Cruising

90's coming of age story, geographically themed

Dan Cobourn                                                 About 2800 words

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Cruising

By Dan Cobourn

 

 

            We called it cruising. I’m not sure who came up with the name but Aidan Miles and I were the first to do it. Aidan lived down the street, through the park, and a block over. He moved to town in third grade. He already had armpit hair and he was really twitchy. Once he got rid of the twitch we became friends. His house wasn’t as big as mine, even though he had more brothers and sisters. It was the same temperature as the outside year round, which made it nice in the fall and spring, and tricky the rest of the time. When I asked my dad why they didn’t buy a house like ours all he said was that they were Democrats.

            We were in grade school when we started cruising. It was really just walking�"down Bardstown Road mostly, the big street at the end of my little street. We’d seen the older kids doing it. It looked like a good idea and it was. Aidan hadn’t asked his parents for permission since before he had armpit hair. I still didn’t have any then. He was luckier than me. Or maybe I was the lucky one. When I first asked my dad he was confused. You want to walk down Bardstown Road? Where are you going? Does it cost anything? Yes. Nowhere. Nothing.

            We walked down the street and turned right at the gas station. I could almost afford two gallons of gas if I wanted to. The record store was our first stop, and it became tradition. We couldn’t afford any of the tapes or CDs but there was music playing and incense burning. We bought virgin mojitos in glass bottles. When we were done with them we would throw them into the nearest trashcan. If you missed you ran and it was almost more fun.

Dominic Rubino started coming with us too. His parents were both in real estate, and goddamn the market was prime back then. He got tired of burning leaves in his backyard and wanted to see what else there was out there to burn. He lived by another park a little further away. It made for a good walk. Aidan never had any money but Dominic and I did. Next to the cashier there was a jar of single condoms. “Be safe, take one, don’t fight, love”. I tell the clerk I know there is real sugar in the mojitos but what about the lime and the mint, are those real too? He looks at me confused as Aidan grabs a handful of condoms and I walk out later with three bottles of carbonated water, sugar cane, and natural and artificial flavors. We walked to the park and built a pile out of our colorful loot. The condoms were surprisingly flammable and we ran after it got the attention of a nearby family of picnickers. Later that day each of us secretly held the ones we kept in our pockets, for reasons unknown to ourselves.

I ran into Karl that first day. He was one of the babysitters I had when my parents used to go out to dinner and then to counseling. He was tall. He would play hide and seek with me for hours. It was always easy to find him because no matter where he hid there was always an odd extremity sticking out. He never seemed to be able to find me very quickly. Usually he would get so exhausted searching for me that he would fall asleep. I learned how to play on my own. One time he woke up to my parents getting home. I was asleep in my closet atop my laundry; the doorknob had broken off from the inside. I never really liked small spaces after that. It was the first time I’d found him since our last game of hide and seek. He looked different, still tall, but wearing a tie die bandana and an army jacket. He smelled funny too. I guess it wasn’t Karl after all because he didn’t seem to recognize me. He asked me for money. I lied and said I had none, like I was taught. Right on child, he said. He went on his way, the bandanna holding his long hair against the wind. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. I looked down at my own feet, trapped in white tennis shoes. I wanted nothing more than to take them off, empty my pockets, and follow him. But my curfew was six and the sun was low.

At Aidan’s house the rules were different. We never had to come back and sometimes we never did. On Bardstown Road there are always some stores open. Not that we always went to them. One night a year they’re all open. Bardstown Road Aglow, it’s called. There are lights and food, things and people. Lots of people. My dad was going out so I was going to Aidan’s. Then we went out, too. At night everything looked new. The grownups were different too. They were louder, they laughed more and they smiled. We were hidden in the crowd, unnoticed. Outside of the guitar shop there was karaoke. A man sang out of time to a song, his voice keeping the flowing crowd at bay in a tight circle. We broke through to the front past belt buckles and small purses. When he was done Aidan and I volunteered to go next. Our musical interests rarely overlapped so we settled on “Beast of Burden” by the Rolling Stones. Then, like all the old rock stars before us, we performed in front of a bunch of drunk adults. I asked the crowd if I was hard, rough, or rich enough. Aidan promised he wasn’t too blind to see. And Dominic laughed. Together we begged for them to put us out on the street, out of misery.

