Write = Get Reviews Forum Drunkasaurus: The Beginning

 I spiked this plastic piece of crap in the snow next to my car, and began to walk towards the house. I could feel the snow crunching beneath my boots, and I could feel its icy touch. I can’t wait to never see you again. I watched as my mom’s silhouette moved across the reflection in the snow as I stood in front of the door. I shook off Satan’s semen on the doorstep, and stepped into the foyer.            

 “Is Brian here yet?” She asks solemnly. She stood on the top of the stairs in her night shirt. This shirt that I f*****g hated. It was a light green and it had three cartoon horses that said Nag, Nag, Nag on it. Every time I had to ask her a question, she would point to her shirt. It drove me insane.            

 “No, he’s not. I thought he’d be here by now” I said as I rubbed the snow out of my hair. I fiddled with a crooked frame on the wall.            

 “Okay… I just… The snow is bad and it’s a long drive… That’s all.” She looks down at the floor before she walks away. I almost feel bad but I don’t recognize this sensation of guilt. I look down glumly at the old boots scattered throughout the foyer. I wonder if we’ll ever get rid of his things. Or if we will just keep a closet of his stuff, waiting for someone to throw it all away. Waiting for someone to be the bad guy. Waiting for someone to blame because we can’t blame ourselves.       

   Headlights pulled up slowly outside, the white light blaring down the dark street. I stood in the driveway and waved, waiting for someone to step out of the car. The snow fluttered down through the two beams of white. Light and fluffy death traps. The passenger door creaked open, and a tall figure emerged with a backpack. I could hear the neutral drumming of the engine before it backed up and pulled away. His tall, lanky silhouette moved slowly through the snow to the front door.

             “Hey, what’s up?” He says.

             “I thought that you’d never make it, Brian” I say as I push the door open for him.

             “I had to pack my three shirts and two pairs of socks. It took some time” He said and I smirked.

             He stepped into the foyer and stood in the hall, shaking the snow off the beanie on his head. The beanie covered an untamable head of mousy brown hair. It fell in scruffs along the side of his beanie. He was as pale as porcelain, with a long face that always looked saddened by uncontrollable defeat. He was wearing an old hoodie, with baggy khakis that were slightly wet from the snow. His shoes were slip-ons, in a ridiculous hipster checkered pattern. The bottoms were no longer connected to the top, so they flapped when he walked. He used to duct tape them together, but he eventually just gave up. My mom would buy him a new pair once in a while, just because the flapping would drive her crazy. I never considered Brian poor by any means, but I never understood his wardrobe.

             “So when are we heading out?” He says as he places his backpack on the foyer.

             “We need to be on the road by 5:30am to beat traffic, and it’s 5:15am right now” 

            “Okay, because I need to stop by my dad’s” He says as he looks down at his hands.

             “For what?” I ask as I begin to head upstairs

             “I… uh… need to get an outlet to hook up in the car” 

            “What the f**k do you need an outlet for?” I ask suspiciously from the top of the stairs.

             “To play World of Warcraft. Come on! It’s a long drive!”

             I shake my head and walk into the kitchen. He spends days playing that game. I opened the cabinet and began to stuff all the over-processed high fructose corn syrup goodies into a small bag. I’m considering the lack of food that will be consumed on the trip, so I’m assuming that these will hold us over from the excessive drinking. Well, I’m hoping it will because I have no money.

             I motion to Brian to follow me. We walk through the dining room and into The Big Room. We have been calling this room The Big Room since we were kids and we had just moved in. My parents purchased a four bedroom split-level in Upstate New York in the early 90’s when homes were affordable and still considered an investment. The house had three living room areas: the playroom, the living room, and The Big Room. They were each given a different name so when we coerced into doing chores, there was little confusion.

             The Big Room was always dark. There were four lamps, but usually there was only one that had a lightbulb that worked. No one ever really knew which one that was. The walls were painted a dark evergreen, and half the wall was carpentered wood. The coffee table was a light oak, covered in crushed cans, cigarette ash, and old take-out boxes. The sectional was a forest green, and it lined the walls between the windows on either side. The pictures on the wall were covered in dust and cobwebs, although it was evident that people lived here. Weight loss commercials flickered on a flatscreen TV in an entertainment center that was never completed. The room was cold and foggy from smoke. My mother was wrapped up in a blanket on the couch smoking a cigarette. She looked up at us when we walked in as the smoke billowed up and lingered beneath the ceiling.

             “What’re you doin’” She asked as she puffed out another cloud of smoke.                “We’re leaving, we have to get on the road before this blizzard gets worse” I say as began to shift awkwardly. 

