Lurk

by Adam Vine

  These two pictures were taken at Eight Mile, the beach at the end of Old Eight Mile Road, half an hour up Highway One. It’s a remote beach frequented only by hard-core surfers and the occasional great white shark. To this day, most tourists and college kids have no idea it exists. We called it “Our Beach.” It’s where we went to drink and bullshit any time we all had a day off and wanted to get out of the house.

  The first picture is of Carter, Natalia, Bea, Meg, Sam, and me sitting with our toes in the sand. My five friends are all leaning together, hair scattered by the wind, knees clutched tight against their chests for warmth. I’m sitting a few feet away from the rest of the group, twice the size of any of them, my hood drawn up over my head, draining the dregs of my beer. An eighteen pack and a cooler full of barbeque fixings are dug into the sand, along with our firewood and lighter fluid. A screech of gulls flies low over the water, scoring black V-marks in the sky.

  The second picture was taken later that night. Darkness has fallen and we’re all piss drunk. The only light is from our bonfire, which my friends are dancing around while I sit in the sand nearby, banging on a djembe drum. I am attempting to smile at the camera, but it looks more like I’m trying to curl my upper lip completely under itself. There is a piece of hot dog stuck in my teeth.

  We drank beer and plastic bottle vodka with juice, ate hot dogs and s’mores cooked over the open flames. My friends reveled around the fire like guileless pagans, their shouts carrying unperturbed across the empty expanse of starlit beach, while I sat and felt incomprehensibly alone. The six hot dogs and four s’mores I ate didn’t make me feel any better.

  Part 3:

  The Hole

  Carter looked at each of us and sounded annoyingly like an adult. “Before we begin, I have an announcement to make.”

  We stood in a circle around the grill, warming our hands on the coals. Next-door, Mr. DeLucio’s curtains were closed, and his lights were off.

  “So, announce,” Jay said.

  Carter cleared his throat, took Natalia’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. “I just got back from Alcoholics Anonymous. Last night made me realize I have a serious drinking problem.”

  I laughed, but Carter gave me a look that immediately shut me up.

  “I know it’s a college cliché to say I’m never drinking again,” Carter went on. “But I could’ve very easily died last night.” He let that sink in for a second, continued, “If I hadn't fallen asleep on my side, and thank God I did, I could’ve choked on my own vomit. I wouldn’t be here right now talking to you guys about this. So I’m done.”

  I was the one who put you to sleep on your side, I thought. I took care of you, while Bea and Jay were hooking up. Your drunk ass cost me the girl of my dreams. And this is the thanks I get? Here, in front of everyone, you won’t even acknowledge I was the one who saved your life?

  I bit my lip and felt a touch of vertigo.

  Carter clasped both of his hands around Natalia’s. “The point of all this is, I make a fool of myself when I'm drunk, and I realized this is not the kind of man I want to be. So we’re going to get sober. Permanently.”

  Natalia smiled and kissed their interwoven hands. “Together,” she said. “I love you more than anything, babe – a hell of a lot more than I care about partying. I’m with you to the end.”

  Carter’s huge smile penetrated the shadows. “I love you too, baby, and the rest of you. But I’ll need your help to get through this.”

  “What can we do?” asked Bea.

  “Be the incredible people you already are. You guys mean the world to me. I’d take a bullet for any one of you. Even this guy right here.” Carter put his arm around Jay.

  “Even?” Jay said.

  “Even you, bruh.”

  Popeye winced.

  Bea went over and gave Carter and Natalia a hug. “I’ve got your backs. Both of you, no matter what.”

  “Hell yeah, man. I always got your back. Anything I can do to help. I'll stop blowing bong hits in your face while you're sleeping, if that's what it takes,” Jay said, and threw his beer off the side of the deck. I heard it crash into the bushes below.

  Carter and Natalia both gave Jay a hug. Popeye got loving scratches under his chin and behind the ears from all of them.

  Carter approached me with open arms.

  The good times are over. The storm has passed. The Carter I know is gone.

  “Come here, you beautiful man,” I said, and embraced Carter.

  Carter gave me a deep squeeze. “I love you, dawg. And I ain’t afraid to say it. You one of the best dudes I ever met, Drew. You don’t think so, but you is.”

