LYING IN BED AND FLIPPING through the channels after my Friday classes, I suddenly hear a loud knock on the door that stirs me. I toss the blanket aside and climb out of bed with a heavy sigh when another knock echoes throughout the apartment. Walking quickly toward the door, I open it but find no one on the other side, only a post-it note on the floor. Bending over, I pick it up and read the scribbled words.
I smile, crumpling up the post-it note in my hand before I rush back to my room. I quickly throw on a pair of pants and a hoodie, my leather jacket over that, 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 crewcut climbs out, an empty sandbag in one hand and a smoldering 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 too-tight t-shirt sleeves.
How the fuck is he only wearing a t-shirt in this weather?!
Behind him come Brady and Trevor. The three of them line up in front of me, and Trevor passes me a nervous look.
“So, you promise not to kill us if Sarge here throws that 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,” Sarge says in his gruff voice. “And I was twenty-six. You know how tradition goes. You were in the Army, too.”
I nod, motioning to my head and grinning when I say, “I know it well. What are y’all waitin’ for? Bag this shit!” I say with a smirk, motioning toward my head.
Sarge smiles and slips the bag over my head gently, and then they guide me into the SUV, carefully seating me in the back.
“Watch your toes,” Sarge says, nudging me in a bit and closing the hatch behind me. After a few moments, I hear him ask, “You alright back there?”
I turn to look at the back seat where he sits, but can’t make out much of anything. I only know it’s him by the orange glow of his cigar.
“Not too bad. Though, not too comfortable either.” I chuckle. “You really did this shit?” I ask as the vehicle starts moving.
“Yeah. I didn’t really give a fuck. I was down for anything at that point. Just wanted to be a part of something. Probably the same reason you’re here now. Needed that taste of brotherhood again.”
“How long were you in for?”
“I did a little over 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 seeing as I had been gone for so long.”
“MOS?” I ask, the first of my veteran confirmation questions. These are questions veterans ask each other to verify service. They’re basic questions any true servicemember could answer, but it trips fakes up expeditiously.
“Eleven Bravo. Ended up going through sniper and Ranger school after OSUT.”
One Station Unit Training. In order to describe OSUT, I’ll use the words of my drill sergeant when we graduated basic training and moved on to AIT (Advanced Individual Training) school to learn our new jobs: “Congratulations, motherfuckers. Nothing fucking changes. Now get on your faces and give me fifty!”
Pass.
“Nice. I was a Ranger too. 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.”
These aren’t numbers just pulled out of one’s ass, and any Ranger could decipher them upon listening.
Pass.
“Fuck, those were some nasty places. Wild fuckin’ West-type shit.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. It’s why I ended up getting out. Just too much fighting.” Sarge hesitates. “The guys told me about your eye. Where’d that happen?”
“End of a tour with 1st Ranger Bat. out of Baghdad. Fuckin’ saw that shit coming too. We had just been talking about it a few days before it happened. Too many close calls. Too many idiot fuckin’ chiefs. Too many insurgents with hate in their hearts and a taste for blood.”
Sarge nods. “You remember much of it?” he asks as the vehicle stops, gravel crunching beneath the tires.
“Just blood. The taste of it. My teeth broken to pieces, spitting them out as best I could. This terrible sting that took up the spot where my teeth used to be. I couldn’t see anything. My ears were fucked. Ringin’ like a bitch. It was all just kind of a blur at that point. Docs put me in a coma for two weeks once we were rescued and I made it to the main combat hospital in Balad. I woke up in Germany, not rememberin’ what the fuck happened.”
“Fuck, man. Well, glad you’re still here with us, fighting the good fight.”
“You too, brother. You too.”
Trevor clears his throat. “Sorry, guys. Don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s time to start,” he says, reluctance in his tone.
“No worries. We’ll talk more later, Bishop.”
“Definitely.”
I feel a rush of cold air as the hatch opens, and then someone grabs my arm.
