Chapter 5
Middle Fingers—MISSIO
I lay in bed, flipping through the channels after my Friday classes, when there’s a loud knock on the door. I toss the blanket aside and climb out of bed with a heavy sigh when another knock echoes throughout the apartment. I walk quickly toward the door and open it, but find no one on the other side, only a post-it note on the ground. Bending over, I pick it up, and read the scribbled words.
Five minutes. Get dressed. Come outside.
I smile, crumbling the post-it note in my hand, and rush back inside. I quickly throw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and slip my feet into a pair of Chucks. Grabbing my smokes and wallet, I exit the apartment in a hurry. Once outside of the building, a black SUV comes barreling toward me, braking at the last second—tires screeching—with the passenger side facing me. The door opens and an older guy with a military haircut climbs out, a sandbag in one hand and a cigar in the other. Tattoos line his muscular, tanned arms. He’s shorter than I am, but about twice as wide in the shoulders; his envy-inducing biceps pushing the limits of his shirt sleeves. Behind him, come Brady and Trevor. They line up before me and Trevor passes me a nervous look.
“So, you promise not to kill us if Sarge here puts a bag over your head?” he asks, motioning to the sandbag in the tatted guy’s thick hand. “It’s just tradition.”
“I did it three years ago, when I pledged too. And I was twenty-six,” Sarge reasons. “You know how tradition goes. You were in the Army too.”
I nod, motioning to my head and grinning when I say, “well, what are ya’ll waiting for. Fucking bag it!”
Sarge smiles and slips the bag over my head, and they guide me to the SUV, carefully seating me in the back.
“Watch your toes,” Sarge says, nudging me in a bit before closing the hatch.
After a few moments, I hear Sarge ask, “You alright back there?”
I turn to look at the back seat where he sits, but can’t see much of anything. I only know it’s him by the smolder of his cigar.
“Not too bad. You really did this shit?” I ask with a chuckle.
“Yeah. I didn’t give a fuck. Just wanted to be a part of something. Probably the same reason you’re here now. Needed a taste of brotherhood again.”
“How long were you in for?”
“I did six years. Got sick of deploying, so I got out and came here. I’m from Pittsburgh originally, so I figured I’d go somewhere close to home.”
“MOS?” I ask, the first of my veteran confirmation questions.
“Eleven Bravo. Ended up going through sniper and ranger school after OSUT.”
Passed.
“Been overseas?”
Test two.
“Yeah, I was with Three-Seven-Five in Kandahar back in ’01, and again for the Iraq invasion in ‘03. And my last one was with the Two-Seven-Five in Helmand.”
Passed.
“Fuck, those were some nasty places. Wild fucking West shit.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. It’s why I ended up getting out. Just too much fighting.” Sarge hesitates before continuing, “The guys told me about your eye. Where’d that happen?”
“End of a tour with 82nd Airborne out of Baghdad. Fucking saw that shit coming. Too many close calls. Too many idiot fucking chiefs.”
Sarge nods. “You remember much of it?” he asks as the vehicle stops, gravel grinding beneath the tires.
“Just blood. The taste of it. I couldn’t see anything. My ears were fucked. Ringing like a bitch. And then I blacked out. Coma for two weeks after. I woke up in Germany, not knowing what the fuck happened.”
“Fuck, man. Well, glad to have you still here, fighting the good fight.”
“You too, brother. You too.”
Trevor clears his throat.
“Sorry, guys. It’s time to start,” he says, reluctance in his voice.
“No worries. We’ll talk more later, Bishop.”
“Definitely.”
I feel a rush of hot air as the hatch opens. Someone grabs my arm.
“Alright bud, you can take this shit off now,” Trevor says, pulling the sandbag off my head as he helps me out of the back.
“Thanks. That shit was hard to breathe through,” I say as my feet meet the gravel road. Trees surround us, as do about fifty guys with the Delta Iota Kappa letters on their chest, and there is a chorus of frog croaks and bird songs serenading us.
Trevor points toward the edge of a road, where Carter, Mac, and Jeremy stand side by side, their arms linked together.
“Head on over there, man, and link up with Jeremy.”
I nod, approaching Jeremy and linking arms with him.
“Good to see you here,” I say, nodding.
“Yeah, you too. Now, I reckon the bullshit begins.”
He laughs.
“Alright, pledges,” Trevor says, standing before us. “First, congratulations on receiving bids for the Fall 2010 class of Delta Iota Kappa- Rho Chapter. We have nearly seventy years of existence at BSU, and over one hundred years of existence for the fraternity as a whole. Many great men have gone before you; they’ve stood where you’re standing, they’ve committed themselves to this chapter and this fraternity. This is a sacred place for DIK-Rho. This is where you start the journey, and this is where you will hopefully end it in two and a half months, as a new DIK brother.”
Trevor pauses a moment, walking back and forth before us. He looks as if he’s searching for the right words; gathering his thoughts.
“This will not be an easy process,” he continues. “You will be tired. You will be annoyed. You will be pushed to your limits. Trust in the process. Support each other. Understand that this process is in place so that we are certain this fraternity consists of the best men this college has to offer. Are you ready for the challenge?”
There are a few quiet “Yeah’s” and nods between us, but Trevor isn’t satisfied.
“Let’s try this again. Say it like you mean it. I’ll ask again, and I want to hear a ‘Fuck yeah’ from every swinging dick in line. Pledges, are you ready for this challenge?”