     “Hi Brian, How are you?” She bends down to find her Crocs. “You know, excited to spend all my money on a cross country road trip”  He says as my mom giggles. Her face is flushed, but I could tell that she’s anxious. She gets up and steadies herself before she puts her cigarette out in the ashtray. She blows the smoke at the coffee table, forcing the ashes to dance freely in the air. She hobbles over in her Nag Nag Nag shirt, stepping over sneakers and random articles of clothing. The lines around her eyes are crinkled together, and her Irish face is flushed red. She opens her arms and grabs me by the shoulders and hugs me tightly. 

     “Please… Be… Careful… I will miss you” Her voice begins to crackle as she speaks.

     “I will. We’ll be fine, Mom” I could feel her lightly whimpering before I release myself from her grasp. She wipes tears from her face and tries to force a smile. I awkwardly pat her on the shoulder. 

             “I’ll call you when we get out of the East Coast.” 

             “Yeah, Bye Mom!” Brian says as I turn around to leave. He smirks and then shrugs. I walk quietly through the empty house. For a moment, there’s a feeling of silence. Just the sound of our feet shuffling through. The house is still in shambles. There are still clothes all over the floor, the teapots still lay broken in the china cabinet. Dinner from last night sits on the counter in the kitchen, collecting flies. As I reach the stairs that lead down to the foyer, I feel a sensation of serenity, an overwhelming feeling of release, and a feeling of abandonment. I breathe in slowly, feeling the cold air from the front door wash over my face. Brian stares blankly at me for a moment, but he understands. I could collect all of the memories in this moment, but I don’t. I am staring at the path I left behind me, a path that I had no control of, a path that was not paved by me. 

The steps beneath my feet creak as we step into the foyer. Brian collects his backpack, and I follow him out into the frozen tundra. My car is sputtering beneath a film of snow, while the heat begins to slowly melt the ice on the windows. Brian trudges through the snow and opens the passenger side door, waiting for me to approach the car. I look back at the yellow split-level house, and I could see her silhouette against the yellow glow of the window. I wave lightly, and she disappears.

I open the car door, and lower myself into the driver’s seat. Brian is fiddling with things in his back pack, and I pull out of the driveway. The tires squeal and we continue to fishtail up the street. The heat is blaring out of the small radiators, forcing our faces to burn but our bodies remain shivering. My car is having trouble gripping the street. But we make it to the main road, which has been plowed within the hour and shares some promise of safety. 

“How do you feel?” Brian asks.

“I’m okay… I’m trying to decide whether or not I made a good decision”

“Do you feel like this is a poor decision?” 

“Yes, because I’m running away from my life” I say sincerely as I choke back some tears. Brian notices and stares out the window. I turn the heat off and allow the cold air to envelope me. Memories of my prior life pour through my mind. My heart begins to race, and I feel my hands get clammy. Don’t turn around, there’s nothing for you there. I turn onto Route 9 and begin to head south. “So… to your dad’s place then?” 

Brian’s dad lives behind the Galleria in the trailer park at the bottom of the hill. The trailer park was named Camelot Village. It had a short brick wall that stood on its perimeter. The really shady trailer park sat next door to this wall. I remember I had a friend who lived in the shady trailer park. The roads running through it were rocks and dirt, and it was infested with stray cats. My friend lived in a white trailer, with a rusting metal deck connected to the entrance. The inside was always hot and literally felt like an oven. The last time I was there, there was so much soda spilled on the floor that my foot got glued to a kitchen tile and pulled it completely off of the floor. I never went back to her trailer because it was so atrociously disgusting. Camelot Village was not nearly as bad. It was a lot of retirees who had a bad divorce, or found a good deal on a trailer, or lost all their money on a drug addict son or daughter. But, it was confusing to find anything in the trailer park. In the dead center of the weaving streets was a large map posted in front of the leasing office. This was even less helpful, because there was no “You Are Here” icon. If I didn’t know any better, I would drive in circles wondering why there were so many leasing offices. Luckily for me, Brian’s dad’s trailer was directly behind the leasing office. This made it much easier to find his trailer whether we were inebriated or sober. It was a s**t brown color, with crooked white shutters hanging on by life support next to the windows. Snow piled onto the small deck, and a bright pink flamingo head poked out of the top of the snow. The old station wagon looked as though it hadn’t been driven in a long time, and it sat in the driveway collecting the vicious New York weather.

The windows were dark, and it seemed that his dad was asleep. Brian pushed open the car door so it scraped the top of the icy snow. He stomped through the piling snow in his duct taped shoes, and disappeared into the s**t-colored-metal-abode. I sat in the car, watching as the snow would float and crash into my windshield, melting slowly and fading away. I turned down the music until it was only a light hum in the background. The lights in the trailer would flicker on and off intermittently. I wondered if Brian’s dad was awake, if he was saying goodbye, or trying to pretend that he wasn’t even home. 