“Alright bud, you can take this shit off now,” Trevor says, pulling the sandbag off my head and tossing it aside as he helps me out of the vehicle.
“Thanks. That shit was hard to breathe through,” I say as my feet meet the gravel road. Barren trees surround us, dotted here and there with dense pines, as do about fifty guys with the Delta Iota Kappa letters on their chest, shivering hands in their pockets, and a stillness in the air around us.
Trevor points toward the edge of the road, where I notice 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, brother,” I say.
“Yeah, you too,” he replies. “Now I reckon the real fun begins.” He lets out a chuckle that’s quickly snuffed out by Trevor’s projected voice.
“Alright, pledges,” he says, pacing in front of us. “First, congratulations on receiving bids for the Spring 2011 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 come before you, have stood where you’re standing, committing themselves to this chapter and the 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 months, as a new DIK brother.” He pauses for a moment, stopping in his tracks and looking as if he’s gathering his thoughts.
“This will not be an easy process,” he finally 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 BSU has to offer. Being that it’s the spring semester, there are much fewer of you than there would be in the fall. That means you’ll have to lift a heavier load. You’ll have to put more in. Are you ready for the challenge?”
There are a few quiet “Yeahs” and nods between us, but Trevor isn’t satisfied.
“Let’s try that again. Say it like you fucking mean it. 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 woods, which is void of vegetation outside of the enormous pines scattered throughout. I can’t help but feel foolish at hearing my own voice echo. I’m taken back to when I was freshly 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 and my Army days are behind me.
“That’s better.” He looks back at the large 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, a tank top—responds. He runs a hand over his head as he approaches our line. Somehow, even as cold as it is, sweat beads speckle his bald head. In a loud, confident voice, he continues, “What up, pledges. The name’s Damian, 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 respond in unison, “Fuck yeah!”
“Good. Now, follow me.”
Damian saunters past 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 behind him down a dirt path leading into the woods, toward a thick patch of pines that look as if they were strategically planted in a spacious circle long ago. Through the pines, I can see the flicker of flames from torches stuck into the ground, mimicking the pines’ circular pattern. Damian passes between the trees and we follow in after him. In the middle of the circle stand three men, cloaked in velvet robes, side by side. I feel like I’m in the middle of a fucking ritual sacrifice here, and we’re the unlucky virgins.
I recognize Brady holding a skull at the far left of the line. The one in the middle wields a dagger, and the last one holds a book.
“Are we gonna die here today?” Mac jokes as we stop abruptly with Damian.
“Hey Red,” Damian snaps, narrowing his eyes at Mac. “This is tradition. Respect it.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry man,” Mac stammers.
Damian motions toward the three robed brothers. “Line up and link up in front of ’em,” he says.
We do as we’re told, facing the three robed officers, about three feet away from them. The brother on the far-right steps forward. He holds out the book in his hands to show it to us.
“The bond of brotherhood is sacred,” he begins, his voice touched with a rasp, naturally quiet. “You are standing where thousands have stood before you, taking the oath that has echoed throughout these woods for seventy years,” he continues, his piercing blue eyes scanning us as 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 between us.
“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, stumbling a bit in the middle.
“I am a DIK!” Zane says, louder now.
“I am a DIK!” we repeat.
“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 again over the words, which garners a nasty stare from Brady. 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 again, 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. For me, it’s a sad realization that perhaps I’m taking backward steps here.
“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 and 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, preparedness, not overreaction, the might of fraternal mind. These are the triple obligations of the fraternal bond. These are the principles that you will carry with you and represent for the rest of your lives as members of Delta Iota Kappa.” Zane tucks the book in the crook of his armpit.
“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 this book, and you will enter a brotherhood for life.”
Zane takes a step back in line 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 guy with the dagger stammers as he digs into his pocket with his free hand. 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 new pledge class president, as chosen by the brothers of Delta Iota Kappa. Take the list and see to it that you and your men complete it tonight.”
