Afterbirth Highway

By K. D. Hessler

Steve is screwed!
The mountains of central Pennsylvania surround him as he stares helplessly at the old Volare oozing oil onto the roadbed of the desolate highway. Confused and disgusted, Steve laments that this is merely another thorn in the side of this contemptuous day which began when he called it quits with his long-time girlfriend. The relief he had been experiencing only moments ago by being hours away from her have been replaced with uneasy concern because he realizes he's also hours away from his desired destination. He is stranded, but he is not alone.
The black hitchhiker Steve had picked up earlier is quietly studying him. Due to Steves selfish and cynical punker attitude, the two didnt hit it off from the moment they met, and this is why Calvin is having trouble deciding on whether to hang around with Steve until help arrives or to ditch him entirely and resume hitching. After all, they'd both probably be better off without one another.
However, what the two strangers aren't aware of is that the events over the next few hours will impact their lives with such profundity that they wont be able to escape the respect and bond which results between them. Only the cruel, bitter reality of the world can break those chains, and unfortunately, it eventually does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499059427

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Copyright © 2014 by K.D. Hessler.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 08/07/2014

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THE DAY’S EVENTS

PROLOGUE

PART 1: THE TRIP

Chapter 1:   Lisa

Chapter 2:   Ben

Chapter 3:   Calvin

Chapter 4:   Thompsontown

PART 2: THE WAIT

Chapter 5:   Smitty’s

Chapter 6:   Epoch

Chapter 7:   Townies

Chapter 8:   Kim

Chapter 9:   Departure

PART 3: THE FINAL HOUR

Chapter 10: Veronica

Chapter 11: Farewell

Afterbirth Highway is a humorous yet explicitly poignant story of a disillusioned and lost generation who are simply buying time. Everyone Steve meets during his one day journey— from the hitch hiker roaming the roadways hoping to discover the meaning of his life; to the pretty sub shop waitress who is trapped in a tiny town because of a promise she had made; to the high school girl hoping to free herself form her troubled past— they all seem to have stories to tell yet no one senses any real accomplishment. They simply dream of the future and hope that it will bestow some relief to their existence. It’s a constant struggle that everyone must endure on the road of life— on that journey which begins the moment we’re born. The journey down the Afterbirth Highway.

To Teresa

I’ll never walk these streets again,

Never look up to this blue sky,

Never feel heartbeats from far away,

As the trains go rolling by.

I’ll never walk theses streets again,

Never see this broken glass,

Never wonder whose footsteps I’m in,

Or if these will be the last.

- Jim Speese

PROLOGUE

April 17

Dear Steve,

Hi from your dad and me! How’s Pittsburgh? I suppose you’re almost done with your finals, and if you’re not, good luck on the ones you still have to take.

We’re looking forward to you coming home for the summer. I know you didn’t really know if you were going to stay out there in Pittsburgh with Lisa, but now that you decided to come home, your dad and me are glad.

I’ve enclosed $20.00 for your trip (for gas and food, etc.). Tell your brother hello when you see him at Penn State and that we’ll see him in a few more weeks after he’s done with his finals.

We wish you and Lisa a safe trip, and if you need anything else, give us a call.

We love you,

Mom & Dad

THE TRIP

ONE

Thursday, April 22, 1988

Shortly before 7:30 A.M.

Lisa

I killed her last night.

It was unexpectedly brutal, but was still something I had to do…

This irreverent thought occupies me as I struggle to awake, the chaotic night still ringing inside my head. My putrid breath, due to the over-consumption of alcohol, hasn’t dissipated and it feels like a worm’s sluggishly crawling through my bloodstream; and even though I find it hard to focus, I notice the rolled-down sheets on the opposite side of the double bed.

Did she sleep here last night?

My mind battles to decipher her whereabouts when, slowly, I notice the noise of a running shower vibrating through the wall in front of me. Wrestling out of the foggy haze, I’m suddenly aware of the occurrence that had made Lisa storm from our apartment after midnight.

That was one hell of a fight!

Awkwardly maneuvering the weight of my body to the edge of the bed, I peel the crumpled sheets from my stale, perspired flesh, then free-fall my feet to the cluttered floor. Leaning forward and searching for the clothes which I, apparently, flung carelessly to the bedroom floor last night, the dim morning light poking through the single window makes it crudely difficult to actually locate any of them.

Why the fuck did I get so wasted?

