisconsin is exactly how I imagined it to be,” said Bill with a modest smile on his face. I had a strong inclination that he would feel that way. Yes, this was it. We had made it, our 2,00 mile mission complete.

We had finally reached the motherland.

“If only I could just see some cows…”

Sure enough, within a mile of his words, there lying to the driver’s side was a pasture full of Holstein Friesian’s, your stereotypical spotted cows exactly like the ones pictured on the milk cartons at your local supermarket. Again, he looked onward with approval, his first impression growing more favorable by the minute. We continued down a county road that eventually became flanked with a light packing of forest, where to the passenger side laid a strange wooden building behind a scatter of trees, its empty parking lot seeming very unusual for an afternoon.

“That’s odd. Why would they have a strip club in the middle of nowhere?” asked Bill. The sight was baffling to me as well, the pink pillars and exotic lettering on the door being a dead giveaway. “Wait, it says… Xavier’s Supper Club… What the heck is a Supper Club?”

“I’ve heard of those before. It’s like a place where you eat food and hang out and stuff. They serve you drinks and then they give you dinner.”

“So it’s pretty much a restaurant then…”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then what’s the difference?”

“Well, a restaurant will have… well they just… you know… I guess I’m not exactly sure…” The mystery of the supper club would leave us in wonder all the way to the unincorporated sections of the Fox River Valley where my Aunt and Uncle resided.

“Well, how ya doin’!?” said my Uncle Mike as he greeted us at the front door, using his best, most welcoming and full Wisconsin accent, the zenith of Midwestern courtesy; one I’d been waiting for since our departure.

“C’mon in, make yourselves at home!” said Aunt Chris following the friendly, Midwestern drawl of Uncle Mike, more than excited for the chance to provide hospitality, as is the standard for all Wisconsin Natives. “Grab yourself a beer and c’mon out back. We got some burgers and brats waiting for ya! And you gotta try my sugar snap peas. I just plucked them from the garden today. They’ve been growin’ like crazy!”

With a cold, frosty PILS-ner in our hand, we walked across the wood-stained floor of a living room decorated with early 20th century artifacts and into to the backyard, a half-acre long haven for flora and fauna where Audrey, her son Dino, and a grill full of burgers and brats awaited us. Dino greeted us with reluctance at first, not an uncommon reaction when two strange hunks show up in your hood. “Hey Dino, you wanna give Bill and Zack a tour?” asked Uncle Mike. Dino’s eyes brightened and he popped right out of his chair, reacting to the sudden rush of blood through his legs. A tour meant a chance to cruise the golf cart around the compound, an opportunity no 8-year-old can ever pass up.

“Follow me!” instructed Dino with an enthusiastic stride towards the cart. We obeyed his command and hopped in with the promise that we’d be back by the time dinner was ready.

“Go ahead and give it a little gas,” said Bill, a phrase that prompted Dino to permanently slam the pedal to the floor, turning a momentarily peaceful garden tour into Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride—Bill’s famous last words. Dino’s narration was exceptional, provided the speed we approached each planter, shed, tree and every other yard object that was barely averted as we skid across the lawn. It was a nicely landscaped garden from what we were able to observe, and would’ve given the scenery much more appreciation, if only we weren’t already busy holding on to dear life.

Dino received a lecture upon our return about his reckless driving, something we learned that he had been punished for in the past. Little did they know Dino was merely the victim of provocation, urged to break the rules by a couple of dinguses that should’ve known better. We kept silent through the scolding, for all would be well the moment a ground up mixture of burger, brat and bun entered our bellies.

…A moment later, a mixture of burger, brat and bun entered our bellies, and all was well.

“…So we were driving today, and came across this place called a ‘Supper Club’,” I mentioned after biting into a big chunk of brat.

“Oh yea, supper clubs!” Aunt Chris jumped in. “They got a real nice one in Menasha that we used to go to all the time. Great prime rib!”

“So are they like restaurants?” asked Bill.

“Well, you go to a supper club, and you can sit and hang out, talk to your friends and meet other people,” explained Audrey, having spent time in the service industry.

“Oh. So it’s a lot nicer than a restaurant then, like a restaurant/bar mix?”

“Not exactly. You see, you go and order your drinks first, and after a little bit, you order your food.”

“So I take it you have to order whatever they’re making that night, like home-style?”

“No, they have menu’s at supper clubs.”

“Alright… I take the drinks real special then.”

“Well… we’ll put it this way. Either the drinks are good and the food is bad, or it’s the other way around.”