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 Damian clears his throat, drawing my attention.
“Don’t look at it yet,” he snaps, motioning toward 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,” he says. “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 Damian 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, laughing maniacally, 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 fully realize what I’ve gotten myself into.
“Well, what do you think?” I hear Sarge ask from the back seat.
“Weird shit, man.”
Sarge laughs loudly. “Yeah, you can thank the frat forefathers for that. There’s a lot of ridiculous shit they put in the book back in the day that we’re still doing today for some reason. Just have to play along.”
“Sounds like another book I know,” I say through a laugh. “Shit, I feel like I’m in basic training all over again.”
“A little bit, but nothing like what we went through. This shit’s 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 has to be worth getting this shit done fast.” He pauses, 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 dirt. He’s owed a little insider info.”
“Yeah, alright, but Bishop, 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 when it comes to these things.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about me. I get it. And I do appreciate the info, Sarge, but who you callin’ old? What are you, like fifty?”
Sarge laughs. “Twenty-Nine, motherfucker. Old enough to be your father.”
“Sarge, uh, you’re thirty, dude,” Trevor says, chuckling.
“Not for another month, jackass,” Sarge says, shooting Trevor a sideways glance.
“Well, you look like you’re fucking eighty, so who knows.” Trevor laughs. “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 are we gonna be sandbagged like that? Felt like a fuckin’ captured insurgent.”
“Only one more time, on the last day of Hell Week,” Trevor replies.
“Hell Week? What are you guys, the fuckin’ Marines?”
“Fuck no,” Sarge says, shaking his head adamantly. “Never Marines.”
“Not quite.” Trevor laughs. “Not even close. But we have our own version of Hell Week. That time will come, though.” The vehicle comes 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 my back with a stiff pop and then dig my cigarettes out of my pocket. The other pledges congregate in the parking lot a bit away from us, as dozens of the brothers from the initiation now exit their own vehicles and file through the basement door.
Likely prepping for the party. Lucky bastards. I could really use a fuckin’ 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 by morning. And obviously, you’ve got some motivation to finish early.” He leans in. “But remember to keep that between us. And have fun, man.” He slaps hands with me, 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 situated,” he orders, disappearing through the doorway.
My pledge brothers shuffle toward me, as I light a cigarette and then pull the list from my pocket, replacing it with the cigarette pack. They surround me as I hold the paper out for everyone to see under the dim streetlight and take a strong pull on my smoke.
Through a smoky exhale, I say, “Alright, looks like we got our work cut out for us. I ain’t readin’ all this shit out loud but look over it and let’s figure out where to start.”
Pledge Scavenger Hunt
1.Obtain one of each of the following:
Car tire
Traffic cone
Bra
Bowl filled with weed or a joint
A McDonald’s employee badge
Homeless Hank’s dirty underwear
Another fraternity’s letter
2.Record one of you doing the following:
Steal food from a restaurant
Kiss a stranger
Sing karaoke
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 take another pull of my cigarette.
“We start with a cab,” I say, pulling out my phone and going to work on the screen. “Can you guys find a traffic cone in the time it takes me to grab my Wrangler?”
“Yeah, shouldn’t be an issue,” Carter responds. “Could probably locate a car tire, too.”
“And I’ve got the joint covered.” Mac laughs, his eyebrows dancing as he points to his pocket. “I’ve got a Crown Royal bag full of them.”
“Well, fuck,” I say, motioning to his pocket. “Let me have one.”
He frowns, letting out a heavy breath and reluctantly pulling the bag out. He opens it and grabs a fat joint, reluctantly handing it over.
“I’ll get you back, Red,” I say, snatching it from him and smiling, slipping it behind my ear.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, sulking. “Just know you’re taking a man’s medicine right now.”
“Oh, fuck you.” I laugh.
“I have glaucoma!” he reasons in a sincere voice then busts out laughing.