My tracking hands finally stumble upon a pair of balled-up socks and bleach- spotted jeans which are entwined in a haphazard heap, and after resting my butt back onto the messy bed, I slide on the garments from yesterday.

Where the hell’s my sweater?, I think to myself, crawling on the floor once again, my hands fumbling diligently as I reach under the bed with the hopes that I’ll find it there, but the attempt is unsuccessful. However, I do discover a T-shirt.

Is this mine?

Not giving a fuck at this point, I pull the smelly, white rag over my head and straighten my aching body. My eyes finally adjust to the dimly lit room as I continue to scan the floor around the bed and dresser, but still there’s no sign of the sweater.

Did I even wear a sweater last night? I wonder, Or did I get so fucked-up that I only think I was?

Clumsily sorting through my hung-over confusion, I approach the closet, plop onto the floor, and then coerce the paint-splattered Chuck Taylors onto my feet. The mystery of the lost sweater remains unanswered as I stand up and turn to look at myself in the mirror. The messy spikes of hair are in an even more unkempt state than usual, but even though I look like shit, I figure fuck it!

I’m only going home, so, who the hell cares, right?

Stepping into the hallway, I think to myself that on any other day I probably would’ve hopped into the shower, shaved, and then re-spiked my hair; however, I really don’t give a shit about anything this morning because I just want to get the hell out of this dump. Besides… having a messy, fucked-up look is what being a punker is all about anyway, ain’t it?

While walking toward the living room of the third floor apartment, the water from the shower ceases and I hear the curtain being yanked across the metal rod.

Shit!

Lisa will be approaching me within a few minutes and I’m really not prepared to confront her after what had happened last night, so I quickly dive into the living room and find an inconspicuous spot, one which will obscure her view of me as she heads down the narrow hallway and into our bedroom.

The bathroom door groans when Lisa pulls it from its snug jamb, causing me to become rigidly still— panicked— as I listen to the echo of her wet feet sloshing on the hallway’s black and white chessboard linoleum. Only after she closes the bedroom door— SLAM— do I finally release the breath I had been holding.

Good… I’ve got a few more seconds to think of an escape.

Somewhat more at ease (but not really), my attention’s quickly diverted. I spot my lost sweater lying on one of the cushioned arms of the sofa. Quietly approaching it, I lift it toward me which causes a pair of scissors to fall onto the floor.

What the fuck? I think, gazing at the numerous holes cut into the woven fabric.

When did this happen?

Still confused while continuing to stare at the bronze-colored garment, I eventually conclude this vandalism must be the vicious handiwork of Lisa.

Shit! She must’ve really been pissed at me!

I pull the defaced knit over my head, look down at myself and study the wrath that Lisa has sheared into it.

Not bad!

In fact, it’s pretty bitchin’! I’ll have to remember to thank her for this creative masterpiece.

The clock above the mantle chimes.

I gotta book!

Cautiously, like a spy slithering through an enemy’s compound, I float past the bedroom door and set out for the bathroom.

Must not let Pussy Galore hear me.

After delicately closing the bathroom door behind me, I wipe the steam from the mirror and critique the spectacle of the sweater’s newly created look.

Yeah… it does look better this way. Why didn’t I ever think of this? I gotta hand it to Lisa— she certainly has an eye for fashion!

I turn on the cold water, dampen my hands, and then run the wet fingers through my coarse, yellow hair. The hair spray in it rejuvenates enough in order for me to mold the spikes into a more orderly display, but I can’t help but notice that my hair feels like straw, instantly recalling Lisa telling me it’s caused from dying it every few months.

After sculpting the Billy Idol-wannabe doo the best that I can, I reposition the off-kilter gold cross earrings in each ear— off-kilter, most likely, due to my erratic drunken slumber. Of course, I’m never aware of my nocturnal habits, but Lisa has informed me that I become quite aggressive in my sleep whenever I’ve been under the influence of drugs or alcohol— and since last night was certainly one of those stupor’s— I’m really not that surprised by how fucked-up I look.

After splashing water onto my thin, pale face, washing away the night’s sweat, I wipe my refreshed skin, exit the tiny cubicle, then head for the living room once again. Lisa must have heard the thunder of the bathroom door opening, because as I round the corner, she’s leaning against the door jamb of the bedroom, awaiting my arrival. Her damp hair is dripping, causing the normally bright blond strands to be highlighted by patches and streaks of brown. She stands in front of me with nothing on but her panties, the exposure of her petite and pleasantly shaped breasts transfixing my gaze.

