[From an unfinished novel by Jeremiah Hawkins, written in 2003]




Chapter 4

	Ricky’s street was lined with cars on the right and the left extending almost halfway down the block. I had to park about fifty yards away. The “thump” coming from his house could be heard all the way at the end of the block. I wondered how many people had complained. 
	The party was well underway, a fact made evident by a guy vomiting on the front lawn. 
	“Let it all out!” advised Dave. “You’ll feel better in the morning.” I kept walking with a chuckle while shaking my head. 
	I opened the door, and before we made it inside Ricky saw us and belted out: “Yeah!! The playa’s are here!” 
It was rather loud in the house, but the music was good –  “house” music, I think it’s called, or maybe techno, or electronica. Who can keep up? I think of it as disco for this generation. It’s centered on dance, and that dance is accented by clubs, drugs, fashion, and sex. That was what disco was. I enjoyed it though - whatever someone wanted to call it. Music that is instrumental, such as house music, ambient, and even classical appeals to me. When you dance to it, whether it be physically or mentally, it is you who are doing it. It is not the singer or rapper. If music speaks of violence and self-praise, then people will inevitably walk around with a chip on their shoulder with an “I’m a badass” mentality, trying to become the person behind the microphone. 
	“Hey, how’s it going!” I yelled to Ricky over the music as Dave split off from us, walking towards a group that screamed his name. 
	“You are way behind! Follow me,” exclaimed Ricky as he turned waving me along. 
	We passed people dancing; people leaning against the wall drinking and observing; people in enthusiastic conversation, which probably just appeared enthusiastic considering they had to yell to hear each other. 
	It was your typical party, but one of the better typical parties: The girls flittered about and danced to entertain and arouse while the guys trotted about trying to project a powerful and confident persona, the goal being to get as much energy from each other as possible to fuel some inner need to be admired and loved. I felt the need to play along, as well. I always did. So, I walked tall with a confident grin, purposely not shying away from any eye contact; in fact I had my sex eyes going at this point. This just meant that I was checking out every girl there with the thought “I could have you” ringing through my head, though it rarely reaped any rewards. For all I know, my sex eyes probably made me look like I had Downs Syndrome, or something. 
	We made it to the kitchen and it was already trashed. There were bottles of liquor scattered along the countertops with semi-empty and fully emptied beer bottles hiding in between, like some thick bottle forest. Three kegs sat against the wall. 
	Ricky led me straight to a counter and turned around. Leaning his elbow on it, he said, “Pick your poison, my friend, because you have some major catching up to do.” He opened his hand revealing a double shot glass.
	“Where did you get that? Now, I know you didn’t just pick it up. Don’t tell me that you’ve been carrying it around with you!” I exclaimed as he nodded and smiled.  “You really have been waiting for me!”
	“Yep. Now what will it be?” 
	I pointed to the gin, though it probably wasn’t such a good choice considering it was one of the most potent there. 
	Ricky and I got along best when drunk. Some of his superficialities and some of my uptightness were drowned beneath the sea of alcohol we would do backstrokes in from time to time. On the way to the pools of alcohol, though, we could get along just out of anticipation for the upcoming bond we were going to share once we arrived. We partied well together, and just then I remembered once again the true reason I hung around Ricky. But, I would forget that point the next time we would converse while sober. I always did.
He handed me my third consecutive double and I swallowed it down and slammed the shot glass down on the counter. He cheered me on by giving me a high five. The song that began to play was a really good one and I began to dance a little while standing there. I wasn’t a bad dancer, but I wasn’t really good, either. The thing was I didn’t like dancing unless I was fully letting go. Though, the day after, I didn’t like it much when I had let go. I mean, shame and embarrassment is an excruciating ally of a hangover. He gave me one more double and I told him it was enough for now. 
	“Ok,” he said, “I think you are almost caught up, and that’s good enough for me.” He put his arm around me and led me out of the kitchen. I was already feeling the first shot I had taken. I was ready, and Ricky, the pro-partier he was, knew this.
	“Hey, dance with this fool!” he said to a girl that was walking by. She looked at me and smiled, a smile resulting, I think, more from being chosen by Ricky than having to dance with me.