I shake my head, waving Mac off as the cab pulls up beside us. “Alright, I’ll see you guys in a few. One of y’all give me your number, so I can text you when I get back.”
Jeremy rattles off his number, and I punch it into my phone before I climb into the cab and it departs.
After making my way back to my apartment and getting my Wrangler, I return to the frat house, smoking part of the joint along the way. As I pull up to the Delta Iota parking lot, I see my fellow pledges in a circle around a traffic cone with a ragged old car tire slipped over it. Mac spins a white lace bra on one finger and grips a lit joint with the other.
“Where’d y’all find that?” I ask, hopping out of the Jeep and motioning toward the bra as I approach.
“We ran into one of my exes,” Jeremy responds with a quick wink.
“Must not have been a bad breakup, eh?”
“Nah, it was a fuckin’ mess, man, but what can I say? I’m a smooth talker,” Jeremy responds, flashing his ghost white set of perfectly aligned teeth. It makes me wonder how a man who dips as much as he 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 clue really. “You sure it wasn’t a mistake lettin’ her go?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and tossing the bra at Jeremy’s face.
Mid-catch, he replies, “Way more to a lady than her tits, my friend.”
I laugh. “Way to make me feel like an asshole.”
Jeremy shrugs. “I’ve been doin’ that to guys my whole damn life by just bein’ me, my friend.” He flashes a smile, gesturing toward the Jeep.
“Well, let’s get a move on. I wanna get this shit done as soon as fuckin’ possible,” I say.
“Where to first?” Mac asks, climbing into the Jeep after me. The others are close behind.
“Liquor store,” I respond. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m doin’ this without a drink.”
After grabbing a fifth of Jameson, we cruise down the main strip, which is alive with activity as the Friday night festivities pick up. I’ve traded seats with Mac, who now drives us as I nurse the bottle.
“Let me get a draw on that,” Jeremy says from the back seat with gimme fingers.
I pass it back and he snatches it from me quickly, tipping the bottle back and letting out a pleased sigh as he hands it over to Carter.
“Thank ya kindly,” Jeremy says, swiping an arm across his lips. “So, what’s first?”
I think for a moment. “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 sets up right outside of Walgreens most days. It’s the only place they let him be for the most part.”
“Well, that works out.”
Arriving at the Walgreens parking lot a few moments later, Mac parks the car and I spot who must be Homeless Hank, seated against the building, just beside the entrance. He’s got a stringy gray beard, raggedy clothing with holes throughout, and dirt smudged on his face.
“That our guy?” I ask as Mac switches off the engine.
“That’d be him,” Jeremy responds.
“Perfect. You guys let him know what we’re doin’ here, and I’ll grab what we need from the store.”
“Oh, Hank knows what we’re up to. He’s been around these parts forever. And this isn’t his first scavenger hunt,” Carter responds.
“Alright, well, start gettin’ your money together then, boys. I’ll be right back.” I exit the vehicle and enter the Walgreens as the others empty the Jeep behind me.
A short while later, I leave the store with two large, overstuffed bags in my hands.
“What the hell did you get?” Mac asks, eyeing them.
“Enough shit to make me feel okay about all this,” I respond, my eyes shifting down toward Hank. I set the bags down and put out my hand toward him. “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.
“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 them, rolling my eyes.
“What the fuck is this? Twenty bucks?”
“Twenty-four,” Mac corrects me.
“That’s all you fuckers got?” I ask.
Mac shrugs. “We’re college students.”
I chuckle as I pull my wallet out and add two twenties to the pile. Returning my wallet, I look back toward Hank.
“I’ve been told you know why we’re here?” I ask, not so much a question as it is a statement.
Hank nods.
I hand over the wad of cash, and after momentarily eyeing my hand with confusion, Hank snatches the bills from me and stuffs them into his pocket.
“I don’t like any of this. It feels exploitative as fuck, 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, some t-shirts, and a bag of socks. “I’d like to trade you all of these for your underpants. The ones you’re wearin’ right now. Would that be okay?”
