Hansen stopped thinking. He got up from his bed and left the house, making a point of ignoring his mom. It was 5:00 p.m., and the sun was still high. Ambling freely down the street, Hansen watched his untied shoelace slap against the sidewalk. Occasionally he glanced up to make sure he was still on the same street. The cracks in the sidewalk had gotten larger since last year, he thought to himself, and the weeds no longer seemed to be straining against the sidewalk for a little space and sunshine. They had gained the upper hand, and now the sidewalk grudgingly fought a losing battle against the green and yellow marauders to reseal itself. Looking feeble and tired, and even greyer than its usual self, the sidewalk, Hansen imagined, found a complacent satisfaction in its demise. Having borne the elements and the thunderous footfalls of fat people for so long, it liked not having to try anymore.

At the stoplight he turned left and wandered past McDonald's. Inside Dennis and Sarah were working, so he stopped. Sarah never wore her McDonald's cap. She had too much self-respect. Besides the maroon didn't go with her vivid red lipstick. Dennis didn't know any better. He thought he looked sort of military in it--"Chics dig military," he said.

--What time do you guys get off?
--That depends on who I'm with, Sarah joked seductively, lowering her chin to look Hansen hard in the eyes.
--When do you get off, Dennis? Hansen resumed, curtly dismissing Sarah's tractor beam eyes.
--We both get off at eight. Why? Do you have anything in mind?
--Nine Inch Nails are playing in Salisbury. Are you guys up?
--I am, said Sarah
--Yeah, I'd be up. What time do you want to leave? Wait, who's going to drive?
--What's wrong with your car Dennis, Hansen answered. I'll be at your house at 9:30. We'll pick you up, Sarah.

Hansen pressed the doorbell. A minute later Sarah opened the door in a black shoulderless top that clung eagerly to her body. Black gloves ran tightly along her arms and joined the top beneath her shoulders. Toned legs emerged from a bright, floral print skirt, hugged by black fishnet stockings. Lightly parted lips, smothered in rose colored lipstick, quivered in response to Hansen's gaze. An upside-down cross dangled from her left ear, partially obscured by her long wavy black hair. Hansen stared.

--Can you guys hold on just a second?

She left the door open and bounced up the stairs. A door opened and shut. Muffled voices. A door opened and shut again, and Sarah bounced back down the stairs and out the door right past Dennis and Hansen. She stopped about ten feet away and turned around.

--Well, are you coming or what?

Dennis closed the front door.

A red Volkswagen bus waited patiently at the curb. It was a dull, faded, rusty red with a white roof on top, weathered white. When they had all gotten in, it putted off toward Salisbury, an hour away.

--So what'd your mom say about you spending the night, Sarah? Dennis asked.
--She said it was cool. She'd rather have us spend the night than drive home drunk.
--I like your mom.
--She's all right, except she always goes out with the cheesiest guys.
--So? It's her life, Hansen put in just to be contrary.
--If she just wouldn't bring them home, I wouldn't mind. But she's got a loose headboard and it slams into the wall. At least I can't hear her. That would drive me nuts. I wouldn't be able to handle that. If I'm lucky, the guy's already left by the time I get up in the morning.
--I'd do your mom, Hansen offered, stifling a smile.
--Oh shut up.
--I'd do you too, Hansen persisted, unable to contain his chuckle.
--Oh fuck off. I don't get done anyway.
--Hey Dennis, don't forget to stop at Liquor Mart. What do you want to get?
--Economy or are we going to splurge tonight?
--Forget splurging. The show's eight bucks.
--All right let's get Ballantine then.
--Oh sick. You guys are going to make me drink Ballantine?
--What are you talking about? Ballantine's a primo economy beer. If you don't shut up I'm going to buy 1854. Besides you won't be able to taste it after a while anyway.
--Fine. Just so long as I'm drunk.

They pulled into the Liquor Mart parking lot.

--All right, I'm getting a case of Ballantine, cool?
--Yeah.
--I guess.
--Oh quit your whining before I bend you over. Dennis, tell her what it's like while I'm inside.

Hansen got out, shut the door and headed toward the store.

Sarah wrapped her arms around the headrest of the passenger seat and looked at Dennis.