  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

  “…I know I can rely on you to help get me through this. I might need to lean on you a little. In fact, I know I will.”

  Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

  “Th-thanks, pal. You, too. We the storm,” I said.

  “We the mothafuckin' storm,” Carter said.

  No more storms. No more Thunder and Lightning. Only clear weather ahead. Everything is going to change. No more Sunny Hill ragers. Carter has his sobriety and his music and Natalia. Natalia has Carter. Jay and Bea are gonna bang happily ever after. What do I have now? You've all got each other, and all I have are horror movies and Mario Kart. You've ruined everything.

  I could have cut you in half last night. Instead of saving your life, I could have killed you, and none of this bullshit would be happening. All I would have had to do was leave you on your back.

  Jesus Christ, I'm really coming apart. Kill Carter? I should kill myself, but for real this time. I've already tried it once, and other than the razor slicing my flesh, it wasn't so bad. It was scary, sure, but I just wanted the pain to end. Looks like it’s back for good this time.

  Bea tapped the orange shoebox I was holding with her fingers. “Drew? Will you do the honors?”

  I nodded, and held it over the coals.

  “Hey! Mr. DeLucio!” Bea shouted up the hill.

  “Hey shitbrain!” Jay said, brandishing his shotgun.

  The blinds didn’t rustle, nor did a single light stir. The hillside was silent but for the creaking of trees, the elegiac breeze, a crow’s complaint echoing somewhere in the darkness.

  “Big Mr. D! Got a show for ya!” Carter yelled at Mr. DeLucio’s house.

  “It’s a magic show!” Natalia added. “You’re gonna love it! We’re going to make all these pictures disappear!”

  I held the box high and took the lid off with one hand so he could see the box was full, then shouted at the top of my lungs:

  “See these, motherfucker? Your precious college memories. They’re all here. This is what you get when you stalk one of my friends, Benny. Piano Man. Leave Bea alone!”

  The night offered no reply but the wind.

  Natalia added, “You’re disgusting!”

  Carter, trying to keep up his responsible new mien, added, “You need help.”

  Jay didn't mean to, but blindsided me with his imprecation towards the dark house. “If you ever come near Bea again, I’m gonna kill you.”

  “He doesn’t mean that,” Carter said, maybe as much to himself as to anyone. Except for me.

  Jay assured him, “Yes, I do.”

  Popeye yipped.

  Bea grabbed a handful of the pictures. “You made me fear for my life. You punched me in the face. You’re a pervert. A creep. I bet Apple thought so too, you piece of shit. Fuck you!” She threw the pictures into the flames.

  Natalia took the next handful. “You reap what you sow, asshole. This is for watching me in the backyard.”

  Carter took one as well, feeding it to the fire. “This is for watching her in the backyard.”

  Jay was next. “You’re scum.”

  Finally, it was my turn. I lifted the box over the coals and dumped the rest of the Polaroids, followed by the box itself. “Get it through your head. YOU. DON’T. LIVE. HERE. ANY MORE!”

  No reply. Only si
lence, a dog barking, the lapping of the flames on old photo slides, chemicals peeling and crackling in the bursts of spark and rainbow-hued smoke.

  Andy, Apple, Marty, Gloria, Rebecca, Piano Man. Their faces peeled and blistered in the heat. Bright plasma consumed the 1993 Sunny Hill Crew, their pot-headed antics and drunken debaucheries, their Halloween costumes and themed parties, the crushes, the jealousies, the bones, the skull, all of it vanishing into oblivion.

  “So, what do we do now?” Jay said. “Mario Kart? Uno?”

  The windows of DeLucio's house stayed dark. Why did his shutters remind me of holes? Dark holes, where…

  Carter shook me. I realized I’d been standing by myself. Everyone else had gone inside.

  “Hey man, you coming in? You been out here for like half an hour.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  Carter stopped me. “Hey. Somethin’ I gotta tell you before we head in.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Met a woman at A.A. tonight who said she used to live here.”

  “What? Who?”

  “That cute ginger from those pictures we just burned. Well, not so cute any more. She's tore up. I didn’t recognize her at first, but she knew who I was. Knew all about us, and this house. Said her name was Apple.”