Diverting my attention from her half-naked body, I look into her eyes, quickly sensing she’s still steamed from the argument because she’s giving me a look that says, You have no right to look at my tits, motherfucker! And even though I know I need to proceed cautiously, I hide my fear and casually state, So, you’re here. I didn’t know if you would be.

Lisa huffs, I said I would, didn’t I?

You created quite a magnificent piece of artwork outa my sweater, possibly even history.

Fuck you, Steve, Lisa groans.

"No really, it’s cool. I mean, the holes give it certain kind of, I don’t know… loving charm. Like somethin’ my Grandma would do, you know?"

"And I said, Fuck you!" Lisa scolds as she rolls her eyes in apparent disgust.

I stare at her, trying to display a look of apology, but I can tell she’s too savvy to buy into my shallow attempt at compassion.

You know, Lisa adds, her voice displaying her contempt, I can’t believe I’m doing this for you after all the shit you said to me last night.

It’s obvious she’s referring to the agreement we had made two weeks ago about me using her car. I need it in order to go to Penn State today.

Lisa pauses, noticing me checking out her naked torso again. Don’t look at me like that, asshole! Lisa exclaims. I’m totally pissed at you!

Look— I try to interject.

Fuck off! Lisa screeches. I just wanna get this whole thing over with!

She pushes past me and a few water droplets fling from the ends of her hair, splashing tiny moisture beads onto the exposed skin of my hands. I wipe them against the sides of my pants while watching her dart into the bathroom, yelling after her, Fuck you, too, Lisa! It ain’t like you’re not goin’ to your mom’s anyway, so, what’s the major malfunction?

Lisa pops her head out from the bathroom. "What? What’s the major malfunction? I’ll tell ya what the major malfunction is, prick-head! Penn State is totally out of the way!"

I mock, Oh yeah, ok. You’re right. It’s like, what— a whole extra half-hour outa your way? Ooh— major set-back.

"Screw you! That’s not the point! The fact is it’s out of my way! Jesus, Steve, are you always a dick? I can’t believe you’re giving me shit about this! I’m helping you, and you have the balls to say fuck you to me? God! You can really be a prick, you know that?"

All right, me lady, I reply while trying to calm her, listen up— change of plans. Fuck Penn State, ok? Just bag the whole deal. I’ll go stay with Scott, then Ben can come get me on Saturday.

Fuck that noise! Lisa shouts. "I don’t wanna be looking at your shit for the next two days— oh no! I told you last night that I want you outa here, and that goes for all of your shit, too. It’s not like I’m looking forward to this trip, coz believe me, I am way not into it. But I want you gone! Got it?"

Lisa spins around and disappears into the bathroom once again, then turns on her hairdryer. The humming and buzzing of the small appliance is amplified in the narrow hallway, so I turn and walk into the living room which offers some relief from the noise.

Oh yeah… this is gonna be totally bitchin’, I say under my breath.

Staring at the assortment of full boxes, milk crates and piles of clothes, I think of how I should’ve loaded this stuff into Lisa’s car last night before I started drinking because right now my hung-over body isn’t up to it.

Ridding my mind of the task which lies before me, I decide to sneak back into the bedroom. I glance at the dresser and then into the closet and it appears as if I have everything I’ll need for the summer, so I turn and walk back into the hallway. Suddenly, Lisa’s three cats—Tonka, Suedehead, and Argyle— scream past me as they chase after each other, screeching and hissing, nearly killing one another.

Nothing gets along in this fucking place.

Annoyed with how this morning has been progressing, all I can think of, is, this place is full of cunts!

I grumble while picking up the first milk crate.

Maybe I should just leave these books here, I think, but who knows— Dad might find them interesting.

I walk out the front door of the apartment, descend the back stairs, then exit into the soft glow of the morning sun. While throwing the unwanted text books into the back seat of Lisa’s Grand Torino, I secretly hope I’ll forget them once reaching my destination. I then repeat the laborious moving out task, making four additional trips up and down the creaky stairs, each time haphazardly placing my cartons of crap into the trunk of the car. Upon staggering up the stairwell for the final crate which houses my music albums, I encounter Lisa on the stairs. She’s struggling with the weight of it, so I quickly grab it from her.

I woulda got this, I say as the girth of the albums gouges the plastic carry-handles into my fingers.

Lisa shrugs and says, I’m just trying to help.

