IN THE PAST TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, I have finished off a case of beer, eaten excessive amounts of fast food, and smoked nearly two packs of cigarettes. What I haven’t done is left the house, except to restock the aforementioned brew and cigs, and I surely haven’t responded to Carleigh.
I’m fucking proud of that.
I don’t really care to see anyone right now, and with finals coming up in two weeks, I should be studying anyway (as if I’ve managed to get a lick of that done.)
I’m on my way to slumber town now, at ten o’clock at night, which has become quite the norm for me since pledging ended. With all the beer I’ve consumed, sleep seems like the only good idea. The boob tube is on, and I’m wrapped up in my blankets like a burrito when my phone suddenly rings, startling me. Letting out an annoyed sigh, I reach over and grab the cell, seeing Sarge’s name flash on the screen.
Answering, I ask, “Sarge, is everything okay?”
I hear loud commotion coming from his end but nothing distinguishable.
After a few moments, Sarge’s voice comes over the line. “Is everything okay?” He scoffs. “Have you not seen the news?” There’s a subtle drunken slur to his words.
“News? What news?”
I can barely hear him over the chaos in the background.
Somebody laughs.
Someone else chants U.S.A.
“Bro, how am I the first one to be telling you this? Bin Laden is fucking dead, man!” he shouts into the phone. “We fucking got him.”
It takes me a moment to make sense of what he’s just said. I can hardly believe my ears.
“What did you just say?”
“Seal Team Six got Bin Laden’s ass in Pakistan earlier today. They just released the information to the press. He’s fucking dead, man!”
“I can’t even believe this. I feel like you’re fuckin’ with me here.”
“Check the news, man! But do that while you’re getting your ass to the DIK house.”
“The DIK house? What the hell are you even doin’ there?”
“Bro, everyone is here! Everyone. You’ll know what I mean when you get here. Take a cab, you won’t be able to park anywhere close to the house.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Trust me, bro. You’ll see what I mean when you get here.”
“Okay, Sarge.”
“You coming?!”
“Yeah. Just let me get dressed and grab a cab, and I’ll be right over.”
“See you soon! Get ready to get your ’shine on! Tonight is for celebrating, my friend.”
“Oh Lord.”
I hang up the phone and lumber out of bed, pulling up the news and verifying that Bin Laden was, in fact, killed earlier today in a raid in Pakistan.
Well, Halle-fuckin-lujah!
Once dressed, and in the cab, I make the short trip to campus. It doesn’t take long to see what Sarge meant. As the cabbie pulls toward the quad, I see thousands upon thousands of students covering every square inch of both the Commons and frat row that runs just beside it.
“Looks like I gotta let you off here, buddy. They got the road completely blocked off. I wonder what’s going on.”
I throw him a twenty and open my door. Before exiting, I say, “You don’t know? Bin Laden was killed.”
His mouth goes slack, his eyes wide. “You’re shittin’ me.”
I shake my head. “No, sir. Not shittin’ you one bit.”
He laughs, shaking his head slowly, a look of awe painted on his features. “Well, I’ll be damned. You be safe out there, huh?”
“You too. Have a good one.” I exit the cab and start walking toward the crowd. There’s a buzz of electric energy and excitement that sweeps over the entire area. A roar of conversation, laughter, and cheering permeates from the massive crowd, overwhelmed only by music blaring from a few different frat houses. I would estimate there are thousands of students here. Pushing my way through the congested crowd, up the street to the DIK house, I can’t believe the chaos that surrounds me. Kids are hanging off porch railings and pissing in every available crevice, standing on cars that were unfortunately parked on frat row at the absolute worst time. Alcohol is being downed like it’s the end of the fucking world. The smell of weed hangs around me like I’m kicking it with Snoop’s people.
I have entered Sodom and Gomorrah.
Finally spotting the DIK house through the raucous crowd, I see Sarge standing on the front porch with a number of other brothers around him in clusters, all drinking and laughing. As I approach, Sarge notices me and throws his hands into the air.
