“Good luck,” Travis says to Kristin.

“What’s up?” Nick asks as Kristin and Eric make their way up the stairs, leaning on each other.

Travis turns from watching the pair to Nick. “You remember Sandy Bennett?”

Nick has to think about it for a moment, and then his eyes widen in remembrance. “The one with the boots?”

“The killer boots,” letting Nick see what he is thinking.

“Oh boy! Somebody’s gettin’ boots fer Kreesmas!”

Shushing Nick and looking over his shoulder to insure that Sandy isn’t already on her way down the stairs, Travis replies, “Keep it down, dude.”

Nick is drunk and acting silly. He covers his mouth and looks up the stairs, too.

Ian, John, and Dizzy are still waiting for an explanation of all the covert motion going on between the two. “Who’s this chick?” John asks.

“Old girlfriend—sort of.”

“Dude,” Nick interjects, “You pretty much ditched her. You think she’s still got it on for you?” Shrugging, Travis replies, “Near as I can tell, from what happened up there.”

Nick performs a little jig and imitates a bad seventies porno soundtrack bass.

Dizzy hits Nick on the arm. “You’re so bad.”

“You know,” Ian says, changing the subject, “we should just go over to the house and get a bunch of beers in a cooler—drink ‘em right here.”

“They got six fuckin’ kegs up there,” Travis points out.

“Six?” Nick asks incredulously.

“That’s what Phil says.”

“Is Phil up there?” Dizzy asks lovingly. “I love Phil.”

“He is standin’ by the keg in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be back,” Dizzy says. “I’m gonna’ go say hey.”

As Dizzy makes her way up the fire escape, Nick leans over and punches Travis in the shoulder and then gyrates his hips. “Git-in-laid!”

Despite Travis’s attempt to retain a casual demeanor, Nick’s optimism is catchy. “‘Bout damn time, too.”

“What the hell’ya’ doin’ down here, man. You should be schmoozin’ it up there.”

“It’s casual.” He gives Ian a cheers with his plastic beer cup. “Gotta’ play hard to get sometimes.”

“We’ll play it cool, dude. Make you look good,” Ian says, smiling vicariously. “You know,” Ian says, laughing, “make it look like you just ducked out on her ’cause of some super-secret government mission or somethin’.”

“Hell, I liked her. I just wasn’t gonna’ be the other man. I think she knows that.” Travis looks up the stairs. “Or she’s just wasted.”

“Either way!” Nick cheers.

Ian adds, “Yeah, but dude, the other man has no obligations.”

“Da’ otha’ man gets his booty fo’ free!” Nick yells.

“You need to get laid,” Travis informs Nick.

A surprised look comes over Nick’s face—some epiphany. “You know what? You’re right.”

And he wonders off up the stairs.

“What the hell?” Travis asks to no one in particular after Nick has walked off.

“I think he’s been here a while, dude,” Ian replies.

“And he’s horny,” John adds.

“How’re you doin’?” Travis asks.

John shrugs. “I’m horny too.”

“No, no, no. How’re you doin’?” Travis asks again, holding up his beer.

John examines the glass soberly. “I’m drunk and horny.”

Travis sidles up to the bar in the back of the room, squeezing between two clusters of friends and holds out his five dollars. When Evan comes over to take his order, Travis asks for a Daisycutter. Evan replies, “Go to hell,” and smiles very nicely.

“Okay. How about a gin and tonic then.” Nodding, Evan moves to fetch the drink while Travis waits patiently and thinks about all the stupid drink names he’d come up with to fool old Evan. Travis isn’t a regular at the bar—he is a regular at Mean Mike’s—but Evan knows who he is because of the originality of his fake drink names: Daisycutter, Sea Urchin, Asimov cocktail, and Sapphire and Deluth, and the fact that he’s caught a show or two.

Evan comes back with a gin and tonic in a pint glass and put it in front of Travis. “Three dollars.”

Travis raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks to Evan.

“I liked that one,” Evan replies. “It was original.”

Travis smiles. “I got it from the name of a bomb they used to use in Vietnam.”

“Very appropriate.”

“Maybe I could talk you into making one, one of these days.”

Evan thinks about it. “What do you think it would be?”

“Probably a martini. I don’t really like martini’s, but that’s what it sounds like to me.”

“Yeah, a fruity one.” Evan takes Travis’s five dollars, and Travis walks away from the bar, figuring he’ll leave all the change since he is getting a heavy discount and he liked the repartee. A good repartee is worth at least two bucks. Walking back to the tables along the side of the bar, Travis spots Dizzy, Kristin and Kristin’s friend Eric seated at one of them. Seating himself, he holds up his drink with pride, “Now that’s how you get customers.”

“How’s that?” Kristin asks.

“You give them more booze for less money.”

“Well, and if you make them alcoholics, then you have them for life,” Eric adds.

Travis smiles, “I like the way you think, Eric.” He holds out his hand, and Eric shakes it. “How ya’ been?”

“Mellow.”

“Good, good,” Travis replies.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Great!”

“Woah now. There’s no need to get carried away there, pal.” Travis leans back on his stool and holds up his hand.

“Where’s everybody else?” Dizzy asks.

“What? My company not good enough for ya’?”

“No.” And she shakes her head vehemently.

“They went to go to the ah-tee-em.”

“The what?”

“The Assistant Tank Master.”

Eric laughs, and then says, “You mean, The Autonomous Truck Motor?”

“No,” Travis says and raising his voice, “I said, an Actual Testicle Massage.”

Dizzy hits Travis, “We can’t take you anywhere nice.”

Travis looks at her innocently, then turns back to Eric, “WWW, ATM, dot-com; These acronyms are getting out of hand,” Travis adds.

“People who use big words are dumb!” Kristin protests.

“You mean like magnanimous?”

“Or how about meticulous,” Eric chimes in.

Kristin rolls her eyes and looks away from the table, disinterested. The only way to get them to quit now would be to ignore them.

“I prefer it when people use big words wrong,” Dizzy says.

“Yeah.”

Putting on her teenybopper accent, Dizzy replies, “Oh I think that dress is just parsimonious.” Eric nods his head in agreement. “It makes me abominable when people do that—just absolutely fabricated.”

Dizzy laughs gleefully, but Kristin just looks at them all with an irritated look. “Where’s Ian?” she asks Travis, pretending to still be annoyed by his company.

“Where’s Ian? Where’s Ian?” Travis teases. “Why don’t you just marry him and then you won’t have to ask me all the time.”

Kristin grins and put her hand over her mouth. “I love him.”

Travis laughs. From time to time, Kristin looked remarkably like an eight-year-old. It always warmed Travis; reminded him of the fantastic crush that he’d first had on Kristin three long years before. He preferred to remember that instead of whatever reason that they had ceased their romantic involvement. He smiles as he watches Kristin tell Eric about Ian, because he realizes he no longer remembers the reason for the break up. He could only remember the good parts. The blue bandanna she’d been wearing the first time he saw her… asking her out… their first kiss. Turning to Daphne, he watches her looking about the room, and he stares at her eyes—always adorned with mascara. Only on a few occasions had Travis seen her without, and in those moments he was always slightly shocked. Her blue eyes released from outline made her appear almost naked to him—maybe proof that he didn’t really know her. Holding his hand up to his head, Travis casually tries to hide the fact that he is staring, but Daphne glances in his direction and their eyes meet. Once she had described to him in a note an inexplicable and irresistible attraction to his cheek. Always, Travis wondered if that attraction was still there when they glanced at each other. She wondered things, too, floating in glances. So much of their relationship was in those sparsely found moments of unknown intentions.

“Tell Eric about the Yours Game,” Kristin requests.

Turning from Dizzy, Travis smiles, “Oh yeah. Ya’ gotta’ know how to play Yours, if you’re gonna’ hang.” Looking around the bar, Travis sees a woman at the end of the counter and tells Eric, “Okay. You see that chick at the end of the bar?”

“Yeah… the one with the tank top?”

“Yeah. She’s your girlfriend now.”

Eric looks disappointed. “Oh.” Looking back to Travis, Eric nods. “I think I get it.” Then, after a moment, “That’s not a very fun game.”

“It’s more fun when you get someone else,” Travis reassures him.

“Okay.”

“And there are a couple of other rules.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Travis lists the rules, quid pro quo, on his fingers: “No one over twenty-eight or under eighteen. No lying—you can’t say someone’s good looking when they’re not. And if you get someone three times with the same person on different occasions, then they’re yours for life. Got it?”