It was fun to be among all those people. Sometimes it was fun to be the only ones out there. When all the good stores were closed and we weren’t supposed to be out anyway, we would wander around aimlessly. We went to the park and saw who could walk the deepest into the forest before turning around. We stopped doing this after Dominic accidentally tripped over someone sleeping there. Sometimes we talked and sometimes we didn’t. The park was only a few minutes from Aidan’s house and mine. The record store was ten minutes give or take. Sometimes we would just go back and forth between the two, and sometimes we would walk in one direction for an hour because we found a coupon for hot chocolate at some far away gas station. We didn’t really go for the hot chocolate; it was the middle of summer. We walked there so we could walk back.

Through Aidan’s sister we got the number of a dealer who lived in the west end. I slipped what I thought was enough out of my dad’s wallet�"my mojito allowance didn’t cover narcotics. The guy said he didn’t want to drive so we walked. It was past midnight and the weather was turning so I put on my L.L. Bean jacket. Dominic had a Polo raincoat. Aidan just walked fast. At first it was uneventful, quiet. The further we walked the louder it got. More people were out walking too. A family passed us, each carrying bags of groceries. Several waited on a bench for a bus that wasn’t coming anytime soon. Off in the distance a siren blared, we kept walking toward it.

Apparently I had brought just enough money. It was the first time for all of us. The weed made our throats hurt and our hearts beat faster. I felt like I was looking through my eyes rather than just seeing. The noise seemed to get louder too, building stronger like a river at the start of a storm. We tried to fight the current but one by one let go and drifted downstream towards home until finally we made it to land. My feet hit the ground and the leaves felt like soggy cornflakes. We were soaked and cold, it took four hours altogether. We agreed that we should do it all again next week.

            That was before Aidan heard the news. His parents had been struggling with unemployment for a while then. Usually one had a job but for the past few months neither of them did. They were losing the house�"that much was certain. But they both got job offers out of state, in the same zip code even. They couldn’t be happier.

            So the jig was up. Perhaps it had gone on long enough. We’d been travelling freely and unmolested through life thus far. It didn’t seem right.  We still had some time though. It was the night before the Kentucky Derby, our commonwealth finally once again on the verge of our annual five seconds of fame. Not all the shops were open but the ones that served drinks were, which meant lights and sounds and people. I smuggled enough beers for all of us out of the house in Aidan’s backpack. We walked quickly, but not too quickly. Every step with that backpack was trouble. Save for our racket it was the quiet before the storm: a whole state silently gearing up for a walk down Bourbon Street. Maybe the neighbors thought we were recycling. We ducked down the next alley and went at it. I used the pocketknife my dad gave me the Christmas after my parent’s divorce. The beers are ancient. Some gift from another Christmas before I was born, I think. I take the Bluegrass Brew, Aidan the Horseshoe Stout, and Dominic grabs a Kentucky Kraft Something. They all tasted the same, lukewarm and bitter. We took them like medicine. Then we left our back alley clinic, cured of whatever blues we had. I tell Aidan nothing can stop our friendship; Dominic says he can stay with him at his house. We believed it, too. We outlasted all the adults in a way that only kids, who only need three beers, have no job and no plans for one can. It was past four in the morning but we weren’t tired. So we took to the park.

We were almost in it, on the bridge above. Dominic was pissing when Aidan stopped walking next to me. I was still laughing. He was looking over the railing at the park below. I could see the playground where I broke my arm on the monkey bars. The single streetlamp flickered over the basketball courts where we learned how to dribble and how to act like you were better than you were when the captains were choosing teams. The rails are bent outward where he stops and he hangs one foot over the gap, letting it swing. He drops the last bottle. The glass shatters and flows in frothy waves across the pavement. Suddenly no one is laughing and I look around for spectators, and for answers. That was the last one I tell him, and now Dominic is mad because he had called it.