“Bishop! What up, bro! Get your ass up here and kill some of this moonshine with me!” He holds up a mason jar and the fact that the ’shine is clear scares the living daylights out of me.
Making my way to the porch, I slap hands with a few brothers before meeting Sarge by the couch. He takes me in for a bro hug; the giddiness he’s exuding is infectious.
“We fucking did it, man!” he says, separating from me and handing over the jar. “We got that sonofabitch.”
Taking the mason jar from him, I ask rhetorically, “You had a bit to drink tonight, bud?”
He laughs. “Just wait until you try that shit. I brought the good stuff for tonight’s festivities.”
I eye the jar, my throat going dry. I take a thick swallow. “I got a feelin’ I’m gonna hate you after this.”
“You’re gonna love me. More than you already do, I mean.”
I open the jar and hesitate before I take a big gulp.
“Whoa!” Sarge’s eyes go wide, and it takes but a second to realize why.
It feels like I just poured hot fucking lava down my throat. It doesn’t stop when it hits my stomach either; instead, it leaves a trail of fire from my lips to my gut.
“Oh my fuckin’ God!” I gag, spitting a few times to try and rid my taste buds of the flavor, but to no avail. “That was the most toxic shit I’ve ever tasted.” Spinning the lid on the jar first, I hand the nausea-inducing concoction back over with a quick shake of my head. “Here, take your fuckin’ poison.”
He grabs it, chuckling as he opens it back up and takes a drink of his own with not so much as a grimace.
Pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up, I take a heavy drag to coat my mouth and give me something to taste other than toxic moonshine. Letting the smoke out, I ask, “You see my pledge brothers around this shit show?”
“Yeah, they just went downstairs to get another drink. They should be right back.”
As Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” takes over the speakers on the DIK porch, I hear my name being called out from behind me. Turning, I see my pledge brothers approaching, all of them looking like they’ve had quite a few drinks themselves.
“Good to see you, dude!” Mac yells, slapping hands with me. He adds, “Congratulations, man! What a day!” as I then greet Jeremy and Carter.
“When did you guys get here?” I ask.
“A few hours ago. I sent you a text, but I figured your ass was passed out,” Jeremy says. “Wasn’t expectin’ to see you.”
“Well, I wasn’t plannin’ on doin’ shit, but with this goin’ on, are you kiddin’ me? I wouldn’t miss it. That motherfucker’s day has been comin’ for a long damn time. Did they say what they’re gonna do with the body, by the way? It’d be fun to string his ass up right at Ground Zero so people can throw rocks at him, or something. Survivors first. Then New Yorkers. Then everyone else. It could be a fuckin’ tourist attraction.”
They all laugh, and Sarge shakes his head. “There won’t be any body. No burial. The Navy ‘buried his body at sea.’” He throws up air quotes.
“Wait, I don’t get it. What’s with the air quotes?” Mac asks. “You don’t think he’s really dead?”
Sarge shakes his head. “No, I think they really got him, but I don’t think he’s dead. How the fuck are they just going to give Public Enemy Number One a burial at sea? I bet the Seals were ordered to take out every target, except Bin Laden. Probably told them to take out his kneecaps or something. The CIA probably has that motherfucker in some basement in Uzbekistan, pulling out his fingernails and castrating him with a blowtorch. Why do you think I’m so damn happy? Death would be too easy for that motherfucker. He’s going to die slowly. No doubt about that.”
“No way!” Mac says. “You really think that?”
Sarge shrugs. “I wouldn’t put a thing past our government. Not a goddamn thing.”
“Well, fuck,” Mac mutters.
“Dead or not, what the hell is this shit?” I motion toward the massive crowd covering all signs of road or grass as far as the eye can see.
“Just wait,” Carter says with a grin, taking a sip of his beer.
“What do you mean?”
“This kind of shit happens all the time here,” he responds. “Big football or basketball wins. Big losses, too. There was one time they rioted over the changing of the mascot name—from Braves to Pilgrims—after enough complaints. The school hates the rioting. They always try to prevent it, but it never works,” Carter says, his gaze set on the mess of people. He points up the road. “You see the cop cars up there?”