“Fuck yeah!” we yell at the top of our lungs; our voices echoing throughout the dense forest, and I can’t help but feel foolish. I’m taken back to when I was nineteen, standing in formation for the first time, and allowing another man to ridicule and shame me. It feels even more emasculating, now that I really am a man.
“That’s better.” He looks back at the group of brothers behind him. “VP, you ready to lead this thing?”
“Fucking right, I am,” an African-American guy—six-foot-ridiculous and muscles exploding from his tank top—responds. He runs a hand over his bald head as he approaches our line. In a loud, confident voice, he continues, “What up, pledges. My name’s Damien, and I’m the Vice President of DIK-Rho. I’ll be your point of contact for all things pledge-related. Your pledge class president will be your first in line. I am your second.” He points to Trevor. “Prez here is off-fucking-limits. Understood?”
There’s a brief hesitation before we yell, “Fuck yeah!”
“Good. Now, follow me.”
Damien saunters by our line and motions for a group of brothers at the woodline to make room. They spread out and he passes between them. We follow him down a dirt path leading into the woods. Off in the distance, I can see a mess of flames between the trees. Once we’re close enough, I can make out torches embedded in the ground in a large circle. Within the circle are three men, cloaked in velvet robes. I feel like I’m in the middle of a fucking ritual sacrifice here; and I’m the lucky virgin.
I recognize Brady holding a skull on the far left. The one in the middle wields a dagger, and the last one holds a book.
“Are we gonna die here today?” Mac jokes, just as we reach the circle.
“Hey Red,” Damien snaps, his pointed eyes on Mac. “This is tradition. Respect it.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry, man,” Mac stammers.
Damien leads us between the torches and into the circle.
“Line up and link up,” he says, gesturing toward the dirt in front of the robed men.
We do as we’re told as the robed one on the far right with the book takes a step forward.
“The bond of brotherhood is sacred. You are standing where hundreds have stood before you, taking the oath that has echoed throughout these woods for seventy years,” he says, his piercing blue eyes scanning us, and the hood casts a shadow over his movie star features. “I’m Zane, the secretary of DIK-Rho, and one of my responsibilities is ensuring you not only repeat our sacred bond after me, but that you understand what it means and represents. The bond you are asked to assume contains three promises. A promise to maintain our principles, a promise to the brothers within this fraternity, and a promise to yourself. Listen carefully as I read this bond, and together, repeat it after me: I promise to be guided by the Delta Iota Kappa principles, loyalty, charity, and honor in my fraternal relationships throughout my lifetime.”
There is a momentary silence.
“Am I talking to myself here, pledges? I said, repeat after me.”
“I promise to be guided by the Delta Iota Kappa principles, loyalty, charity, and honor in my fraternal relationships throughout my lifetime,” we repeat.
“I am a DIK!”
“I am a DIK.”
“I promise to share mutual respect and understanding for the uniqueness of each brother, depend on them as they depend on me, and support the welfare and wellbeing of every brother. I am a DIK.”
We repeat him, Mac stumbling a bit over the words, which garners a nasty stare from Damien. I just want to laugh.
“I promise to respect the bond, using my individual abilities to contribute as a responsible frater within the bond, guided by the principles our fraternity is based upon. I am a DIK for life!”
I can’t help but feel silly as we repeat him, but I maintain my bearing. I understand that I’m a unique exception to all this. For most of these brothers, this is the only discipline they’ve ever encountered.
“Good,” Zane says. “You don’t need to repeat this next part, but listen closely, as it is the very foundation of our fraternity. The first sentence of the bond you have just recited is a promise to maintain the principles of DIK. Our Declaration of Principles states: We believe that the essential elements of true brotherhood are loyalty, charity and honor. Loyalty that is enduring, steadfast; the beat of fraternal heart. Charity that is spontaneous to see virtues in a brother and slow to rebuke his faults; the strength of fraternal bone. Honor that is conviction without conceit, pride without ego, hope without worry; the might of fraternal mind. Those are the triple obligations of the fraternal bond. Those are the principles you will carry with you and represent for the rest of your lives as members of Delta Iota Kappa.” Zane closes the book and hands it over to Damien, who then takes it.
“You will have our bond and Declaration of Principles memorized by next Friday,” Zane continues. “And if you carry with you these Principles, and you commit to this bond, your name will go into that book, and you will enter a brotherhood for life.”
Zane takes a step back in line, shoulder to shoulder with the other robed brothers, and looks over toward the one with the dagger.
“We have a task for them to complete tonight. Don’t we, Brother Tim?”
“Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, we do,” the middle one with the dagger stammers, as he digs into his pockets. A thick, black beard juts down his chin, ending just before the Black Sabbath logo on the t-shirt beneath his robe. He steps forward, finally locating the paper, and he clears his throat.
“Alright fuckers, here’s the deal.” He holds the dagger in the air and continues, “This dagger represents strength in unity, bravery, and protection. Together, we are powerful, our unique—ah, fuck.” He takes a look to the sky in thought, scratching at his beard with the tip of the dagger. “Uh, fuck me. I got it, our unique attributes perfectly cohesive. Work together to obtain everything on this list.” He holds the paper out toward me. “Bishop, you're the pledge class president, as chosen by the brothers of Delta Iota Kappa. Take the list.”
He waves the folded paper at me until I unlink from Jeremy and take it. Opening it up, I have a second to glance over it before Damien takes a step forward.