Hank looks surprised and then nods.
“There’s a bathroom inside. You can change in there once we’re done here. Does that work?”
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, saying, “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 enjoy in this country.”
Hank cackles. “Beer is beer,” he reasons 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 him and opening a beer of my own. I tilt it in Hank’s direction.
“Cheers,” I say, and he clinks his bottle against mine before we both tilt them back.
Lowering his bottle, Hank eyes the beer label and looks over at me with bewildered eyes as he smacks his lips with pleasure. “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’ll leave you be. For your efforts”—I grab the bag that held the clothes and hand it over—“There are a few cans of SpaghettiOs and soup in here. There’s soap, toothpaste, and a toothbrush in there, as well.”
Hank takes the bag with his free hand, peeks inside for a moment, and then sets the bag on top of the clothes.
“What do you need?” Hank asks. “A picture, right? What else?”
I hesitate, pulling clippers and double-A batteries from the bag that was holding the six-pack. I remove both from their packaging and set them in my lap, tossing the trash to the side. My pledge brothers look at me with brows scrunched in confusion. I take a long pull from my beer, setting the bottle on the ground beside me and letting out a sigh of contentment.
“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 can shave the rest. Would that be okay?”
Hank nods. “Shit yeah, I could use a haircut. Do we gotta shave it all the way after though? It’s cold as my ex-wife’s heart out here.”
I laugh. “You alright keepin’ the mullet?”
“Yeah, who the hell am I tryin’ to impress?” he reasons.
“True. Well, much obliged, my friend. We appreciate you puttin’ up with this shit.”
“Don’t even mention it. Other people ain’t been so nice about it,” he responds, taking a drink of his beer. He lets out a pleased sigh, adding, “Well, let’s get ’er done, yeah?”
“Let’s do it.”
Once I shave Hank’s hair into a mullet and take the selfie we need, I send him inside with his new clothes in hand. He brings the toothbrush, toothpaste, and soap with him.
“Mac,” I say, as I pick up the loose hair and trash from the ground to toss in the garbage can. A smirk builds on my face. “Can you go in after him?”
“Sure, but why?”
After disposing of the hair and trash, I grab the empty bag from the ground and hand it over to him. I shake it vigorously for him to take.
He inspects it for a moment without moving, and then his face goes white—even whiter than his already ghost-like complexion—as he realizes what I want him to do with the bag.
“Fucking hell, guys. Why does this fall on me?” he asks, a bit of a whine to his tone.
“You’re the youngest one here, no?” I ask, an eyebrow quirked.
Mac lets out a heavy breath.
“Twenty here,” Jeremy says, raising a hand. “Twenty-one in six months.”
“I’m nineteen,” Carter adds, his head rolling over toward Mac who just pouts.
I look at Mac, too, and though I already know his answer, with a smile I ask, “Well, how about you, Red?
“Eighteen, whatever. I’ll do it, fuckers,” he says. Snatching the bag from me, he adds, “If I catch something, though, I’m spreading it to you ass-cancers.”
“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 pinched between two fingers and as far from his body as his arm will allow, Mac makes his way outside. A much-cleaner looking Hank comes out a few moments after him. Mac tosses the tied bag at my feet and crosses his arms with a frown on his face that just gets a laugh out of the rest of us.
Hank plops down where he sat before, picking his beer back up and lifting it toward me. “Well, thanks, fellas.”
“Thank you, Hank. I’ll see you around, eh?” I say, motioning for Mac to unlock my Jeep as I retrieve the bag from the ground.
“You know where to find me,” Hank says with a wink, and I pass him a two-finger salute, making my way toward the Jeep with the others.
As we climb 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, then fling the bagged underwear toward Mac in the driver’s seat.
“Fuck, man!” Mac screeches, batting the bag away like a cat attacking a stringed toy dangling in its face. “This is some messed up shit.” His voice cracks as he backs away from the bag even more. “I get driving duties and dirty underwear duty? That’s not fucking cool!”