	“Alright. Come on!” she said as she grabbed my hand. 
	We began to dance, and I couldn’t help but notice that this girl was very sexy. As more and more alcohol began to mix in with my blood the more I wanted to dance as erotic with this girl as possible. I was not, however, going to take the initiative, and I didn’t have to. She didn’t hold anything back when dancing. To this girl, it appeared, dancing was a rehearsal for sex, or maybe a substitute. I was into it, regardless. I wanted whatever this girl was going to give me. I didn’t know her and she didn’t know me, but that held no bearing on the situation at hand. I could care less about her dreams, her needs, her past, her tastes, and she could care less about mine. This communion we were having was about mystery and the thrill that mystery entails: the wonder at what is on the other side of the door; the expectation of what something appearing succulent will taste like; the anticipation a surprise gift builds. It is a wonderful feeling that only a follow through could ruin. 
Deep down we both knew that we couldn’t satisfy each other’s yearnings. How could we? We knew nothing of each other, but we weren’t concerned about that. We simply wanted to own each other, and at that moment, and just for that moment, we did. What I wanted her to do she did and what she wanted me to do I did. Sex drove us on a road of music into a unity of an imaginary fulfillment. We let our imaginations fill the voids that ran deep to such an extent that if it were not for our current fantasy all that would be left was her and I looking at each other wondering what the hell we were doing with this person, and sounding remarkably close to what is thought the next morning. …The song was over.
	“I’m going to get something to drink,” I said and she nodded, smiled, gave me a hug, and walked out of my life. Ricky walked by at that moment with another double shot and gave it to me without slowing his stride. I drank it and as I turned around I caught a glimpse of who I thought was Katherine. It was her. Coming from this last relationship with Miss Whoknows?, I felt something warm inside me as I looked at Katherine being flashed like a strobe light by the crowd of dancers in between us. I began to walk toward her. I had a nice buzz by now, for the dancing had sped up my digestion of the shots. Before I got halfway there she walked away. I jumped to see over the people and get a glimpse of where she was going. But, I lost her.
I started back to the kitchen to fix a mixed drink. I think I had had enough of those shots. A Gin and tonic sounded good, but at parties I usually had to settle for gin and some kind of clear soda. After making my drink, sitting down to rest was next on the agenda.
Finding an empty space on a couch in the living room, I sat down. My eyes perused the scene and landed on a beautiful girl leaning against a wall and talking to some guy. Her back was to me but she would turn and look around from time-to-time, probably to see who all was spellbound, stuck staring at her in admiration. She was a beauty, wearing a shirt that came within a couple inches from her waste line, a small tattoo on her lower back. It was a design of some sort similar to a sun, oval and colorful. Not an uncommon tattoo, but a fad similar to the tribal band around a guy’s bicep. What was so alluring about that tattoo in that spot? What about the old fashion statement that had guys pulling up one of their pant legs? I never understood that stuff. 
	A girl was sitting a couple feet from me on the same couch, and so I decided to ask her.
	“Excuse me,” I began with all the courage that the cup in my hand could muster. She looked at me and I said, “Do you see that tattoo on that girl over there?’
	“Uh huh,” she replied with a smile.	
	“Do you like it?”
	“Yeah, it’s alright, I guess. I have one like it, but mine is probably like… like an inch lower than hers and, like, not as colorful. But it is like a little more… like.. more stuff in it.”
	“Why did you get it?”
	“I dunno. I like it, I guess.”
	“Why?” I asked as I saw her smile begin to fade.
	“I dunno. It’s cool. You don’t like tattoos?”
	“Oh, sure! I was just curious,” I said as her smile returned.
	I turned my attention back to the party. What to say next to her was a question I was posing to myself. Just then a guy gently sat down between us.
	“Man, I’ve been looking for a place to sit for over fifteen minutes,” he said to me as if in passing.
	I wasn’t happy to see him coming in between the best action I’d had in a couple of months. 
	“That girl is pretty, isn’t she?” he asked me while looking at the girl leaning against the wall that I had just been talking about.
	“Yes, very,” I replied.
