Boozing #4

Not Every Story is about Esoteric Dream Yoga

Our white friend invited us to go for a booze cruise. I haven't seen him in years. I'm sure not much has changed. He settled into small town living rather quickly. But this ain't now, this was over a decade ago. White friend was wild when we were young. He used to drink a traveler of whiskey before school and just ride it out.

So we're driving out in the country and there's a jug of whiskey in the backseat. Our other buddy is back there and I'm up front. We didn't know it but Red Owl helped himself to the whole thing. We pulled up to one of our drinking spots, out there on some old family land.

****

My family inherited a lot of land from the old, old days. And every generation since has sold a significant chunk of it. That's what our grandparents used to tell us, don't sell the land. Keep it. But everyone wanted a quick paycheck. I'm old and I live in the city now. There's no privacy, there's no personal land, not like back home.

My cousins bought trailer houses for less than 10k. That's all we had to do. Buy a trailer house and move it. Save up for a few years and you could have real privacy. The tribe would encourage you to do it too. They'd set up your water and gas lines for three hundred bucks. The electricity company would set up your power line for five hundred.

The tribe wants you to be autonomous. They want you to establish yourself. They want you to become better people.

On the reservation, all of our grandparent's relatives are our grandparents. Dad's dad and his uncles were our grandpas and our grandpas all had houses and land. Our family tore itself up and argued over what they left behind. One of our aunts fought with everyone, and then her daughter passed away and she didn't want anything to do with home so she got rid of everything.

Our grandparents inherited land, they were a few generations away from the original settlement of our area. The Man wanted us to be farmers so they put us in the least farm able land available. And that original alottment got smaller and smaller as the elder generations passed.

Grandma, grandpa, dad, and my nephew are buried out on our land in a private cemetery. And then our parent's generation sold all of it. The only bit of ours that's left are the graves.

My uncle sold his piece a few years ago and burned through his money in the blink of an eye.

Our grandparents knew better. They leased theirs out to local ranchers and didn't hurt for money like we did. They played the game right and that was good enough. They were home owners back home and lived modest lives.

That ain't what we wanted. We wanted to sell it. Fuck leasing. Fuck starting our own ranch operation. Fuck wealth. Sell it for a quick check and be done with it. Be done with it and never own anything.

We used to hunt on our own land. It felt nice because no one could bother us. No one could kick us out or say we were trespassing. I always thought that that'd come our way eventually but it didn't. All sold for nothing. I think in the end all me and my sisters got were mineral rights.

****

So we pull up to a drinking spot on some of our former land and our buddy already crushed an entire traveler of whiskey to himself. I've known this guy now for twenty something years and he's been a lightweight the entire time.

He's sitting in the back yelling about nonsense. Then he hops out of the truck and starts throwing haymakers at the seat. Then he walks out into the tall grass, shows his license to the sky, and yells, "This is me God, DO YOU SEE ME!" and then he rips it in half.

All within forty minutes of us pulling in.

It was a fucking' sight.

We all got caught by drinking but Red Owl got hit harder than the rest of us. He got hit harder because he never learned to handle. Never learned to handle and kept on drinking. The rest of us either sobered up or died, but he's still at it all these years later.

My city-cousin told me just recently that he saw Red Owl back home. That's an issue because he doesn't live back home. He lives three hours away in the city. Apparently he was all beat up. Black eye and all that. They said his girlfriend roughed him up and ditched him. Said he was trying to hitch a ride back to the city.

When he was at his best, he was funny. He was quick witted. He could improvise and we'd make each other laugh. We'd go on long connected riffs about nothing and that was all we needed to do to keep ourselves busy.

He lost it though.

Sloppy drunk.

There's something in the bible that has stumped conspiracy theorists for years and that's the issue of the flood and the Nephilim. The conspiracy theorists don't see the world through the Jungian archetype and, as such, believe that the flood and the Nephilim are literal events.

I was taught to read it with metaphors in mind. In this metaphor, the Nephilim is synonymous with grandiosity. The angels fornicate with humans and create abominations. They create a race of giants that must be wiped out with a flood. The Jungian believes that ego-inflation is the result of the divine mixing with the human.

We believe we're better than others for one reason or another and then our head gets really fucking big. We start to look down on people and think bad thoughts about 'em.

That was Red Owl for awhile there.

My buddy got a taste of power and it wasn't a lot. He started working as a jailer, meaning he was in charge of when you ate, when you got your breathalyzer tests, and when you got released.

That's all it took, and my god, did he devolve quickly.

We went drinking with our White friend after he got that job and Red Owl started saying nasty things about people. He had a cockiness that I've never seen before. His words oozed out slowly, and it did so with spite. He said that we were less than him.

That if he ever got in trouble nothing would happen because the cops would protect him.

It was both disturbing and low-key funny because our White friend's dad was the sheriff at the time. Not only that but he never talked about anyone the way our drunk friend did.

The Nephilim were born.

What happens when the Nephilim are born?

They have to be washed away.

We're all we have as drunks. Friends are friends but friends are also a means of keeping a hangover away. If you score some money, a text message sent out to all of your drinking buddies could mean you're able to get even more drunk.

Well one night Red Owl gets a hold of me and asks if I can pick up a few cans of Joose and I agree. He tells me to stop at his house first to pick up some money. I do. His mom gives me a sandwich bag filled with loose change.

