Blood Is Thicker Than Vodka

Waiting for his friend, Paul placed the last of his folded clothes into his suitcase and flipped the lid closed. He grabbed his lacrosse stick from the closet and twirled it as he paced to the rhythm of the tennis ball bouncing off the garage door. When he made his way downstairs his mother, Wendy, was lying prone on the sofa watching television.
         “All packed?” she said without turning around.
         “Yep. I’m going to go outside and wait for Jim.”
         Wendy arched herself to look upside-down at Paul. “Clean the kitchen first please.”
         “Sure thing ma,” Paul said still pacing and twirling the mesh-ended shaft.
         There was a clear view from the kitchen of his sister in the driveway beating a ball against the house. Paul started sweeping, keeping pace with the ebb and flow of the tennis ball’s tempo. As he unloaded the dishwasher, he noticed Jim standing at the end of the driveway holding his luggage and watching his sister. Paul banged on the window and held up his middle finger.
         Jim gave a toothy grin and started jogging towards the house. As he passed her, Paul’s sister shouted, “Get ready for high school, squirt!”
         “Hi Amy. That’s hockey,” he replied without looking back.
         “Same difference!”
         Jim dropped his bag on the lawn and came through the side door. Paul had grabbed his stick and was using it to cradle the recyclables from the counter to the bin.
         Jim leaned against the cabinet. “Just because you never put that thing down doesn’t mean you’re going to get any better.”
         “I’m just forging a deeper connection with it, you know, like psychic type shit. I bet yours is sitting in a closet feeling neglected.” Paul tossed the stick onto the table and it rolled noisily to the wall.
         “Paul!” Wendy scolded as she brought herself into the doorway. She raised her arms in a stretch and smiled. “James! How’s your mother?”
         “Great!” Jim said while returning the smile. He reached in his pocket and came out with a folded check. “She sends this to, you know, help out with feeding me and stuff.”
         Wendy snatched the check and immediately ripped it in two. “There’s no need for this, and she knows that!” She poked Jim while she spoke. “Well, so are you two excited for more than a weeks worth of fun! Ten days at the outer banks!” she exclaimed with an exaggerated bravado.
         Jim mirrored her enthusiasm. “Absolutely!”
         “Whatever, kiss-ass.” Paul said as he pushed the schwifer between the two.
         “Paul watch your mouth.”
         “Yeah, yeah. But seriously this place is going to be boring as hell. Duck isn’t exactly known for its youthful night life.”
         Wendy playfully smacked the back of his head. “Oh boo-hoo, you’re going to be stuck in a beach house adjacent to a beautiful sunny beach with no cares or responsibilities in the world and you’re pouting. And what night life are you getting into?” She started jabbing her finger at her son. “You’re thirteen. Shouldn’t you still be playing hide-and-go-seek?”
         “Yeah, between Sponge Bob and nap time.”
         She rolled her eyes. “Well I’m going to go load the car before your father gets back, try not to destroy the house in the mean time. That goes for both of you,” she chirped as she exited the house.
         Paul finished the last spots on the linoleum and hurled the schwifer back into the closet. “God she’s annoying.”
         Jim was now sitting on the counter top with his hand under the running sink. “Nah, you’re just ungrateful.” He flicked water onto Paul’s face.
         “Fucker!” he screamed as he grabbed his lacrosse stick and restrainedly jutted it into Jim’s stomach.
         “Alright, alright. I’m done. Where’s your spare?”
         “Garage.”
         “You want to go throw while we wait?”
         “Sure.”

— — —

Paul woke up in the hammock outside. It took him a moment to remember deciding to sleep out there under the influence of the couple of glasses of his parents’ vodka he and Jim stole after they had gone to bed. The hammock hung between the only two trees in a shallow back yard that dissolved into fifty feet of beach giving way to the Atlantic. He staggered over to the base of the stilted house and slowly climbed the stairs.
         Inside Jim was sprawled across the pillow-laden couch that wrapped around the living room in the shape of a horseshoe. "Mornin'. Eggs and bacon in the oven.”
         Paul grabbed a plate and settled into the sofa. "Where's Amy?"
         "Playing tennis. That girl plays a lot of tennis."
         Paul spoke in between mouthfuls of egg; "She's in training. Her college boyfriend plays and she's neurotic about keeping up with him."
         "She doesn't seem neurotic."
         "Just because she's calm doesn't mean she's not neurotic. Where's my parents?"
         "Dunno." Jim lifted his head. "Probably fuckin'."
         Paul hurled a throw pillow at his head. "Seriously, where are they?"
         "I don't know," Jim said as he chucked the pillow back. "Amy said they went out. They're probably at the beach."
         "What'd you do with the Stoli?"
         "After you went outside I watered it down and put it back."
         Paul went into the kitchen to double check. "Good thinking," Paul muttered as he shoveled dishes into the washer. "Should we go into town today?"
         "What's in town?"
         "Not my parents.”

