I make my brother sit in the back seat so you'll feel important, like I'm not using you. I'm barely old enough to drive but I've got enough experience to know how to do this right. I can see the holes you wish you could fill. I've got them too, like so many pock marks on your face.
We roll up to your house and you've got to slip out the front window so your mom doesn't hear. I don't know how old you are but it's old enough to not be sneaking out. You get in and start talking about a truck driving school. About getting out. About drugs and drinking and hey, what are you guys doing later? I'm busy busy busy with my own bullshit, Bullfrog. Our lives only intersect at handles, at brown bottles and sixers. Get what you want and get the fuck out of my car. Thanks a lot for your time, I've got other people to use or forget or drive away from.
It's summer. You go in with and Chad with a $20 and I stay in the car. From this lot I can see the lights at the community center, probably on for some little league's practice. I can practically hear myself yelling out plays and feeling like I was doing what I was meant to do. And what am I meant for now? Laughing at strange men's jokes? Passing clear liquid and smoldering embers? Listening to you talk about my ass and wishing for the soft, lithe arms that are waiting for me two towns over?
It's so hard not to appear eager when you boys return. You want us to wait around with you while you drink. There's always something so sad about drinking alone, but really only when other people know you're doing it. We act busy and preoccupied to get you to hurry up. We drive out to the desert and pull over, the sunset still fading behind us and the wind tossing up the weeds. We talk about Willow's (man)boyfriend stabbing himself in the street, aiming for his broken heart. About how he staggered and floundered right in the road and how you had to drag him out. How he was fine, just high, and how she took him back. About how she's a sophomore and he'd be out of college now if he'd ever gone. About how good the weed is that he gets her mom and how's he's really a great guy after all. Isn't he?
It's not hard to make it out here if you don't want to work. You just have to figure out what you're willing to do. What you can sell of yourself. What you'll only miss a little if you give it away. What parts you might never get back. It's not too much to ask for a little company to buy for some minors. It's really not much at all.
Bullfrog always makes me smile when I think of him. Mostly because I don't see us traveling on Navajo at dusk. Because I see me, knee deep and toe-headed chasing croaks and coming out of the lake with leeches instead.
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