I step aside allowing Lisa to pass, and then we venture down the stairs together. It isn’t hard to notice that Lisa is wearing one of her short, black, leather skirts, and as I gaze through strained eyes at her small ass wiggling, I can’t help but wonder, Why does she have to look this good today? Is this her way of getting back at me? Like, look at how tasty I am, Stevie— but fuck you! You’ll never savor it again, prickhead! Ha-Ha-Ha!

Lisa is short, probably no taller than 5-foot-3, and her look has always reminded me of Aimee Mann from ’Til Tuesday. Her petite build managed to turn some heads many times whenever she wore one of her short skirts, and it saddens me to think we won’t be up to our usual antics once we’re in the car.

You see, whenever Lisa and I would take a long journey, she’d wear one of her mini-skirts without any underwear. She’d then spread her legs from time-to-time so I could fondle her throughout the trip. Her womanly excitement would have my head spinning as the sweet aroma of her sex would dance around the confinement of the car.

In fact, we always fooled around in the car during a long drive to anywhere, and my mind quickly flashes the memory of the time we traveled the Pennsylvania Turnpike from Reading to Pittsburgh. Each time we passed through one of the four tunnels along the way, Lisa would pull down the waistband of my Army shorts and give me head. She had me so sexed up that as soon as we pulled into the parking lot behind our apartment, we both rushed upstairs to bang away, not giving a shit about the luggage we had left behind in the car.

I realize, after the harsh words that were spoken last night, that none of this will take place on this travel. In fact, I bet she’s probably wearing sixteen pairs of underwear— including a chastity belt— to insure this!

We exit to the outside. I place the ball-busting milk crate into the car’s trunk and the heavy load causes the rear end to slightly sag. After closing the hatch, Lisa unlocks her door then throws the keys in my direction. She never drives unless she has to, but I, personally, don’t mind driving at all— especially on longer trips. I find it’s a perfect time to reflect. In fact, I’ll probably be doing tons of thinking over the next few hours because I don’t think Lisa will be much of a conversationalist.

After unlocking my door, I slide onto the comfort of the upholstered fabric. The smell of stale smoke lingers in the cushioned seats due to Lisa’s bad habit; however, the smell of her cigarettes is far better than the pungent sulfur-stench of the air outside (which is caused by nearby Hazelwood opening its furnaces at night). It’s like the city becomes blanketed with the reek of the steel mills, as if it’s the only way it can sleep at night. And although the funk is not at all pleasant, I’ve learned to become accustomed to it, much like I’ve learned to put up with Lisa’s stupid cats and her asshole friends. Adapting to the shit in any environment is one of the qualities I’m most proud of, and believe me; I’ve certainly had to adapt too much unpleasantness since moving here.

While positioning myself in the seat, I notice the ashtray is filled with spent cigarettes, so I remove it and dump the butts into the parking lot. I foresee the long journey and know Lisa will need the full capacity of the metal drawer; however, my blatant littering causes Lisa to glare at me, her grimace instantly informing her disgust due to my disrespectful actions. But fuck it! I mean, I know Lisa is more concerned about the environment than I am— in fact, I really don’t give a shit about it at all! And that’s because I find the whole environmentalist movement to be a big hypocritical scam. As far as I can tell, it’s just a bunch of hippies getting everyone else worked up over nothing. I mean, I never could understand why these bastards protest the cutting down of trees or the pollution of our air and water, but yet they print their Hitler-like propaganda newsletters on paper and don’t think twice when flushing their shit-remnants from a fast-food-feeding-frenzy down the toilet. Bunch of hypocrites! The old, "I Can Do It But You Can’t" philosophy. Fuck ’em! I think Johnny Rotten was right when he said, Never trust a hippie!

Besides… the depletion of the earth’s natural resources is simply the price of progression, and if they, as a people, don’t want to give up the luxuries of their modern lifestyle, then they should keep their self-righteous mouths shut and get accustomed to their world being destroyed. They’re part of the problem, for Christ’s sake! Can’t they see that? I mean, it’s that simple, and that’s the way I feel about most things people are bitching about today. I mean, the future’s gonna suck anyway, so, why waste all this time trying to make it better? It isn’t going to change anything. I mean, Cold War, AIDS, Afghanistan, Ireland, Greenhouse Effect, etc. etc.— Jesus! I just think the sooner everyone stopped focusing their attention on what they feel is wrong with the world, the better off everyone would be. I mean, get used to it already— just deal. It’s all part of the scheme of things.

