CHAPTER EIGHT

Ten years ago, this house in Northridge would be filled with wild, drunk 20 year olds, fresh outta school, testing the metal of their livers, trying out new drugs, kissing random people, planning on pretending not to remember the next day. They’d be talking about who was cute, who liked who, what new music video they were going to learn the newest dance moves from, singing the newest pop songs, who was going to fuck who. Unadulterated, youthful energy would’ve been bouncing all over the solar system.

Not tonight. Not here. Not anymore. Not for, Oliver and, Daisy’s engagement party.

People are talking about wicker furniture, business licenses, grad school, career changes. They talk about private schools versus the LAUSD public school system, the pros and cons of CDs or roth IRAs.

Interesting phase of life this is. Late twenties. Early thirties. Some have kids already, houses, property. Some still live with their parents but have full-time jobs. Now, some actually file taxes.

Funny thing how perspectives change. How important things no longer become important and are replaced by more important things. And how that’ll keep on changing.

It confuses me so.

To me, I don’t even know what’s important anymore. I used to think getting to level 60 on Battlecry Online was what I was supposed to do with my life. Along with downloading the latest anime series before anyone else did. Having a huge collection of comic books and fantasy novels to share with my friends. And those things are still pretty important to me, but I don’t get the kick out of it as much as I used to. Ya know? It’s starting to feel a lot less gratifying. It’s starting to feel like something is missing in my life.

Like a car. A drivers license. A place to call my own. A woman. A god damned woman…

“Sup, Corn.” gurgles, Rick as he sits down next to me.

“Sup.” I say.

“Say, you don’t happen to have a smoke on you, do you?” asks, Rick.

“Naw, man.” I reply. “I quit five years ago. Remember?”

I smile. He’s drunk. Good to see some things never change.

“Awww, man.” Rick says, drunk. “You fucking quitter! HAHAHA! Just kidding. You’re alright…”I smile at him.

“I think, Xavier might have some.” I suggest.

He turns his wobbily head in the direction of, Xavier, Oliver, and Bob who are taking their seventh shot of whiskey, toasting to the same thing. Oliver!

“Yo Xavier!!!!!” Screams, Rick. “Let me get a cig, yo!!!”

Xavier sharply turns in our direction. Xavier smiles. He starts walking up to us. Reaches into his jacket pocket for his pack of smokes.

“Here ya go, buddy.” says, Xavier, handing, Rick a cig. “You owe me five hundred dollars.”

“There you go,” Says Bob, following right behind, Xavier. “Always keeping a tab on shit.”

“Well, according to my excel spreadsheet,” Says, Xavier. “You owe me twelve trillion dollars, Bob.”

“Fuck you, you ass.” says, Bob, glazed eyes trying to stare at, Xavier. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you did have that on a program.”

“Brother, can I ask you a serious question?” asks, Xavier, putting his hand on, Bob’s massive shoulder. “How come you never buy your own pack? How come, everytime I look up, I see you asking someone for a cigarette?”

I snicker.

“That ain’t true, man.” Says, Bob, as he wobbles over to a chair next to Rick. “You just have bad timing.”

“I beg to differ.” says, Xavier, following, Bob to an adjacent chair. “I have impecable timing. That’s why I dance so good!”

We all laugh. 

Bob looks at, Xavier. Xavier looks at, Bob. Bob about to ask something. Xavier rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, man.” says, Bob. “This is the last one.”

“For the next hour or for the rest of your life?” asks, Xavier, jokingly.

“Man, forget it, man.” Says, Bob flabbergasted. “You always do this.”

“Because you’re always asking.” retorts, Xavier.

“Whatever, man…forget it…” says, Bob, almost pouting.

It gets quiet. We all look across the pool where, Christine, Christy, and Chrystal are taking tequilla shots with, Daisy. They hoot and holler into the night air, loosening up even more. Around us, nothing but dead air.

“You guys seen the new Ghostwalker episode?” Rick asks, breaking the silence between old friends.

“Yeah!” I scream. “It was so fucking sweet!”

“Yeah man.” agrees Rick. “Did you see when that one fool, the airwalker fool, when he took out his soul sword and…”

“Man…whatever, Xavier.” Interrupts, Bob. “You’re a dick.”

“That hurts my heart, friend.” Xavier says, sarcastically.

“Fuck you, Xavier.” says, Bob, getting up, almost breaking the chair he was sitting in. “C’mon, Rick. Let’s go smoke some weed.”

“Hell yeah…” smiles, Rick. “Wanna get high-er, Xavier?”

“Naw, man.” says, Bob. “He’ll probably count how much each of us smoke and then blame me for having more than everyone else.”

“And I’d be right.” says, Xavier, dryly.

“Whatever, man.” Bob sneers. And he walks away.

Rick looks at, Xavier. For a long time.

“Sure is different nowadays.” says, Rick. Walks off, following, Bob. 

“Damn man,” says, Xavier. “I’m too sexy for this.”

I laugh. He’s still funny at least.

I take a sip of my drink trying ot think of something to say. Nothing comes to mind. Xavier is so different now.

“Say, Corn,” begins, Xavier. “You still writing?”

“A little.” I say. “Not as much.”

“Yeah man. Remember when we would go to O’Neals to write?” He says.

“Yeah. Good times.” I remember. “Some good stuff never people got to see.”

“We’d write on the paper tablecloths. Basically butcher paper. All night long. Adding to observations about life and shit.” He recants. “I actually saved some of your stuff.”

“Really?” I ask. “You still got them?”

“Yeah, man.” He says. “I got some of yours, some of mine, some of Erick’s. I put them in this little album book thing I got in the Bay. Looks pretty cool.”

“Wow. That’s cool.” I say, thinking it was really cool to do that.

Then it got quiet again. And it stayed quiet for a while. A really long while.

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