“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 the bag back up as Mac cowers away from it—“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 back seat and shrugs. “I promise not to cry like Mac did.”
“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, Prez?” he asks me.
“McDonald’s,” I respond, garnering questioning glances from my pledge brothers, but I simply point toward the golden arches a short distance down the road.
Pulling into the lot, Mac parks the Jeep, and then I glance back at 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, cracking my window just a bit. “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 fuckin’ hamburger.”
“So, what is it we’re actually doing?” Carter asks.
“Mac, you’re gonna record.” I look out the windshield and through the plate glass windows that cover the front of 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 waitin’ in line, like normal customers. When I clear my throat, I want you two to start pretend fightin’. 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 on out.”
“Sounds easy enough,” Carter says, his tone dipped in sarcasm.
“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 doin’ it if I’m able to. No way to do that if those employees are standin’ right there.”
Carter nods. “Alright, then. Let’s do it.”
I lead them out of the Jeep, tossing my cigarette into the ashtray beside the door before making my way inside.
After chatting with one of the employees for a moment, I watch Jeremy and Carter come through the doors and get in line from the corner of my eye. I turn back fully for a brief moment and see Mac follow in after them, walking right to an empty table and taking a seat. He pulls the phone out of his pocket when I turn back toward the employee.
“So, twenty bucks will do it?”
She nods her head. “No sweat off my back. Only costs me five to replace.” She removes the tag from her uniform top and hands it over.
I swap her with the twenty and pocket the name tag.
“Much obliged,” I say, clearing my throat loudly. “Thanks, Alesha.”
“No problem, darlin’.” She smiles, and I smile back before my eyes flit over to my buddies in line. Alesha looks too.
Carter eyes the menu board, pretending to figure out what he wants to order when Jeremy groans, “Fuckin’ hell, boy. Could you take any fuckin’ longer to make up your goddamn mind? Are you havin’ reading problems up there or something? I’m fuckin’ starving!”
Carter looks back, fighting a smile from forming. “Screw you, redneck,” he snarls. “Go fuck your sister or something.”
“That’s old damn news, kid. I’m too busy fuckin’ yours these days,” Jeremy grunts.
Carter’s jaw drops, and he responds with a stiff push, shouting, “My sister would never touch an inbred like you!” His lips quiver, the laughter desperate to escape. “She’s got standards.”
Jeremy shoves Carter back against the counter. “If, by standards, you mean my sweaty balls in her eager fuckin’ mouth, then yeah, I guess she’s got them in spades.”
“Can y’all please settle down?” Alesha asks, letting out a heavy sigh.
It’s too late.
Carter charges forward, tackling Jeremy to the ground, and begins punching him in the side. They look like real punches, and hell, maybe they are.
“Eat my dick, 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 with interjecting hands. A few other employees from the back crane their necks to catch the action as I glance back toward Mac. He’s getting the whole thing on video while laughing his ass off.
I turn and slink through the opening in the counter, the cook’s eyes moving toward me as I grab a Big Mac from the food warmer. He shrugs, and I shrug too as I nonchalantly walk with it back to the other side. Mac is upright now, camera held high, and I abruptly 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 high above his head as if it’s a title belt, all eyes on him now as he yells, “Attica, man! Attica!” There’s a touch of crazy in his eyes, his hair splayed out in all directions, as he runs out the door, and it garners uproarious laughter from my gut.
Jeremy and Carter cease fighting, and they burst out in laughter too, separating from each other but remaining on the floor.
“Y’all got problems,” one of the employees says, waving them off and making her way back around the counter with a huff.
Alesha follows her co-worker, muttering, “Damn frat boys.”
I help the two of them up off the ground and lead them out the door, both of them still fighting fits of laughter.