            But if Aidan heard us he didn’t show it. Instead he let that foot dangle. We got tired of being anything but happy and sat next to him. Finally the light went off for good. As my eyes started to adjust the rest of the park began to reveal itself. The picnic tables, the woods where the homeless slept, the swings, the great stone stairs I raced down as a kid, where I first kissed a girl, and the ones I walk up today, the grass picnic area, football field, soccer pitch, and baseball diamond all rolled into one. I couldn’t imagine leaving it all.

            I look over to Dominic who looks at me and back out. I wonder what he sees. I can’t see Aidan’s eyes and tell him to sit down with us if we’re gonna stay here. But he doesn’t move.

            Then he says, “All I want is a why. Why now? Why again? We moved three times till I got here and I never really cared. Why do we have to move once I care? I’m afraid that there is no why though. It happens for the same reason that anything else does. Because it does and that’s the way of things. And then I wonder why I care about anything at all. Caring is just another thing that happens, like not caring, like losing someone or winning the lottery. It just happens. You can try to make it happen. You can try to stop it from happening. Maybe sometimes you can. But usually you can’t. And that’s just life isn’t it? One event after another. Lightening strikes tree, tree falls, tree hits ground. The tree doesn’t care. The ground doesn’t either. But for some reason there’s people here just to watch it happen. Maybe they liked that tree. Maybe they wanted it gone. It doesn’t matter. The worst thing is that this is all I care about now, the only thing that matters. But down the street there’s someone who just lost their husband and in some other part of the world there’s a family that doesn’t have food. And even if they won some lottery and had as much food as they needed I would still be here and a block over a widow would be crying. I’ve always wondered how so many people believe in God. Now I get it. It’s because there isn’t one. If there were a god people wouldn’t need to believe in something else. Something that makes it all worth it, something that isn’t there and deep down they know it but are too afraid to admit it because then they lose the only thing they have left.”

            He moved his other foot out and for a moment it seemed like he was standing on thin air. He pushed the rail and fell back down to the ground next to us. I could see his eyes, then. He was looking up, past the trees, past the moon and past the stars, to where there was nothing.

            Dominic’s drunker than I am and quicker to talk. Fighting an uncooperative tongue he forces out, “That’s some heavy s**t man but I think I saw a couch back there and I wonder what would happen if we threw it off this bridge.” He always knew how to sell you on something.

            That couch didn’t break till the third attempt. We were still celebrating when a car pulled up and a man pulled a gun. They took Aidan’s backpack. They didn’t ask for watches or wallets, they just wanted the backpack. It was a good one though. America made. It had two places for drinks, eight different compartments, and a sturdy handle with a rubber grip. The only thing left inside was a muffin and a bike pump.

            The cops actually found the backpack later that night. The muffin was gone. But our parents all got court dates for letting us out after curfew, which meant that Aidan’s parents couldn’t take the jobs. We didn’t walk around at night as much after that. Soon we weren’t walking around at all. I got my first car and the whole idea of walking somewhere just to walk there suddenly felt silly.

            Maybe it was. It wasn’t all drugs, liquor and crime by the way. Those are just the parts I remember the best. The softer memories fade easier. Especially when you keep busy like I do. It seems like these days you don’t have the luxury of the petty vandalism of a couch someone already threw away. It certainly doesn’t help the couch but it might just help a friend. I don’t think the sidewalk minded. There’s no time to walk somewhere when you could be driving. And if you don’t have a car you better run from job to job until you can buy one. You get into that car and head towards the next adventure, the next move in the game. Hit the accelerator and maybe fasten the seatbelt. The horizon fast approaches and if you look to the side it’s all a blur. Sometimes you check the rear view mirror and see who’s gaining on you and hope that that siren you hear isn’t for you. All the way back you see some kids, shrinking away. They’re drinking virgin mojitos and looking around. There’s a horizon on every side for them and it only comes as fast as they want. But it is coming.

 

END

Author's Note

would love to hear thoughts and reactions