--So what's up with you and Melissa?
--She got together with Cyrus.
--Did she really? What a bitch.
--Yeah, I was beginning to get burnt on that whole scene though. I'm kinda glad it happened. Now I can check out what's up with Amy. At least I wasn't the one who screwed things up. I hope she feels guilty. I know she doesn't though. You'd think she would have broken up with me or at least said something before.
--How long had you guys been going out?
--Three months.
--Cyrus is such a cock too.
--Thanks, Sarah. That really makes me feel better.
--Sorry, but look at it this way. If she's enough of a moron to go for Cyrus, then her taste shouldn't matter.
--So my girlfriend, I mean ex, is a moron now?
--She wasn't the brightest chic, Dennis.
--Yeah I know, but I still liked her for whatever reason.
--I'll tell you why. She had big tits and a firm body. Guys are so shallow.
--What are you looking for, Mrs. Intellectual?
--I don't know . . . sports car and a firm body.

Sarah laughed. Dennis smiled back. Hansen opened the door, put the grocery bag on the floor and climbed in.

--They almost didn't sell to me. Get this. I show the guy my I.D. It's in the window of my wallet. He snags my whole wallet and pulls out my school I.D. Looks at them both and asks me which one I am, Russell or Hansen. So I say Russell. Then he pulls the license out of the wallet and glances at it, then at me. He looks at my blue eyes and says, "Brown eyes huh?" Then he looks at my hair and says . . .

Meanwhile, Dennis had started the car and pulled back on the road.

. . . "Brown hair huh?" I told him my hair gets lighter in the summer. Then he asked me my birthdate. I told him 3/23/67. He looked at the license a second longer, laughed, then put it back in the wallet and rang me up.
--Sweet. Well give me one then, Sarah demanded.
--Hold your horses. Are we shotgunning?
--Yeah.

Sarah and Hansen made holes in the bottom of their beers while Dennis drove.

--Ready. 1-2-3 . . .

Both tabs were popped, and Sarah and Hansen tilted their heads back, sucking the beer down as it was forced through the hole in the bottom of the can.

Hansen finished first and dropped his empty can in the bag. Sarah finished.

--Another one?
--Yeah, just give me a second. My stomach needs a little recuperation time.
--Will you guys hand me a beer? Dennis asked from the front seat.

Sarah gave him a beer.

--Ready?
--One more second.

Pause.

--All right.

They made holes in two more cans and pounded those both.

--I hate shotgunning. It always makes you feel sick.
--Yeah but it's worth it. Hey, did you guys hear what Dave, Chris, and Mark did last weekend?
--Yeah, Boot Camp.
--I didn't, Sarah said.
--They got like four cases for the three of them, and they all went up to Los Palos, got a campsite, and then drank until they puked. Dave took a great picture of Chris bent over spewing this neon pink slime. Then after they all puked, they drank more. Mark said he drank 21 beers in eight hours. And they planned this all out before they went. They even named it. Boot Camp. That's so beautiful.
--That's so sick, Sarah rebutted.
--I'd be up for a Boot Camp this weekend, only I'd bring Melissa and puke all over her.
--Now, now, Dennis. You were thinking of breaking up with her even before that happened. You like Amy better anyway.
--Yeah, I know, Hansen. But I wanted to be the one to break up. She didn't even break up with me to my face. She did it to Cyrus's face. Let's get really drunk tonight.
--Cool, but we have a head start, Dennis. You're gonna have to catch up, Sarah proposed.
--Yeah, well unless you want me driving shitfaced and crashing into a streetlight, it might be a good idea to wait until we're parked, Dennis kicked in with bitterness.
--Just because your girlfriend dumped you and your self-esteem's a little down at the moment doesn't mean you have to be an asshole, said Sarah.
--Hey fuck you. Who's car are you in? Who's taking your sorry ass to the concert? You can just sleep outside tonight if you're going to be a bitch.
--I'm not being a bitch. Dennis, why don't you just chill on this wounded ego routine? Give me another beer, Hansen.
--Shotgun?
--Fine.

They shotgunned.

--Just don't retch in the car, Sarah. I know you have that tendency.
--Don't encourage me. I might just go ahead and puke all over the back of your van.
--You'd do it too. Did Grant ever ask you out again after he got himself and his car cleaned up? Or did that leave a lasting impression?
--At least it wasn't my personality that drove him away. Why don't we talk a little about why Melissa bailed on you.
--You guys are both belligerent. Shut up for a while, Hansen suggested.

