When we entered the South Slick Blues Festival, we knocked the average age down by a quarter. Teddy wasn’t answering his phone, so with Ali and Benny in tow, I coasted through a plethora of leather vests and Dundee hats, elbowing my way towards a tent in the farthest corner of the fairgrounds foretold by Ali to house a mystery worth the trip. An adventurous nerve spurred us deeper into the sludge that got more rowdy with every passing mustache and ponytail. The whole area couldn’t have measured more than half a football field, yet the density of flesh gave me Roskilde feels, old timers yelling and slurring so hard they might as well have been Danes.
The sign saying Pit of Jack ushered us into a condensed debauchery that no trauma imaginable could've prepared us for. A white rectangular circus tent, packed to the rafters with prime specimens sporting a collective feverish animal intensity in their eyes, two rows of tables stretching its entire length. It reminded me of the Pig Fests we used to sneak into at outback shitholes within a reasonable length from Pisstown. Back when we were pre-legal, attempting to utilize the redneckian hospitality to get drunk and mingle with our roots. The crowd was different, but the feels were the same. Back then Teddy’s sister was the portal into the circles that actually managed to pass for locals at the Swine Debauchery. We'd always get kicked out, and I had a feeling that history today would repeat itself for entirely different reasons. A quick look at Benny confirmed that he shared my unease and misplacement. Ali on the other hand, the truly misplaced, the singular Arab in a sea of white, our lighthouse to safely take us ashore, looked mighty content. I began to question his judgment, and as I ran the internal scolding, he just laughed at me over some rugaduudang blaring out of speakers in hiding, like he could read my mind. Before I was able to say something, he eeled his way through the wobbling crowd, navigating the waves of movement like a seasoned captain until they swallowed him whole. Reeling Benny closer, I almost licked his ear trying to surpass the cacophony.
“Wanna get out of here?” I shouted, apparently too loud as he pulled back.
“What?!”
“DO—YOU…” The thought-process got derailed when he looked past me into the crowd, nodded to the unnamed and followed Ali’s lead. In place of grace and maneuverability, he carried force and volume, playing by the rules of the road as the blob of people parted ways to allow his passage. Before they closed up, I managed to slip through, spotting the misfutts, Teddy and Ali, sitting at the end of the table, right by the makeshift bar. Some thing or another was off with the scene, and after settling in, taking a seat next to Teddy, the dots connected. Behind the bar stood none other than Habib, Ali’s little brother, serving booze to the ragamuffins. Teddy leaned close.
“Five, that’s how many fights I almost got dragged into saving this here spot.”
“Well what the hell are we doing here anyway, by God. I haven’t been to one of these in years. Gotta say, it don’t age pretty.”
The whole bench started pulling backwards, like someone was trying to tip us over. Teddy nodded towards the entrance, and I turned around just in time to catch a scrawny fella’ slowly tipping, hitting the palets hard. His neighbors shook their heads, poured the remainder of his beer between them and got straight back to business.
“Alright!” Ali yelled as we were all reaching the top of our thresholds. “The booze is free tonight, so we’ll dunk it down and get the fuck out as fast as possible. Questions?”
Before we could answer, he was already standing, slipping by the side of the counter, returning with plastic mugs placed two and two. Habib ignored him, trying to interpret the gibberish of a scrawny looking hag holding up three fingers. In a flash, he shot off a wink in our direction.
“So you gonna take the job or what?” I yelled to Teddy, hopefully loud enough to include Benny’s hearing zone. I felt sorta bad for him, smiling dumbly like he had a stick up his arse. Probably trying to avoid eye contact with any and all. Clever boyo.
“Huh?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Ali!”
They both shook their heads, no comprende-like.
“Listen, listen!” Ali stretched under the table, scrambled around for a bit, popped back up holding a neon green frisbee in one hand, two die in the other. Three dumbfounded faces mirrored each other, one or two members of the wildlife peeping interestedly, wondering what the mad arab was up to. He continued, yelling in short bursts. “Keywords! Time—Whiteys—Arab—Drunk—Lynching.” He paused, tied a noose around his neck, hoisted himself up, looked at us in turn to make sure we got the message. “Game—Drink.” We nodded, clad in fair-enough faces. “Die—Toss.” He tossed them into the frisbee turned upside down. “Sub six—You drink—Over, rest drink—Double die, three sips, either direction—Double six, all drink.”