“…Oh… ok. I think I’m starting to get it…” Bill and I nodded at each other, our secret signal of understanding. Under the guise of our stoic faces was a harsh reality that couldn’t be hidden having spent nearly a week together in a car—we were left even more confused about supper clubs than ever before. Even a later Wikipedia search failed to provide clarity, leading both Bill and I to the dismal conclusion that we may never truly understand what a supper club is.

“Look, at dem orioles up in da tree there,” said Uncle Mike, his observance causing a head scramble with Bill and I, for orioles are not common birds from our neck of the woods. “They like to come visit every couple days or so with a few humming birds. See em’ up in the tree?” He pointed to a small opening in the tree branches, taking Bill a minute, and I two just to focus in on the yellow bird. “We don’t mind em’ really. It’s the deer that we can’t stand though. Dem bastards come in da middle of the night and eat all of the rose heads! That’s why we hang a sock with a bar of soap right next to em’. It’s supposed to keep em’ away, and its done a damn good job so far!” Bill and I shook our heads in agreement, impressed with my Uncle’s wealth of knowledge, one gathered not from reading textbooks and studying, but from years upon years of hard work, trial and error, and honing in on his trades ever since his days as a young bachelor; an old art-form that has gone lost to the Millennial generation. “How about we c’mon back? Let me show you my shop.”

The walk through the garden, once traversed under extreme circumstances was now a light stroll, making it possible to take in the surroundings with ease. “Your grandpa helped me build this house years back before he passed. Got most of da lumber as scrap from the ol’ closed down sawmill. Barely had to pay a dime,” he continued as we examined the finer details of his property, strolling through the open lawn filled with an even mix of flora—towering trees sheltering all forms of plant life below it, wild bushes outlining the bounds of the well-maintained lawn accompanied by sprouts of flowers, a garden that laid home to the heavily boasted sugar snap peas, and traces of wildlife who were more than welcome to live in harmony with its providers, as long as they followed the rules.

Bill’s eyes grew in wonderment the moment he stepped into the shop, an adult playground filled with band saws, table saws, drill presses, lathes, compressors—any type of tool that could possibly be useful to a man and his imagination to build. “Let me show my newest project,” said Uncle Mike, leading us to his woodturning and wood-burning benches. “Here’s a plate I just made outa a block of cherry wood. I’d been experimenting with different woods for a couple months. Finally I came out wit something that woks.” He showed us a wooden plate with the etching of a hawk resting on a hard foundation with a sun glowing behind it, drawn from the wood-burning technique that left a dark imprint on the surface of the wood as a hot metal rod pressed against it. “Each type of wood burns a little differently, so you really have to practice and control the temperature just right.” Bill overloaded my uncle with a deluge of questions as the Clint Eastwood character in “Gran Torino” played over and over in my head, a proficient working man who had acquired an accumulation of tools over his lifetime, although I don’t think Uncle Mike could ever be half as cranky as Eastwood’s character, even if he tried (Not even praise of Scott Walker could piss him off that much!).

“I want one of these someday,” said Bill, his eyes still stuck in a state of wonder. “Where do I start?”

“Take it from me. The first ding you gotta do is get yourself a heated floor. By God they saved me from freezin’ my ass off more than a few times in da winter…”

A bowl of the highly touted sugar snap peas awaited our return from the shop, freshly picked by Aunt Chris. The crisp vegetable snapped in half as the name suggested, breaking away at the first sign of tension between my teeth, sending a fresh cut of greens to cleanse my body of any impurities left inside it from the night (and perhaps week) before. For once, I think I could appreciate the simple and refreshing taste of a fresh vegetable, although given the choice, I’d still go with the processed and genetically modified combination of Slim Jim’s and Easy Cheese any day.

As the sun set on our first night in Wisconsin, we gathered around my Uncle’s homemade fire pit, made out of a circular piece of sheet metal 10 feet in diameter that had been cemented into the ground, surrounded by cement slabs pressed with wildlife tracings, another scavenger find from an old mill from a few years back. Flames rose from the ground 20 feet into the air over at its initial lighting, the full size logs providing enough fuel for a solid, sustaining flame into twilight, with many more trunks of wood to be added that would last well into starlight.

There was something peculiar about the moon that night. I can’t remember if it were a full moon or some other phenomenon, but its effect seem to cause a raucous with some of the animals, even going as far as to give Aunt Chris and Aubrey the urge to share a mother/daughter bond by jump out of their seats and singing “The Age of Aquarius.” Us boys remained silent as they fearlessly belted out the tune, adding to it exotic hand motions and flamboyant gestures, neither of them concerned at the prospect of waking the neighbors; our only regret being that we were absent of the song’s lyrics and general progression, therefore unable to participate in such a sentimental moment.