— — —

The downtown of Duck consisted of little more than a string of outlet shops and seafood eateries. Paul and Jim meandered through the mostly abandoned streets only to find sporadic families of tourists and Carolinians shuffling about preparing for summer. The two made their way into an ice cream parlor crowned with a ceramic caricature of a pelican with a handful of ice cream cones. Inside the only other patrons was a group of young looking girls sitting to the right of the display case. The table collectively gazed over then reconvened their eyes to each another with a muffled chuckle, with the exception of the tall and older looking blonde reclining against the wall in the middle. Paul glanced at her, which grew into a childish gaze that he broke as soon as she noticed him. Jim elbowed Paul.
         “Three o’clock.”
         “Yeah I know.”
         Jim ordered first. He paid and sauntered over to the girls’ table before Paul even knew what he wanted. By the time he had his ice cream Jim had introduced himself and had the whole table giggling, with one exception.
         “You have no idea how lucky you are. We’re from Ohio. All we have to do on days like this is play lacrosse and sleep. Well, Paul over here plays the trumpet, too.”
         Paul pulled out the seat next to Jim and slid into it. He looked over their faces and gave a shrug; “First chair, all-state.” The crowd seemed unimpressed.
         Jim propped his feet on the center column of the table and leaned back on the chair’s hind legs. “Still though, you guys are lucky. Sandy beaches, beautiful town, beautiful weather—”
         “Wait until storm season,” the tall one interjected.
         Jim grinned and let the wooden seat slam back onto the tiles. He inquisitively gestured at the girl. “Well then…”
         “Lexi.”
         “Well then, Lexi, why don’t you educate us,” he said while forcefully slapping Paul on the back. “What is fun about this town?”
         “Not much.”
         “Nothing?”
         “Not really. Aren’t we just sitting in an ice cream shop?”
         “Yeah, but we’re having a blast.” He slapped Paul’s back again. Paul winced and awkwardly pulled Jim’s hand away. “Tell me,” he said as he leaned forward and propped himself over his folded arms, “what do you want to do to fend off boredom?”
         This sent a murmur through the group, but Lexi remained unmoved: stoically postured against the wall. She let the left corner of her mouth creep up slyly as her eyes shifted between the two. “Come around to the fire tonight and we’ll show you.”
         Paul could feel himself start to blush. Jim smiled from ear to ear and asked, “What’s the fire?”

— — —

“It’s simple Paul. We just show up and act like we own the place.” The two were nearing the beach house as the sun receded behind the sound. “We don’t have to bring anything, they probably have everything well in hand.” Jim was still smiling and walking with a cocky air in his step.
         Paul looked uncomfortable to the point of nausea. Inside he felt like his guts were turning over on themselves. “Yeah, but it’s a party. Guests are supposed to bring things to parties.” He shot Jim a bitter eye. “I’m the one who’ll get my hands dirty. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
         Jim let his smile dissolve as he tried to look empathetic towards his friend. “Hey you don’t have to be nervous.” He reached to touch Paul’s shoulder. “She likes us.”
         Paul recoiled and said, “She likes you.”
         The two climbed the wooden, water-eaten stairs to find Paul’s family bustling around the kitchen with the palpable smell of garlic and shrimp in the air. Wendy looked up jubilantly.
         “My boys! How was your day?” Before they could answer she ran up and hugged the two together. “Dinner’s almost ready, I hope you kept an appetite.”
         “Can we help?”
         “Oh, not you Jim. You go and sit down and make yourself comfortable. Paul, would you run into my room and grab my phone really quick, I thought I heard it ringing.”
         “Sure thing ma.”
         Paul made his way to the master bedroom at the back of the house and started shuffling through the mess on the bed until he found the small, black phone. As he was leaving, he noticed his father’s wallet on top of the dresser. He quickly opened it, slid two fifties into his pocket, and placed it back the way it was.
         After dinner Paul and Jim emphatically thanked everyone for cooking and cleaned the kitchen. Jim concocted a story off the top of his head about some guys they met playing Frisbee in town that had invited them to go see a movie that night and the two slipped away into the unlit street. At Paul’s insistence, they made their way to the parking lot near the town’s only apparent liquor store and started approaching strangers who looked like they might be sympathetic to the young, male adolescent plight.
         Forty-five minutes later the friends were jogging down the beach with two bottles of vodka a piece towards the rendezvous set up back at the ice cream parlor. In the distance there was a flickering light and the faint sounds of shouting and laughter. Jim was getting lighter with every step but Paul was feeling the all-too-familiar knots in his stomach as soon as the shapes on the beach became recognizable.
         The fire pit was about twenty feet from the ocean and was burning tall. The crowd was older than either of them had expected and didn’t seem to notice the two approaching. Finally the two saw some familiar faces sitting in a circle down closer to the water.
         “Don’t worry, we made it,” Jim said as he pulled Paul over.
         Lexi was buried in a grey UNC sweatshirt leaning against a sideways log. She smiled and said, “We weren’t. What’s that?”
         Jim tossed one of his bottles at her feet with a wink. “Sparkling water. It's water that makes you sparkle.”
         They nestled into the circle and began passing the bottles around. As the night went on the crowd grew until the larger crowd of high school and college students enveloped their little circle. The vodka bottles disappeared into the crowd with the exception of the one Paul kept cradled in his arms the entire time. He could feel his face burning as he watched his friend merrily chat away at Lexi without interruption.
         “Hey. Are you okay?” Paul looked to his right and saw a petite girl with red hair and matching braces leaning towards him.
         “Dandy.”
         The girl shifted awkwardly. “Hey I wanted to thank you guys for coming and like bringing that alcohol. That was pretty cool of you.” She reached out and placed her hand on top of his.
         Paul took a swig out of the nearly empty bottle and pulled his hand away. “Don’t mention it.”
         The girl bit her lower lip and lingered a little longer. Paul kept his fiery stare fixed on his friend and eventually she stood up and left him there. Paul continued avoiding conversation and pulling from his bottle until he could feel the burning vodka rising in his throat. He tried to ease himself up and succeeded on his third attempt. He proceeded to bombard his way through the crowd of people on his way to the ocean. Paul’s last memory of the night was his hands and knees in the water holding himself up as he vomited until his stomach was empty.