With the finishing words, droplets of liquid rained down from above, inaudible shouting cranked up behind us, and a rotund bastard looking unphased, a plotter of beer-soak on his undersized t-shirt, threw a chubby middle finger flying over our heads towards the assumed tosser. This set off the clock as Teddy grabbed the disc, flipped the die into the air and we all watched as they came ca-ca-cadaking down, bouncing round the edges, deciding on six-six. Obviously nobody could remember what to do, so Ali, our stoical leader, swigged his glass in full, side-eyed us as he did and with the free hand pushed an invisible tube up up up towards the ceiling.
A full circle on we were educated novices, two more, hardened professionals. In terms of games to speeden drinking, Ali had outdone himself. Round four came and went, five was but a flicker, six we saw the first signs of struggle, and through seven nobody cheered. Glasses replenished faster than we could drain them, Ali bouncing up and about, meandering through the masses careful not to spill a single lick as we flung ourselves against the race of time. Meanwhile the swine had transmogrified into an intestinal wall swelling with cancerous bubos, rectifying any space available to grow and fester, nearing the center of our brethren mass. We were being squeezed to death, and the first to suggest that he'd seen the needle prick escape window, the tunnel of light, was Teddy. The dice kept rolling, frisbee going round and round. Cries of agony, exclamations of triumph when no drink had to be drank. Tumors multiplying, my insides a bubbling catastrophe. An overdose of carbohydrates, each belch setting the next one up for potential vomit. Ali looked like he'd just stepped out of the sauna, bloodshot eyes, sweat pearling his forehead. I'd lost count of the orbits when he for the endtimes tried to get up to top us with a fresh set of mugs. A properly marinated slug bowled right into him, seemingly deliberate. She caught him off guard completely and he tumbled ribs first into the table sending shockwaves down the line. Angry faces on telescope necks beamed their headlights our way. I had a hard time convincing myself that this was all in the name of Blues. Benny, despite his five-up on us in terms of internal storage, smiled dumbly with eyes closed, drunk as a sailor, Teddy's head on a swivel trying to take it all in. The wobbly hag snapped at Ali who laughed a hearty one before spitting her right in the mouth. A quick glance further down the longboard confirmed that the asshole was rapidly clenching, bikerbois getting up, pushing their way towards Ali. Like an obelisk Habib rose above the sea of flesh and waved to me or Teddy or anyone capable of receiving inbound coms. The lynching was on. So I clambered up the table and jumped between Ali and Benny into the first body reluctant to receive me, sent her crashing into the next in line, confusion and rage spreading like wildfire to her neighbors, snatched Benny up by the collar and pushed Ali forward into the arms of Teddy who shrieked a proper gargoyle madlad scream that pierced a hole in the intestinal tissue, big enough to squeeze through. We dove behind the bar where a hand was waving us in through the oily cloth, a hole big enough to crouch through on nimble feet, unless you're on the Ali beat. I kicked him in the arse for guidance, more laughing, let Benny roll past me and when it was my time to dive, a hand clenched my shoulder. It belonged to a scrawny, ZZ Top looking fucker, fist swung back ready to catapult right into me. I braced for impact, clawed at my shoulder for freedom, when a hand big as a pot lid swallowed the man's face, dragged him backwards and onto the pallet floor, boots like boats stomping the very lifeblood out of the poor bastard. "MAAAAAAAX" thundered over the cacophony and rumble, Teddy's bony hand in mine, pulling me towards the hole. I got through, confronted by uniformed guards waiting by a fence too high to vault, Habib between them, whispering in the ear of one. The uniform looked worried, nodded, lifted a pole outuvva a hole, pulled the fence apart. Habib hugged Ali, started giggling like weird fooken Arabs do when all is horror and fuckery, and in an instant we were out. Free, in clear air. Gawking and wooping, screams of terror and fear, fury and murder fading as we trailed the canal at top speed with no direction what so ever.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
"Holy bloody hell! Holy shit!"
"What the fuxk Ali, what in the bleedering fick."
"Wait up fellas we got a straggler."
Leaning against the tombstone of one B. C. Aderton, Benny had taken up a triangular self-evac position, breathing heavy. Ali put himself in reverse, pulled up alongside the giant, patted his back from a minimum distance with soothing lullabies of just throat it man, ram em down and we'll be kangs.