The night turned to black, hinting at the notion that it was near Dino’s bedtime. The glow of fire, moonlight, and a vast splatter of stars left Bill, Uncle Mike and I to think about the mysteries of life and the universe. As each of us sipped a whiskey on the rocks, we discussed the important issues stirring about the world today—The current state of affairs circling around the Green Bay Packers and the overrated legacy of Brett Favre. “He was just a Cowboy,” my Uncle Mike opined. “Mike Holmgren just knew how to control him, that’s the only reason they were any good,” he added; an undeniable analysis I couldn’t have agreed with more. Bill of course added his own thoughts about his beloved Miami Dolphins, and I’m sure we all took our own shots at the Shi—I mean Seahawks.

I couldn’t help but ask about Grandma, part of my scheme of gathering ammunition to give her a hard time. Much was needed, for I planned on a surprise visit at her new retirement home the next day. Of course I was warned not to tease her too much, for it’s well known around the Fox Valley that whenever I’m in town, I’m the most flagrant and repeat offender of torment when it comes to grandmas! It’s not that I mean to, but it just happens… Hey, when you’re good at something, why quit? (Grandma surprise video provided below, heheh).

“Remember that time you took my sister and I fishing and we caught like 20 fish?” I asked him, the conversation of family a natural lead into one of my favorite Uncle Mike memories, one I’ve brought up multiple times in past visits.

“Oh God ya, that musta been 20 years ago! I swear we musta cleaned that pond out! I been to that same spot many times since then, and never caught any other fish. I keep tellin’ my buddies and they never believed me!”

The talk of fishing transitioned to hunting, of which my Uncle was a quite avid participant of the sport. He told us of one of his most recent accomplished of which he nabbed two turkey’s with one shot, and afterwards, I made him promise to show Bill the black bear he had claimed many years ago. I even had to throw in a shameless plug for “Uncle Mike’s Sausage,” made famous during my childhood, as it was always a treat to find my mom pulling out a large tube of his venison from the mail.

We sat around the fire until the early hours of morning, sharing stories, memories, and wisdom while watching the raging flames thin into the atmosphere, a solid streak of vital energy fade into nothing with the contrasting sky. Once the blaze dwindled into sweltering coals of ashed timber, we added layers, myself clad in my newly accrued Surly crew cut sweatshirt, for the state of minds had reached a rare level of harmony worth sustaining, no matter how discomforting the weather may turn.

It had been a 2,000 mile trek so far through some of the best and worst the country had to offer. We had crossed glistening mountain ranges and dipped through pernicious valleys where the vilest of human creations lay. Relationships had been broken and formed, old friends had been reunited, and love had been found and lost, but not forgotten; left to be rediscovered once the fruits of our wisdom had reached full development. And through it all, every up and down thrown at us had been swallowed, taking the brunt of whatever emotion thrust upon us and spitting it back at the world as a means of carrying on, pushing towards that impossible goal that we hoped to someday be attainable.

“You know, I’ve been a lot of places,” said Uncle Mike. “I’ve worked, and traveled, and explored all over da place. But this… this is the best place. There’s no other place I’d rather be than right here… right here…” So we stared up into the night sky, the same familiar sight I had seen 2,000 miles away, yet struck by a comfort not felt in a long time. We had reached our destination after what had seemed like an eternity, home being a place barely recognizable if not for distant memories. The pilgrimage to the motherland was complete, but our journey was not over. It was far, far from over… and there was still much of a story to tell.

And through our pondering into the great reaches of space, thoughts that reached farther than the distance galaxies our eyes gazed upon, a congruency ran through our minds, an improbable thought only met through the miracle of fate.

“This is where we would be someday. After it’s all said and done, we would come back, for this is where we were meant to be… for all time…”

And someday… we were going to find out once and for all what a damn supper club was…

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Chapter 1: Out of the Vein, Part 1: The Road to Wisco

The look on Megan Mill’s face matched that of a soldier’s moments before he was to storm the beaches of Normandy. It was the beginning of a dreadful two-week long heat wave across the Pacific Northwest with scorching temperatures that would result in a large number of forest fires and grumpy residents all across the region. Hoopfest just so happened to land on the onset of those treacherous two weeks, with Megan Mills being one of the many unlucky souls who had volunteered to suffer.

“110 degrees, are you kidding me?” said Megan Mills, not at all enthused at the extended weather report displayed on her phone.