My vision shifts to the top of frat row where two cop cars sit, their occupants standing rigid near the open doors as they scan the crowd. “Yeah.”
“Well, eventually, this shit is going to get out of hand. People are going to start fucking shit up. Breaking shit. Probably burning shit. And those cops are going to come and shut all of this down. Or try to, at least. I don’t know about this one. This is the craziest I’ve ever seen it.”
“Burnin’ shit?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.” Sarge nods, a grin on his face. “Bigtime. It’s been going on here since the sixties. They’ll either start a dumpster fire, or they’ll grab one of the cum couches from a frat house and light that fucker up.”
Scrunching my brows, I say, “No way”
“Yes way.”
“That’s fuckin’ ridiculous. What’s the point to all this?”
“What’s ever the point?” Sarge shrugs. “They’re drunk kids. Fucking shit up is in their DNA.”
As I’m about to respond, I spot a kid on top of an SUV on the road below, waving an American flag around in the air. He drops it onto the road and seems to have no intention of picking it up as people begin to trample it.
I can’t believe my eyes.
Do these kids even have any clue what they’re celebratin’?
I motion to the stereo system. “Sarge, turn that down real quick for me?”
“You got it.”
As he heads to the stereo and turns it down, I lean over the railing and yell at the top of my lungs, “Hey, you! With the green hat!”
The kid looks up, as do some of those around him.
I point to the flag on the ground and bark, “Get that fuckin’ flag off the ground!”
He shoos me away, going back to dancing and whooping atop the SUV.
“Motherfucker!” I growl. “It wasn’t a request. Friends of mine have fuckin’ died for that flag. Now, pick it the fuck up!”
He shoots his eyes up toward me, a scowl on his face. “Fuck your friends, and fuck your flag,” he says, turning away from me again.
“Oh, fuck no!” The anger boils within me. Heat trails up my back as I ball my hands into tight fists. Starting my way across the porch, I feel a hand grab me and yank me back. I stumble a bit, turning to see Sarge is the one holding on to me.
“Let me take care of this one, bro,” he says. “You don’t need any more trouble your way.”
I nod, and he makes his way to the parking lot, through the crowd, and down to the road where the SUV is parked. Leaning over the railing to watch, I see Sarge make his way to the flag first, pushing people out of the way to get to it. He squats, picks it up, and tucks it into the crook of his elbow. The kid still dances atop the car without spotting Sarge’s movement.
Sarge eyes the kid for a moment, shaking his head before he lifts his other hand up high, wraps his fingers around one of the kid’s ankles, and yanks him off the SUV. The kid comes crashing down onto the road like a sack of bricks, the air forced out of him when he hits.
Sarge casually strolls back to the porch, walks right up to the stereo, and turns the volume back up. Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.” plays now.
I laugh as he approaches me as if nothing’s happened. He holds out the flag. “Help me fold it?”
“You got it.” I smile. “Thanks, bro. That was fuckin’ awesome.”
As we fold the flag up the proper way, Sarge replies, “Maybe that’ll teach him to disrespect the colors.”
“Yo, he’s still unconscious,” Mac gleefully chirps, his hands straddling the porch railing as he takes in the scene below. “You may have done a little more than teach him a lesson. I think you knocked the stupid out of him. Might have even killed him,” Mac says over his shoulder with a chuckle.
Sarge sets the folded flag on the couch, and then waves Mac off, replying, “He’ll be alright. Should’ve fucking listened.”
“Shouldn’t have been on top of that vehicle anyway. If that were my ride, I would’ve kicked his ass myself,” Mac says, and we all laugh. “What?”
“The day you beat somebody’s ass is the day I cut off my dick.” Jeremy laughs.
“Fuck you. I can fight,” Mac says, offended. “It isn’t about the size of the dog in the fight. It’s ab—”
“Oh, shut up. A skinny motherfucker like you probably made that shit up after gettin’ his ass kicked.” Jeremy lifts Mac’s arm in the air and inspects it, but Mac yanks it away.