"Looks like he lost the spring o' step myes," I told Teddy, pacing in circles around a decayed block of granite that used to be a winged woman, dented, chipped, just like Henderton, Grossist, rotting away underneath her.
"Oh just you watch, it'll be glorious," he replied after some pondering.
So I did, cus why not? A barf of the ages. Some further coaxing and there he goes, index and middle poised like a gun aimed at the back of his throat, barrel inserted. Ali had stopped patting, taken a step back. Benny gurgled, hit the reflex, sounds of a rabid dog biting its own leg off, salivating profusely, spitting out chunks of foaming white. But he was struggling to hit the home run, to pop the dam. Come on biggie just fucking pu— and a river of orange shot out of Ali's mouth. Benny laughed, hand still in-mouth, which must've shook the right vibration, unlocked a cascade of rancid yella dripping down stone. This in turn set Ali off on another round, clasping his kneecaps, legs spread wide, hurling wave after wave. And so they went, tag-teaming the evacuation of entrails, spewing til they'd blessed every inch of the Aderton race. Teddy looked on in awe. I had to turn away and focus on suppressing my own internal rumblings, worsened by the audiovisual performance. Too much to handle. When the slushing and gushing had been replaced by pants and moans, I suggested we get a move on.
"Fuck no, I needa' eat," Benny said. "Whew! That's it for me you guys."
"What!" I replied. "After a glorious start as such you're calling quits? Mayn what is this."
"Allaaaah," went Ali and started rambling in Arabic, strings of snot and bile connecting his face to the ground.
"Make sure he gets on the train," Teddy said to Benny who nodded, smiled, spat a fat loogie and took Ali under the arm.
"Champions. Lovely outing," I shouted after him with no reply from either. So I turned to Teddy, smug crooked smile I'd been waiting to pop off since I sat down next to him in the tent. "And who do we have here ei? Don't fancy I seen you before."
"Yeah yeah," he said, rolled his eyes and started off further into the cemetery, away from the comforting lights and guitar riffs, beckoned by pines like mountains, shadows and quiet.
"Yeah? Whadya' mean yeah yeh? A boy is mauled senseless by the universe, begs for redemption from the snatch of a Mother. Finds deliverance on a golden platter, served by that same universe. And he says yeah yeh. Why not? I'm a believer, yeyeh?"
"Why you gotta be so nasty about it?"
“I don’t have to. It’s just… ah hell. Have you talked to her? You know. After the rave.”
"Fuck no."
“Why not?”
He made several attempts at words. Lips opening, shutting, coming up short. Under the oaks and pines, towering guardians of the dead outlined against blacker clouds, things were getting weird. Movements of nighttime critters enhanced. Twigs rustled, shrubbery jostled, squirrels and hedgehogs, hobos and sexually depraved. Opportunists lying in wait for the unsuspecting, hiding in the leafworks, luring prey down moldy catacombs, blades drawn, rubbers unwrapping. I was seeing things everywhere, skin on edge, muscles tensed as the cemetery had swallowed us.
"Mayn I'm getting the bad feels about this. Why we gotta go this way Teddy? Whaddya do? Did you rape her?"
The moon peered down from a slit in the ceiling, marking us for all to see with its searchlight beacon.
"It…"
"Let's go back man."
"It was my first time Max."
"Shh…"
"And it was weird. Just… awkward. Limbs everywhere and you know… she was nice about it. We talked a lot…"
Ignoring my plea, as if stuck in a trance, he moved further in, purposely avoiding the gravel paths, walking over mounds and graves, disregarding all respect for the dead, like he thought he was one of them. I decided to unfuss, play the good ploy.
"Wait… So you like… Errh. What're you feeling Teddy? Cus' it appears to me that you're short a cherry."
“I feel like shit. Ok? It’s embarrassing.”
"Bah! Everyone's a jackass the first time, running the what-a-hole a what-a-notta polka. Can't be helped. It's like you're drilled all youth for combat, polish your rifle and they keep tooting into your dense nog that the day will come, the glorious day when Charlie charges over that ridge, and with conviction you walk around, erect, cus' by the grace of Mother you'll know what the fuxx to do. And so the day arrives, Charlie in burning splendor pours over the crest, bumrushing down the hill headed straight for your throat, and all those years playing hide and seek with the regiment cockhead flash past ya. Face to face with the living, pulsating, flesh-eating monstrosity, all you can do is spray and pray. Nobody makes it out alive Teddy. Casualty rate one hundred."