“Don’t look at it yet,” he says, motioning to the paper. “Put it away and link back up.”
I bite my tongue, folding the list up and pocketing it, as he nods toward Tim, who then falls back in line.
As I link back up with Jeremy, Brady takes a step toward us, raising the skull in his hand.
“The skull represents the secrecy you are obligated to uphold throughout your days as a Delta Iota brother, or face a penalty of death. The inner workings of our fraternity, from chapter level to Nationals, is reliant upon unwavering trust and secrecy. You will share nothing you experience during pledging with anyone outside of the fraternity. You will share nothing that is discussed with brothers after. Understood? Give me a ‘Fuck yeah.’”
“Fuck yeah!”
Brady takes a step back in line and Damien motions for us to follow him.
“Alright, let’s get you to the vehicles, bagged, and back to the house. And then the real fun begins,” he says, followed by a maniacal laugh, before heading toward the road as we trail behind him.
We’re all hooded again and put in our respective vehicles like luggage. I link my fingers together over my knees and lean my head against the back of the seat as the hatch closes. My mind is littered with apprehension; wondering if I even realize what I’ve gotten myself into.
“What do you think?” I hear Sarge ask from the backseat.
“Weird shit.”
Sarge laughs loudly.
“Yeah, you can thank the frat forefathers for that. There’s a lot of weird shit they put in the book back in the day, that we’re still doing today for some reason. Just gotta play along.”
“Sounds like another book I know,” I say through a laugh. “Shit feels like basic training all over again.”
“A little bit, but nothing like what we went through. This shit is a cakewalk, considering.” In a softer tone, he continues, “And to let you in on a little secret, once you’re done with the scavenger hunt bullshit, you’ll be coming back to a rager. First party of the year. That’s gotta be worth getting this shit done.” He pauses before adding, “Nah, it is worth it.”
“Sarge,” Trevor scolds. “What the hell, man.”
“Ah, come on, pretty boy. The dude fought for our fucking country and he’s old as fuck. He can get a little insider info.”
“Yeah, alright, but I—just make sure you keep that to yourself. Part of this whole thing is not knowing what’s ahead. I know you’ve done a lot of stuff like this already in your life, so you know how important the element of surprise is with these types of things.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about me. I get it. And I do appreciate the info, Sarge, but who you calling old? What are you, like fifty?”
Sarge laughs.
“Thirty, motherfucker. Old enough to be your father.”
“Sarge, you’re thirty-one,” Trevor says.
“Not for another month, jackass.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Trevor says, chuckling. “Oh shit, you can take that stupid bag off your head, by the way. We’re almost to the house.”
I pull the sandbag off and toss it aside. Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I ask, “How many more times we gonna be sandbagged?”
“Only one more time, on the last day of Hell Week,” Trevor replies.
“Hell Week? What are you guys, the fucking Marines?”
“Fuck no,” Sarge says, shaking his head adamantly.
“Not quite,” Trevor laughs. “Not even close. But we have our own version of Hell Week. That time will come, though.” The vehicle pulls to a stop and the hatch starts to open. “For now, you’ve got some shit to find.” Trevor grins, opening his door and exiting, as the rest of those in the vehicle follow suit. He meets me near the back of the SUV as I stretch out my legs. The other pledges congregate in the parking lot beside us, as dozens of the brothers from the ceremony now file through the basement door.
Likely prepping for the party. Lucky bastards. Fuck, I could use a drink.
“Once you guys get everything on the list, head back here,” Trevor says. “There’s no time limit, other than it must be done before morning. And obviously, you’ve got some motivation to finish early, but remember to keep that between us. Have fun, man.” He slaps hands with me before heading toward the basement door. As he passes the other pledges, he juts a thumb back toward me. “You guys get with your Prez and he’ll get you started.”
He disappears through the doorway, and the other guys walk toward me, as I pull the list from my pocket. They surround me as I hold it out for everyone to see under the dim streetlight.
“Alright, looks like we got our work cut out for us. I’m not reading all this shit out loud, but look over it and let’s figure out where we can start,” I say, removing the phone from my pocket and turning on the flashlight. Shining it on the paper, I read silently:
Pledge Scavenger Hunt
1. Obtain one of each of the following:
- Car tire
- Traffic cone
- Bra
- Bowl filled with weed
- A McDonald’s employee badge
- Homeless Hank’s dirty underwear
- Another Fraternity’s letter
2. Record one of you doing the following:
- Serenade a hot chick
- Steal food from a restaurant
- Kiss a stranger
- Sing karaoke
- Get into a stranger’s car
- Drink a beer with Homeless Hank
3. Take a selfie of the following:
- With a topless stripper
- From the top of Archie’s Tower
- With a mulleted man
“Well, fuck. Where do we even start?” Mac asks, as I hand the list over to him and switch the flashlight off on my phone, going to work on the screen.
“We start with an Uber,” I say, pocketing my phone. “Can you guys find a traffic cone in the time it takes me to get my Wrangler?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t be an issue,” Carter responds. “Could probably locate a car tire, too.”
“And I’ve got the bowl and weed covered,” Mac laughs, his eyebrows dancing as he points to his pocket.
“Alright, I’ll see you guys in a few. Someone give me their number, so I can text you when I get back.” Carter rattles off his number, and I plug it into my phone. I depart, as the others head toward the road.