	“Here look at this,” he said as he pulled out his wallet and showed me a picture of a woman that appeared to have been taken in the 70’s. “What do you think?”
	“She’s good looking.”
	“It’s my mom.”
	“Oh, uh..”
	 “She was in her twenties. Have you ever looked at old yearbooks from the seventies?” He asked putting the picture away.
	“Yeah, I used to get a kick out of looking through them in the library when I was in High School.”
	“What did you think of the girls?”
	“What do you mean?” I asked.
	“Well, when I was younger I thought the girls in the past were nowhere near as pretty as they are in the present. I didn’t know why, but I thought women were… evolving or something. You know what I mean?”
	After a pause I said, “Yeah. I think it was their hair and make up, or something.”
	“Really?” He pulled back out the picture of his mother. He gave it to me and then pointed at the girl leaning against the wall. To my astonishment their hair was done in the same way with a part in the middle and the rest stringing nicely down the side of their faces.
	“That’s interesting. The style came back just like bail-bottoms,” I replied in amusement.
	“Do you see?” he asked. I looked at him and he was glaring at me with wide eyes. 
	“Yeah.”
	“Do you see?”
	“Do I see what?” 
	“You don’t see?” He was still bearing down on me with a wide-eyed stare. “They are ghosts. All of them, just ghosts. Look at them. They know they’re… nothing. Who are they? They think they know, but they don’t. And deep down, somewhere in the subconscious they know they are nobody. They are everybody else, ergo they are nothing. At night it speaks to them, you know.”
	“Honestly, man, I don’t think I could tell you who I am,” I said in perfect truth.
	“Yes!” he exclaimed while slapping my back. “You can’t. But the difference is that you know that! You knowing it means you know that much. You know who you are more than any of those other jokers.., those ghosts.”
	I laughed. “You sound like a drunk Socrates.”
	“I see things.”
	“You see things, huh.” 
	“Yeah. Are you spiritual?”
	“Spiritual?” 
	“Yeah.”
	“No, not really. Why?” I asked.
	“Let me see your hands.”
	“What?”
	“Come on, hold out your hands,” he demanded and I acquiesced.
	Staring at my palms, his eyes squinting, he said, “You’re going to die, soon.”
	“What! I’m going to die, soon!” I laughed.
	“Maybe.., I don’t know, the lines aren’t clear. Some great tragedy is to befall you very soon, though. I don’t know,” he repeated, letting go of my hands, “it looks like death to me. Man, I’m still just a wooley-wokker.”
	I laughed. “A what?”
	“I’m still at the early stages. I should be advancing soon, though…”
	“Eli, what are you doing?” Ricky interrupted. 
	“I’m talking,” I replied as I wanted to continue to talk to the entertaining guy next to me. 
	“Come on, man. I want to show you something.” 
	He took my arm and pulled me up. I followed him back to the kitchen. Sitting down and being still is a sure-fire way to remain oblivious to increasing intoxication, for as I walked I had to blink rapidly a few times to get my bearings after an onslaught of dizziness and disorientation. 
	“You can thank me later,” Ricky said as we walked into the kitchen.
	“Thank you for what?”
	“Saving you from that freak!”
	“Why would I thank you for that?”
	“That guy is whacked.”
	“You invited him!”
	“Well, dude, he has the good stuff and gives a fair price. Everything’s a trade off.” 
	“Ah, I see.”
	“He says weird shit, though.”
	I giggled. “What kind of stuff has he said to you?”
	“Dude, shit about how smoking cigarettes increases other desires.., or some shit like that. He said that when he smoked he would get stomach churnings for masturbation, and so he would smoke a cigarette and then run to his room to jerk it. The guy is out there. Trust me! He quit smoking because of that.”
	“Did it stop the churnings?”
	“Dude! Does it matter? You going crazy, too? Yeah, he said it did. But, come on! Cigarettes and masturbation?”
	“Yeah.” We both laughed.
	“Get you a fresh drink, man. I’m going to get back to this chick. She has my name written all over her ass.”
	“Go get her,” I responded.
	After fixing my drink, I left the kitchen and found myself heading past the living room and towards a staircase. I decided to go upstairs. I was approaching drunken bliss, the point where other people became insignificant enough to allow me to be free.
