Journey Back Fragment
He was Christ-posing in the center lane of Highway 319. Lights of passing cars made him burst with color, and when this happened he would laugh out loud, screaming at the people passing and hurried. But as soon as the light passed he faded back into the black, going silent.
"Mark - get the fuck out of the road. Someone's probably called the cops already," I said.
"Cops wont get me. Cars wont hit me. Quit being a pussy and get out here."
"Not a chance in hell."
"Okay, fine, fuck, you happy?" he snarled, walking towards the soft dirt of the shoulder.
"Been happier."
"Very funny. So what're we doing?"
I felt like I was back in high school, when a thousand other nights had brought the same question. Back when I was adrift and bored, working at a gas-station, getting high sometimes but not all the time, when I was moving with friends through the night, through underpasses, over dirt roads, drifting under streetlights, coiled in the corner of apartments, trying not to go crazy. Looking for a way out.
"Derrick?"
"Huh?"
"You going to fucking answer? What are we doing?"
"When do I ever know?"
"Let's go see what's up with Aldiss then."
"Hell no! Dude's fucked up. Crazy. Last time I was there he set his couch on fire, then went and passed out in the bathroom. Time before that I went in, he was on the front lawn, naked in a kid’s pool full of motor oil."
"What? No way."
"Seriously."
“He ain’t like that all the time. Think he’s better now.”
“Shit. ”
“Ain’t that some crazy shit?”
“Seems like it.”
We started walking back towards the car, and Mark walked strangely, shuffling his feet and tossing his head back and forth. He had never liked to be still.
The black pipes of a chemical plant rose in the distance, spreading out smears of smoke into the sky, like smudged tears falling upwards.
Lampposts huddled around the street, anticipating a spectacle, and we walked through the light’s orange tunnel, our shadows dancing before us edgeless and ugly.
Mark reached in his pocket and pulled out the remains of our liquor, which he finished without offering me any. He looked at me and shrugged, and then, turning, he swung his arm, flinging the bottle into the sky like a tiny rocket.
The bottle surged upwards, spinning and reflecting the night sky, throwing off fat droplets and globules of amber, which spun outwards in great elliptical arcs, forming tilt-a-whirl spirals and pinwheels that hung together far too briefly.
“Look at that shit,” he said, as the bottle fell, and as it hit the asphalt between us he stuck out his arms and spun through the shower of glass.
“Christ!” I yelled, “Why the fuck did you do that? Shit could’ve cut me up.”
He looked at me, puzzled, and then threw his head back and laughed at the sky. “What do you mean why? Didn’t you see how fucking beautiful that was.”
“Yeah, not so beautiful if it blinds me or something.”
“Well shit, man. Sometimes you just got to roll the hard six.”
"Mark - get the fuck out of the road. Someone's probably called the cops already," I said.
"Cops wont get me. Cars wont hit me. Quit being a pussy and get out here."
"Not a chance in hell."
"Okay, fine, fuck, you happy?" he snarled, walking towards the soft dirt of the shoulder.
"Been happier."
"Very funny. So what're we doing?"
I felt like I was back in high school, when a thousand other nights had brought the same question. Back when I was adrift and bored, working at a gas-station, getting high sometimes but not all the time, when I was moving with friends through the night, through underpasses, over dirt roads, drifting under streetlights, coiled in the corner of apartments, trying not to go crazy. Looking for a way out.
"Derrick?"
"Huh?"
"You going to fucking answer? What are we doing?"
"When do I ever know?"
"Let's go see what's up with Aldiss then."
"Hell no! Dude's fucked up. Crazy. Last time I was there he set his couch on fire, then went and passed out in the bathroom. Time before that I went in, he was on the front lawn, naked in a kid’s pool full of motor oil."
"What? No way."
"Seriously."
“He ain’t like that all the time. Think he’s better now.”
“Shit. ”
“Ain’t that some crazy shit?”
“Seems like it.”
We started walking back towards the car, and Mark walked strangely, shuffling his feet and tossing his head back and forth. He had never liked to be still.
The black pipes of a chemical plant rose in the distance, spreading out smears of smoke into the sky, like smudged tears falling upwards.
Lampposts huddled around the street, anticipating a spectacle, and we walked through the light’s orange tunnel, our shadows dancing before us edgeless and ugly.
Mark reached in his pocket and pulled out the remains of our liquor, which he finished without offering me any. He looked at me and shrugged, and then, turning, he swung his arm, flinging the bottle into the sky like a tiny rocket.
The bottle surged upwards, spinning and reflecting the night sky, throwing off fat droplets and globules of amber, which spun outwards in great elliptical arcs, forming tilt-a-whirl spirals and pinwheels that hung together far too briefly.
“Look at that shit,” he said, as the bottle fell, and as it hit the asphalt between us he stuck out his arms and spun through the shower of glass.
“Christ!” I yelled, “Why the fuck did you do that? Shit could’ve cut me up.”
He looked at me, puzzled, and then threw his head back and laughed at the sky. “What do you mean why? Didn’t you see how fucking beautiful that was.”
“Yeah, not so beautiful if it blinds me or something.”
“Well shit, man. Sometimes you just got to roll the hard six.”
posted by David at 8:09 PM
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