After Uber-ing back to my apartment and grabbing my Wrangler, I head back to the frat house. As I pull up to the Delta Iota parking lot, I see my fellow pledges in a circle around a traffic cone and old car tire. Mac spins a white lace bra on one finger.
“Where’d you find that?” I ask, hopping out of the Jeep.
“We ran into one of my exes,” Jeremy says with a laugh.
“Must not have been a bad breakup, huh?”
“Nah, it was fuckin’ nasty, man, but what can I say, I’m a smooth operator,” Jeremy responds with a wink, flashing his ghost white set of perfectly aligned teeth. It makes me wonder how a man who dips as much as Jeremy does can carry such an effervescent smile.
“Good work!” I take the bra from Mac and inspect it, guessing it’s a D-cup, maybe even larger; though I have no idea about bra sizes. “You sure it wasn’t a mistake letting her go?” I ask, tossing the bra at Jeremy’s face.
Mid-catch, he replies, “Way more to a lady than tits, my friend.”
“Way to make me feel like an asshole.” I laugh, and Jeremy just shrugs.
“I’ve been doing that to guys my whole damn life by just bein’ me.” He flashes another wink as I gesture toward the Jeep.
“Well, let’s get a move on. I wanna get this shit done as soon as fucking possible.”
“Where to first?” Mac asks, following after me, the others close behind.
“Liquor store,” I respond. “Ain’t no fucking way I’m doing this without a drink.”
The main strip is alive with activity as the Friday night festivities pick up. I’ve traded seats with Mac, who now drives us as I nurse a Jameson bottle we’ve just picked up. Or one I picked up, as none of these fucks are old enough to yet.
“Let me get a draw on that,” Jeremy says with gimme fingers.
I pass it back and Jeremy snatches it from me quickly, tipping the bottle back and letting out a pleased sigh as he passes it over to Carter.
“Thank ya kindly,” Jeremy says, wiping an arm over his lips. “So, what’s first?”
I think for a moment before responding, “Walgreens.”
“What the hell we getting at Walgreens?” Mac asks.
“A six-pack and hair clippers. And then y’all gotta tell me who the hell Homeless Hank is, and where I can find him.”
“Well, that’s easy,” Jeremy says. “He chills right outside of Walgreens.”
“Perfect.”
Arriving at the Walgreens and parking, I spot who must be Homeless Hank, seated against the building, just beside the entrance. He’s got a stringy gray beard, raggedy clothes with holes throughout, and dirt smudged on his face.
“That our man?” I ask, putting the vehicle in park and switching off the engine.
“That’ll be him,” Jeremy responds.
“Perfect. You guys let him know what we’re doing here, and I’ll grab what we need from the store.”
“Oh, good ol’ Hank knows what we’re doing here. He’s been around here forever. And this ain’t his first scavenger hunt.”
“Alright, well, start getting your money together then, guys. I’ll be right back.” I exit the vehicle and enter the Walgreens as the others pile out of the Jeep behind me.
After a few minutes, I leave the store with two overstuffed bags in my hands.
“What the hell did you get?” Mac asks, eyeing the bags.
“Enough to make me feel okay about all this,” I respond, my eyes shifting down toward Hank. I put out my hand. “Hank, is it?”
Hank examines my hand for a moment before taking it and giving it a quick shake.
“That’d be me,” he responds in a gruff voice.
I look back at the others behind me.
“Got the money?” I ask, setting the bags to the ground.
“Yeah,” Jeremy says, digging in his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. “What’s it for?”
I take it, inspect it with scrutiny, and then look back at the other pledges, rolling my eyes.
“What the fuck is this? Twenty bucks?”
“Twenty-four,” Mac corrects me.
“That’s all you fuckers got?” I ask and Mac shrugs.
“We’re college students,” he responds.
I chuckle as I pull my wallet out and add a few twenties to the pile. Returning my wallet, I look back toward Hank.
“I’ve been told you know why we’re here.”
Hank nods.
I hand over the wad, and after momentarily eyeing the cash with confusion, Hank snatches it from me and stuffs it into his pocket.
“I don’t like any of this. It feels exploitative, but if we gotta do it, I wanna make it worth your while,” I say, rifling through one of the bags, and pulling out a package of underwear, socks, some T-shirts, and a pair of shorts. “I’d like to trade you all of these for your underpants. The ones you’re wearing right now. Would that be okay?”
Hank looks surprised and then he nods.
“There’s a bathroom inside. You can change in there once we’re done here. Is that okay?”
Hank nods again, grabbing the clothes from me and setting them to the side.
I pull a six-pack out of the other bag and set it down on the concrete in front of him.
“I’d like to share a beer with you as well, and I’ll let you keep the rest for yourself. I hope Sierra Nevada is okay. I can’t drink the watered-down shit most everyone seems to like.”
Hank cackles. “Beer is beer,” he says as I open a bottle and hand it over to him. I then slide my back down the side of the building, seating myself next to Hank and opening a beer of my own. I tilt it in Hank’s direction.
“Cheers,” I say, and Hank clinks his bottle against mine before we both tilt them back.
Lowering his beer, Hank eyes the beer label and looks over at me with wide eyes.
“Fuck, that’s good!” he says, taking another big gulp.
“I know. A lot better than Bud, I’ll tell you that much,” I say, laughing. “I just have one more request, or two more, I guess, and then we will leave you be. For your efforts”—I grab the bag that holds the clothes and hand it over—“I’ve gotten you some water and a few cans of SpaghettiOs and soup. There’s soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush in there as well.”