The trailer park was incredibly dark, even with the sun coming slowly over the horizon. There were no street lights, nothing to illuminate the potholes scattered throughout the paved roadways. I could see Brian through the kitchen window looking into the fridge, and I feel an overwhelming urge to honk excessively. Although, I resist this urge, I still imagine that I do and giggle inside. Finally, all of the lights go out and I see the metal screen door push the snow off of the porch. Brian pulled his beanie further down his forehead and rushes to the car. He shakes the snow off of his shoes before lowering into the passenger seat. He’s holding a large square in his hand and he begins to fiddle with his backpack. 

“What is that block for?” I asked him as I put the car in reverse.

“It’s an electrical outlet. I just put it into the cigarette lighter and voila! We have fully powered laptops and phones” 

“Oh, the amazing contraptions brought to us by over-paid technological companies” I say sarcastically. 

“Fine… Then you’re not allowed to play World of Warcraft when I drive” 

“You’re not driving” I say dryly. 

“And….. Why not?” 

“Because you don’t have a license, and I have outdated insurance” 

“Well, we really planned this well, didn’t we?” I sighed—exasperated—as I pulled out of Camelot Village. The horizon was growing pink above the canopies of pine trees. The snow seemed to be easing, but I think that was only because it was less noticeable in the growing sun. We drove down Route 9, which was the business district of our Upstate New York town. It was lined with concrete malls, blinking signs, and over-priced used car dealerships. The signs for every building were always missing a glowing letter, or one was blinking sporadically. For Lease and For Sale signs cluttered every sprawling parking lot. These parking lots that held no cars, that promised little business, that promised a new For Sale sign in only a few months. The local restaurants always closed early, because they couldn’t afford to pay their servers $4.63 to stand around for an extra two hours. Kids from my graduating class sat outside the 711 begging for food. The local manufacturing company had just finished laying off hundreds of employees, forcing hundreds of families into foreclosure. This town was crying for attention, and I watched its call for help slowly pass by as we continued towards the freeway. I found that this snow was refreshing, because it reminded me of days before it was always raining. 

“So… Where do you want to go?” He asks as he pulls his laptop out of his backpack. 

“Italy, Australia, Madagascar…” 

“No, I mean on this trip that you’re spending your savings on” 

“Oh… I don’t know. I have some things in mind but they won’t happen for another day or so. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Allow me to open up a nifty electronic map to find some cool s**t” He says as smiled devilishly. 

“You do that, and let me know how that works out” I press on the gas and glide through the green light. Snow is smacking violently against the signs for the upcoming interstate. The snow up ahead is beginning to stick to the road, and I’m hoping that the warmth of the sun will melt it all away. 

“So, we could go check out Philly or go to the Political Deadland” “Washington DC?” I asked questionably. 

“Unless you know of another political deadland?” 

“Oh, I was thinking every major capital that we’ll pass through within the next 8 days” 

“Touche, my friend, touché” 

We drive beneath an overpass, where chunks of snow are splattering on the road. Interstate 84-Two Miles. There weren’t many highways that passed through our town. This made our home a little inaccessible. I-84 was a highway that we took in order to get to every other freeway. Every other freeway led to New York City. But I-84 led to Boston. And I used to take this highway back and forth from Boston every Monday for an entire year. I would blare Journey’s Greatest Hits and sing at the top of my lungs for the entire three and a half hour drive. I would struggle for parking in this meter infested city, and I would go to class for five hours. Then, I would take the same way back home, stopping to hand some money to the Massachusetts Highway Commission, and then speeding through the tree-lined highways through Connecticut. My little green car would pass under the Welcome to Hartford bridge, and into the Catholic Church plagued city of Waterbury. When I would finally reach New York, it was a relief to see the bright green trees of Dutchess County, and the gray slow moving slime that we named the Hudson River. Until I walked into the front door of my yellow house, where the grass was once green but was now a cluster of leaves and dirt. I made this trip 48 times that year. Despite everything that had transpired. It seemed as though it was the only thing within my control. So, I stared blankly at this familiar sign-- Interstate 84: Danbury-- and I breathed deeply. Because I knew I wasn’t going to Boston, and I knew I wouldn’t go back to Boston for a very long time. I knew that I wouldn’t come back to the east coast. I knew that I wouldn’t see the sadness anymore. I knew that everything would change. I knew that I wasn’t ready. 

“Hey, the light is green” 

“Oh, sorry” I said and drove onto the on-ramp. 

“So, pick a number from 1-4” He asks me. 

“Why?” 

“Just do it” 

“Fine, 3” 

“Okay, we’re going South” He says as he triumphantly closes his electronic map. 

“…Every number was South, wasn’t it?” 

“That’s for me to know… and you to… never know” He says as he grins. I drive slowly onto the highway, weaving between the few slow-moving trucks that were forced to be up this early at the crack of dawn. I could see them sipping their black cups of coffee, wondering why they’re not at home and in a warm bed. I watched as the lights of the Hudson Valley dimmed in the rearview mirror, until the trees covered the illumination of the strip malls. Then we were enveloped in darkness, watching the green exit signs come and go. Goodbye East Coast, I’ll come back when it’s time