“You keep running that mouth and you’ll see,” Mac says, a cocky look on his face.
Jeremy laughs, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah, Killer. I ain’t gonna hold my breath.”
Mac punches Jeremy’s arm, but he doesn’t react. Instead, his eyes trail slowly from Mac, down to his own arm, and then back up, before he busts out laughing.
“Your hand okay, Small Fry?” he asks.
“I hate you.” Mac takes a seat on the couch and crosses his legs.
“Oh, cheer up, Mac. You know Jeremy only fucks with you so much because he knows it gets to you,” I say, smirking.
Mac shakes his head. “It’s cause he’s an asshole.”
“Do I need to make you two kiss and make up?” I ask, laughing.
“Yeah, I like the sound of that,” Jeremy responds, making kissy faces. “Mac, you wanna little piece of this country ass?”
Mac glares at Jeremy. “Not even if you were the last ass on earth.”
Sarge cocks an eyebrow, his focus shifting from Mac to Jeremy. “They ever stop bickering?” he asks, grinning as he points toward them.
“Rarely. They’re like fuckin’ toddlers.”
An abrupt commotion from down the street pulls our attention. Four guys shout loudly as they carry a beaten-up couch from the Sig Ep house, hundreds of others cheering them on in a crowd that encircles them.
“Here we go,” Sarge mutters. “Fucking idiots. They’re going to ruin the celebration for everyone.”
The four Sig Ep kids drop the couch in the middle of the street as another douses it with the contents of a gas can.
“They’re way too fuckin’ close,” I say, shaking my head. “Dumb fucks are gonna blow themselves to kingdom come.”
“Ah shit,” Mac says from behind me. “Piggies are starting to suspect something too. They’re looking down there.”
A random from the crowd that surrounds the couch tosses his cigarette onto the gas-soaked fabric, just as the other idiot walks away with the gas can, and the couch goes up in a matter of seconds, flames dancing into the sky. The crowd backs up a bit as the intensity of the fire grows.
The cop cars flip on their reds and blues, drawing my attention, and they slowly work their way down frat row, which may have even more people than when I first arrived, if that’s even possible. As the cops creep down the road at a snail’s pace, waiting for kids to move out of their way, sirens blaring into the night sky, I move my attention back to the fire, which has grown even taller. Some of the kids who surround it have begun throwing boxes, wood, and anything else they can find atop the ever-growing flames.
A few of them have started their assault on some unsuspecting road signs, pulling them down until their parallel to the ground before moving on to the next one. Others have begun mingling around the front door of the Commons, and I worry the anarchy will spill into there before long.
A firetruck makes its arrival known with blaring sirens as it sandwiches the crowd with the cops from the opposite side, though they can’t get to the fire from their side either, as the crowd around it has grown far too dense. They blare their horn, but either people don’t give a shit, or they’re too drunk to even realize they’re in the way. A few scatter like bugs, but nowhere near enough for expedited arrival. From the looks of it, the couch will be nothing but metal wire and ash by the time the firetruck makes its way through.
I look at Sarge, disgust in my features. He shakes his head at the chaos below and takes a sip of his moonshine.
“This is fuckin’ absurd, dude. Absolutely absurd. Do they even know what we’re celebratin’ here today?” I ask. “I mean, do they really get it?”
“I highly doubt they’ve given it much thought,” Sarge responds. “The kids these days, man. It’s not like it was when we were younger. They’ve changed. I blame social media.”
“I don’t think you’re too far off there, my friend.”
He adds, “There’s no discipline anymore. No respect. They’re selfish, bored, and lazy. What do you do with that?”
Mac slaps the back of his hand against Carter’s bicep. “Didn’t you say this couch burning stuff started in the sixties?”
Carter chuckles. “It sure did.”
Mac’s eyes trail to Sarge and me. “Listen to you old fucks. Kids haven’t changed. You have.”