Eric nods solemnly. “What about you guys?” he asks Kristin and Dizzy.

“Oh yeah. We play,” Dizzy says.

“But they have to be boys,” Kristin adds. “Like that one over there by the plants by the door.” Everyone looks. “That one’s Dizzy’s.”

Scrutinizing the character a second time, Dizzy turns back to the table. “I like him. He’s cute.”

“Yeah right. Nice try,” Travis replies.

Dizzy pouts and plays with her straw. “I don’t like you, Kristin.”

“Sorry,” Kristin giggles. “I think his rat tail’s sexy.”

“Man, you guys are crass,” Eric says, shaking his head. “I like it.”

“Welcome to hell, Eric,” Travis says, patting Eric’s shoulder. He holds up his pack of cigarettes. “Cigarette?”

“Well, when in hell…”

Travis holds up his lighter and lights it for Eric as Kristin begins laughing, seeing what’s coming. “Now you’re my bitch,” Travis says politely.

Eric looks to the Kristin, perplexed.

“It’s another game,” Travis explains.

“They have lots of games,” Kristin adds with mild disapproval.

Just then, Nick, Ian, and John amble up to the table. “Hey guys,” Travis says standing up from his seat. “What the hell took so long?”

Nick nods to Ian, “He ran into a girl.”

Kristin gives Ian a nasty look, but Ian just laughs, “I hate her, dude. She wouldn’t shut up.”

“We were gonna’ leave him there,” Nick explains.

Travis makes introductions.

“Nice to meet you guys,” Eric says.

“Yeah, that’s what you think,” Nick replies.

Ian shuffles over to Kristin by the wall, giving Daphne a kiss-hello on the cheek as he goes.
Travis explains to Nick and John, “Eric’s my bitch, and that gross girl over at the end of the bar is his new girlfriend.”

Stepping past Travis, Nick examines the girl and makes a pained expression. “I see Trav has been schooling you in some of our more important traditions.”

Eric nods. “Oh yeah.”

Ian makes his way to the bar, hollering to Nick and John, “I’ll just get us a pitcher.”

“Cool,” Nick replies. Turning back to Eric he says, “It could be worse. He could’ve given you the girl on the couch by the front door…” Travis tries to stop himself at the last moment, but looks in the girl’s direction. “… but that’s his girlfriend,” Nick finishes.

Eric laughs and Travis smiles tight-lipped at Nick.

Pointing in Travis’s face, John mocks, “Your girlfriend’s a mongoloid!”

Eric almost spits up his drink.

“Thanks, John,” Travis replies calmly. John nods curtly and takes out a cigarette, to which Travis holds his lighter. “Need a light?” Travis asks.

John becomes very angry and stares at Travis’s hand.

Leaning back to Eric, Travis explains, “That’s another thing you should know: don’t ever try to play the bitch game with John.”

“I don’t play that stupid game,” John says, still angry.

Eric looks on curiously, but nods.

“Just trust me,” Travis says as John lights his own cigarette. “You don’t wanna’ go there.”

Ian comes back from the bar with a pitcher of stout, and hands Nick and John glasses. “You guys just get the next round—wherever we go.”

“Thanks,” Nick replies. Looking at Travis’s pint of gin and tonic, he remarks, “You seem to be doing okay.”

Travis smiles gleefully. “I sure am.”

Eric leans in to the table conspiratorially. “Hey, Daphne. I didn’t want to say anything, but I think that guy over there’s been checking you out—just so you know.”

Travis and Nick smile as Dizzy looks exaggeratedly in the wrong direction. “Where?” she asks loudly. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Nice try, friend,” Nick says. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Eric shrugs innocently. “Okay. But I think he really digs you.”

“Dizzy’s used to that,” Travis says, patting her hand. “Everybody’s always looking at her.”

“I love you,” Dizzy replies through pursed lips, and kisses Travis’s cheek with a loud smack.

“You guys missed out,” Travis says to Dizzy and Kristin.

“What?” Kristin asks.

“We were playing southern dysfunctional family earlier this afternoon.”

“Awww,” Kristin replies disappointed. When Eric looks to her for an explanation, she says, “I’m always the soft-spoken, abused housewife, and Dizzy’s my loud-mouthed gossipy friend.”

Dizzy leans in. “Did ya’ll know that the reverend’s sleepin’ with Emma Lou?”

“Nuh uh!” Kristin hollers.

Tugging his pants up around his waist, Nick says, “Now you womenfolk quit your gabbin’ and get ta’ fetchin’ us some drinks.”

“Yeah. This ain’t no time for rumor-mongerin’,” Eric adds joining in.

“Hey there, Billy,” John says to Nick. “I think that there fella’ over there is lookin’ at Kristi.”

“Wha?” Nick asks, looking around furiously. “I’ll kick his ass.”

Reaching over behind Eric, Kristin grabs hold of Nick’s shirt and pulls him over. “Now, honey, don’t be fightin’ tonight,” she pleads. “You know I love you.”

“Don’t be tellin’ me what ta’ do, woman. I’ll give you whatfer fer lettin’ some jackass check you out.”

“I didn’t mean it, honey,” Kristin pleads.

“We’ll kick his ass, Billy,” Travis says.

“I got my 12 guage in the truck,” John adds.

Eric looks to Ian, who had just been looking on. “What about you?”

Ian holds up his hands in defense. “I’m from Jersey.”

“Damn yank,” Travis says.

In a Jersey accent, Ian retorts, “Whateva. We kicked your friggin’ ass once. We can do it again.”

“That’s it,” Travis says, standing. “Them’s fightin’ words.”

Dizzy motions for Ian to come stand by her. “Ya’ll don’t be pickin’ on my Vinnie. He’s in the army. He’s gonna’ make somethin’ of hisself.”

“He’s gay,” John says.

“I’ll tell all yur wives what you been doin’,” Dizzy threatens.

John and Travis stand down a little, but Kristin looks to Nick lovingly. “You ain’t been foolin’ around on me, Lovebiscuit.”

“You know it, Sugarbutt,” Nick says confidently.

“That ain’t what Sally Sue says.”

“That bitch is a liar and a Jezebel!”

Nick breaks character, turning to Eric, “You should also know that we hate flies, the French, anything sounding French…”

“Retards,” John adds.

“No, that’s just you,” Travis corrects him.

“I don’t wanna’ have this argument again.” John shakes his head and begins to count on his fingers as he speaks slowly, “The order of evolution goes mongoloids, dolphins, people and my dick.”

Travis and Nick exchange a confused glance.

“It was brought to me by omnipotent alien beings.”

Travis and Nick nod in complete understanding.

“Can we go soon?” Kristin asks. “I wanna’ show Eric all the cool spots.”

“Listen,” Travis adds. “Phil told me the staff at Mean Mike’s is having a private party tonight after the bar closes.”

“Cool!” Ian says.

Travis holds up his glass. “Here’s to drinking all night and waking up in somebody’s bed.”

For a while the boys had assumed that something was wrong with the thing. Nick took it to the veterinary school on campus a couple of times to consult the students there. He only ever received a patient reply that the cat was healthy, and was probably “just vocal.” No matter how many times he pedantically no-you-just-don’t-understand explained that “vocal” simply wasn’t the word for it, he got no sympathy. No one could believe that such a small creature could cause such a din until they were witness to it. Instead, he simply decided that the kitten represented some sort of karmic retribution for some forgotten sin he’d committed (or a remembered one for that matter), and the roommates had no other choice but to peacefully live with the clearly insane animal as best they could, hoping the epileptic throat fits were just a phase.

“Hey dude,” Ian says.

“Hey,” Nick replies curtly, out of breath. He steps lightly over to the couch, sneaking on his toes, and sits down next to Ian, looking nervous still.

“What’s up?” Travis asks, smiling.

“Yeah, what the hell’s with you?” John asks.

“Nothin’.”

Ian looks over at Nick beside him and asks, “What’s in the bag?”

“Nothin’.” Nick cradles the bag closer.

Ian, Travis and John all lean their attention. “Nothin’ huh?” Ian asks.

Nick just nods, looking more nervous now that they’re all paying attention to him. He tries to whistle for a moment, and gives John a polite wave from the wrist—perfectly innocent, nothing to see here.

“Why don’cha open it up then—” Travis asks.

“If there’s nothin’ in it…” Ian finishes for him.

“Okay,” Nick replies, suddenly casual. Opening the bag, Nick sits watching it in awe. For a moment nothing happens. Nick says, “C’mere,” in a high-pitched voice, precisely the way people talk to children and small animals. Travis, Ian and John all simultaneously wonder if they are being duped, staring at Nick’s bag. But after a moment, a tiny fuzzy black head pokes out of the bag and mews.