— — —

Paul woke up on the sand next to the smoldering embers of the fire pit surrounded by empty beer cans and cigarette butts. After a few minutes of lying there and shielding his face from the sun, he eased himself up and started staggering down the beach. He was still drunk.
         It took him over an hour to make it back to the house. He slunk along the beach trying to stay hidden from the large windows and their panoramic view. Before he made it to the shallow back yard he noticed his friends familiar orange board shorts in the hammock. Jim’s arms were wrapped around a grey sweatshirt with a tuft of blonde hair sticking out.
         Paul crept back to the beach and sat behind a dune. He spied on the hammock until its occupants finally stirred. Lexi slid off of Jim with a long, tender kiss and walked off towards the road in front of the house. Jim’s hands stretched towards the sky contentedly and then folded behind his head. Paul started to run.
         “Hey! There you are, we got worried when you—”
         Paul flipped the hammock, dropping Jim on his back. Jim stared up, confused and hurt. “What the fuck is—” Paul slammed his fist into Jim’s open mouth, slicing his middle finger open and knocking Jim’s front tooth into the back of his throat. Jim immediately flipped over and started hacking the tooth up through mouthfuls of blood.
         Paul started kicking Jim in the side. “Fuck you! Fuck you! You fucking shithead, I’m gonna shit down your broken fucking neck!” Once the tooth was out of his throat, Jim turned over and grabbed Paul’s kicking leg. He twisted Paul to the ground and leapt on top of him. He grabbed his friend by the collar and rained tears and blood onto Paul’s face while he pummeled it with his free hand. Suddenly Jim felt an arm wrap around his neck as Paul’s father pulled him off of the crying, bleeding child.

— — —

“I want to hear an explanation, and I want to her one now.”
         Paul sat on the sofa with his bruised and bloodied face hanging towards the floor. Outside Amy was beating a tennis ball against a plywood board. “We got in a fight. That’s all.”
         “Bullshit!” Wendy was red in the face. “We had to drive your little friend to the dentist and you look like you drove face first into a brick wall, now what happened?”
         Paul kept his eyes fixed on the floor and didn’t answer. His dad was pacing while his mother sat down next to him. “I don’t mean to yell. But I’m at my wit’s end here Paul. What’s happening to you? You didn’t used to act like this.”
         Paul sniffled and wiped the tears out of his eyes. “It’s nothing.”
         Wendy breathed deeply and sighed. “Is it Jim? Is he making you act this way?” She paused. “We know you’ve been drinking. You smell like booze and our bottle of Stoli is a broken chunk of ice sitting in the freezer.” Paul lightly chuckled. “That’s not funny young man.” She rested her hand on his hunched back. “You didn’t used to be such a trouble maker. We’re worried your friend might be having a negative impact on you.”
         Paul wiped his nose with his arm. “No. It’s not him. The vodka was my idea. I watered it down.”
         Paul’s father stopped pacing and sat down across from them. He hesitantly said; “We don’t want you to defend him because he’s your friend. Look at what he did to you.” He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Does he ever steal things?”
         Paul brought his eyes up to meet his father quizzically.
         His father sighed. “There was some money missing from my wallet. A lot of money. I just want to know—”
         “I took it.”
         “I don’t want you to defend—”
         “No. It was me.” Paul listened to the ball striking between the ground, the plywood and Amy’s racket. “He seemed to know it was a bad idea.”