Hank takes the bag with his free hand, looks inside for a moment, and then sets it on top of the clothes.
“What do ya need?” Hank asks. “A picture, right? What else?”
I hesitate before pulling clippers and double-A batteries from the bag holding the six-pack. I remove both from their packages and set them in my lap, tossing the packaging to the side. I take a long pull from my beer before setting the bottle on the ground beside me.
“If it’d be alright with you, I’d like to shave your head. Into a mullet first, and then after we get a picture, I’ll shave the rest. Would that be okay?’
Hank nods. “Shit yeah, I could use a haircut.”
“Much obliged, my friend. We sincerely appreciate you putting up with this shit.”
“Don’t mention it. Other people ain’t been so nice with it,” he responds, taking a swig of his beer. He lets out a pleased sigh before adding, “Well, let’s get ’er done.”
After shaving Hank’s hair into a mullet and getting the picture needed, I shave the remainder of his head before sending him inside with his new clothes in hand.
“Mac,” I say, as I pick up the loose hair from the ground to throw away. A smirk builds on my face. “Can you go in after me?”
“Sure, but why?”
After disposing of the hair into the trash can, I grab the remaining bag and remove the six-pack from it. Handing the bag toward Mac, I shake it vigorously for him to take. He inspects it for a moment without taking it, and then his face goes white—even whiter than his naturally pale Irish complexion—as he realizes what I want him to do with the bag.
“Fucking A, guys. Why does this fall on me?” he asks, a bit of whine in his tone.
“You’re the youngest one here, no?” I ask, and Mac lets out a heavy breath.
“Twenty here,” Jeremy says, raising a hand. “Twenty-one in two months.”
“I’m nineteen,” Carter says, looking over to Mac.
I look at Mac, too, and though I already know his answer, with a smile, I ask, “Well, how about you, Mac?
“Eighteen, whatever. I’ll do it, fuckers,” he says, sounding like an unruly child. Snatching the bag from me, he adds, “If I catch something, I’m spreading it to you assfucks.”
“Can’t catch something you already have,” Carter jests as Mac makes his way inside, holding up a middle finger with his free hand as the automatic doors close behind him.
A few moments later, with bagged dirty underwear in pinched between two fingers and as far from his body as his arm can go, Mac makes his way outside and a much cleaner looking Hank comes out after him. Mac tosses the bag at my feet and folds his arm together with a frown on his face that just gets a laugh out of us. Hank plops down where he sat before, picking his beer back up and lifting it toward me.
“Thanks, fellas.”
“Thank you, Hank. I’ll see you around, alright?” I say, unlocking my Jeep and picking the bag up off the ground.
“You know where to find me,” Hank says with a wink, and I pass him a two-finger salute before making my way toward the Jeep with the others.
As they get inside and shut the doors behind us, Mac says, “Smart thinking, killing two birds with one stone.”
“Fuckin’ brilliance,” Jeremy adds.
“Work smarter, not harder, gentlemen. The Army taught me that,” I say, smiling, and then flinging the bagged underwear toward Mac in the driver’s seat.
“Fuck, man!” Mac screeches, batting the bag away. “This is some messed up shit. I get driving duties and dirty underwear duty? That’s not fair!”
“Life’s not fair, my friend,” I joke. “I was nineteen in the Army once, remember. Shit rolls downhill. That’s just how it is. But”—I pick up the bag—“you make a good point.” I throw the bag back toward Carter. “Since he’s driving, Carter, you’re next in line for underwear duty.”
Carter tosses the bag behind the backseat and shrugs. “I promise not to cry like Mac is.”
“I’m not crying. There’s just something in both my eyes.” Mac laughs, pulling the Wrangler out of the parking spot. “Where to next, boss?” he asks me.
“McDonald’s,” I respond, pointing toward the golden arches a short distance down the road.
Pulling into McDonald’s, which sits just up the street from the Walgreens, Mac parks the Jeep, and then I look back toward the others.
“Alright, guys, this is gonna be more of the same. I wanna knock multiple items out at once. It’s gonna be pretty fucked up though, unless we can do it right,” I say, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag. “I don’t wanna go ruining any McDonald’s employee’s night, and definitely don’t want to get caught up with the cops over a fucking hamburger.”
“So, what is it we’re doing?” Carter asks.
“Mac, you’re gonna record.” I look out the windshield, and through the plate glass windows that circle the McDonald’s. “I’ll distract the one on the left there. Gonna offer her twenty bucks for her name tag. Carter, you and Jeremy will be waiting in line, like normal customers. When I clear my throat, I want you two to start pretend-fighting. Make it as realistic as possible, though. I want them freaking the fuck out. During the commotion, I’ll sneak in and grab one of those burgers from the warming tray. Then we get our asses out of there.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Carter says, but there’s sarcasm in his tone.
“You got any better ideas?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“I got nothing,” he responds. “Better than dining and dashing like I was thinking. But why do we need to distract them? Can’t we just take it?”
“I’d rather not be seen doing it, if I’m able to. No way to do that if those employees are standing right there.”
Carter nods.
“Alright, then. Let’s do it.”
I lead them out of the Jeep, tossing my cigarette to the ground as I make my way inside.