“What the hell?” Travis asks.

Ian leans over on the couch and pets the kitten as it steps out from the confines of the bag.

“Hey there,” he says, scratching the kitten’s ears.

John looks on apprehensively as Nick picks the little kitten up and holds it out towards him.

“See?”

“Are you planning on keeping that here?” John asks.

“Well… yeah.”

“I’m allergic to cats, dumbass.”

Nick looks surprised. “Really?”

John rolls his eyes.

“Shit.” Nick looks at the kitten in his hands disappointedly. “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s all right,” John says.

“Well, how bad?” Nick asks.

“Eh. Just keep it out of my room. We’ll see.” John rolls over again to face the back of the love seat.

“Well, I could take him back—or let my parents hang on to him for little while.”

“No,” John says to the cushions. “It’s got short hair. I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we’ll keep it out of your room and vacuum a lot.”

“Just be sure you keep the litter box clean.”

“I’ll keep it in my bathroom,” Nick offers.

Travis reaches out and grabs the animal from Nick, pulling it back to the armchair with him, and holding the kitten close to his chest. It cuddles up to him. “My kitty,” he says childishly.

“You can hold it,” Nick says, playing the father figure.

“My! Kitty!” Travis argues, sinking back further into the armchair. The kitten is now visibly disinterested in being in such close proximity, and begins to squeeze itself from out of Travis’s grasp. He lets it, and it begins exploring his lap, walking out to his cliff-sized shins to peer over the edge. All the boys are equally mesmerized by the animal, its faltering gait.

“What inspired you to go get a cat?”

Nick rubs his face. “I went over to Mark’s to borrow his pasteboard, and they had found all these kittens living behind their garage.” Nick shrugs. “He asked me if I wanted one.” After a moment, Nick leans over and picks the cat up. “Don’t hog him,” he says. “Let John have a turn,” he offers politely, shoving the kitten towards John.

“Get—” John starts angrily.

Nick pulls the cat away and smiles, happy to have something new to annoy John with. John points menacingly in reply and whispers with his eyes squinted, “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away.”

At this, Nick holds the kitten close to him and bolts out of the living room into his own bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Ian looks questioningly to Travis for an explanation.

Travis just shrugs. “You probably don’t want to know,” he says as the sound of things being thrown around in Nick’s room emanate into the hall. From the living room, they could hear

Nick yelling, “Ah! The voices! Make the voices stop!”

The door to Nick’s room opens, and the kitten comes running through the living room at full speed, its yellow eyes wide, its ears flattened back against its head. Running between Ian and Travis, it dashes into the kitchen. Travis laughs out loud as Nick comes back into the room, looking haggard.

“Feel better?” John asks, smiling.

Nick sits down on the couch. “Where’d he go?”

Travis and Ian simultaneously point over their shoulders toward the kitchen.

“Aw, poor guy. I didn’t mean to scare him.”

“Having a kitten here is like raising a kid in a dysfunctional family times three,” Travis offers.

“True,” Nick admits.

“Get me my bottle, bitch!” John says in his perverted uncle’s voice into the couch.

“Now, honey,” Nick says in a feminine southern accent, “I—I think you’ve had enough tonight.”

“Don’t tell me when I’ve had enough, woman!”

“Hey, Dad,” Travis adds. “Why don’t you try getting a job instead of suckin’ on a whiskey bottle?”

“You shut your mouth. If I get up off this couch—”

“What?” Travis asks. “What’re you gonna’ do, you worthless shit?”

“That’s it. Liza!” John says, speaking calmly to Nick and sitting up, “get me my bat.”

“I’ll take you on, old man!” Travis says, frightened but stern.

“Boys, now,” Nick stutters, “just calm down—this ain’t Christian.”

“Shut up, bitch!”

“Don’t tell her ta’ shut up again!” Travis yells.

Ian nods. “Oh yeah. That cat’ll be fine.”

Using Travis’s pants leg for a hoist, Nick drags himself off the carpet and pushes past Travis. “Get out of the way!” Travis yells when he thinks he hears a noise behind him and runs into the dark hallway to the bedrooms.

“Fuck!” Nick says again as he smacks into his doorjamb. Feeling his way through the dark, he reaches out for the door to the walk-in closet that connects his and Travis’s room. Entering, he thrusts himself to the floor and promptly begins burying himself under dirty clothes, laughing hysterically the whole time. Travis follows suit, but instead of making for the closet, he falls to the floor and rolls under Nick’s bed, carpet-burning his left elbow. “Aw, shit!” He tries to shove himself as far back as he can, pushing dirty shoes, a hair dryer, some clothes and God-knows-what-else out of his way. For a moment, he can hear Nick shifting around, and then, silence. Travis is so nervous, he hiccups another giggle. “Shut up!” Nick whispers harshly from the closet. “He’ll hear us.” Travis tries to lay still, listening to his heart beat against the floor.

The front door’s knob jingles and then the door creaks open and shuts again. Travis holds his breath and listens carefully with his head to the carpet. He waits for the dreaded footsteps in the hall, or a voice. But there is only silence. And then, after a moment, there is the sound of the bathroom door closing on the other side of the apartment.

“What’s he doin’?” Travis whispers.

“Shut up!” Nick says again. And then after a moment of silence he whimpers, “I’m scared.”

The door to John’s bathroom opens with a shudder.

“Oh God,” Nick whines.

“Shhh!”

Travis listens closely to the footsteps as they moved through the house. First, he can hear them on the kitchen tile, lightly. Then, the weak floorboard by the couch in the living room. The living room lights turn on and light from the ceiling fan lamps wash down the hall outside Nick’s bedroom. There is a horrific moment of silence broken only by a more horrific, splintering, maniacal laugh. Travis hears Nick in the closet scooting around, desperately trying to make himself disappear.

“Where are you?” John’s voice calls out pleasantly—as though he were looking for his kittens.

“C’mere,” he calls into Travis’s room. Travis silently thanks the first mystical being he can think of for giving him the foresight to hide in Nick’s room. “You know the rule,” John says, sounding a little angry. “No hiding from Daddy!” he cheerfully cries.

Travis sucks back a giggle, covers his mouth and makes a sputtering noise pressing the air between his lips by accident. Now the hall light comes on, and Travis freezes, holding his breath. Travis watches in terror as John’s loafers appear in the doorway and enter the room, bright light following him. “Where’re you hiding?” John asks sweetly. Slowly, methodically, John’s feet turn their toes toward the bed. John’s voice is serious, calm. He sounds enraged, and yet perfectly content with the rage, happy to be so angry. “You’re not hiding under the bed are you?” One at a time, John’s hands appear before Travis, and then John’s knees, and then… the horrible visage of John’s face.

Travis can’t suppress a yelp of horror as John peers beneath the bed. He can hear Nick yelling in response in the closet. John’s face is sickeningly white—freshly painted with skin-so-soft bath powder. Two baseball caps crown John’s head, one over the other, each bill pointing directly out to the side. “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away,” John begins to chant. “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away.”

Travis bats at John’s grappling arm and yells, “Help!” He smashes himself up against the wall underneath the bed.

John’s voice grows menacing. “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away!” He gropes for Travis and laughs maniacally again.

A loud clatter from the closet catches both Travis and John’s attention, as Nick struggles to free himself from the pile of clothes he’d been hiding in. Seeing that John was preoccupied with Travis, he saw it was his only chance to get away. But he stumbles. John hears him. Now it was over. John turns to confront Nick with a horrible grimace. “Where’re you goin’!” Standing, John immediately blocks the door to the bedroom and smiles. Then, speaking in a ridiculously calm, collected voice, his lungs heaving from exertion, “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away.”

Nick falls back and scoots into the corner of the closet, holding his index fingers in a cross as he tries to get away. John stalks the closet, though. “Daddy giveth and Daddy taketh away.” He enters the closet and slowly shuts the door, laughing horribly, like a man three months in the desert coming upon water. Nick can only holler in response, “Run Travis! Run! Get away while you can!”

Seeing it is his only chance, Travis drags himself out from underneath the bed hurriedly, and makes a break for the door, falling over himself a couple of times. As he runs for the front door, and outside to get away from the madness, the only thing he can hear is the resounding howls of terror of his one friend and crazed laughter from the other.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place this empty,” Nick comments as the threesome stroll into the middle of the dance floor. There is an ether in the air like directions that don’t read right. A place hallowed for its entertainment and thrills should never look so dull and be so quiet.