  “Apple? Weird.”

  Apple’s still alive. She still lives in Santa Cruz. She knows who we are.

  Carter shrugged. “Just figured I’d tell you, because you did seem to get a little… I don’t wanna use the word 'obsessed,' but, yeah, you were pretty straight-up obsessed with those pictures. Thought you should know.”

  “How did she know you lived here?”

  Carter lowered his voice. “Said she got a cousin who lives down the street; saw me leaving once or twice. I thought it was creepy, too, but she seemed friendly enough. Albeit, she’s bat shit insane.”

  “Why’s she in A.A.?”

  “I don’t know, dawg. Maybe she’s addicted to French fries.” Carter chuckled. “I ain’t never seen an alcoholic that bad. Makes me look like Ned Flanders. I thought her teeth might fall outta her face when she was givin' everyone the Hi, I’m Apple, I’m an alcoholic.”

  Not only is Apple still alive, she’s in A.A., and knows we live at Sunny Hill. She watches us. The pictures didn’t show me that.

  ***

  I looked at the Polaroid of Mr. DeLucio as soon as I was back inside. I stood next to the shower window in the hall bathroom between my room and Carter’s, which had the best view of Mr. DeLucio’s house. The lights were still off. The picture, too, was dark.

  ***

  “Stalking’s for faggots,” Rob said.

  Jay passed him and Ry a freshly rolled joint each. “It was the next-door neighbor. That prick.”

  “The pasty fat guy we saw shove his hand down his pants while he was outside watering his lawn?” Rob said.

  Jay cleared his throat. “That’s the one.”

  “Why’s he stalking Bumble?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Who's Bumble?” Ry said.

  Bea gave Jay a dirty look. “I’m Bumble.”

  “But she hates that name,” Jay quickly added.

  The hometown boys exchanged a shrug. “Let’s get your shotgun,” Ry said.

  “Nah, fool. Brass knuckles. You hold, I’ll swing,” Rob said.

  Bea shook her head no. “That is not happening. Scaring him is one thing. I’m absolutely not okay with any of you hurting anyone on my behalf. Are we clear?”

  “Whoa, we’re not going to hurt anyone,” Ry said.

  Rob said, “Why not?”

  “Whup.”

  “Whup.”

  Bea rolled her eyes. “Can I have a hit of that?”

  Ry took a hit and passed her the joint.

  “We already handled it, anyway,” Jay said. “By the way Bea, there’s hash oil on that. It’s strong, so maybe take baby rips.”

  “Thanks, dad. I like hash.” Bea inhaled and exhaled, her face disappearing in a plume of smoke.

  Ry and Rob lost it. “Yeah, dad. Stop being such a square, dad.”

  “Ground her, Jay.”

  “Whup.”

  “Whup.”

  Bea patted Jay on the knee, then planted her hand there and gave it a squeeze as she handed him the joint. I pretended not to see, but watched out of the corner of my eye, feeling the same pain I’d felt on the porch when Carter said he was going to quit drinking, or when I overheard their conversation about hooking up in the kitchen; that old, familiar falling. Her words echoed in the holes of my mind: Does he know? I don’t care. He’s so weird. He’s just a friend, just a nice friend.

  “So, serious-time, kiddos. Are we worried about this fool?” Rob said.

  Jay took a swig of his beer. “I’m not. If he comes over here and tries to start shit, we’ll smash him.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that, actually,” I said. Jay looked at me as if he’d forgotten I was sitting next to him. Bea quickly retracted her hand from his knee. “Remember? I called the cops. They’ll be sending squad cars to patrol the neighborhood all night.”

  “Squad cars?” Rob said.

  “You called the cops?” Ry said, disgust permeating his voice. “Solve your own problems, fool.”

  “Ground him, dad,” Rob told Jay.

  Carter poked his head into the room, saw us drinking, and said, “Uh, I'm gonna go see what Talia’s doin'.” Whose idea was this sobriety thing, anyway, Carter? I wondered. Yours? Or your girlfriend’s?

  Ry raised an eyebrow, dragged the joint and offered it to me. I took it reluctantly.