“…Man, that really sucks Megan Mills.” It was pretty much the only response Bill and I could give for what the participants of the annual 3 on 3 basketball tournament in Spokane, Washington were doomed to endure. The once energetic outing that brought about the most competitive of stars to test their skills on the court each year was now a ticking time bomb of gloom, a definite death sentence for all of its attendees.

“People like, die in this kind of weather! We won’t even be able to sit down on the pavement it’ll be so hot! And you know they never provide enough shade, and what about water? They better have water… God, we have to play at least three games. This is going to suck… big time…” Yes, the further Megan Mill’s talked of this year’s Hoopfest and the thought of her buns being given a permanent branding whenever she was to sit down on the sweltering pavement, the further her face filled with despair; preparing the eulogy to her own funeral.

It was an expression that was in stark contrast to the one’s on my and Bill’s face, for the heat wave she talked of was one that would not be felt by either of us. The trunk of my Mercedes-Benz E350 was nearly packed, ready to embark on an adventure, away from this retched two-week hot spell of which they spoke of, and that we were conveniently avoiding.

***

“So where are we going to stay?” asked Bill the night before as we shared a beer at a local bar in downtown Boise, a fancier joint that had a nice collection of microbrews, one that we were slightly underdressed for.

“Um, well, I guess I hadn’t really thought of that… Maybe we’ll just wing it or something.”

“Hmm. Sounds like we probably should’ve planned this a little better.”

“Ahh, we’ll figure it out. We got friends all over the place. Denver, Minnesota, Wisconsin—hey, doesn’t Shaun live in Pocatello?

“Yea, maybe we should call him up.”

“Ok, I think I will.”

At that point, how we would get there, what sights we would see, which locals we would meet, what stories we would excavate from their heads, and all the other important matters obviously weren’t given the appropriate amount of thought as it probably should have. “Oh well, too late now!” I thought to myself. Any worry of the matter would be useless. We had a little over a week to make it to Wisconsin to watch our friends Beth and Blake unite under the banner of holy matrimony (i.e. get married, get hitched, jump the broom, whatever…), and despite our lack of planning, we were excited, and we were almost ready, and all there was between us was 2,500 miles of country.

***

The extrovert inside of me was in full display that morning as Bill and I prepared for our departure with a few last minute to-do items left on our non-existent checklist, delaying Megan Mill’s of a departure of her own with our non-stop chatter, whose only supposed purpose was to further fuel her anxiety. “Hey Megan Mills, what do you think of Donald Trump? He might be the president someday? Oh boy, he sure does speak his mind! Are you mad? What about Bruce Jenner—“

“That’s Caitlin Jenner!”

“…Right, so sorry. He just got a—“

“SHE!”

“…Yes, oh boy, my mistake. She just got a major award. That’s going to turn the sport world upside down! And what time are you heading out to Spokane? You probably want a head start—you know, now that I think about it, I wish you would’ve told me! You could’ve stayed at my parent’s place, free of rent… oh, you’re staying at KCR’s in Kellogg? Geez, that’s like an hour away! Oh well, I guess it could be worse, but I bet Gretch will be complaining the whole time…”

Unbeknownst to me, an important meeting was awaiting Megan Mills at work, and it was her own politeness towards her guest that was the cause for her late exodus, one that risked an unfavorable chance of getting fired, or at least harsh chastisement from her superiors, a scenario equally as bad. Her tension was in full display each time she reached for the door, unwilling to show offense with a blunt statement in order to end the conversation. I, however, was blinded by an excitement steadily built up during my 7-hour drive from Seattle the day before, where a wonderful night’s sleep on her couch did nothing to curb the sensation. It was way beyond anyone’s control at this point. “By the way, where’s Gretch? Shouldn’t she be here to wish us goodbye?”

“I don’t know. Ask Bill, she’s his sister.”

“She’s your best friend Megan Mills!” he shot back.

“I can’t believe this!” I said, throwing up my hands in disbelief. “I drive all the way to Boise, and she can’t even stop by and say hi… a bunch of bull crap if you ask me.

“Tell me about it,” replied Bill. “And get this. She expects us to pick her up at the airport. Fat chance!”

“I agree!” It was quite apparent that morning that Megan Mill’s gracious spirit would not be properly recreated by a certain Boise resident, of whom I was more than willing to meet and share a few polite words with, up until now. I mean, c’mon! All we asked for was a simple goodbye from a friend, and in some regards, a relative; one goodbye that would bring luck to a couple of hunks who were about to travel thousands of miles across the country… luck that was expected, but never received. It was official. Gretch had stood us up. “Whatever. That just pisses me off. Where’s my freaking Rockstar?

“Where was the last place you left it?” asked Bill.

“I don’t know! Obviously I would’ve checked there if I knew!”