“You guys feelin’ all right?” Ian asks.

Nick shrugs. “I think so. Do I not seem like it?”

“No, you seem fine.”

Travis interjects, “It takes twenty or thirty minutes. You’ll know.”

“I’m not gonna’ try to jump off a building or anything, am I?” Nick asks.

“It’s not acid, man. Trust me. It’s much more chill than that. You’ve done shrooms, right?”

“Yeah, once last summer.”

“It’s like shrooms except without the hallucinatory effects. It’s like you have a lot of energy and you’re positive, but there’s a physical manifestation of it—you feel a lot.” Nick just nods.

“You’ll see,” Travis repeats.

“Man,” Ian says, fiddling with his camera bag on the floor, “Some friends of mine and I did shrooms my freshman year. That was amazing.”

“Never done ‘em,” Travis says with a shrug.

“Well how do you know to compare them to this?” Nick asks incredulously.

“Just from what people have told me.”

“You would definitely dig shrooms. They’re totally positive. All I wanted to do was work on shit, and I totally had the capacity to do it. It was like being perfectly clear-headed with just one thing to focus on.”

“I just like being relaxed every now and then. E is just kind of like playing my guitar, except I don’t have to play anything—it’s a cheap way to meditate.”

“I doubt it’s like painting,” Nick offers.

“Why?”

“Well,” Nick thinks about it as the threesome head over to the bar. “I definitely lose myself in what I’m doing, but there’s a lot of energy. I wouldn’t call it relaxing.”

“It’s like the difference between playing something punk or, like, a cosmic folk song. I mean, I probably wouldn’t be too relaxed playing a cover of Layla.” Travis sits the tripod he is carrying for Ian on the bar, and they all sit down, each looking around for a bartender.

“Relaxing is not the right word. You’re just at ease.” The three sit and glance around at the empty surroundings, each remembering the pulse of the crowd they’d seen here before.

“Alcohol’s a depressant, right?”

“It always makes me feel good,” Nick replies.

“Yeah, I know. But, it’s like, pharmaceutically categorized as a depressant, right?”

“I think so,” Ian says slowly, trying to recall the information from some obscure a health class in his past.

“Dontcha’ think it’s weird that the most popular drug in the US is a depressant?”

“Stress,” Ian replies.

“What’s that?” Travis asks, not quite hearing him.

“It calms the nerves—like valium. Everyone in this country is so damn stressed.”

“No, I don’t think it has anything to do with that,” Nick adds. “I don’t think most people could tell you what alcohol does for them. It’s just that it’s the only legal drug.”

“Yeah,” Travis agrees.

“Things are really different over in Europe. A week of stress management classes doesn’t even compare to a good glass of wine,” Ian says.

“I guess I don’t understand why everyone is always so stressed. I’m not stressed.”

“You’re an idiot,” Nick says, pointing.

“Ignorance is bliss,” Travis retorts.

“No, you’re right,” Nick says thoughtfully. “Everyone should just learn to be like us.”

“Well,” Travis replies, unsure, “I wasn’t exactly recommending that.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone,” Ian says matter-of-factly.

“Actually,” Travis says, “hanging out with you guys is really pretty irritating.”

“If you weren’t so damn annoying…” Nick says, rolling his eyes.

“Is there actually a bartender in this place?” Ian asks annoyed, looking around.

“I think we can just serve ourselves,” Travis replies.

“Get outta’ the way,” Nick chuckles, starting to climb over the bar.

“I need another beer,” Ian says.

“What?” Nick asks, “the seven you had before we got here wasn’t enough?”

“Dude,” Ian says, “I drank, like, two.”

“Two packs?” Travis asks.

“Two dozen packs,” Nick agrees.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Ian says, frustrated. “You guys must be on drugs or somethin’.”

“Hmm…” Nick thinks. “That’s funny. Because now that you mention it…”

“This is ridiculous.” Ian gets up and walks around behind the bar. Travis and Nick exchange unsure glances before Nick says to Ian, “What are you doing?”

“We’ll pay for it when they get here.”

“Uh, I don’t think they’re open yet, man,” Travis adds.

Ian pulls three beers from out of the glass front fridge, opens two and hands them to Travis and Nick. Opening and taking a pull off his own, Ian looks at the other two from behind the bar and says, “They should lock the doors then,” with a shrug.

They sip with guilty delight.

Nick checks over his shoulder for a moment, and then, “Oh well.” Ian glances around the back of the bar and leans casually on it. “You know, I’ve always loved tending bar.”

“Is it cool back there?” Travis asks.

“Yeah.” Ian looks around again. “I gotta’ say, I always feel sorta’ powerful.”

“The almighty bartender,” Nick says.

Ian comes from around the bar and takes his seat between Nick and Travis again. The three sit drinking their beer for a moment before a figure walks out of the dark from beyond the far end of the bar. As she approaches Travis sees it is Rachel and calls out, “Hey there, dollface.”

“Where’s the bathroom?” she replies.

“Love ya’ too, babe,” Travis says making a gun with his hand.

All of the boys turn around on their stools.

“Howya’ doin’, Rachel?” Nick asks.

She sighs. “I’m fine.”

“Is everybody in the back?” Ian asks.

“No. Alex has turned up missing, and they’re calling everywhere trying to find him. He went to go get a pack of smokes and hasn’t come back.” She turns her head to the side and smiles. “How are you?” she says acting energetic. It is evident she isn’t feeling well.

“Getting drunk. You?” Ian replies.

Rachel puts her hand near her bladder. “I’ve had too much already. Those boys…”

“The bathroom’s over there,” Travis offers, pointing to the other side of the room.

“I know. I was just kidding. This is my fifth trip since six.”

“We haven’t seen you in a while. You should come over,” Nick says.

“Yeah. I guess John’s been real busy with the band lately.” There was annoyance in the statement. Travis wonders to himself if that was the trouble that John and Rachel were having. “Okay,” Rachel says, putting up her hands. “I really have to go to the bathroom,” and she walks away in that direction.

The boys turn around on their stools again, where a bartender has materialized before them. She had been waiting for the last couple of minutes for their attention. Nick, not usually a jumpy person, just about falls off his stool. Travis smiles quietly to himself knowing the reason. He is also overly surprised by the bartender’s sudden appearance, but he’s used to the effect of the E.

The young woman looks from beer to beer in the boys’ hands apathetically, but noticing nonetheless.

“We brought them in with us,” Ian answers quickly.

“That’s not allowed,” the bartender replies stoically.

“We’re with the band.”

The bartender, unimpressed, looks to Nick who is still stunned, but had shoved his beer into his jacket. He looks up suddenly and says, “Uh… Jack and Coke… please.” Once the bartender steps away, Travis leans over the bar and towards Nick. “Feelin’ a little somethin’?”

“That was weird,” Nick says slowly, still looking around at the bar and his lap.

Travis smiles like a crazed Ren Hoëk. “Heh… heh… heh, heh.”

Nick shakes his head and put his hands flat on the bar. Ian looks on with intense curiosity, smiling. “What?” he asks Nick.

“I don’t know,” Nick says, shaking his head and staring at the bar. “It was like she was… more there than anything else.” He shakes his head quickly again, as though to physically shake the effects off.

Travis leans over behind Ian and taps Nick on the shoulder while he isn’t looking. Nick jumps again and stands up. “Don’t do that!”

The bartender comes back with Nick’s drink and takes the his money. Travis taps Nick on the shoulder again while the bartender is getting change. Nick jumps again and leans into the bar, whispering past Ian, “Knock it off.” The bartender gives them their change and then wanders off back to where she came from.

“Friendly girl,” Ian says sarcastically, making a discriminating frown and drinking from his beer.

Travis gets up off his stool and starts walking toward Nick, his arms outstretched as though he were going to tap Nick again. Standing up, Nick starts backing off. “Really,” he says, incapable of not smiling, while holding his hands out, “Stop it.”

Travis straightens up. “You’re no fun,” and he walks back to his stool.

“No fun?” Nick asks incredulously. “You’re freakin’ me out.”

Ian looks Nick up and down, trying to detect what’s different about his friend. “What is it, dude?”

“Every time he taps me, it’s like somebody’s throwing a baseball at me.”

“What? Does it hurt?” “No, no. It’s just big is all.” Nick seems genuinely shaken as he sits down on his stool again but he can’t stop smiling. “And sudden.” Travis is staring at some trivial something at the end of the bar, so Nick leans over past Ian and taps Travis on the shoulder. Travis falls to the floor undramatically, and Ian and Nick start laughing.