“I said, sneak the burger out,” I bark toward Mac when I spot him on the hood of my Jeep. He’s halfway through the burger already. “And get your ass off my Wrangler.”
“Sorry,” he says, sliding on his rear until his feet meet the ground. “But that shit was hilarious. I couldn’t help myself.”
I motion toward the other two and then point toward Mac. “Ain’t it quite the contradictory sight to see little Mac eatin’ a Big Mac?” I chuckle.
Following a laugh of his own, Carter asks, “There were like three other employees back there who probably saw you take the burger anyway. And they had cameras. Was the fake fight even necessary?”
We climb into the vehicle, and 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. “Honestly … 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 the lot. “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 responds as Mac navigates the Jeep back toward Main Street.
“Does that mean you’re game for karaoke?” I ask.
Carter shakes his head adamantly. “Oh hell no. I’m no singer.”
“I got this one, gents,” Jeremy says. “I have 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 your right.” Jeremy points to a hole-in-the-wall bar off Main Street, with a ‘Karaoke’ sign flickering in bright neon red.
Jeremy wasn’t lying about his voice. Not even close. He sings “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” which just so happens to be one of my most reviled songs. It’s what I call ‘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. He serenades a girl Carter knows from back home and surprises us all when he caps off the performance with a quick dip of the beautiful stranger, his lips against hers, welcome and waiting.
One-upping me, Jeremy is able to knock out three tasks in one go. As we exit the karaoke spot and congregate on the sidewalk, I praise him. “That was some good shit, man. We’re knocking them off like crazy. Let’s keep it goin’.” I take the list out of my pocket and flatten the crinkled paper out, examining it. “Alright, so we’ve got two more before the big one.”
“And what’s the big one?” Mac asks.
“Stealing another fraternity’s letter,” Carter and I respond in unison.
“That’s not going to be easy, and if we get caught, be ready to either run or brawl,” Carter adds.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’,” I say. “And I’m not much for running.” I crack a smile, but Mac’s features take up a new nervousness. “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, seeming to realize how ineffective pointing is in the dark, he adds, “It’s tall as hell.”
“Who here can do heights?” I ask.
Uneasy looks pass over their youthful faces.
“Not a fucking chance.” Mac lets out a nervous chuckle.
“I ain’t so good with ’em either,” Jeremy says. “’Besides, I’d say I carried my own weight tonight already.”
“That you did,” I agree.
Carter shakes his head stiffly without a word.
“Didn’t you jump out of airplanes or something in the Army?” Mac questions, and I let out a heavy sigh before relenting.
“Yeah, but I at least had a fuckin’ 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. I really don’t want to end my existence on this earth as bear shit. Mac, Jeremy, you guys go get a selfie with a stripper. Tough job you got there.” I smirk.
“Harder than ya think,” Jeremy says, grinning. “Crescent Falls strippers are fuckin’ succubae, man. And we’re fresh outta cash.”
I chuckle as I gesture toward Mac for the keys with gimmie fingers. “Improvise.” I laugh, winking. “And remember to protect the boys. Stilettos are fuckin’ deadly.”
“You alright to drive?” Mac asks, handing over the keys.
I snatch them from his hand, rolling my eyes. “It’s my fuckin’ car, bitch. And I wasn’t born yesterday. Two shots and a drink are like child’s play in my world.”
Mac shrugs, taking a step back and putting his hands up. “Alright, alright,” he says.
“Just get your selfie done and we’ll meet up after, alright?” I ask with no intent on waiting for responses. I head toward the Jeep and Carter follows suit. “Text me when y’all are finished,” I add over my shoulder, climbing into the vehicle, Carter close behind.
After a few minutes on the road, I turn to Carter and ask, “So how tall we talkin’ here?”
“A hundred feet. Maybe more.”
“Fuck me runnin’. All this shit better be worth it, goddammit.”
“What are you even doing rushing a fraternity anyway? You know there’s going to be a lot of bullshit you have to go through. They’re not going to fuck with you too much or anything, at least I don’t think so, but you’re going to have to do some really stupid shit.”