Silence. They reached Salisbury about 10:30 and parked across from the Sound Garden. People milled about in front of the club while Dennis climbed into the back of the van.

--All right you pussies, let's drink.
--You owe three, Dennis, Sarah chirped like a pestering little sister.
--I drank one on the way.
--All right, two then.

He shotgunned one, paused, then cracked another and began to chug.

Hansen glanced at Sarah. She was looking at him and smiled.

--Feeling better now huh? Got all that pent up anger out of your system? That's probably more than Grant can say for the stains on his car and clothes.
--Let's just drop it. I won't give anyone shit, and you guys don't give me shit. Good?

Dennis finished his beer.

--Are you guys happy now? Give me another one.
--I'm getting kind of drunk, Sarah put in.
--That's what you wanted, remember? That way you won't be shy about getting fondled by all the guys in the club.
--Am I ever shy? Have I ever needed beer to do that?
--Here's a beer.

Hansen handed her a beer. They all chugged. Sarah stopped after about two gulps, swallowed hard, and looked out the window, trying to hide the bloatation she felt in her stomach. Hansen and Dennis were too busy drinking to notice. Hansen stopped, about halfway through his beer. Dennis was still drinking. Then Dennis stopped, almost finished.

--I'm getting a cool buzz. Let's finish these, have two more, and then go in, Hansen said.
--I'm getting pretty drunk, Hansen, Sarah interjected meekly.
--Good. Finish your beer.

They all sat on the floor of the van and drank concentratively until they met Hansen's quota.

--Cool, we still have some left for after the show. Are you guys ready?
--Yeah, let's go.

Hansen opened the door and let Sarah stumble out first. Then Hansen got out, then Dennis who locked the door. The three of them made their way across the street toward the noise and the brightest lights. Sarah fell onto Hansen's shoulder and walked like that for a while. Then she walked on her own the rest of the way and got in line first.

The opening band was already playing and had been for about half an hour. The guy with the spiked black hair and Skinny Puppy shirt turned around and checked Sarah out for a while. She was oblivious. Besides Hansen and Dennis were occupying her by pushing her and watching her try to regain her balance.

The line moved quickly, and the three of them got inside just as the opening band finished.

It was a small club, only about fifty people were inside, but the place was packed. Hansen, Sarah, and Dennis squeezed into the middle of the room and stood around watching everyone, battling the periodic sways of the crowd.

People were removing equipment from the stage and bringing other equipment out. Sarah was standing right in front of Hansen. They were being pressed together by the crowd, which neither of them seemed to mind too much. Hansen was smushed firmly into the top of Sarah's butt. He wondered whether she knew or if she was too drunk to notice. The club was dark and neon paint splattered all over the walls illuminated people's faces in funky colors.

They played tapes until Nine Inch Nails came on. Sarah started dancing. She was really cute, the way she danced, and Hansen was almost turned on by her. Her hair smelled good.

Dennis was about the only person not moving. Some big Mexican guy, who was probably thirty years old and wore a blue T-shirt, stood in front of Dennis. Not only did he look totally out of place, but you could tell he smelled noxious by the expression on Dennis's face.

Sarah stopped dancing and dropped her head queasily. Fearing the worst, Hansen slipped to his left between two people. A couple minutes passed and Sarah composed herself. The danger gone, Hansen slipped back next to her, although somewhat disappointed that she hadn't hurled. He wanted to see what kind of reaction she would have gotten from the dude with the shaved head who stood in front of her. Sarah turned to Hansen and said,

--God I thought I was going to throw up.
--Really? How do you feel now? Hansen responded with manufactured concern.
--Drunk. Do you want to dance?
--You already are.
--I want you to dance with me.

Hansen had been subtly grooving the whole time Sarah'd been talking to him.

--Sarah, will you dance with me? Hansen asked, enjoying Sarah's incoherent state.
--O.K. Hansen.
--Sarah, I think you're beautiful. Do you want me?
--Right now? Sarah managed to respond.
--Yeah, he whispered sleazily and started unbottoning his shirt.

Sarah swayed drunkenly, but her eyes were raptly attentive.

Then Hansen laughed, buttoning his shirt back up, looked at Sarah and remarked, --Maybe I shouldn't have made you drink six.