“Ha ha,” Travis says from the floor. “Real funny.” He doesn’t get up.

“Get off the floor, man,” Ian says. “Somebody’s gonna’ see you.”

“So?” Travis asks lethargically.

Ian looks back to Nick who is now staring at the beer bottles in the cooler with great intensity. He laughs to himself and looks over his shoulder to see Rachel approaching them.

“What are you doing?” she asks. Obviously she has seen some of the antics from across the room.

Ian just shrugs and stands up to go meet her. He steps over Travis who is lying contentedly on his back. “We’re just having some fun.”

Travis watches the space above him, thoroughly amused by Rachel and Ian’s heads appearing high above his own. They are looking at him and seem entirely unreal—like recordings of their former selves, a television point of view through his own eyes. The perspective is too much, and he picks himself up off the ground. As he stands up, Rachel asks him out of curiousity, “Are you feeling all right?”

Travis stands up completely and straightens himself out. He hears the honest concern for his welfare. It bothers him for a moment before he looks into her eyes with a shit-eating grin and says, “You may now call me Tecron the Wise.”

Ian just laughs and pats Travis on the shoulder, “Okay, man.”

“No. I’m just kidding,” Travis answers, knowing he was just partly being silly. “I’m cool.”

Rachel chuckles to herself and says, “Somebody wrote on the wall in the bathroom, ‘Question everything,’ and somebody wrote beneath that, ‘Why?’.” She and Ian and Travis laugh. Nick is still mesmerized by the beer bottles.

Travis reaches over and just touches him on the shoulder, so as not to shock him again. Nick turns around, his eyes wide. “Let’s go find John,” he suggests and to Nick, the name John has all the effect of the words ‘Dali Lama.’ Nick nods reverently.

“Man, this shit’s cool!” Nick replies. He is smiling wider than the Cheshire Cat. Ian pats him on the shoulder. “You sure you feel all right? You were staring over there for a minute or two.”

“Was I really? Actually? That felt like an hour.”

“Yeah?” Ian asks.

“I feel fine,” Nick reassures.

They all set off for the Green Room, drinks and equipment in hand. Nick steps up with Travis and repeats, “Man, this shit’s cool.”

“Just wait,” Travis says.

“What?” asks Nick.

“Just wait. You’ll settle into it.”

“I feel fine now though.” Nick clumsily executes a couple of martial arts moves to prove his point.

“This is just the first roll.”

“It’s like you said: zen.”

“Yeah. This isn’t quite like the last time I did it,” Travis says, trying to cite the difference, but it’s beyond him.

Nick takes in a big breath and says, “Yeah. Totally cool.” He let the air out of his lungs and laughs for no reason. His eyes open wide suddenly and he says, “Holy shit! I need a smoke!”

“Forgot that you did, didn’t you?” Travis asks knowingly.

“Yeah. I forgot I ever did.”

Travis looks at Nick and laughs, to which Nick laughs in return. Nick stands in place for a moment and then moves around like a robot, making industrial squeals and whirs out of the side of his mouth. Travis looks on, enjoying his friend’s new experience. Nick stops and looks around. They are standing inside a darkened hallway between the dance floor and backstage. It seems as though Rachel and Ian have vanished—or were never there to begin with. Putting his hand over his mouth, Nick lets out an exagerated high-pitched giggle, “Hee hee hehehehe.”

“Hee hee hehehehe,” Travis imitates.

Taking two steps back into the shadows of the hallway, Nick says in a goofy, Swedish accent,

“I yam hiding from yoo.”

Travis takes three large, pronounced steps around in a circle while declaring, “I yam zeeking yoo.” Travis reaches into his coat and produces a pack of cigarettes. “Here you go.”

Nick smiles and laughs. “Man, you’re the best.”

“Hey,” Travis says slowly, “We’re like that.”

Nick laughs, takes a cigarette and puts his arm around Travis. “We’ve been friends for a long time, man.”

“We have,” Travis says, lighting Nick’s cigarette.

Nick stands next to Travis, his arm around his friend’s shoulder and pulls off his cigarette.

“Boy, that’s nice.”

“It’s dry. Very tasty.”

Nick begins to contemplate his cigarette heavily before Travis interjects, “Hey!” He turns slowly and brings Nick around to face an exit sign at the end of the hallway. “Look at the sign,” he says mystically.

“It’s the exit,” Nick says reverently. Nick stares intensely for a moment and then relaxes.

“Wow.” Looking down at his hands, Nick examines them in the faint but monotone red light.

“Wow.”

“Just remember three things,” Travis says. “No one can understand what you’re saying, couches do not talk, and light is just light—you can’t eat it.”

“You’re just fuckin’ with me.”

“No wait.” Travis thinks a moment. “Light can’t understand what you’re saying, you can’t understand anyone, and couches aren’t edible.”

“Quit it.”

“I know,” Travis replies. “I’m just kidding—not about the couch thing. It’s not that bad, right? The first time I did it, I was totally coherent. It just takes you a little off your center, you know?”

Turning, they both walk into the Green Room, a small room at the back of the club, behind the stage. Into it are packed four couches, a coffee table and twelve bodies: The four guys from Homespun Noose, five of the members of The Water Department, the lead singer Eric’s girlfriend Lauren, Rachel and Ian. Stumbling through the door, Nick and Travis make their way back to the hall to the stagedoor, where John, dressed in a full three-piece suit, is currently leaning against a wall with a pint of Cuervo in his hand. Everyone in the room regards Travis and Nick peculiarly as the two make their way to the back of the room without a word or looking at anyone. Ian just makes the universal sign for drugged up, popping pretend pills in his mouth, as Nick and Travis pass, and everyone in the room relaxes again. Half of them are only paranoid because they’re stoned anyway. Now they’re giggling to one another secretly.

Travis walks up to John, presents himself in military fashion and announces, “Hello, Admiral.”

Looking at Travis suspiciously, and at Nick, who is normally several inches taller than Travis, but is at this moment crouched down and hovering right behind Travis, hiding. John replies, slowly, “Hello there.” He knows when they’re up to something.

“We have come to bestow good luck upon you,” Travis says.

“Thank you,” John says simply, still watchful.

Letting the ‘L’ roll off his tongue slowly, Nick peeks up from behind Travis and half-repeats the sentiment, “Lllluck.” He hides behind Travis again.

“Yes,” John says, mildly amused with the pair.

“Are you ready?” Travis asks, trying to regain some element of normalcy—an element he is not entirely sure he has lost in the first place. He still sounds like he is talking about a space flight the way he asks the question.

“Ah,” John says, relaxing, shrugging, “Ready as I’m gonna’ be.”

“And you’re always gonna’ be,” Nick said, peering up from behind Travis and nodding.

John laughs. “Is that right?”

“Nick here is the cap’n,” Travis says, throwing his thumb over his shoulder.

Nick peers up again like a periscope and looks surprised to hear this—that or surprised to see Travis’s thumb. John can’t tell which. Leaning in, John just says mysteriously, “Are you the sultan, Trav?”

Travis thinks about this for a moment and then merrily agrees.

“I have bad news for ya’, Trav,” John says, shaking his head. “Bad news.”

“Oh no,” Travis says, “You can’t do that to me. I’m the sultan.”

“Oh yes I can, Trav,” John says with an evil grin.

Nick, in the meantime, is pushing past both John and Travis to get to the stage door.

“No, John. See, when I’m on Mount Olympus—see—then you can sell me out. But I’m in Elysian Fields right now—so you can’t.”

John thinks about this seriously for a moment. “E?”

Travis gives him the old thumb’s up.

“What the hell’s he talkin’ about?” Nick hollers from down the hall.

Travis looks past John to where Nick is. He has seated himself on the floor in the corner of the hall by the door. Slowly, Travis makes his way over to where Nick is. “Okay,” he says, taking a big exasperated breath. “There are people everywhere, right?”

“Right,” Nick agrees. Then, he double-checks the fact in his head. “Okay.”

“And everybody has a negative person—like matter and antimatter. There are anti-people.”

“Sure,” Nick says slowly.

“And see,” Travis continues, “John sold me out to the negative people once, when we were stoned. They can come and get me now.”

“You’re nuts,” Nick responds from the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees.

“Yeah, yeah,” Travis says, irritated. “I know that. But it’s hardly the point.”

“No, I think that’s the point,” Nick argues.

“The point is, that when we’re stoned, John tries to make me paranoid—which is a very easy thing to do. But I’m not stoned right now.”