I shrug. “You spend enough time alone with the kind of thoughts I got, and a little bullshit starts lookin’ quite alright.”
“I can only imagine.” Carter’s focus shifts to the dash, wrinkles of uncertainty taking up his forehead. I wonder just how much this kid holds on to. By the look 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, also dipping my head to try and get a glance at it but to no avail. After a few moments, I finally spot the steel gargantuan tower jutting into the pitch-black sky, so far up that I can’t see the top through the clouds. 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 fuckin’ shit?”
“Yeah, they have for decades, my man. 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 hearin’ about these fuckin’ traditions tonight, man,” 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?” I ask rhetorically with an eyebrow quirked.
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 ain’t gonna do it. I’m just sayin’, somebody, at some point, has to scratch their head and say, ‘Hey, maybe this isn’t the smartest move here, havin’ eighteen, nineteen-year-old kids climbing fuckin’ radio towers.” I chuckle, heading out into the icy air. The smell of pine and frosty dew surrounds me.
“I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a veteran to do it then, huh?” Carter jokes, hopping out of the Jeep as well, shutting the door behind him. His gaze shifts toward the clouds that surround the tip of the tower like a bonnet. “Fuck,” he mutters.
As I grab a pair of combat gloves from my center console and slip them on, I ask, “Yeah, ‘fuck’ is about right.” I shake my head, taking a few deep breaths as my eyes trail slowly up and down the frosted metal monstrosity. “Why do they call it Archie’s Tower anyway?”
Stepping up to the base, I put my hands against the thick steel—cold even through the gloves—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, his eyes traveling from the base of the tower to the very top again before looking back over at me. “Ended up falling from the top of that thing, trying to take a polaroid. Died from it.”
“You have got be fuckin’ kidding me.” I shake my head, heaving myself up onto the first rung, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest.
“It’s only a tall tale. Nobody knows if it’s actually true or not,” Carter assures me.
I glance down at him and smile. “Well, if I fall, I’m headin’ straight for your fuckin’ head. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I laugh, starting my reckless ascent.
Halfway up, I think my heart might 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. Unfortunately, in this instance, I find that, without a safety harness or parachute, my fear is taking much of the satisfaction I’d usually get from a situation such as this. The air is also frigid, my face numbing by the second, my muscles trembling in an attempt to warm them.
Breathing slow, steady breaths, I continue up one rung after another, until I’m nearly at the top, the air around me sending shivers down my spine. There’s a churn in my gut as I imagine slipping on one of the last few steps I have left and falling mercilessly toward the frozen, unforgiving ground.
I shake away the thoughts and push on, one slow, steady step at a time as I sing ‘The Crimson’ by Atreyu loudly to busy my mind. Eventually, I’m at the top and amongst the clouds. Taking a deep breath, I pull myself tightly into the steel beam, locking it into the crook of my elbow, no space between me and the metal. I pull my phone out of my pocket with my free 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. A smattering of twinkling stars is set behind it.
“Are you alright up there?” Carter calls out, his voice distant, nearly inaudible.
I lift a half-assed middle finger on the hand belonging to the arm that grips the beam and snap the selfie, shoving the phone back into my pocket quickly once I have it and then grabbing the beam with both hands. For the first time, I look down, and I’m hit with cold sweats instantly. My stomach is set to tumble dry. My heart drums like a Neil Peart solo.
“Havin’ the time of my fuckin’ life!” I yell down through clenched teeth, dizziness forcing me to bring my eyes back to the horizon. I shut my eyes, taking steady breaths to try and control my rapid breathing.
What in the ever-lovin’ fuck am I doin’ 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 be in this position. I don’t have long to ruminate over it, though, as the weight of my lower body jerks me down with great force. The breath lurches from my lungs as I squeeze the steel beam with everything I have, envisioning my hands slipping off the frosted metal. 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.