  “Let me say again: that cheesehead is not going to come here,” Jay said, before I could respond. “He’ll be too busy crying himself to sleep. The guy’s life is ruined. You should'a heard what Bea yelled at him from the deck.”

  “What did you yell?” Rob said.

  “That he was a waste of air.”

  Just a nice friend.

  Rob grinned, and threw out his fists like a boxer. “So, party people. How weird are we getting tonight to celebrate this victory?”

  Ry groaned. “Uggggh. Bro. Can’t we take a night off?”

  Rob threw a bottle cap at him. “A night off? You pussy. We barely got started.”

  “We popped eight pills. I haven’t slept in three days.”

  “Sleep is for faggots,” Rob said.

  “Maybe we should keep it down,” I said. “Carter and his girlfriend quit drinking today. They’ll want the house to be quiet.”

  Bea and Jay ignored me. They were whispering to each other. Jay’s smirk made my blood freeze. Bea’s face was crimson. She smiled and looked away, then back at him. Her smile widened.

  I realized Ry was talking to me. “Don’t worry, Drew. We’ll keep it low key.”

  ***

  “Low key” meant at least five more bowls of weed smothered in hash oil and two cases of beer. When both their cases were gone, along with all the leftover beer in our fridge, they went to the liquor store to get more. I flopped on the couch, watching the ceiling spin. Jay and Bea told me they were going outside. I was too wasted to feel anything but apathy.

  The next thing I knew, Ry was shaking me by the shoulder. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Find your nuts and put on your mayhem hat.”

  I tried to sit up and failed miserably. “I think a bum’s currently using that hat as a urinal downtown. Sorry, guys. I’m done for tonight.”

  Rob said over Ry’s shoulder, “Did he just say he’s done?”

  Ry shook his head, tossing me a beer from the new case. I was too slow to catch it. It landed on my gut with a plunk. I gasped and doubled over. They both laughed.

  “He’s not done. Get up, Drew Mayhem. There’s girls coming over. If you go back to sleep, you’ll miss out on that sweet pussy.”

  Rob laughed. “You see his eyes light up? Up and at ‘em, Big Drew! Get up and chase the rabbit!”

  “Come on! It’ll be the best two seconds of her life,�
�� Ry said.

  I flipped them both my middle fingers and rolled onto my side.

  “Can you guys please shut the fuck up?” Carter yelled from his room.

  “Sorry,” Ry said.

  Rob whupped under his breath.

  “You really quitting on us tonight, Drew?” Ry said.

  I shut my eyes to stop the spinning. It didn’t work. My skull felt like the funhouse at the Beach Boardwalk. “Dude. I dunno. I feel like. Jesus. What was in that hash?”

  “Hash.”

  “Was it laced with anything?”

  Ry patted me on the head. “Hash.”

  Rob’s humor was gone. “Do you know where Jay is?”

  My only instinct was to sleep. I held my eyes shut and said, “Outside.”

  The boys talked some shit about me on their way to the kitchen. I heard the words “fat ass,” but I didn’t care. The room wasn’t spinning any more; I was. Spinning, plummeting, careening down towards some sick, corrupted black throat that wanted to swallow me whole.

  I passed out.

  ***

  I woke up in my own bed, my mouth dry, my head a pounding wreck. With great pain I pulled myself to my feet and went to the bathroom to take a leak.

  Everyone else was asleep. The house was silent.

  I stumbled into the bathroom and peed with my eyes half shut, leaning against the wall with my free hand. The window facing Mr. DeLucio’s house was open. I must’ve left it open earlier, after the Big Burn. His house was as dark as it had been when we gave the Piano Man’s college memories to the flames.

  I froze, and felt my bladder close in fear. Someone was crying outside. It was coming from right under the bathroom window. He’s there watching me. Right now.

  I pulled my shorts up and stepped onto the lip of the bathtub to look. The bathroom window was only a small one-by-one foot slit above the shower. Climbing onto the ledge was difficult. I moved slowly, so I wouldn’t slip.

  By the time I could see outside, the crying had stopped. The bushes next to the house were empty, from what I could see in the sliver of light falling through the window.

  Am I hearing things? Is this an auditory hallucination from the hash?