“What the hell does that have to do with Mount Olympus and Elysian Fields?”

“Code words,” says John from behind Travis.

Travis jumps a little at hearing the voice so suddenly from behind him, and gives John an irritated look for sneaking up on him. John just beams back stupidly. Nick looks to John and then back to Travis. “Code words for what?”

“States of mind,” Travis answers secretively.

“I don’t get it.”

“Think about it for a second.”

“Shut up and tell me. I don’ wanna’ think about it.”

“You want me to shut up?—or tell you?”

“Speak!”

“States of mind,” Travis repeats, “like, M in Mount Olympus for Marijuana?”

“Oh. I get it,” Nick agrees. “Elysian Fields: Ecstasy.”

“Yeah. And they’re all mystical places,” Travis says.

“He got so paranoid about the whole deal, he wouldn’t talk about anything until we had code words for it all,” John says.

“Did you come up with one for all of them?” Nick asks.

“I think so,” Travis answers and looks to John for a prompt.

“Atlantis… Elysian Fields… Mount Olympus… Hades—” John starts.

“No, no!” Travis interrupts frantically. “You’re giving the code away.”

John looks at him funny and Nick says, “I can know the code.”

“How do we know he’s not one of them?” Travis asks so Nick can hear him.

Nick flutters air through his lips like a horse. “I’m not a negative person.”

“I guess Nick is a positive being,” Travis said thoughtfully.

Nick laughs and tries to stand up. He fails, and then says from the ground, “That’s so cheesy.
I’m a positive person.” He thinks about that for a second and then relaxes again. “Yeah, man, I am a positive person.”

“You rock, dude,” Travis agrees.

“Dude, you’re awesome, too.”

“You see,” Travis says, as though he’d somehow proven a point, “on Mount Olympus you can detect equal levels of people and anti-people, but in Elysian Fields, you can’t detect the negative people at all, but you can feel your positivity in opposition to their presence.”

Nick and John think about this (John just pretending, Nick actually doing it).

“What about Atlantis?” Nick asks. “What about that?”

“The negative people rape you there,” John says.

They all laugh as Ian approaches the group. He makes his way down the hall in an investigative manner, past John and Travis, and approaches Nick. “You all right there, buddy?” he asks, bending over slightly putting his hands on his knees.

“Never better,” Nick replies from the floor, putting his thumb up.

Ian stands up and points Nick out to John and Travis who just look on bemusedly. “C’mon,” Ian said, lightly kicking Nick, “Let’s go out on the dance floor. I wanta’ take some pictures.”

“No, no,” says Nick waving, Ian off, “I’m feeling undefined.”

“Are you all right?”

“Cripes,” Travis says, throwing up his arms, “why don’t ya’ nanny the guy.”

“Hey man,” Ian says, standing up straight and meandering down to where Travis is, “I’m jus’ checkin’ it out—just checkin’ on things, Vaquero.”

Travis puts on his “angry” face and stares at Ian. He can smell the ganja now. “Well, why don’t you wonder somewhere else ya’ God damned wop.”

Ian responds by putting his “angry” face on and leans in. “Don’t tell me what ta’ do ya’ fuckin’ mick.”

Neither of them can hold the pose and they start laughing. Ian puts his arm around Travis’s shoulder and says, “Vaquero!”

“Pirata!” Travis says and pats Ian on the back.

Travis and Ian laugh for a minute before John looks them both up and down and says (like a nine-year-old who can’t get his friends in on a dare), “You guys are gay.”

Nick laughs hard from the floor at the end of the hall.

“Shut up,” Travis says, “you’re just jealous that you can’t show your feminine side.”

John tugs his pants up around his waist and replies in a redneck accent, “C’mere. I’ll show ya’ how ta’ hug a man.”

“No way,” Travis says, frightened. He starts backing down the hall to where Nick is still lying on the floor.

John smiles evilly and chants, “Daddy giveth and daddy taketh away.”

Travis and Nick cower at the end of the hall, while Ian just looks on dumbfounded—another apartment joke, apparently. John turns suddenly to Ian and said, “C’mon, let’s go take those pictures.” Ian and John walk off leaving Travis and Nick in the hall.

“I hate it when he does that,” Nick says.

“Hey!” Travis hollers and hits Nick on the shoulder.

“Ow! What?”

“Let’s go sit in a couple of those big ol’ lounge chairs out off the dance floor—just sit for a while.”

“That sounds good,” Nick agrees dreamily.

The pair make their way out of the green room, past a couple of laughing members of Homespun Noose and Eric and Lauren discussing something serious. The rest of the band is out in the hall waiting on Eric, and the front man, Lee is closest to the door when Nick and Travis come out. Lee turns to greet Travis, “Travis, right?”

“Yeah. Hey, Lee, how’re you?”

“Pretty good, man, pretty good. You?”

“I’m just fine. You know Nick?”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Lee, reaching out and shaking Nick’s hand. “I think we talked for a second after our second or third show.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Nick agreed.

“Oh, and John says you have some paintings I need to see.”

“Yeah… well…” says Nick modestly.

“He seems to really like your work,” Lee adds. They all walk out onto the dance floor. There are fifteen or so people milling about now. “Actually,” Lee continues. “We’re gonna’ be hitting the studios in a few months. I guess we might need some artwork for an album. John seems to think you’re the man.”

“That would be cool.” Nick turns around suddenly, looks around behind him for a few moments and then looks back as though nothing had happened. “Yeah,” he says again, and then checks over his shoulder one more time. Travis laughs.

“You all right there?” Lee asks, trying to look behind Nick.

“Oh yeah,” Nick answers vehemently.

“We’re rollin’,” Travis says, and Nick hits him in the shoulder. “What?” he asks Nick.

“No,” Lee says to Nick, “don’t worry, dude. I’m cool with that. You guys are gonna’ enjoy the show.”

Nick and Travis nod, Travis with a wink.

“All right,” Lee says, “if you guys’ll excuse me—I think we’re doin’ a foe-toe-shoot here.” Lee makes a face to show he doesn’t want them to think he’s being pretentious. Everyone kidded about being famous. They didn’t want it, but in a way they did—or knew it to be a consequence of what they really wanted, vindication that they weren’t slackers, but artists. Making their way over to a couple of comfortable armchairs, Nick and Travis seat themselves. Nick reaches out for one of the arms before actually sitting down and stops in his tracks, some sort of revelation holding him in place. He starts rubbing the arm of the chair briskly.

“Feel this,” he says to Travis.

Already seated, Travis leans over and feels the arm of the chair. “Oh yeah,” he agrees. Kneeling down on one knee, Nick begins running his hand up and down on the armchair. “Oh my God,” he says, rubbing more vigorously. “This is amazing.”

“Yep,” Travis agrees.

Nick starts to lean down like he’s going to bite it.

“Okay, but I told you about that. Sit in it, dude.”

Nick pulls himself up into the chair and sinks back, completely relaxed. He sits still for a few moments, looking around at nothing in particular. “I am not moving from this chair,” he declares.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

“I like this way too much.” Looking uncomfortable for a moment, he feels around inside his jacket and pulls out a beer. “Oh yeeeeeah.”

Everyone at the table greets him in their own fashion as Ian sits down next to Travis to a chorus of ‘fatties’ and ‘assholes.’ “I got your message. You guys didn’t feel like doin’ the house thing?”

“I was just in the mood to see Daphne and Kristin. I couldn’t convince them to come with us to the house.” Looking at his notebook, Travis adds, “I needed to get some writing done, too.”

“Are they coming here?”

“No. They’re primping and going to dinner. We’re suppose to meet them at Mean Mike’s in thirty minutes or so.”

“An hour,” Nick corrects.

“Well… yeah, probably,” Travis concedes. The girls would be a little late.

“Anybody up for darts?” Nick asks.

“I gotta’ concentrate on this,” Travis says, pointing at his half full pitcher.

“Nah,” says Ian.

“I’m game,” John says, getting his beer and standing up. Nick slides out of the booth and they both walk off to the back end of the bar. Ian switches from his seat to the other side of the booth to face Travis.

“What were you reading there when I came in?” Ian asks.

“Some lyrics. You wanna’ read ‘em?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Travis opens the notebook to the spot and passes it over to Ian. Sitting, quietly sipping his beer, Travis just watches the bartender while Ian concentrates. His friend’s face is serious as he reads and nods at this or that point. Ian had a way of unconciously pointing at things on a page that caught his attention, and Travis always liked it when he managed to get that reaction.

“Yeah,” Ian says, looking up.