I nod my head with a grin. “You may be right on the money with that one, Mac. I think maybe I am gettin’ too old for this kind of shit.” Turning back toward the burning couch, which has died down in intensity a little, I can only shake my head, overwhelmed with the feeling that I just don’t belong here. I’m not so sure I ever really did. All the things I enjoyed about this life when I got here annoy the piss out of me now. All the things that made sense to me then are now so discombobulated. So pointless.
“Guys …” I say, my eyes still on the fire, my back to them. “I don’t think I’m gonna stay here any longer.”
“Heading home already?” Sarge asks.
“No, I don’t mean tonight, though I think it is about time I head back.” I turn back toward them fully, motioning toward the fire burning behind me. “I’ve seen enough of this shit.” I pause for a moment before continuing, “What I meant was, I don’t think I’m gonna stay here in Crescent Falls after the semesters over. I’ve been thinking a lot about it these past fews weeks and I just think it’s what’s best for me. I think, maybe, I’ve overstayed my welcome around here.”
“What the fuck are you sayin’? Overstayed your welcome through whose eyes?” Jeremy asks, wrinkles of concern in his forehead just like the others around him.
“My own eyes. Guys, listen, I only made it this far because of you. Y’all are my brothers for life. I don’t take that lightly, nor will I ever. I just don’t feel like I fit in here anymore. I can feel myself regressing, not movin’ forward as I should be at this stage in my life. I hate my fuckin’ classes. And, honestly, I’m startin’ to hate this frat,” I say in a softer tone, so I can save myself any potential headaches due to prying ears. Only Sarge shows any bit of understanding. If I had to guess, he’s probably thought about leaving this place a time or two himself. If it weren’t for Jonah, he probably would have already. Maybe, now that Jonah’s proven to be a complete asshole, Sarge can meet me out in LA after he gets done with schooling. I imagine plastic surgery in California can be quite lucrative.
“You can’t leave, bro!” Carter pleads, shaking his head, his face twisted in confusion and hurt. “That’s not how this works. Pledge bros have to stick together.”
“And we will,” I respond. “Trust me, the shit we’ve been through, it’s forged our bond. Nothin’ breaks that.”
“Where the hell are you even gonna go?” Jeremy asks, his features relaxed for the most part but an uneasy tension in his tone.
“I’m goin’ out to LA. Decided I’m gonna try my hand at acting.”
“No shit? That’s fantastic!” Sarge smiles wide, his brows relaxing. Of all these guys, he’s the only one I’ve spoken in detail with about my desire to act. He knows it’s not born of some need for fame or notoriety but driven by a genuine passion for losing myself in a well-written character, and the fulfillment gained from truly owning a room from atop the stage. Passing an approving nod, Sarge adds, “Really great to hear, Bishop. Seriously. Why not go for it? You’ll never know what could be until you do put yourself out there.”
“Sarge, shut up, you ain’t helpin’ here,” Jeremy says, jabbing a pointer at him. He glances over at me. “You can’t go, man. You’re our leader. What the hell are we supposed to do without you?”
The concern in his features now, opposite of the borderline apathy he showed initially, tugs at the heart strings a little.
“As heart warmin’ as that is to hear, Jeremy, and I mean it, it really is … not even your pretty ass could keep me here. I’m ready to move forward. Progress. Grow. Y’all just need to come out to Cali and visit sometime soon.”
Carter scoffs. “Alright, you’re totally bullshitting us,” he says. “You have to be.”
“I’m not, man. I’m really not.” I look back out toward where the fire once blazed, now just smoldering ash and metal, and see the cop cars have finally arrived at the scene, the fire truck too. The crowd now pelts the dismounted police and firefighters with trash and bottles from the hills and porches that overlook the scene, and there are so many individuals throwing things, and so many within the vicinity, that officers have no chance of catching anyone in the act.
Turning back, I pass my pledge brothers a look of resolve. “This place just ain’t for me, guys. It never really felt right. But you gotta know, nothin’ changes between us except location. That’s it. Our friendship”—I motion to the five of them—“that’ll never change. You guys are my brothers. Besides, we’ve got two weeks left to kick it and talk more about all this shit. Plenty of time to make some plans.”