"What the fuck are you on about?"
I skipped a few steps to catch up, laid my hands on his shoulders and turned the morose-looking thing around, honed in on the soul cowering behind black beads in a glossy sea of arctic blue.
“It’s always horribly weird and excruciatingly awkward. You’re fed the image of babymen on steroids, making and taking, magnets on collision with the secrets of the universe, but it’s all fucking bullshit. Everyone’s a fucking babyman in an airinflated action suit. Weak, off-point and on the drill, pounding mantras of self-worth to uphold the facade of significance towards the external world. But the walls crumble. They’re fucking trembling all trepid inside when the lights go out and they’re nothing but lonely in that big dark room, terrors of the night lurking outside. Fucking is the expression of anger for all the times Mummy wasn’t there for you, and the facade of dominance is the babyman showing Mummy what a big boy he is. I'm not gonna pretend I know fuck all about tis and tat, piss and twät, the quest lies not in the destruction of babyman, or in the pump-pump merry-go-round. You buy the ticket, take the ride. Don't harass the locals, adopt their customs, compliment the service staff.”
Teddy slapped me.
“You’re not making any goddamn sense!”
“Fuck! Listen Teddy. It was awkward. I get it. You feel shit about it. But now it’s done. It’s over! And the next time will be less awkward, etcetera, ad infinitum. Trodden through the gates of Hades, but it’s just a cardboard mockup. You’re not dead or dying. The cock will have his day.”
“I’ll slap you again you goddamn moron,” he said with despair. But he was also laughing.
"That's the spirit bucko, I gotta get home man. Nan is jonesing, I can feel it." His eyes were big as golf balls now, looking over my shoulder as he pushed me off him.
"Eh, hello?" Behind me, no more than a couple of feet away, stood a woman, slim figure, broad shoulders and long, luscious hair, face dimly visible in the moonlight penetrating the cope. She'd appeared noiselessly, a specter, poltergeist of Want, restless ghost of Aderton summoned to claim revenge.
"We don't have any money so whatever robbry this be it's gonna end in a whole lotta disappointment," I said.
"You," she said in a coarse bass, pointing at me, "are not making any goddamn sense at all. Sex is about connection, about sharing your most private self with another in the most vulnerable form. Yes, it's awkward in the beginning, and I'm sorry you're feeling sad Teddy. That's your name right?"
Dumbfounded, I just looked on, guard lowering, mind conflicted.
“Yeah?”
“It takes time,” she continued. “To learn how to be vulnerable, to learn how to give and to take. But he’s partially right in one thing, that men are oblivious to the makings of good sex. Is that what you were getting at?”
“Ehhhh,” I replied, scratched my chin. “I can’t remember what I said. Maybe? Teddy, let's get out of here.”
“But it feels like I messed up,” he said. “Like she was expecting something and I came up with a whole lotta nothing.”
“Look, don’t let the first time get you down. Some of us has an angelic introduction to the sexual, others have it taken by force, and most, like yourself, don’t even know what to make of the experience. Tell me, have you ever done something new, and instinctively knew exactly how to deconstruct the situation, how to move and talk and fiddle? You are not the center of the universe, worse things have happened. She most likely won’t recall your evening together with loathing or contempt. You talked a lot? Trust me, as a woman, she would’ve up and left if there was nothing for her to gain from your encounter.”
“Ahem,” I interrupted. “He is the center of all life, dead or otherwise, so don’t get all fancy and start sprouting ideas here. Teddy, we’re leaving.”
We started walking through a different cutout than the one we entered, seeing as our exit was blocked, requiring grace and a wee bit of luck not to get tangled up or stabbed.
“I can show you how to love Teddy,” she called. “That goes for you too hot shot.”
“Teddy, that is a man.”
“No shit.”
“You wanna sook da cook, Teddy-boi?”
“I don’t know.”
I turned around, called through the shrubbery to the figure now out of sight.
“He’s confused, we know where to find ya. May the hunt favor yee, bounties be long and arterious.”