“Groovy?” Travis asks.

“Well, no. I wouldn’t say it was groovy. But I know what you’re saying.”

“Right on.” Travis takes the notebook and slides it under his helmet on the bench.

“Bring Mary Jane out tonight?” Ian asks.

Travis nods. “This weather is perfect at night.”

“Man. I wanna’ get a bike.”

“You should get one.”

“I should at least get my license.” Thinking about it for a second, he asks, “Would you let me borrow her for the test?”

“Well, you have to go up to Gainesville or Toccoa to take the road test, so I’d have to drive up there with you. But yeah, other than that—that’d be cool.”

“Cool. I should do that this summer, while I’ve got some time.”

“You’d have to make a new fake,” Travis says, joking.

“Oh no, I put motorcycle class on mine already.”

“Really?”

“Hell, I put everything on there. I can drive an eighteen wheeler.”

Travis laughs. “I didn’t even think about that when we were doin’ ‘em.”

In a Mexican accent, “Ju got to think about deez things, mán”.

Travis just nods.

“That bartender is killer,” Ian starts after a moment, leaning into the booth in confidentiality.

“She’s fine.”

“I like the way she doesn’t take shit from anybody. She looks tough, you know what I mean?”

“She made me say please for my pitcher.”

“You should ask her out.”

“No. You can’t ask bartenders out. Bad news.”

“Why?”

“Oh man, I mean, that’s gotta’ be a rule or somethin’. Think about it: you know how many people probably hit on on her in a night? You’d have to be a helluva guy to even get her attention. Besides, I think she has a boyfriend.”

“Really?”

“I’ve seen her with a guy.”

“So?”

“They were doin’ couple stuff—you know, ogling over each other.”

“Oh.” Ian sips his beer. “Still though. Be good for practice.”

“Ah, but not the ego, Iansan,” Travis said with a polite bow.

“I gotta’ get me some,” Ian says, absentmindedly.

“Lisa not cutting it?”

Ian thinks seriously on the matter for a moment and then sighs. “No. No, things are fine. Dude, I just want a little action, you know?”

“You wanna’ flirt a little bit,” Travis offers.

“Not flirt.”

“You wanna’ carouse.”

“Yeah.”

Travis looks around the room for potential targets. “Nobody’s stoppin’ ya’ buddy.”

Ian looks around the room, too. “Yeah,” he says disappointedly, “yeah they are,” and then laughs.

“What? Go hit on the bartender. You said you dug her.”

“Nah. Not my type.”

“What about that one?” Travis asks casually, tilting his head backwards.

Ian leans over, not enough to be noticed. “The one by the pool table?” he asks out of the side of his mouth.

“Yeah.”

Ian leans back into the booth and makes an appraising nod. “She’s a cutey.”

“Go tell her,” Travis says jerking his head.

“No that’s too much work, dude.”

“You said you wanted some hustle,” Travis replies, exasperated.

“Yeah, but I wanna’ be at a party, you know. I don’t wanna pull the old—you know,” Ian raises one eyebrow and smiles out of the other side of his face. “Hey there,” he pantomimes, licking his teeth.

“Okay,” Travis replies, “if you’re gonna’ do it that way, I definitely advise against hitting on anything with two legs.”

“You know what I mean,” Ian says. “Just some casual conversation with the feminine perspective.”

“Well, yeah. I understand that. But that’s not carousing.”

“It’s not?”

“No. That’s being a geek.”

“Oh.” Ian nods, reassured. “And you…”

“Also fall into that category.” Travis sips directly from his pitcher and offers a toast. “Here’s to being a geek.”

“Cheers.”

John and Nick return, sitting on either side of the booth.

“What’s the occasion?” Nick asks regarding the toast.

“Ian finally had sex!” Travis offers.

Nick guffaws.

“That was pointless,” John huffs.

“Trounce you?” Ian asks.

“Beat the crap out of me. I only marked out two before he was done.”

Nick just sits, smiling smugly.

“He’s good,” Travis agrees.

“I’ve had practice,” Nick says, being modest.

“Your bosses?” Travis asks.

Nick nods. “Greg is fucking unbelievable.”

“That figures. It’s not like they have anything better to do at that gallery.”

Laughing knowingly, Nick agrees.

“Did you not have to go in today?” Travis asks.

“No. The gallery had to cut back on hours for the summer. I only have to go in a few days a week.”

“What, every other day or somethin’?”

“Whenever I feel like it really,” Nick offers, chuckling.

Everyone at the table scoffs.

“They’re gonna’ let me do a mural on one of the workshop walls.”

“Badass,” chirps Ian.

“I did a couple of sketches. It’s gonna’ be ‘Prometheus Stealing Time and Tools, Being Pursued by Three Lazy Muses Who Fear Employment’.”

“That sounds good,” Travis remarks.

“That’s funny man,” agrees John.

“I’m actually gonna’ do it around the clock on the wall, so Prometheus will have the wall clock up under his arm.”

“Cool,” says John.

“It’s gonna’ take me a month.”

“How’s that other painting of yours coming along?” asks Ian.

“Which one?”

“Uh… the black and white one… Jacob…”

“‘Jacob Wrestling the Angel’?”

Snapping his fingers, Ian says, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Nick makes a face though. “I don’t know about that one.”

“Dude, I totally loved what you had going on with that the last time I saw it.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what the hell to do with the background though.”

“Time to battle the muses,” Travis says, nodding to John.

“We haven’t done that in a while,” Nick replies.

“That shit’s crazy,” Ian says, “the war paint and everything. I should photograph you guys doin’ that some time.”

Drawing out his words to sound like a stoned hippie, Travis says, “Add to the vibe, maaannn.”

“It’s usually pretty spur of the moment, though,” Nick says.

“Yeah. We should all get a place together next year,” Ian agrees.

“That’d be cool.”

“Hey guys,” Travis jumps in, acting overly excited, “If we owned our own bar, we could, like, hang out and drink together forever!”

Nick raises his hands over his head and yells drunkenly, “We’re goin’ to Florida!”

Travis shrugs, “Some lyrics.”

“Any good?”

“You wanna’ hear ‘em?”

“Sure.”

Opening the notebook, Travis says, “They go along with that riff I was fooling around with ’bout a week ago. That D sharp…” Travis hums the riff, “You remember?”

John nods.

“I’m not gonna’ sing ‘em though,” and Travis, taking a breath, begins:

A roundandround weights me like
dim, heavy halos overhead
only human and blind by deed
headed for ruined promised lands
I lost my steed
My hands too dirty
For entrance
though they are better tools
for the peace I seek
which slips from me


slips through stone or verse
beneath skies I fly
over flat and treaded land
with wings I've not yet made

Nick and John both nod quietly when Travis finishes.

“I like that ‘dirty hands’ part,” Nick says. “Nice image.”

Travis thanks him with a quick bob of his head.

“What inspired that?” John asks.

Travis looks around the bar at all the angel’s wings on folks’ backs, and the black space that comes after he knows he screams, “with wings I’ve not yet made!” He hears the wanting of a connection in everyone in the room; some particular piece of the subject of the lyric that will never go over well for the people listening—the audience. It—the inspiration—is more ephemeral than just the space between eveyone, though, and more internal—”his dirty hands”—his “heavy halo.” He turns to Nick and John, smiles, and shrugs.

Nick stops off at the bar to order a drink, while John walks up to Travis’s table and sets his hand on it. “Mr. Fleeting,” he says mysteriously.

“Mr. Riffing,” Travis retorts.

“We have received several disturbing reports concerning your behavior as of late.” John is looking around the bar suspiciously.

Travis checks the bar as well, but nervously. “Are you from the Commission?” John nods.

“Look, you tell them that I was drinking four out of seven nights last week. I mean, what do they want from me?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to…” and John leans in for emphasis, “buy you a drink.”

“No.”

John just wrinkles his nose and nods his head. “I’m afraid so.”

“You bastard!” Travis hollers as John walks away. A few people in the bar look to see what the commotion is, but Travis just smiles at them, and their glances go back to their tables and companions.

Trading places with Nick at the bar, John steps up to order as Nick moves to the booth with a Jack and Coke in hand. “Hey. Been here long?” he asks Travis.

“Maybe an hour. You guys should help me finish my pitcher first.”

“Nope. Liquor only. Doctor’s orders.”

“Oh really?”

Patting his side, Nick replies, “It’s my liver.”

“What? You have one?”

“Yup. I’m trying to lose a few pounds. I figure I can rot my liver from the inside out.”

“You do need to lose some weight. My God!”