After chatting with one of the employees for a moment, Jeremy and Carter through the doors and get in line. Mac sneaks around to a table, sits, and pulls out his camera.
“So, twenty bucks will do it?” I ask the employee and she nods her head.
“Only costs me five to replace,” she says, removing it from her uniform top and handing it over.
I swap her with the twenty and pocket the name tag.
“Much obliged,” I say, before clearing my throat loudly.
Carter eyes the menu board, pretending to figure out what he wants to order when Jeremy groans, “Fuckin’ hell, boy. Can you take any fuckin’ longer to make up your mind? Are you havin’ readin’ problems up there or somethin’? I’m fuckin’ starvin’ here.”
Carter looks back, fighting a smile from forming.
“Fuck you, redneck,” he barks. “Go fuck your sister or something.”
“That’s old damn news, kid. I’m too busy fuckin’ yers these days,” Jeremy grunts.
Carter responds with a stiff push.
“ My sister would never touch an inbred like you,” he says, his lips quivering, the laughter desperate to escape. “She’s got standards.”
Jeremy shoves Carter back against the counter. “If, by standards, ya mean my sweaty balls in her eager fuckin’ mouth, then yeah, I guess yer right.”
“Can y’all please settle down?” the employee behind the counter asks, but it’s too late.
Carter charges forward, tackling Jeremy to the ground and begins punching him in the side.
Fuck you, Deliverance! I will fuck your soul!” Carter yells, and the two employees meet them on the other side of the counter, trying their best to break it up. A few other employees from the back crane their necks to catch the action as I glance back toward Mac, who is getting the whole thing on video while laughing his ass off. I slink through the opening in the counter, grab a Big Mac from the food warmer, and nonchalantly walk with it back to the other side. Mac is up now, camera held high, and I toss the Big Mac toward him. Surprised by the throw, Mac stumbles a bit as he barely catches the box. Once he recovers, he runs toward the exit with it, carrying the phone in his other hand as he records his escape.
As he reaches the door, he looks back and holds the Big Mac box above his head, all eyes on him as he yells, “Attica, man! Attica, man,” a craziness to his eyes and his hair splayed out in all directions, before running out the door.
Jeremy and Carter cease fighting, and they burst out in laughter, separating from each other, but remaining on the ground.
“Y’all got problems,” one of the employees says, waving them off and making her way back around the counter. “Damn frat boys.”
I help the two of them up off the ground, and lead them out the door, both of them fighting fits of laughter.
“I said, sneak the burger out,” I say to Mac when I spot him on the hood of my Jeep. He’s halfway through the Big Mac already. “And get your ass off my Wrangler.”
“Sorry,” he says, sliding his feet to the ground. “But that shit was hilarious. I couldn’t help myself.”
“They all saw you take the burger anyway. And they had cameras. Was the fake fight even worth it?” Carter asks as they enter the vehicle.
I settle into the passenger seat as Mac starts the engine, and then I glance back at Carter and Jeremy with a mischievous smirk on my face. “I just wanted to see if y’all would do it.”
“Worth every last beautiful second,” Mac responds, chuckling as he pulls the Jeep away from McDonald’s. “I didn’t think your voice could even register above a whisper, Carter. What was it again? ‘I will fuck your soul’?” Mac bursts out laughing. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Carter shrugs.
“Gotta stay in character,” he says, as Mac navigates Main Street.
“Does that mean you’re game for karaoke?” I ask, and Carter adamantly shakes his head.
“Oh, hell no. I’m not a singer.”
“I got this one, gents,” Jeremy says. “I got the voice of a fuckin’ angel.”
“I figure we knock out the serenading to a stranger and karaoke in one shot. Sound good?” I ask, and Jeremy nods.
“Sounds damn good to me, man. Karaoke spot’s just up here on yer right.” Jeremy points to a hole-in-the-wall bar off Main Street, with a ‘Karaoke’ sign flickering in bright neon red.
Mac parks the car and we all get out, herding into the poorly-lit bar. The small space is filled to the brim with an even number of men and women, drinks in their hands and a buzz of energy surrounding them. On the stage at the back of the bar, some old dude in a button-down Hawaiian shirt sings an awful rendition of “Pour Some Sugar on Me,” and I am comforted in realizing he’s on the last verse.
“What song are you gonna sing?” I ask Jeremy over my shoulder as he approaches from behind. He bypasses me and heads straight to the DJ.
Just before he reaches him, Jeremy looks back toward us and replies, “What else? ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’.” He winks before turning and leaning both hands on the table.
I look at Mac and Carter.
“So, let’s find our girl,” I say, smiling.
“You think they have to be a stranger to all of us, or just the one doing the singing?” Carter asks.
“Shit, I don’t know. Why?”
Carter points to a table near the front of the stage. “That girl with the blonde hair, black tank. Toned fucking body. She’s from my hometown; I went to high school with her. She’s a crazy girl. Would definitely be up for it.”
I laugh, shrugging. “Fuck it. I say it counts if Jeremy doesn’t know her. Go talk to her.”
“You got it.”
Carter departs, and I look at Mac, motioning toward the bar.
“Drink?”
“You even gotta ask?” He smiles and follows me to the barkeep.