“This is just crazy. I was not expecting this tonight,” Carter mutters, his gaze fixed on the distance, seemingly struck by the realization that I’m not bullshitting him here.
I take a step toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. Looking him in the eyes, I say, “Bro, nothin’ changes. I promise you that. Everything’ll work out just fine. Alright?”
He reluctantly nods. “Yeah, yeah. I know. This just sucks big time. I don’t—I,” He keeps his eyes away from mine, hesitating for a moment, and then he continues, “I don’t know what to think here. Or what to say.”
I give his shoulder a tight squeeze, and then I lean in, reiterating. “All is good, brother. All is good. Seriously, don’t worry about a thing.” Dropping my hand to my side, I scan the rest of my pledge brothers. “I need to get some sleep though, guys, I’m drained, but y’all still wanna meet here tomorrow for a date at Club Library like we talked about?”
“Sounds good,” Mac responds. “Not too early though. I’m gonna be shitfaced tonight.”
“We said eleven, right?” Carter asks.
I nod. “Yeah, if that works for y’all.”
“Still early, but I can manage,” Jeremy says, winking.
Carter and Mac nod. “Same.”
“Am I allowed at this shindig?” Sarge asks. “I’ve got some finals of my own to study for.”
Looking at Sarge, my head tilted down and an eyebrow quirked, I rhetorically ask, “What do you think, fucker?”
“Alright, well, then I’ll be there, or here, or whatever.”
My eyes fall to the half empty moonshine bottle in his hand and I smile. “Yeah, we’ll see, Sarge. We’ll see.”
“You certainly will see when I’m standing on this front porch at eleven waiting on your lazy ass,” Sarge says, passing me a sly smile.
“Uh huh.” My tone drips with sarcasm. I pass them a quick two finger salute and then turn, crossing the porch toward the parking lot. Once I squeeze my way down the congested road, and making it about halfway to the smoldering couch frame when I hear Carter calling out my name from behind me. Turning back, I see him running to catch up.
“What’s up, man?” I ask as he slows to a stop.
“I want to come with you,” he blurts, and then bends over, resting his hands on his knees as he catches his breath.
“Huh? Come with me where?”
He straightens. “To LA. I got nothing here, Bish. I got no real family left. My dad gave his life to the bottle and died right along with the rest of my family in that accident.”
“Carter…”
“Don’t ‘Carter’ me, bro. This is what I want. It’s what I need. I can’t stay here either. No way.”
“What about school?”
“I’m a freshman. The few credits I do have will transfer over. What’s the difference between going to school here and going somewhere out there anyway?” He hesitates. “I don’t want to invite myself or anything. If you want to go alone, I totally understand. I just … I don’t know … when you were talking back there, I could relate to everything you were saying. I don’t fit in here either. And honestly, Bish, you’re like a big brother to me. I don’t connect with a whole lot of people and, you know, I get it if you don’t want me to, or whatever. I’m just—”
I put my hand up to silence him. “Bro … do you really wanna come? One-hundred percent? No doubts?”
“Yes! One-hundred and fifty percent. Zero doubts,” he responds assuredly.
I smile, patting him on the shoulder. “May 20th then. Last day of classes. Have your bags packed and ready to go. We’ll have a long drive ahead of us.”
His eyes go wide, his mouth gapes. “Are you fucking serious?! You really don’t mind?”
“You think I wanna move all the way across the country by myself? Fuck no, man. Welcome aboard!”
He hugs me, his excitement feels almost tangible. “Dude, this is going to be the best shit ever! I can’t wait!”
“Glad to have you joinin’ me, man. Seriously. Talk more about it in the mornin’?”
He nods, the smile still wide on his face. “Sounds good!”
We slap hands, and then he turns on his heel and walks away with a new pep in his step.
I smile, appreciating the fact that I not only feel fully content in my decision to leave this place, thanks to a painful assist from Carleigh, but that I’ll have a partner in crime along for the journey now too.