Lawn Boy(31)

“Do you want to see my dick?”

“The fuck!”

Nick hauled off and punched me in the shoulder so that I tipped backward off the log, spilling my beer. I landed on my back, looking up at the stars, laughing my ass off. After a second, Nick started laughing, too, then gave me a hand and pulled me up. I dusted myself off and grabbed the whiskey from Nick and took a pull, then he grabbed it back and did the same, without wiping the rim of the bottle.

Marlin was holding the guitar now, trying to strum a chord, with Freddy’s encouragement.

“That’s it, boy, easy now. You ain’t angry at the strings.”

“Remember back in fifth grade,” Nick said to me, “when we used to break into the school cafeteria at night and steal ice cream?”

“And cold Canadian Jumbos.”

“Remember when Nate got stuck in the window?”

“How could I forget?”

“Man, we were lucky. Weren’t we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just running free like that. Nobody stopping us from doing whatever we wanted. We had it made.”

“That’s one way to look at it, I guess.”

I couldn’t help but love Nick a little more right then, knowing what his childhood looked like. The thought of it made me a little sad.

Before we knew it, Marlin was jerkily strumming “Wild Thing” in bona fide chords. The kid was thrilled, bright eyed and smiling. Suddenly his sound was so much bigger.

Freddy was pretty happy with himself, too. Hell, we were all happy with ourselves just then. Even Nate, who kept silently crop-dusting us. I looked around at everybody’s face in the glow of the firelight, and I wondered why we didn’t do this every night. Here we lived in this beautiful place, and I’d never even thought of it as beautiful before. It’d always been ugly by association, I guess. Now I felt like I was seeing it for the first time. The lights twinkling across the bay, the stars winking above, the forest rearing up behind us on the bluff.

I was pretty drunk by that time and pretty goddamn grateful for the crumbs life had been dropping in my path lately, like maybe they were leading somewhere new, some destination I couldn’t see yet. I couldn’t help but count my blessings: my job with Chaz Unlimited Limited, my new digs in the guest cottage, the $217 still miraculously sitting in my checking account. And then there were Remy and all the great books waiting to be read on my workbench. And the dim but compelling possibility that I might one day write a book myself or do something else of distinction.

For now, I had this beach fire, the lapping of the surf, these people, this beer, this laughter. These pretzels, this music, this momentary sensation that in spite of all the unrest and injustice, and hatred and greed, in spite of the cold, uncaring stars wheeling above us, we live in the most beautiful of all possible worlds. And yes, the moments are fleeting, like my mom’s smile, and it’s not often we have control over them, and that just makes them all the sweeter. Fuck it, if that sounds like a Jack Johnson song, it’s true.

I started misting over in spite of myself, wiping my eyes as though the smoke were to blame, but my friends saw right through it.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Freddy wanted to know.

Nick put a hand on my shoulder. “What up, bro?”

“Just happy,” I said. “That’s all.”





How to Seize the Day




My high spirits lasted through Sunday, and Monday morning I awoke refreshed, ready to go out and seize the day. On the bus, I read Richard Brautigan, and anything seemed possible. After all the vitriol of Céline, I’d told my library friend, Andrew, I was looking for something gentler, and he steered me to Trout Fishing in America. Old Brautigan made heartbreak seem jaunty, and the world, for all its messed-up shit, seemed like a place with soft edges.

But when I showed up to work, there were three squad cars in front of the warehouse, and Austin and his roaster buddies were standing in front of the warehouse in their skinny jeans and ironic T-shirts, drinking macchiato and rubbernecking at the scene.

“What’s up?” I said.

“Pretty sure your boy Jazz is getting pinched,” said Austin.

“What the fuck?” I said.

No sooner did the words leave my mouth than two cops escorted Chaz out, hands cuffed behind his back. Always the optimist, Chaz was smiling like Bill Clinton in a sea of big red balloons.

“Chaz!” I called out.

He looked at me and shrugged like it was no big deal.

“A minor setback, Mu?oz, trust me. Nothing to worry about. Stay the course, comrade. Stand by and think big, Mu?oz.”

The cop gave Chaz a little shove and dug an elbow into his kidney as he guided him into the backseat.

“Keys are under the floor mat—driver’s side,” he said as he disappeared into the depths of the cruiser.

“What a loser,” said Austin.

“Fuck you,” I said.

Why the fuck I ever thought I could be friends with that guy, I have no idea. You just know a little punk like that has a safety net. Two parents somewhere with money. All I know is, whatever Chaz did, whatever crime he perpetrated to get busted (provided it wasn’t human trafficking or child pornography), he was nobler in my eyes than that little phony Austin. What did Austin ever do but eat expensive sandwiches, pet his beard, and act superior?