Walking down a hallway lined with people on both sides, the music still going strong, my thoughts steered into a state where I wasn’t a person anymore, but an invisible entity moving forward observing what was around me. If people looked at me, I didn’t think they were actually seeing me, but looking at some inanimate, though floating, object. I felt alone, but good. Free.
The longer I was alone the more I felt I was projecting a sense of invisibility and the further I sank into the depths of my own mind. I looked down at my glass and it was already empty. 
Stumbling upon an upstairs balcony, I went outside to be alone with the stars, the music, and my thoughts. The song that was playing had a gentle harmony and I began to dance. Aware of people walking by to see what was going on, I closed my eyes. I could see myself out on the balcony through their eyes, and I knew that I was strange to them, but I clung to this and danced harder.  
The music sped up and with it my movements. I could feel people approaching me, walk around observing me, and then dancing next to me. More people came out. There were enough people now to give any one person only a circle with a four foot radius in which to dance. 
I felt them. We moved together in our dance. As the beat changed, sped up, or splashed our bodies kept up as if we weren’t in control anymore, but the music and the unseen, unknown connection was playing us like we were puppets. We liked it. We didn’t feel alone anymore. That loneliness that still lingers in the midst of a crowd was gone, because the arms of our souls were tied together. I began to dance more towards the wall on the right, and noticed that I didn’t run into anyone. We were in a dense sea and the movement of one would be felt by another and we would give in to the currents we all created.  
We danced not only to the music but to each other. The music sped up. We all danced harder. It sped up some more seeming to make its way to a climax. We were dancing so hard that we were leaving the ground. I began to smile as my head was violently being swayed back and forth, up and down, massaged by the notes of this increasingly stormy song. “Do it,” I said out loud with a smile as I opened myself up to whatever lied ahead in the spellbinding melody. We danced faster and faster. The beat was pounding faster and harder, faster and harder. There were high-pitched sounds flaring all around our heads ricocheting off everything and stabbing our ears taking a direct path to that place inside us that, when touched, enslaves us. 
As the climax approached, I began to make my way towards the railing of the balcony. I grabbed hold of it for support as the waves of the music finally crashed onto the shore. And then the rhythmic water caressed backwards, smoothing out the sands of our once raging souls.
The song had ended, and I opened my eyes. I looked at the stars, and it seemed like it had been a while since I had my eyes open. I was drunk and all the dancing had made me even more disoriented. I turned to make my way through the crowd and get back inside, but there was no crowd. I was alone. 
There never was anyone dancing with me. It was all my imagination. Did anyone see me out here dancing by myself? I thought. This was quite shocking and exhilarating. 	
Now that the party inside my head was over, I was ready to rejoin the real party. Finding my way to the stairs, I stumbled back down. 
Things were different coming down the stairs than going up. Now I felt as if everyone else was an inanimate object and I was the real person. 
Ricky came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder, saying, “Hey man, what do you think of the party?”
	“I’m having a pretty good time. I just came from your balcony.”
	“What were you doing up there? You didn’t bring homegirl, did ya?” he asked smiling.
	“No. I danced with the stars.”
	He laughed. “Yeah, you’re cut off, dude!” he exclaimed. 
	“Where’s Katherine?” I asked.
	“Ah, man! She left a little while ago. Don’t worry, though. There will be other parties where she’ll be a little tipsy.” He laughed and jabbed me with his elbow. I laughed.
	“It isn’t about that. I just wanted to dance with her, or talk to her, or something,” I said not being able to think of any better reason for wanting to see her. 
	“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Dave is a little too drunk. Maybe we should find someone to take him home, or try to get him to pass out somewhere here.”
	“I’m taking him home. Where is he?” I asked.
	“You’re taking him?” Ricky laughed. “I last saw him in the kitchen trying to get some beer out of an empty keg. The poor bastard was just pumping away nonstop. He’s trashed, man!”  
	“Alright, I’ll go see what I can do.” 
	Ricky gave me a pat on the back as I walked off. 
	I made my way back to the kitchen and saw Dave just how Ricky had described him. I had to laugh. The poor guy was about to have it out with an empty keg even as people were coming up next to him drawing beer with ease from the keg next door. 