“See?” Nick says, talking to an imaginary presence next to him, “You left yourself wide open for that.”

“Well,” Travis replies, “A porous liver is a light liver is what I always say.”

“Though not a useful liver,” Nick adds.

“Useful? What’s useful? Bah. What’s a liver good for anyway?”

Nick holds up his hands in ignorance.

“Nothin’,” Travis finishes.

“Not’in’,” Nicks adds in a Brooklyn baritone.

Approaching the table, John sets a pint glass of beer in front of Travis and sits down next to Nick with his own. “What?” he asks, hearing the last of the conversation.

“You could settle this, John,” Travis says. “You don’t need a liver, do you?”

“I haven’t had one for three years,” John replies with a curt codgerly nod.

Nodding methodically, Nick pretends to think before he asks, “Did you have it removed?”

“No. I ate MacDonald’s for three days straight and shit it out.”

Travis almost loses his mouthful of beer through his nose as the other two laugh hard. Choking his drink down, Travis coughs a few times and manages to get out, “Man.”

Nick patiently stretches his long arm across the table, and points to Travis’ cigarettes. “Breathe those,” and then he points to the beer, “drink that. Don’t try it the other way.”

“I’ll work on that.” Nodding quickly, Travis adds, “You know there must be a better way of losing weight.” Nick and John are in agreement. “You should try standing up every once in a while. That might help.”

“Woah.” Nick put his hands up. “Slow down there. Don’t talk crazy.”

“You gotta’ work your way up to that kind of stuff,” offers John.

“Well, when you’re the Fat Kid, you do.”

“You’re so fat, every time you turn around it’s your birthday.”

Travis laughs, “I haven’t heard that one.”

“Vicky told me that one last night, believe it or not.”

“Man, don’t ever tell her she’s fat.”

Nick shakes his head frantically.

“Can’t take it?” John asks.

“No,” Nick and Travis both answer in emphatic unison. “She’ll try to take it, you know,” Travis explains, “try to sit there and be cool about it, but she’ll just kind of quiver.”

Nick demonstrates, in his best Vicky voice, “Oh my God. They think I’m fat.”

“Look who I found lurking around,” she says of Nick to the crowd.

A chorus of hellos and how-are-yous emanate from the gathering, before Ian stands up and says, “You must be Victoria,” and extends his hand.

Taking it, and smiling pleasantly, she replies, “Just Vicky.”

“Why don’t you guys join us?”

Putting her hands together and bending at the knees a little, Victoria replies, “Oh, I would love to, but I can’t. I’ve got to meet my roommate for dinner.”

“I’ll join ya’,” Nick declares, the relief in his voice detectable to the boys.

Reaching across the patio railing, Victoria rubs Travis’s shaved head. “I haven’t seen you in a while, little one.”

Putting his hands up helplessly, Travis just smiles and shrugs.

“I know,” Vicky replies. “I’ve been so busy lately. But we have to have dinner sometime soon.”

“Sure. Gi’me a call.”

“Okay.” Turning to Nick, she takes his collar in her hands and leans in, “I’ll call you later.” Smiling nervously Nick replies, “Okay.”

“Bye guys. It was nice meeting you, Ian,” she finishes and then sets off back across the street.

The group all sit and watch her strut for a moment, until John speaks up, under his breath, “I would grudge fuck her.”

Everyone laughs as Nick puts his bag of art supplies on an empty chair. “Le’me get a beer. I’ll be right back,” he says before heading inside.

“What’s with him?” asks Ian.

Travis smiles. “Don’t ask.”

“What, man? She’s hot.”

“Oh yeah she is. Don’t get me wrong, but she can be a little…” Travis leaves the rest to imagination.

“You didn’t date her did you?” Ian asks.

Sitting up and setting his beer on the table, Travis replies, “I did not have that priveledge, no.” “You guys seem…” Ian squints and looks at Travis to fill in the blank.

“Just friends.”

“I would cause her pain,” John adds.

Nodding, Ian replies, “I kinda’ got that.”

“It’s weird. She can talk the talk, hang out and all, but she still comes across as a little self-centered—not conceited or anything. But it tends to be her way or the highway.”

“So why’s he with her?” Ian asks.

Travis just gives Ian a knowing wouldn’t you? look, eyebrows raised.

Nodding, his lips still tightened, John adds, “She’d be screaming like a dolphin in a tuna net.”

“She tends to be a little overdramatic when it comes to animal rights and all that, too” Travis adds.

“Tree hugger?” Ian asks.

“God damn hippies,” growls John.

Nick comes through the door. “Man am I glad to see you guys.”

“You just run into her?” asks Travis, sadistically enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

“About thirty minutes ago. Blah blah blah! She never shuts up.”

“Are you guys goin’ out?” Ian asks.

“Not really…” Nick says, knowing that Vicky thinks differently.

“You just slept with her?”

Nick sips his beer. “We got really wasted last night, and it was cool. We were really getting along.” After a quick sigh, Nick continues, “She was in a really good mood or somethin’. I took her home—totally was just gonna’ drop her off…” The rest of the story seems too obvious to explain to three men in their twenties.

“You accidentally fell into her vagina,” John finishes for him.

Everyone laughs and Nick shrugs exaggeratedly.

Laughing, Travis adds, “Don’t worry, I’ve had that happen.” Leaning over, he pats Nick on the shoulder sympathetically.

“That happens to you about every two weeks!” Nick retorts.

Travis shakes his head and mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, “Lately.”

“Speaking of pizza, I meant to ask you if you ever called what’s-her-face. Weren’t you suppose to be out with her last night?”

Travis doesn’t care to have to focus suddenly turned to him. He looks across the street to where the meter maid is working now. Looking back to Nick, he just stares complacently.

“Did you call her?”

Rolling his eyes, Travis waits for a subject change.

“Dude,” Ian adds, “what? The red-head? What a cutey! What’s the matter with her?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Nick asks.

“‘Bout a week ago.”

“Dude, that’s not cool,” remarks Ian.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t feel like calling somebody up to tell them I don’t like them. So sue me.”

“That’s no reason to blow ‘em off,” says Nick.

“They do it to us all the time,” Travis said, trying to defend himself—an impossible task in his own mind.

Nick rolls his eyes. “That’s true.”

“And you’re no saint either, Fatty.”

“You are soooo fat…” Nick starts.

Ian put his hands up to his face and declares in a high-pitched, feminine voice, “Oh! Dinner? I—uh—I have to wash my fish.”

Pointing, Nick laughs and adds, “I have to air out my terrarium.”

In his perverted uncle’s voice, John just says, “Dames.”

“Can’t live with ‘em, can’t off ‘em,” Travis laments.

“Where’s Lisa been?” Nick asks Ian.

“She went home for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been nice though.” Ian flaps his elbows a bit. “Got some space.”

“You weren’t too happy a couple of weeks ago.” Travis says leaning heavily on the table.

“No, she was grating on my nerves pretty bad.”

“You too busy?” Travis asks.

“Well, that, and she always gets kind of pissy around exam time. But we’re fine now.”

“Fine until she tells you about me and her gettin’ it on the other night,” Nick jokes.

Ian looks to Nick, a dead-pan expression on his face, as though he wouldn’t care even if the story were true.

Still sitting in deep concentration with his lips tightened, John says, “I would hurt that girl, too.”

“What’s up with you?” Nick asks, playfully hitting John’s shoulder.

“I’m a very angry man,” John says with a spooky, calm—too calm—tone.

Turning to Travis, Nick says, “You shoulda’ heard him last night while we were watching TV. It was hilarious.”

John smiles.

“What did you say—about that one chick? The Noxema girl?”

Putting on his angry face again, John closes one eye and repeats, “I’d put my dick in her eye.” There is a chorus of moans and laughs around the table. Travis sits back, “I swear to God, if women knew what we were joking about, they would never come near us.”

“I tell Rachel what I really think,” John argues.

“I don’t see how she puts up with you,” Ian says.

“If she doesn’t, I beat her.”

This time Nick intones the perverted uncle voice. “Get me my bottle, bitch.”

They all laugh as the sun falls out of the sky shedding the weight of colors for night. The banal frustrations of relationships (or lack thereof) escape freely through the jokes and beer until it is time to move on; until the calm before the storm dissipates. Travis looks out across Clayton Street while the others talk and sees a vacant field in its place. There is a chance for contentment there in the calm; before everything was different soon, slightly heavier after another night of debauchery and poor drunken judgment. He quietly wishes to himself that the world might again be a surprise or seem a dream.