“I saw one sitting on the counter. I put it in the fridge a couple of minutes ago,” said Taylor, Megan Mills’ boyfriend.

“…Oh, thanks dude… Say Taylor, you’re from Wyoming, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. You guys planning to cruise through there?”

“…YEA—duh, I mean no—well, the thought crossed our minds,” replied Bill.

“Yea, it’d probably be cool to see the Gran Tetons or something, if that’s even cool to do nowadays.”

Gretch’s actions, or lack there of, would no doubt prove to be detrimental given the amount of festering that was to be done while driving through flyover country. However, her inconsideration was set-aside for the moment, as picking Taylor’s brain became our principal priority. Besides, we would have plenty of time to plot our revenge on the road.

“Yea, the Tetons are cool, but damn, Jackson Hole is crawling around with waaay too many tourists this time of year. It kind of sucks dealing with them all. It’s like none of them have ever seen a wild animal in their entire life. ‘Oh my God, it’s a moose,’ somebody will say, and everybody looses their damn minds!” I took in Taylor’s advice with great deference while Bill gathered a variety of Cliff bars that Megan Mills had kindly bought for us, knowing we were in for some long stretches. “Just don’t draw attention to the fact that you’re a tourist and you should be fine. All you gotta do is treat the locals coolly and calmly, and they’ll give with the same respect.”

“Understood,” I replied, with a heavy and sincere nod. “Yea, those types of people can be pretty ridiculous,” reaffirming his annoyance and scoffing in mockery of the stereotype. “Not me though.”

In time, the unfortunate working souls found their window of escape after I sporadically decided to burn a few calories around the block before our departure, presuming it would be difficult to continue with my normal exercise regiment during vacation, no matter how hard I tried. By the time I had returned and cleansed my body of the thick membrane of sweat developed during my run, it was only Bill, their two cats and I left.

With Taylor and Megan Mill’s gone, and Gretch—well, Gretch was pretty much dead to us at that point—there was nothing left for us to do. Our bags were packed, our teeth were brushed, deodorant applied, and after several months of anticipation, it was time. “You ready,” I asked Bill, having climbed into the Benz, waiting for his answer before turning the ignition.

“Did you ever get a hold of Shaun?”

“I did. Looks like we’re staying in Pocatello tonight.”

“Poci huh? I’ve heard… things…” Bill looked forward and took a deep and anxious breath. “I’m ready.”

I cracked open my ice-cold Rockstar Energy drink and took a long swig, letting the wonderfully processed chemicals assimilate into my bloodstream, something I would come to depend on throughout the duration of our trip. The engine turned and I pulled my Gucci sunglasses over my eyes. “Let’s do this. Say goodbye to Boise.”

“…Goodbye Boise…” Bill’s goodbye was soft and sentimental, as if it were his parent’s on his first summer at camp. His stare was blank as we pulled out of Megan Mills’ driveway, on our way towards Interstate I-94.

It’s hard to accurately describe the feeling one gets at the beginning of an adventure 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 slight sorrow that exists over what you’re leaving behind, and what you’ll eventually come back to. And whatever sorrow you’re feeling is partly overcome by a sense of accomplishment, taking part in something not many have ever attempted before you, something proudly displayed like a medal of honor. It leaves you in a state of ponder, encouraging you to begin your search, to try and understand the mysteries of life.

And we had more than plenty of road to ponder, search and understand in front of us…

The Who’s “Baba O’Riley,” played through the speakers, a personal tradition of mine to mark the beginning of a journey as official, and into the east we drove with the ongoing keyboard loop to one of the greatest rock songs ever made, pushing us towards several more hours of daylight. It was now officially official. Our adventure had begun.

“Oh, by the way, do you mind if we stop at Carl’s Jr. before we go?”

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Wisconsin: The Conclusion

A slight drizzle covered the lake house that somber Sunday morning in flawless fashion to supplement the mood of saying goodbye. I had just spent an almost perfect week in the state of Wisconsin and now the thought of heading to work at 5 in the morning was all ready making my body cringe.

I took a moment to breath in a few last molecules of Chain o’ Lakes air, but due to the fact that I was “dilly dallying” (as my mother used to say) the night before, that moment was cut short, and a classic race against time scenario was in play to pack my belongings into my undersized carry-on and catch my plane. To my luck though, I would find the Appleton airport to be much smaller in size compared to SeaTac, and navigating through security and to my gate was a breeze, turning my crush on time into a non-issue (after the fact that is).