	“Why don’t you leave that poor keg alone?” I chuckled. “I sure would hate to see you around some dry cows!” 
	“Man, I.. just want one mer dring,” Dave slurred. “Just one single dring. Why is that soooo hard?”   
	“Come on, Dave. Let’s go home.” I was trying to pick him up off the ground.
	“Ho-ome? Maa, I can’t drive.” 
	“You don’t have to drive. I’ll take you. Now, come on. Get up.” 
	“Eli …. You’re …..  my fre.”
	“Yes, I’m your friend,” I reassured him as I began to get him on his feet. He put his arm around me as we waddled out of the kitchen. 
	“Bye-bye, ladies,” he said to all that was around. Then, he got a glimpse of the one that was leaning against the wall with the tattoo. “Oh, now you’re hhh-ot! I-I-I mean bootiful. Yes! What’s a guy suppose ta do, huh?”
	“What do you mean, Dave?”
	“What’s a guy ta do when everwhere he looks …. I mean everwhere!” He said throwing his hand up and almost falling to the ground before I caught him. “ Everwhere he looks, …. there a bootiful.., oh, I mean, bee-ew-oo-tiful girl?” he asked as we walked out through the front door and out onto the lawn.
	“Do you feel you need to throw up?” I asked.
	“Na, I thhhhink I’m goo….. ooo, wait, I think I got a little summin’. Hold on,” he said and then proceeded to vomit. 
	“Wait here while I go get the car. Ok?”
	He shook his head and then continued to vomit. I went for the car, and was a little worried about driving. I made it to my car, got in, and went to get Dave. Pulling up, I found him lying on the lawn next to his vomit. 
	“Come on, man! Let’s go!” I yelled to him from the street. 
	He heard me and got up. He made his way to the car and got in.
	“Did you decide to take a nap?” I asked.
	“Man, you… urp… took forever,” he said. “Let me know when we get thur,” he said as he laid his head on the window and shut his eyes. 
	I was worried about driving in my condition, so I was thankful he went to sleep. 
I successfully made it to Dave’s street, where cars also lined the street. This wasn’t surprising considering it was Friday night in Austin. 
Up ahead were two full-size trucks parallel to each other, leaving a narrow passage. I always try to look straight ahead when going through tight fits like this. If I was to look to the right or the left, I would usually end up getting too close to the car on the other side. Keeping my obstacles in my peripheral vision while maintaining a dead stare on the path ahead, I would fly through pinches. Knowing my level of intoxication, I decided to take this one slow, though. 
I made it to Dave’s, and I shook him.
	“Home?” he asked looking around.
	“Yes, sir. This is home,” I responded. He began to get out of the car.
	“What do ya think Samantha’s doing?” he asked while leaning on the opened door.
	“Probably sleeping.”
	“Sleeping,” he whispered with his eyes closed. “Yeah, probably sleeping.”
“Hey, Dave.” He looked at me. “Drink a lot of water before you go bed, alright?”
	“Alright. See you tomorrow.” He held out his fist, and I gave him the clinched fist five.
	I watched him get in the door, and then I pulled off. I made it home in just a couple of minutes. I pulled into the driveway, and got out of the car, shutting the car door as quietly as I could so I wouldn’t wake up my landlord and his family. 
	Entering my apartment, I took off my clothes in a hurry. I was about to plop down on my bed when I saw the cup and the loaf of bread I had left on the pillow. This was a quirk of mine. I would put a large cup with a bottle of Advil inside it and a loaf of bread on my pillow to remind me to take an Advil, drink loads of water, and eat before I went to bed. These were my hangover precautions. If I did this, I would not wake up with a headache or nausea. I would still have a hangover, but it would only take the form of a loss of energy and coordination, and usually slight depression.
While eating my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I thought about dancing on the balcony, and knew I was going to be ashamed about it the next day. After these thoughts, Katherine invaded my mind. I remembered that we had a brunch scheduled for the following day. I finished eating and drinking and finally plopped down on my bed. 
One good thing about going to bed drunk is that I knew I wasn’t going to have another one of those dreams.