When the barrels were finally full and Studebaker had finally shut the hell up we made our departure. Roger was going through the pony like an anteater that had knocked over a bag of sugar and was having the time of its life. He was insisting that we go over to Dawn's house for a party she was having. Dawn was a rich kid that kept Roger and I around because her and her privileged Aber-Crombie and Fitch white people friends didn't have much in the way in access to drugs. They certainly weren't the kind of white people who lived in trailer parks and ate Vaseline sandwiches , that was more Roger's ilk, and they weren't the type of white people who still weren't well off enough so they needed to work in pizza parlours in order to afford things they liked ( which would be mine). Their parents were the scary type of white people who actually controlled things and voted for right-wing politicians and did so quietly. They weren't popping donuts on all-terrain vehicles while drunkenly shooting their guns in the air and screaming that straight white people were the real victims of society. They were the type of white people who weren't stupid enough to get involved in politics for themselves and went into real estate contracting. Politics itself was rarely discussed at any party I had attended and when it was, it was clear that the conversation would have been different if either Roger or I hadn't been there. It was perfectly fine for them to buy drugs from us and talk about pyramids and aliens until the early hours of the morning but at the end of the day, if one of the Miss Americas at the party happened not to heed our advice about not shovelling tablespoons full of pony up her nose and overdosed it would Roger and I's heads on the chopping block. It would be on the news, community leaders would offer their condolences and condemn the scourge of drugs in our society and their dangers to our children, she would probably be blonde, they would probably mention on the news that she'd intended to study political science and work for an NGO in Africa even though she had been partying and holidaying far too much to get into a decent college and she'd only said the Africa thing once drunkenly at a family get together to her cousin who had misquoted her because she'd originally said Asia. It would be a public tragedy and law enforcement and local politicians would be forced to take action. Roger and I would do nicely, we obviously weren't from the same side of the tracks and would be crucified in the media. The district attorney's cock wouldn't be quite as hard as it could be because we were after all, still white. Nevertheless, it would be hard enough to split stone and would be completely fucked even if one of us took a plea bargain. We'd be tried as adults and I might come out of it better than Roger because I'm lower middle-class and I could play up my best friend committing suicide which really "messed me up". Roger might do ok in prison, I'd rather not think about how I'd do.
"On the other hand, if either Roger or I collapsed dead in the car that evening from overdoses it wouldn't be tragic. It would just be sad. In my case they would say he just wasn't right in the head after Skeeter died. In Roger's case it would be expected. Some would even say amongst themselves that it was our fault and that no one held a gun to our heads and shoved coke up our noses. It would be unlikely that a specific criminal investigation would be opened to lock up the monsters that had sold us poor innocent all American boys the contraband, but whatever current operation was in place to combat drug-trafficking in Bluffington may be temporarily boosted. I had previously warned Roger about all of this and was weary of hanging out too much with that crowd. I never enjoyed being around them and secretly hated all of them. Especially when they came down from the coke and started complaining about being depressed. What exactly did they have to be depressed about? If I were them and I felt depressed I'd just ring my daddy and go off to Europe somewhere. Learn a new language, get a sexy foreign girlfriend and try the local drugs. I'd probably do the drugs too much and cheat on the girlfriend with increasing frequency until I was eventually caught and she left me. At which point I would realize she was the one and I didn't want to do drugs anymore. I'd then ring my parents because I felt depressed and repeat the entire process again in a new country/continent.
That would be the life and it all lay ahead of them. They were just too stupid to realize it. I remember the last time that I was in Dawn's house I was sitting on a sofa that costed more than my parents car absolutely coked out of my mind while the rich kids started to fall asleep. My mind went on an angry tangent and I began to think about how despite all of the wealth, foreign vacations, designer girlfriends and amazing jobs they had ahead of them in their lives, I was still above them. Because I had already experienced grief, loss, relative poverty and violence. They were like children who never saw the gory parts of the film because their parents skipped over it for them.
My drug induced sense of moral righteousness was only interrupted by Shannon, one of Dawn's friends. Because for ever much I believed that I was above everyone else in that house, I was not above using cocaine to sleep with some of them. I had fucked another of Dawn's friends previously. It was strange, I'd never had sex sober. It didn't interest me. Before everything went down with Skeeter I had always imagined that my first time would be with Patty and that it would be an emotional experience as it would be physical. Like two souls combining to unite the spiritual and physical realm. Together at last. However, in reality my first time was highly visceral and completely physical. I had no delusions about the fact that she never would have fucked me if I hadn't had a bag of cocaine. She used me as much as I used her and we both seemed to enjoy it on an animalistic level. It was like fucking the enemy, fuelled by hatred and devoid of passion. I saw myself as getting one over on society. I could be some douchebag who broke his back to go to an Ivy league college where I would come into contact with posh chicks like this and fall hopelessly in love with them. I would be befriended by them and used as a shoulder to cry on and to scare away other unwanted men but I would never even come close to being plan B. Eventually, she would settle down with a similarly thoroughbred guy who clearly wouldn't appreciate her and fuck prostitutes on business trips. In the end I would be left with nothing but regret and marry the first woman who showed any interest in me and inherit her credit card debt and children from previous relationships and become a manager in some godforsaken franchise store. I could choose to be that guy, or I could choose to be the guy who fucked the same chick back when she used to bang cocaine and was good for it. I had clearly already made that decision.
" Jesus Christ you're quiet Funnie! Did you see a cop in the rear-view or something!?" Roger interrupted my coke/weed influenced train of thought.
" No man, sorry. I'm straight. Yeah, no fuck that. You go alone, I'm gonna bail on Dawn's I'm too fucked already." I replied rubbing my face and staring out the window as we sped down the Bluffington streets at night.
" Pussy." Said Roger changing gears.
" No thanks, I've had enough Bluffington 90210 pussy for the moment." I quipped back.
" Twice Funnie, don't get ahead of yourself. You have a long way to go 'til you get to my level."
" Fuck off Roger, the only one of those Hitler Youth kids who's fucked you is Dawn and only because she wants pony and you know it."
" Is that a crime?"
" Partially. And If I was you I'd cut my losses and quit hanging out with those motherfuckers. I'd especially stop fucking Dawn because her old man is a judge or a lawyer or Robocop or some shit like that. If you knock her up she'll say you raped her and you'll dangling from your balls from a branch."
" Well, I wanted to fuck Shannon but I'm pretty sure she's a lesbian now after fucking your inexperienced ass and besides I don't limit myself to fucking one circle of people like you, you monk Funnie." Roger laughed at his joke.
" PFFFT…. The trailer park whores Roger? Seriously get yourself tested bro. Or do you mean your mom's trashy hooker friends with made up French sounding names? It doesn't count if you pay them or give them some your drugs Roger."
" Then you're still a virgin Funnie." We both laughed and continued to rib each other until Roger dropped me home./span/p