I boarded the plane and found my seat, finally getting a moment to relax after the Chinese fire drill that consisted of me scurrying to the airport. I leaned back and shut my eyes as the flight attendant instructed us of what to do in case we fall to our immanent doom… And that’s when it set in. My grandparents were selling the house. It was the last time I’d ever step foot in that place ever again.

Immediately, memories started to flood my head, one after another. I embraced the opportunity and pondered on each passing one, letting the nostalgia sink in before moving on to the next, further exploring the infinitesimal alleys of the mind…

I still can still remember walking into that house for the very fist time. Through the eyes of an 8-year old boy, I saw a gargantuan castle on the water filled with secret passages, built in intercoms, and 1000’s of square feet to provide me with hours of exotic exploration. Not to mention an arsenal of toys at my disposal: speedboats, inner tubes, noodles, a floating dock, fishing poles, paddle boats, you name it! This place had it all. And for a kid growing up in the 90’s, it was a Big F***in’ Deal (to quote our often candid vice-president)!

Us kids were wired from the get go the night the Bero’s and the Wohler’s came together for the first time to celebrate the holy union of my grandma and grandpa. Everyone had a lot to prove to each other, especially me. I did my part by devising a secret scheme with the big boys to sneak into the girl’s bunk and pour water into all of their sleeping bags, leaving them completely miserable for their night’s slumber. My stunt had gained enough respect from the older cousins that lasted through the wedding, however my cousin Brian and step-cousin Hans had different plans, for my devious plot was pork and beans compared to what they were about to pull off.

The adults that night found it in their best interest to separate themselves from their kids, which proved to be a foolish choice after Cousin Brian and Step-Cousin Hans found an empty champagne bottle, in which they proceeded to fill it up with a half and half mixture of 7-Up and Sunkist Orange Soda. While Step-Cousin Hannah played a dramatic tune on the piano resembling a legato/minor ragtime feel, the two took turns taking pulls from the bottle, simulating the effects of two pre-teens getting completely plastered (pulling it off quite well actually). It didn’t take long for their slurred words and stumbling about the house to make it to the upstairs in full view of grandma. She cried out in disgust and embarrassment, especially after they spilled soda all over the carpet in front of the new members of our family, setting a perfect Wohlers example for years to come!

Luckily for Cousin Brain, he’s always been grandma’s favorite, and can get away with just about anything, and Step-Cousin Hans wasn’t officially our cousin yet, so a high energy scolding was waived, and the two were able to continue with their wild antics with little consequence throughout the night, as well as future visits.

We learned a many great traits of the lake, including how to tube like a champ, the art of fish filleting with grandpa (in all honesty I never really got that one down very well), and even how to go pee when you’re out in the middle of the lake (consisting of draining the bladder into an old coffee cup and dumping it overboard). Some of those skills came in handy when my cousin Kimmy and I took the paddleboat out to the floating dock and I caught a nice blue gill in front of a bunch of slightly intoxicated locals passing along in their pontoon (fortunately, I didn’t have to pee that time). They cheered over my success, only to berate me when Kimmy unhooked the fish for me (I know right. A girl unhooking a fish? It’s Crazy!). APPARENTLY I wasn’t man enough to do it myself.

And somewhere along the timeline of our childhood Cousin Brain, totally oblivious to his surroundings, walked straight through the screen door in front of the whole family. Everybody talks of the incident as if it’s the Holy Grail of events that occurred at the cabin, and for the longest time I pretended to know all about it. But to be honest, I have no recollection of that ever occurring. Not even of grandma blowing a gasket (And believe me, I would’ve remembered that)! It kind of makes me mad, the fact that I’ll never fully relate to such an epic tale that will be passed down for generations, and that is still being retold to this day. Maybe I’ll get over it… Someday.

During one summer, my family and I drove all the way to Wisconsin from Washington, one of the best family vacations we ever had in my book (one where my little sis found the urge to bite into the bottom of a Styrofoam cup, spilling a quart of lemonade all over the Burb’s interior, but that’s a whole other story). I was cruising in the back seat of our baby blue Suburban with my Pokémon (Red Version) Game Boy game with the mega-hits of the late 90’s blasting through the speakers, which was all I needed to last through the trek. The hits included Smashmouth’s “All-Star,” The Abercrombie and Fitch Song, Pearl Jam’s “Oh where, oh where has my baby been,” and Six-Pence, None the Richer. It was the peak of the 90’s Alternative Rock sensation as so elegantly reflected upon the styles of us teenage cousins and our excitement over Woodstock 99.