Hansen woke up early the next morning on the floor of the bus with his face on Sarah's stomach and a trickle of drool creeping out his mouth onto her skin. The drool didn't bother Sarah who was out hard and probably wouldn't have woken up if he had been dribbling ice water onto her stomach. It was about six o'clock Hansen guessed. Drinking always made him wake up early the next day. He looked around. Dennis was asleep in the front seat with the back reclined as far as it would go.

As he surveyed the inside of the bus, Hansen noticed that he was in his boxers, which wasn't so strange until he also noticed that Sarah had on his shirt. Confused and battling a throbbing headache, he began to piece together the happenings of the evening before.

They had gone to the concert--he remembered that much. Some bulky army boot attached to some shaved, skinny fuck had landed on his head during the show--as if the hangover had needed help. Sarah had been right in front of him for most of the show. He remembered when the crowd surged and crushed him against Sarah's body. He remembered touching the guitarist as he rolled on top of the crowd. He also recalled the face of a gorgeously fine blond girl with vivid green eyes. After that he didn't remember much, except for a moment of lucidity outside the club. Hunched over in an alley, sweat-drenched clothes chilling his skin in the night air, he retched violently behind a trash can. Then he felt very peaceful for a moment. The stars were pretty. Then fuzziness again.

Then another image pierced his thoughts with painful clarity. Sarah's breast beneath his hand. Not a chance, he thought to himself. His mind was hallucinating memories on him. There was no way he could have gotten together with Sarah. He liked her and all, but he knew she was the type who would make much more out of it than there was. Getting together with Sarah one night would cost him at least a month of phone calls, and having to listen to her naively earnest questions was more than he could take. He didn't want to deal with it. Hopefully she wouldn't remember.

Hansen lay back down on the carpeted floor of the bus and wrapped himself in his blanket, turning his back toward Sarah. Damn! What about his shirt? He rolled over and stripped his shirt off her. He floundered around the bus for a while searching for her bra. He found it flung against the back of the bus, crumpled and delicate. It was black lace. Hansen decided he couldn't really blame himself for what had happened with Sarah.

He lifted Sarah and slid the bra beneath her back. Then he clasped it in front. She looked sweet asleep. Hansen felt sick. He put her shirt on her and turned back away from her. She hadn't woken up.

Hansen closed his eyes and let the world spin for as long as he could stand. Then he opened them and stared at the roof until he felt better. Then he closed them again. He managed to pass a couple hours this way.

His hangover began to recede as Dennis and Sarah woke up. Hansen pretended he was asleep. Dennis and Sarah chattered some morning hangover conversation. Hansen heard them as if they were talking at the end of a long tunnel. Their voices echoed and reverberated and became distant and muted as they traveled down the tube. Eventually the Volkswagen engine started, echoing loudly down the tunnel, too loudly. They putted off toward home together. It was probably ten o'clock. The droning sound of the engine graciously lulled Hansen away into sleep.

When Dennis woke him, they were in front of Hansen's house. Dennis had already dropped Sarah off. Hansen roused himself, thanked Dennis for driving, and stumbled off toward his house. The path to his door looked miles long, and Hansen almost deemed himself to weak to undertake the trip. But he rallied and, after a couple skirmishes with the shrubs that lined the path, he made it to the door.

How he had gotten upstairs and into bed he couldn't remember. It was four in the afternoon now, and he was comfortably warm under his covers. He was in that hazy state that comes after long afternoon naps, where you want to get up but you're too warm and muddled to actually convince your body to raise itself. He finally got too bored to stay in bed and mustered the strength to get up. He was sitting up now on the side of the bed, but he didn't feel any better. He knew his eyes were bloodshot and his body would be listless until he woke up tomorrow morning. He decided to write something.

He thought about the blond girl with the vivid green eyes. He made up a story about her in his mind. It was a love story, only she killed herself in the end. He wrote an epitaph for her.

Remember her eyes
so full of charm
And pursed lips
supple and warm
The promise of life
burned within her breast
Goading her toward
elusive crests
But slowly dwindled
with the breath she gave
And left her smoldering cold
alone in the grave
So full at daybreak
like the morning dew
With the sun's rays
she vanished untrue

He thought about how he retched in the alley behind a trash can the night before, how he sat on the cold cement afterward, litter strewn about him, and gazed at the stars. As he looked skyward, he imagined some shrew bitching at Orion about leaving the lid up on the toilet seat again.

He crumpled up the green-eyed girl's epitaph and threw it away.

Back where you came from