He says to pick up some booze and meet him. I do. I ask where he'll be and he says he's at work. This mother fucker wanted me to stop at the jail to drink in the parking lot about three hours into his shift.

God damn.

Now, I'm not gonna turn down free alcohol, so I meet him at work. He hops in the passenger seat and we get to talking. Apparently it's a slow night. He has a plastic cup from the gas station and he pours an entire can into it.

He cracks open the other and offers me a shot.

I get two fucking drinks of this thing before he slams the rest.

This dick hole got me risking a DUI for a few shots.

Fuck.

The Nephilim needed to get drowned. That's the way it works.

And that's the way it worked.

***

Wasn't long after that that he starts acting normal again. He's not looking down at us like we're bugs. His voice isn't filled with pure contempt. He's human again. He's human again because he got caught drinking on the job.

The flood came and it was made of shitty, 14 percent abv booze.

***

I've known this guy for twenty plus years and he's gotten me drunk once. I have no clue why either. He calls me up on a Wednesday and asks me if I want to catch a buzz and I say "Hell yeah, man". He tells me to meet him uptown and he'd get me something.

It was cold as fuck. November and gray. Town is two steep ass hills away.

I meet him on main street and we hit up the liquor store. Dude tells me to pick something so I got a few forty ounces. He picked up a few four locos for himself, and a traveler of vodka. That's a good evening right there.

That's enough to keep you feeling nice. That's not even hangover levels of booze. That's wake up still drunk, drunk long enough to get more so you can slowly ride everything out.

Our White friend was doing some business at the grocery store. We called him up and asked for a ride back down to my place. He was chill and said yeah.

We walked down to the river. Went to one of our old drinking spots and started catching a buzz. My buddy's asking me if I wanted to go lift weights with him in an hour or so. I'm looking at eighty ounces of malt liquor and some vodka and thinking, "Yeah fuck it".

I killed a forty and this guy's keeping up with that four loco.

Every now and then we're doing straight shots of eighty proof.

Out of nowhere this mother fucker grabs his beer and just hums it a tree. Bam! I'm looking at it and a part of me hurts. But I still had half a forty. A twenty, if you will.

We're still taking straight shots and bullshitting and then...

This mother fucker.

I say, "This mother fucker" too.

Homeboy falls like a fucking tree. Face down. Not only that but the vodka was open, in his chest pocket. I'm watching the last third of it spill onto the ground.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Now why would you go and do that?

I ain't getting any answers because my buddy is gone. He's gone and snoring. He's gone and gone.

Fuck.

I take a few steps back and enjoy the last of the day's buzz cause this is going to be a fucking problem.

I drink up the last of this forty and start scratching my head.

There's no way in hell I'm gonna be able to move this guy. No way in hell. Not on my own.

I pick up the traveler hoping there's something left. Nope. Fuck.

His phone starts ringing and I answer it. It's his relative. And I tell her that he passed out. She tells me not to bring him home.

Fuck.

His phone rings again. It's one of his church friends. He was still supposed to go lift weights so I ask him for help. Tell him about what happened and the guy's pretty understanding about the whole situation. I haven't seen him since but he was a great dude.

We're out by the river on an overgrown road. Luckily the guy had a four-wheel-drive. If you live in the area you know how to not-get-stuck.

My buddy was having moments of lucidity, but they went fast. We'd shake him and ask him to wake up. Do that enough and his eyes would open, as soon as they did you told him to stand up. It took a few tries before he moved any.

He rolled over and sat up.

Hunched over and gone.

We waited for a few moments before trying again.

This time he got to his knees.

A few more moments and we're able to stand him up.

We park him in the passenger seat and I hop in the truck bed. His relatives said he wasn't supposed to go back home but there ain't nowhere else for him to go. So we took him home.

Bad idea.

We got him home and they wanted nothing to do with him.

Hell, they called the cops as soon as we got there.

So we had to do the same shit as before.

Wake him up in bursts and move him into the cop car.

Once he was in, we followed them to the jail.

Round fuckin' three.

Wake him up in bursts and guide him to the cell.

BAM.

As soon as his feet crossed the threshold he was out. Face first on the floor. Gone.

In my drinking years I've blacked out less than ten times. In those ten times I've been pepper sprayed and thrown in the drunk tank at least four times.

I never felt that way before, being drunk but not in trouble. My god, what a great feeling.

****

The next afternoon I called him up to check in. He said he doesn't remember anything after the first few shots of vodka. I ask if he's hungover and if he wants to drink a few beers. He said he's down and I picked him up.

We stood outside my place wrapped in blankets.

It snowed the night before and we were freezing ass.

***

Sobriety took a long time. I had to have repeated nightmares. Hangovers used to be nausea and vomitting. They ain't that anymore. Now it's anxiety. My body knows that it's being poisoned and it doesn't like it.

My dreams scare the shit out of me when I drink too much.

This indifference that I feel around the clock melts away and all I'm left with is longing.

All I want is to be back home. All I want is to see my friends and family. All I want is for this loneliness to go away.

It took forever to learn.

I don't know if my old drinking friends ever learned.

I hope they did.

***

My brain is telling me to focus on telling stories. That's fine but it's not a good enough substitute for selling paintings. If you enjoy what I'm doing, please consider a donation to paypal.me/sblackwolf as I am broke, amen.