Once we arrived at Grandma and Grandpa’s that summer, the tunes got a little more explicit when I reunited with Kimmy, who had acquired quite the potty mouth since the last time we hung out. Regardless of her tendencies to speak as if she had the mouth a sailor, we were busy rockin’ out to Limp Bizkit, Blink 182, and any other dirty band that Cousin Holly had introduced us to, for she was full blown into her pop-punk/hardcore phase at that point.

And when Cousin Brain showed up, all he could talk about was American Pie, and how it was the greatest freaking thing that ever happened in the 20^th century. For hours he was talking a million miles a minute, babbling on about who got naked, what ridiculous thing this one kid did, who said all the swears, and on and on and on… Jesus Christ the guy wouldn’t shut up about it! And I was hanging on his every word, totally obsessed.

“Shannon Elizabeth’s boobs? He does what to a pie?” Holy crap I was salivating! The way he was describing it, I figured it was going to be this generation’s Gone With the Wind, and during the next year, I made it my goal to see this magnificent accomplishment of cinema magic, no matter the cost. And as it turned out, when my best friend Austin Moody got his heart broken later that year, his mom felt bad for him and rented American Pie for us to watch. It turned out to be everything my Cousin described it to be… And so much more…

Once we finally bloomed into adults (about ten years later), we realized that no matter how much we had grown, some things never change. With all of the cousins back at the cabin, we could only act mature for so long before something got out of hand. It probably started during the bon-fire after I spent about an hour chasing Kimmy’s kids around. “You’re it!” Carson would scream after an unsuspecting tag, followed by a most devilish laugh as if she knew she was going to put you through hell just to tag her back. Miraculously, they would all tucker out and go to sleep. But that’s when the real trouble would begin.

Tony (Kimmy’s Husband), Nick and I stumbled upon a stash of fireworks in the water sports shed after we had polished off a few brews. “Yea! Let’s light them off! That sounds like a fantastic idea in the middle of the night!” So we did… ending up waking half the lake in the process.

The next morning, I walked into an overflow of verbal abuse at the house. “What were you doing lighting off those fireworks?” my grandma sneered. 1: She didn’t have to scream and embarrass me in front of all my aunts and uncles. I go through enough crap as it is. 2: She had absolutely no proof it was me who lit the fireworks off! As soon as I walked in, she just ASSUMED I was the one who lit off the fireworks. This is America for God’s sakes! Innocent until proven guilty!

Yea, I lit the fireworks off, so? I’m always the guy taking the blame, no matter what! Maybe it’s me who causes the most trouble around the cabin, but regardless, it’s still a bunch of bull crap if you ask me!

Not all the trips to the Chain O’Lakes were of the recreational sort however. In fact, some of those trips proved to be very humbling experiences. One such occasion was when we joined together to mourn the death of my Aunt Cathy, who had passed from a long and painful struggle with cancer. I’ll never forget the storm of emotions floating around that cold January weekend in 2011, all leading up to the NFC championship between the Packers and the Bears. That Sunday, we gathered at the grandparent’s house and we watched the Packer game as a family, hoping and praying for a win, some type of sign to let us know that her spirit was still with us.

And when BJ Raji intercepted Jay Cutler’s pass and ran in for a pick 6, we went ballistic! We recreated his famous “Teach me how to Raji” dance, and jumped all around the house, hooting and hollering, performing silly dances, doing push-ups… Well, I think I was the only one doing push-ups and stupid dances (I don’t quite have all the details nailed down), but the one thing that was for certain was the explosion of positive energy that surfaced in that house when the Packers defeated the Bears, sending them to win Super Bowl 45.

After moments like that, I think it’s only natural to wonder if your loved one’s had a hand in that game. Now it’s unlikely that the good lord meddles in the affairs of NFL teams, but victories like these remind us that our loved ones are always watching out for us, as was Cathy during the game, and will continue to do so throughout our lives. It reminded me of her positive and easygoing spirit, for she never got too worked up over things, knowing that life was too short to waste getting upset over things that don’t matter in the long term. Even in her final hours, we were told she was still cracking jokes doing her best to keep us from worrying about her fate. I think she understood that this was just one step in a grander picture, and that we would all be reunited with her in heaven someday soon. And until then, we should enjoy the small victories like seeing our favorite team reach the Super Bowl.

And as it turns out, it is those small things that will stick with me the most. My grandpa’s off-colored jokes, for which it seemed as if he’d always have a new one ready for us to crack up at each visit. Listening to that Rihanna song (Oh na na, what’s my name?) during my work out and runs around the lake, and enjoying happy hour every 4 PM at the house with the relatives, devising new tricks to getting under grandma’s skin (I should add that I have a pretty high success rate). It’s as if they all come together in a grand picture to make up a culture, where it might not be just a single memory that you miss, but the overall feeling of being in a place you hold dear in your heart where so many special things have taken place.