It’s but a few minutes before Carter returns. I hand over a Jack and Coke I got for him, to which he nods in appreciation as he takes it. It’s incredible how little they care about IDs in a college town. Yeah, I bought them, but these are obviously teens I’m buying them for and the barkeep doesn’t seem to mind one bit. If he doesn’t, I sure the fuck don’t
“She’s game,” he says, sipping the drink. He smiles, an invigoration in his stature that I hadn’t noticed during our earlier interactions. Carter motions toward Jeremy, who makes his way to the stage. Jeremy passes one last wink toward us before meeting the blonde at her table. “She took one look at him and said, ‘Fuck Yeah’,” Carter continues, laughing as he gets the words out. “This is gonna be so epic.”
I nod in agreement as I lean my back against the bar, my focus shifting toward the stage where Jeremy currently stands, a mic in one hand and the blonde’s hand held in the other, as the DJ announces him. His knee-buckling smile catches the stage lights as the music begins. Her eyes are locked on his; his seem to speak to her without words.
And then he sings, and damn, if he doesn’t have a voice on him. I’ve never liked this song before, always thought it was ‘bullshit country’; the kind made for money and not passion, but Jeremy’s voice is velvety and alive, and before long, everyone in the place feels what I’m feeling—captivated.
“Damn,” Mac mutters.
The blonde, whose name is Sarah as Carter mentioned, is in a state of separation. There is no audience. It’s just her and Jeremy. Every few lines, he shoots her his patented wink. I think about that wink and how stupid it would look if I tried to use it myself. But for Jeremy, it works. She’s putty in his hands.
The end of his performance is met with a raucous applause. He takes a slight bow, Sarah’s hand still in his, and then he pulls her close to him, letting go of her hand and wrapping his arm around her waist. He sets his other hand to her cheek and inches his body closer. His eyes are locked onto hers and she gives him a slight nod, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth. And that’s when he kisses her. Hard. Hot. Her hands grasping at his back.
I look over at Mac, his eyes wide and mouth slack in shock, and I say, “Tell me you got all that!”
Mac keeps his phone in the air, but looks over and nods with a shit-eating grin on his face.
“You bet your beautifully bearded ass I did,” he says, laughing.
I look back toward the stage just in time to catch the kiss of the century end, and Jeremy separates from her a bit, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips. He mouths a “Thank you” before guiding her back to her table. After he puts her number in his phone, there’s a wide smile across his face as he makes his way toward us. He leans back against the bar next to Carter, his eyes still on the stage and a swagger in the way he leans back, with his elbows on the bar top.
“You sneaky motherfucker,” I say, passing down a drink for him.
Jeremy shrugs, looking down the bar toward us.
“You gotta improvise.” He clicks his teeth. “What do ya reckon’s next, bitches?”
“Still need to figure that out,” I respond, raising my glass. “After the drink.”
Once our drinks are finished, we head back out to the street, which is even busier than when we went in. I light a cigarette as Carter and Mac circle around me. Jeremy stops briefly beside Mac and tells him “You might wanna record this next shit” before he heads straight for the road, toward a car with its hazards on. Mac pulls out his phone as records as Jeremy opens the back door of the car and gets inside. The woman in the front seat looks terrified, her eyes wide as she darts her head back toward him.
“’Ey,” Jeremy says, fighting a smile. “You my Uber?”
“Fuck no, I’m not your Uber. Get the fuck out of my car,” she yells.
He looks over at Mac, who holds his thumb in the air, shaking with laughter.
“Mighty sorry, ma’am. You have a good night, ya hear?”
He tips his hat and jumps out of the car, shutting the door behind him. Mid chuckle, he makes his way back toward us. With a sour look on her face, the woman takes off down the road, tires screeching against pavement.
“Knock that one off the list, boys,” he crows.
“You’re on a fucking roll, man. Let’s keep it going,” I say, taking the list out of my pocket and examining it.
“Alright, so we’ve got two more before the big one,” he says, stuffing the list back into his pocket.
“And what’s the big one?” Mac asks.
“Stealing another fraternity’s letter,” Carter and I say in unison.
“That’s not gonna be easy, and if we get caught, be ready to either run, or brawl,” Carter adds.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking,” I agree. “We’ve got two selfies to knock out before that. With a stripper and climbing Archie’s tower. Whatever the fuck that is.”
“It’s this radio tower at the north end of campus.” Carter points off in the distance, but it’s too dark to see anything. As he lowers his hand, realizing it’s pointless, he adds, “It’s tall as hell.”
“Who here can do heights?” I ask, and uneasy looks pass over their faces.
“Not a fucking chance.” Mac lets out a nervous chuckle.
“I ain’t so good with ’em either,” Jeremy says.
Carter shakes his head without a word.
“Didn’t you jump out of airplanes or something in the Army?” Mac bargains, and I let out a heavy sigh before relenting.
“Yeah, but I, at least, had a fucking parachute,” I say, laughing. “No worries. I’ll take care of it. But it’s gonna take some time to get up there, so I think it’s best if we split up for these next two. Carter, you come with me to the tower, so you can let someone know if I fall to my death. Mac… Jeremy… you guys go get a selfie with a stripper. Tough job you got there.” I smirk.
“Harder than you think,” Jeremy says, grinning. “Crescent Falls strippers are fuckin’ succubae, man. And we’re fresh outta cash.”
I chuckle as I motion toward Mac for the keys.
“Improvise,” I laugh, winking. “And remember to protect the boys. Stilettos are fucking deadly.”
“You alright to drive?” Mac asks, and I snatch the keys from his hand, rolling my eyes.
