laugh and set off the entire crowd laughing. That would spark loud and
boisterous conversations which would eventually trail off into silence
again and gazing off at the purple surf on the horizon.
Wade and I nodded to each other that it was time to make our escape. The
pier was wrecked; it was like the back of a bad Beatles album,
Strawberry Redneck Rivera forever. The girls were becoming groggy and
wanted to go back to their hotel room, alone! Obviously, we were future
fleeing felons! We were the kind of guys they liked to party with and
would give the wrong phone number to, or maybe I just copied it down
wrong, I don't remember.
After the girls left Waded handed me forty bucks, "That's your share of the shroom money."
"Damn we should do this all the time!"
"You do and you'll end up breaking rocks in the hot sun. Hell," he said,
"I was just tired of carrying that sh*t around. They was starting to
get warm, you know? Nasty sh*t, warm shrooms!"
We went back to the room, I ate a couple more of the white cross and
popped a good ole Alabama six percenter and we smoked the last joint in
my pocket. We were full time f*cked up in a part time side of town. So
then Wade starts talking about some club his cousin told him about over
on Back Beach Road. But I knew Wade well enough to know what he was
saying; he wanted to go for a ride.
I don't know, maybe I was just more mature than Wade. Some little voice
was calling out to me, imploring me, telling me that after twelve hours
of drinking beer, smoking pot, drinking shroom juice and eating speed
not to mention the Quaalude that Wade ate that maybe he shouldn't be
driving. Wade answered that with, "Quit being a p*ssy!"
I managed to talk Wade instead into walking down to a bar a few doors
down from the hotel where we could hear a band playing. The bar was wall
to wall people, one of those clubs that was so small with a band so
loud that you could actually hear the music better outside than you
could inside.We squeezed our way in pushing and sliding our way into the
bar. I see Wade mouthing something to the bartender. He passes me over a
plastic cup with his favorite mixed drink Seagram & Seven.
"Wade, I wanted a beer?"
"I buy you a drink" he says, "and look how you act? Just say thank you, and shut the f*ck up!"
My throat was dry from the speed which only reminded me that they were
still in my pocket so I took two more. I screamed above the din to Wade
that I was going to the restroom but he just waved me off.
The bright fluorescent light of the restroom blinded and awakened me; a
quick look in the mirror shocked me. My eyes were dilated my skin was
pasty white and my hair needed combing. So as I tried to comb the sea
breezes out of my long hair as my scalp tingled and rushed from the
white cross. My mind was asking me questions, too many questions, what
was I doing? Why was I doing this? I knew why I was doing this, but
preferred not to think about it. That was reason enough! I'm getting
fucked up here so as not to have to think about the reality of the
situation. So for reality to intrude on the apex of my buzz was just
highly inappropriate!
I staggered out and back into this over heated pulsating ball of humanity. I tried to raise my head above the crowd and above my petty teenage
crisis's. Wade was no where to be found. This worried me, not because I
couldn't find my way back to the room but because Wade had a tipping
point. He had a point where all that was fun and funny about him turned
on him, his tongue went from being his best friend to being his worst
enemy. I knew before we left the hotel that he was near to that point.
But I was near that point as well. Drunk as sh*t, stoned as hell and so
fried on mushrooms that the room looked like just one swirling colorful
pulsating blob and thinking, was I was going to play mother hen?
All I really saw was movement; it had caught hold of my attention in my peripheral vision because I really didn't think that there was enough
room in this joint to swing a pool cue. But there was, and there, at the
wrong end of that pool cue was Wade. He was holding three pool balls
and trying to juggle them. From a distance it didn't appear that Wade
had any inkling of the anger being directed in his way until the next
guy came across the pool table and tackled him.
I saw his drink go up in the air from the edge of the pool table and
that was all. I slithered my way through the crowd towards Wade as the
crowd lurched back the other way. The band never stopped and then I saw a
guy with a sawed off baseball bat come over the top of the bar. As I
got to Wade they were pulling the guy off of him. Wade was roughed up
but unhurt cussing viscously screaming, "Come on mother f*cker, come
on!"
These two guys were twice Wade's size sober and they were a lot more
nearer to sober than either us. It was the crowd that saved us, this
whirring blob had absorbed us before either the combatants or the
management could reach us. As I dragged Wade towards the door, he was
still shouting, "Mother f*ckers! Dickless mother f*ckers!"
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