And nothing cut deeper into my heart like the times when I could sit on the dock and watch the hot summer sun set on the lake, reflecting the golden rays of light back on the lakefront property. There’s an amazing phenomenon that happens during a sunset, one of those things that settles the soul and brings serenity to your life at that very moment. As if time slows down, and no matter how hectic life gets, you always have time to sit down and reflect on it whenever that great ball of burning mass lowers itself from the sky.

And for a final time one evening during my vacation, with an old fashion in hand and the new Daft Punk album pumping into my ears, I was able to do just that; Reflect, and write… About life, love, how blessed I was to be in such a beautiful setting, and whatever else was going on in that crazy head of mine. I reminisced about the importance of family and how my grandparents had provided us grandchildren with the ability to acquire such wonderful memories over the past 20 years. A place where I truly felt at home and could flourish with my talents to unlimited bounds. A place I had grown to love and would have to come back to, retaining the sprit of the Chain O’Lakes with me wherever I would go.

I thought about all of those memories and so much more on that plane ride back to Seattle, for so many things occur inside the human brain in such a short period of time, far too much for us to ever understand. Your thoughts and senses cause reactions that send signals through your body that release different chemicals, causing us to react a certain way. Whether it’s pain, happiness, anger, you name it. The brain controls it. And the usual emotion that comes from reliving great memories in your life is a bit of sadness and depression, for you may miss those days, or possibly be horrified at some of the choices you had made. But for some reason, I didn’t feel that at all. Instead, after looking back at my time in Wisconsin, I felt an emotion that hadn’t been felt in a long time…

I became inspired.

I realized how much I had taken the lake for granted over the years; the cabin, all the toys, the boat, and the property itself. All of that didn’t just appear for my family one day. It came from the expense of hard work and sacrifice from my grandpa, who had a dream. Working through the ranks in his career, and through his sincere dedication, he eventually became the president of his company and was able to provide his family with an unimaginable gift that we were able to enjoy throughout the passing years. A place where my grandparents got to watch us play out on the floating dock, take us on pontoon rides through the lake, and send us to their secret fishing spots around the lake to come back with bucket full of blue gill for the evening’s fish fry.

A place where we would get in trouble and have the opportunity to learn from our mistakes, whether it’s lighting fireworks in the middle of the night, using an Ouija board and forever haunting the downstairs living room, or walking through a screen door in front of the whole family. A place where we could laugh and love by singing songs and doing ridiculous tricks in your Speedo for passing boaters, or gather around the campfire to share your words of wisdom, such as the greatest movies of the 20^th century, or just sit out on the lake during a summer sunset to appreciate the magnificence of life. But most of all, it was a place that my grandparents could watch us kids grown into self-sustaining adults, forge life-long memories, and make us realize the importance of family and how great life can truly be with it.

It took me 20 years to realize how precious this gift was, and how grateful I was to be able to spend the time I did in such a wonderful place. I didn’t want to see it go, didn’t want it to be the last time I’d ever see it. So I became inspired; that someday, I could work hard and utilize my talents to become successful, just as my grandpa had. That someday, I could maybe find my own special little place where I can bring my family and watch them grow up; where they can create their own memories to pass down to their children. It inspired me to create my own destiny, that I can someday find my own house and cabin on the Chain O’ Lakes.

And while I’m finishing this post, I find it appropriate that I’m sipping on an old fashion, a perfect Midwest cocktail to compliment the memoirs of my epic Wisconsin trip. It’s made up of a mix of cherries and oranges, two fruits reflecting the attitudes of the people of Wisconsin; a certain quaintness and sweetness that you just can’t find anywhere else. The whiskey, which allows us to let loose every now and then, for there’s no need to be overly judgmental in the Badger State. Add a little bit of 7-up, to provide a little excitement, in the same fashion every Wisconsin trip brings. All poured over a cup full of ice to remind us how strong and lumber the people of Wisconsin are when they go through the great pains of enduring freezing temperatures and harsh winters to support the things they love and hold dearest to their hearts, kind of like they did during the ice bowl many moons ago. And to top it off, add few sprinkles of aromatic bitter, for yes, life throws us curveballs from time to time, but mixed with a supporting family of tasty ingredients, we take it all in and remember that life is good, and will always be good in this gem of the Midwest.

So with my old fashion in hand, I would like to propose a toast. Here’s to the great state of Wisconsin. A state I can’t wait to come back to and make even more fantastic memories for the many years to come.

Till next time Wisconsin. I’ll see you soon…

Grizzly Chadams

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