I adjust myself behind the wheel and turn the ignition. The engine groans and vibrates sluggishly, making me wonder when the car was used last. I don’t think it was taken off this lot for the last week or so because Lisa and I walk to most places— like, to class and stuff— and we really only use the car when we have to get groceries, which, incidentally, seems to occur about every new moon or so.

The motor reluctantly turns over as I press the gas pedal to the floor.

C’mon motherfucker! Start!

I wanna get outa here!

It finally ignites, making me a bit exited as I put it into gear. I’m giddy knowing this is the first step of the journey which will lead me away from this failed relationship, the thing which had so much promise from the start but has since then been nothing but complicated simplicity.

Slowly exiting the lot, I turn onto Ward Street, meandering through the one-way streets until eventually intersecting Bates Hill. After making a left-hand turn, I continue through the traffic light and cross over the Boulevard of the Allies, then the car coasts down the steep hill as I guide the old heap onto the highway ramp.

Once on the expressway, I accelerate to the speed of the early morning traffic, quickly approaching the Squirrel Hill Tunnel, my attention briefly diverted while staring at the tall city of Pittsburgh in the rearview mirror, the glass and steel shimmering in the morning haze. The beautiful image fades rapidly, disappearing as we enter the long tube of the tunnel.

Upon resurfacing from the dim light, my eyes readjust themselves to the harshness of the rising sun and I notice the speckled clarity of the windshield. I eject wiper fluid onto the crusty glass and watch the stains of dirt mesh with the cobalt blue solvent. The worn wipers skip and sputter over the splattered remains of the spring insects, and instead of adequately clearing the surface for proper vision, the black rubber blades create greyish-white rainbows of what I assume are the entrails of the tiny critters. It reminds me of a joke I once heard about a bug’s asshole being the last thing to go through its mind when it hits a windshield. It’s the kind of joke I’ll probably always remember even though I’ll never recall who told it to me.

In fact, that’s a common theme in my life. I can remember tons of stupid things but never know where or whom I heard them from. Sometimes I even take the liberty of making up things and telling people that I heard or read it somewhere. But don’t get me wrong, I don’t tell lies or anything, I just make up facts— or at least things that sound like they could be factual. And I don’t do this to make myself feel smart or to make others think I’m smart, I just do it to fuck with their heads. It’s sort of like a game, really, because I figure if I tell these made-up facts to enough people and the word gets around, then maybe my statements could become factual merely by a majority of dumb shits believing in them. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’m pretty sure that’s how most people came to accept their religions, sciences and histories as being plausible. Humans… nothing but a bunch of pathetic sheep.

The oncoming traffic is becoming heavier as the morning progresses. Lisa has been sleeping for about a half hour but is now slowly awakening. I feel a sense of panic as she yawns because I still don’t know how our relationship stands, and as I routinely glance over at her, I notice her staring out her side window. It’s as if her eyes are unfocused, hypnotized by the blur of the trees rushing past her along the roadside. Could she be wondering the same thing I am? Is she searching her mind for the validation that last night’s brutality was indeed the ending of our two-year struggle together? Is she dead? Is she dying? Am I?

These thoughts occupy my mind for the next few seconds, leaving me apprehensive about starting a conversation with her. I certainly don’t need to relive the ordeal of last night, and I believe (judging from her mood earlier this morning) it wouldn’t take long before we’d be right back into it.

But it’s funny… I often thought we were never really that compatible in the first place. We always fought over the most meaningless things, but due to circumstances (possibly even excuses, as poor as they may have been) we stayed together. I had even felt hopeful on some occasions. Of course, that feeling never lasted long, but it did influence me enough not to walk away from her. I mean, sure— it’s true I went out with other girls as I was seeing her— hell, I even had sex with most of them. But Lisa had something that kept me with her… something the others didn’t have, and I think that’s why I always stayed with her… that is, until last night.

The scream of a passing tractor trailer startles me, causing my muscles to become rigid. I realize I must focus on the road, but my mind is preoccupied with the plight of Lisa and myself— our extinction— and of the erratic events from the night before.

