Beast(57)

The shelves in bodegas and corner mom-and-pop shops always make me smile. It’s a hodgepodge of stuff they ordered once but didn’t sell, so they let it sit on the shelf with all the other items to turn yellow and fade under the fluorescent lights. I straighten my sports coat and chuckle at one package of generic diapers, next to a pile of wrenches, next to some old travel bottles of shampoo, next to some faded boxes of birthday candles, and a box of off-off-off-off-brand teeth whitening strips left to die next to two bags of Acme kitty litter.

It reminds me of my head. A pile of random shit crammed together. I almost want to buy the teeth whitening kit just to bring it home and give it a proper burial. Maybe I’ll add it to my list, which is pretty brief. The only thing on it is Beer.

Two six-packs and a pack of gum from every corner store we go to.

Because I am a bit of a math nerd, I actually looked into how many ounces of beer it would take for someone my size to get drunk, and the answer is a lot. Since we don’t want to be caught, we figured that if we buy two six-packs and some random gum at each store, no flags are raised. If we hit up enough stores, we slide under the radar, secure plenty of suds, and have a lovely long constitutional whilst getting said brews.

Jamie has to wait outside as I browse in my man drag, select beer, and buy it. We already know it works because we stashed a brown paper bag from the last store under a row of scrub bushes, but I’m still sweating like a pig. No one seems to notice. Why would they? We scoured all the closets at both our houses and found usable man things. Thankfully her dad is real tall and doesn’t seem to be missing his scratchy brown-plaid sports coat. Jamie and I worked up my everything real good before we left. Gave the coat some Professor Huffinblad patches on the elbows that her mom had been meaning to add forever but never got around to, and with my wire frame glasses to boot, it’s all complete. Jamie swiped them from her grandpa, and as long as I sink them down the bridge of my nose and look over the top, my eyes don’t kill too much. She said that was a perfect touch because it makes me look like I need bifocals and I’m too stubborn to get them. Good for the age range we were going for.

In addition to the khaki pants and the respectable socks and loafers, she sliced a rigid line through my hair with a fine-tooth comb and parted it to the side. Flecked with scattered gray hairs at the temples that she individually painted. Put together, but not too much. Casual. I look like a banker approving a loan for a pot farm.

The pièce de résistance is the beard.

It’s thicker than it should be after three days and covers everything. Neck, high up the cheeks, and almost under my ears. I hate it. It’s itchy and looks stupid. Jamie laughed her ass off while she painted about seventy-five hairs on my chin gray. So of course her laughing at me made it better. Just kidding, that sucked.

The girl behind the cash register is older than I am, but not by much.

“Excuse me, sir,” I hear behind me.

I spin around on my crutches and glare at Jamie. “You’re supposed to be outside.”

She holds up a box of Only Dudes hair dye. “I was wondering if you could help me?” She tries so hard not to laugh. “See, my dad is the same age as you, old as hell, and he’s turning gray and sagging into his shoes too. Do you have a preference when selecting cheap hair dye for old men—and by ‘old,’ I mean actually-pay-attention-to-boner-pill-commercials old—to pretend they’re still in the game?”

Jamie shimmies with glee. This whole beer excursion came from one long exploded dare with one another. “I’ll do it if you do it” became “Let’s do it.” Turns out we both always entertained the thought of getting blitzed but never had the opportunity. And now we do. Thanks, Mom!

“Young lady, you are quite a hoot.”

“Thank you, sir. I like to think so too.”

I check the clerk behind the counter. She’s not watching us, and I give Jamie’s shoulder a little bump. “Dork,” I whisper under my breath. I was excited about getting all this beer, but it turned out it’s just us doing what we do best, and that’s my favorite part.

“You look great!” she whispers back.

She gives me a shove. I give her a shove. She bumps me with her hip. I turn around and knock her with my butt. Jamie bounces into the teeth whitener. We glue our mouths shut because whoever laughs first loses, so we snort up a storm.

“You’re horrible,” she says.

“No, you’re horrible.”

“We’re both so incredibly horrible,” she says, and I’m like, oh hell yes, we are. Forever and always.

Jamie walks away and I tap her lifting heel with my crutch, making her trip. “Don’t blow your cover,” she shoots back with a huge grin.

“You started it,” I rumble back.

She situates herself by the sodas and I scan the store for people. We’re waiting for someone to check out and I’ll stand behind them, so it looks like I’m just another man buying beer and gum before going home to the wife and kids.

Some guy comes in and I’m relieved. He’s gotta be like eighteen or something, but I bet he’ll buy an energy drink and I’ll look crazy old by comparison. Then I lean against the beef jerky because I don’t like looking like this.

Having this thing on my face feels exactly like that time I got trapped under my grandma’s thick wool blanket when I was four: I can’t breathe. I can’t get out.