“It’s my fucking car, bitch. And I wasn’t born yesterday. Two shots and a drink is like child’s play in my world.”
Mac shrugs, taking a step back.
“Okay, okay,” he says.
“Just get your selfie done and we’ll meet up after,” I say, as I head toward the Jeep. Carter follows suit.
“Text me when y’all are finished,” I add, before climbing into the vehicle.
After a few minutes on the road, I turn toward Carter and ask, “So, how tall we talking here?”
“At least a hundred feet. Maybe more.”
“Fuck me running. All this shit better be worth it.”
“What are you even doing rushing a fraternity anyway? You know there’s gonna be a lot of bullshit you have to go through. They’re not gonna fuck with you too much or anything, at least I don’t think so, but you’re gonna have to do some stupid shit.”
I shrug. “You spend enough time alone with the kinda thoughts I have, a little bullshit starts looking alright.”
“I can only imagine.” Carter’s focus shifts to the dash, wrinkles of uncertainty in his forehead. I wonder just how much this kid holds onto. By the looks of it, he’s got the whole damn world on his shoulders sometimes.
“It’s up here on the right,” Carter says, pointing toward a clearing in the pines. He ducks his head a little to get a better view of the tower through the windshield.
I take the turn and slow the vehicle, dipping my head too, to try and get a glance of it. After a few moments of driving, I spot the radio tower jutting into the pitch-black sky, so far up that I can’t see the top of it. I let out a heavy breath as I slow the vehicle to a stop, and then I glance over at Carter as if there’s a leg sprouting from his forehead.
“People really do this fucking shit?”
“Yeah, they have been for decades. My dad did it with his pledge brothers. And his father, my grandfather, did it before him. It’s something of a DIK tradition.”
“I keep hearing about these fucking traditions tonight,” I say, shaking my head as I swing my door open. “At some point, logic’s gotta win out.”
“It’s just a part of the process, Bishop.”
“Do you wanna do it?”
Carter’s face goes white. He gives his head a quick shake.
“Nah, I’d rather not.”
“Alright, so just let me bitch then. I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna do it. I’m just saying, somebody, at some point, has to scratch their head and say ‘Hey, maybe this isn’t the smartest move here,’ having eighteen, nineteen-year-old kids climbing damn radio towers.” I chuckle, heading out into the quickly chilling night air.
“I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a veteran to do it,” Carter jokes, hopping out too, and shutting the door behind him. His gaze shifts toward the clouds that surround the tip of the tower. “Fuck,” he mutters.
As I grab a pair of combat gloves from my center console and slip them on, I ask, “Why do they call it Archie’s Tower anyway?”
Stepping up to the base, I put my hands against the thick steel before looking back at Carter, who hasn’t answered me yet. “Well?”
“This kid named Archie Dugan, back in the sixties or seventies, or something like that…” Carter’s voice trails off, and his eyes travel from the base of the tower to the very top again, before he looks back over at me. “Ended up falling from the top of that thing, trying to take a polaroid. Kid died from it.”
“You gotta be fucking shitting me.” I shake my head, grabbing hold of the base and heaving myself up onto the first rung.
“It’s only a tall tale. Nobody knows if it’s true or not,” Carter mentions.
I glance down at him and smile. “Well, if I fall, I’m heading straight for your fucking head. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” I laugh before starting my reckless ascent.
Halfway up, I think my heart may just burst from my chest. I don’t bother to look down, as I know it’ll likely make me sick and freeze me right where I’m at. I’ve never been good with heights; airborne training was the worst, but that’s exactly why I did it. I get off on those things that terrify me the most. Though I do find that, without a safety harness or parachute, the terror is lacking much of the satisfaction I’d usually get from a situation like this.
Breathing slow, steady breaths, I continue up one rung after another, until I’m nearly at the top, the air around me cold and sending shivers down my spine. There’s a churn in my gut as I imagine slipping on one of the last few steps I’ve got left and falling endlessly toward the unforgiving ground. I shake away the thoughts and push on, one slow, steady step at a time, until I’m at the top and amongst the clouds. Taking a deep breath, I pull myself tightly against the steel beam, locking it into the crook of my arm. I pull my phone out of my pocket with the other hand and as I hold it up to take the selfie, I can see the speckled lights of downtown Crescent Falls off in the distance behind me, and a smattering of twinkling stars are like a backdrop for the photo.
“Are you alright up there?” Carter calls out, his voice distant.
I lift a half-assed middle finger on the hand gripping the beam toward the camera, and take the shot with my free hand. After taking the photo and shoving the phone back in my pocket with a quickness, I grab the beam with both hands again. For the first time, I look down. I’m hit with cold sweats and my stomach is set to tumble dry.
“Having the time of my fucking life!” I yell down, dizziness forcing me to bring my eyes back to the horizon. I shut my eyelids, taking steady breaths to try and control my rapid breathing.
What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing up here?
I slowly start my descent, which, is far worse than coming up the tower, as I must blindly search for the rungs with my feet.
The last thought that crosses my mind, as my foot slips, is how fucking stupid I must be to find myself in this position. I don’t have long to debate it, though, as the weight of my lower body jerks me down. The breath lurches from my lungs as I flail my arms to try and catch myself, squeezing the steel beam with everything I have. As I try and position my dangling feet on the next rung down, I feel the strength in my arms giving way. My mind runs through options and outcomes, my heart racing with every hair-raising second.
Complete and utter panic sets in.
THE END