The final fallout, I guess you could say. The scenes bounce inside my head, replaying yesterday. I can’t seem to shake them. Those scenes… those scenes. Especially the ones which transpired shortly after midnight… after everyone else had gone home…

*     *     *

I started drinking around 5:30 P.M. My last final for the semester was finished shortly before that, and after busting through the Cathedral of Learning’s rotating doors, I decided to stop at C.J.’s. I really didn’t want to wait to get to my apartment in order to have a beer, so, since C.J.’s was along the way, I figured what-the-fuck! Besides, I had wanted to say my farewell to the bartender, John.

Rex! John welcomes me. What’s up, man? I haven’t seen you for, like, Christ— two fuckin’ months!

Yeah, I know, I reply. I’ve been busy, I guess.

Yeah— busy gettin’ wet!

There’s something wrong with that?

He taps a beer for me because he knows why I stopped in. I reach into my pocket for some money, but upon spotting my gesture, John says, Forget it. Consider this one on me. Sorta like a finals freebie or somethin’.

I smile as he finishes pouring the brew, then hum to the Violent Femmes’ tune playing over the bar’s sound system. Swallowing hard, the first gulp of refreshing beer stimulates my throat. Thanks, I say, holding the glass up in the air as if giving a toast.

No sweat, John replies.

John was always a good guy. I had met him in Lexington when we both attended Pitt’s branch campus there. He transferred to Main campus last year, and when I did it this semester, I quickly tracked down the bar he was peddling drinks.

John continues to talk. So… how’d it go?

Oh, I reply, shaking my head, I don’t know. And really, I don’t give a fuck. I’m just stoked this semester is finally over, ya know?

John smiles in agreement. Yeah, he sighs, I was done yesterday.

I think most were.

Probably. This place was fuckin’ jammin’ last night! I made, like, two hundred bucks in tips, dude!

Well, I respond, it’ll probably be the same tonight.

I fuckin’ hope so. This place dies over the summer.

I ask, You’re staying?

Yep. I did last year, too.

I nod.

John continues, How ’bout you? Ya gonna stay?

Nah, I answer, "goin’ home. Gonna do the family-thing."

Oh boy, John rags, sounds like shit-loads of fun. But really, Rex— you should think about stayin’. I mean, it was totally cool last summer. I mean, just picture the Cathedral’s lawn overflowing with snatch layin’ out in the sun. Damn! That’s enough to keep me from bookin’!

Jesus, man! Ya tryin’ to hurt me?

John adds, I’m just tellin’ ya how it is.

I know how it is, and believe me, I could sure get used to seein’ that, but, I pause, I’m not sure what’s goin’ on between me and Lisa. It’s probably best I leave.

John jokingly looks at me with concern and asks, Aww, is there trouble in paradise?

I shrug my shoulders and then chug the last few ounces of the gold liquid bubbling in my glass. I don’t know, I exhale, it kinda feels like we’re on the verge of breaking up. I mean, I got this feeling something nasty’s gonna happen tonight.

"Could it be the final final?" John questions.

Maybe. But anyway, we’re havin’ this bash later— in fact, stop by if you wanna! It promises to be quite interesting.

John shakes his head and says, Nah, I can’t. I mean, I would if I could, but I’m here ’til two.

That’s right, I reply as John pours me another brew. Anyway, I think I’m gonna call it quits with her tonight— that is, if she doesn’t do it first.

It’s that bad?

Shit yeah! At least it seems like it is, I respond. I chug the entire beer and then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. After grabbing my book bag, I sling it over my shoulder then slide off the bar stool. John watches me as I snugly position the pack onto my back.

How long have you two been seein’ each other anyway? John inquires.

Shit! I exclaim, I don’t know? We started up at Lexington, so, I guess its two years now. Actually, you could say it’s been goin’ on too many years now!"

John chuckles as he looks toward the end of the bar where three students are signaling for him to get them another round. I take this as my cue and say, Well, I’m gonna cut, so, I guess I’ll catch up to ya in September.

You bet, he returns. I’m sure I’ll still be here. So… have a good one, Rex, and good luck with tonight. And if it gets too nasty, there’s always room to crash at my place. You can stay ’til the heat blows over.

Thanks, I say, but hopefully there won’t be that much carnage.

I head for the door then exit onto the pavement, immediately becoming entangled in the hustle of the eager crowd of fellow students rushing past me. I assume they, too, are anxiously pursuing the thought of getting wasted tonight.

Stepping to the curb, readying myself, I sprint across the four lanes of Forbes Avenue. It’s busy with the late afternoon traffic and I feel a sense of victory when reaching the other side unscathed.

The usual group of high school skateboard punks are hanging out on the library wall, so I