Parked cars packed the sides of the road. As we approached the house hosting the party, the density of kids became greater. Jason pointed out people he knew from other high schools. We parked a block away and I followed Jason carrying our brown paper bag full of hobo wine.
"Tony! You need a hook up? Five dolla, make you holla." Jason shouted at a tall Asian guy --six foot eight, I was told-- with a pony tail who sat in a circle of people doing whippets. He tossed a bottle of wine to Tony who introduced us to everyone. Each person nodded or shook our hands. In the center of the circle, a box of nitrous charges glimmered like silver eggs. A freckled guy I knew as 'Eric the Red' filled the balloon, inhaled half and passed the other half to me. His lips went blue and he laughed a slow deep cackle. I finished the balloon and felt the whomp whomp whomping hum come and fade, leaving a giddy joy.
We bounced like two slow motion pin balls between the groups standing outside. Inside the house, we stepped over people and yelled over music. I paused in the living room and watched the anime porn playing on the television. Some people watched with interest, some with disgust. But mostly, the gigantic spurting demon cocks destroyed a hospital and raped women in half without attracting much attention. Jason returned and handed me ten dollars.
"So, I paid ten bucks for two bottles," I said.
"I'm only getting one," he said.
"For free. You always fuck me on this."
"You're a working man. Don't sweat it." He unscrewed his cap. "Cheers."
"Cheers, shithead."
"I'm going to look for my big tittied soap eater."
After losing interest in the three cocked demon, I wandered off to stash my other bottle. In the family room, Marisa, a girl from Pineview who I only saw at parties like this, was sitting at an upright piano. She played, actually played, the instrument as the crowded room went about discussing matters of the greatest importance that would be forgotten by graduation, probably sooner. Her thick black curls quivered as she moved her shoulders and head with the bouncing tune. I stood beside her and watched her fingers dance among the keys. But my eyes, of their own volition, slid up the tanned arms, lingered on the neck that arose from a v-neck t-shirt and rested on the large black eyes that were unaware of me until that point. The song stopped and her wide lipped smile caught me off guard.
"May I?" I asked. She scooted over, patted the seat and took a sip from my offer of wine.
"Do you know how to play?" she asked.
"No, sorry, but I liked what you were playing."
"It's the Maple Leaf Rag."
"Have you ever seen the movie 'The Sting' with Paul Newman? It's in that," I said.
"I love Paul Newman. I've seen Cool Hand Luke, like, a million times."
"Nobody can eat fifty eggs," we quoted in unison.
We shared my wine. I listened to her play and she taught me a few notes and chords. I felt excitement when our arms brushed against each other or she guided my hand on the keyboard. The wine made it easy to ignore the guilty thoughts suggesting this moment might not be as innocent as it should.
The bottle was two-thirds gone when I heard the shouts of 'Hurricane' and I answered the call with my own yells of 'Hurricane'. Jason's shouts came closer as we played our own version of Marco-Polo. He entered the room with Brooke and two other sophomore girls in tow.
"Brother Gavin. Are you ready? I think the time is now."
"Brother Jason," I said, matching his deep, exaggerated tone. "I believe you are correct."
"Let us go," Jason said and marched out the front door. I motioned for Marisa to follow and answered her questions with mischievous smiles and 'you'll see's'.
"You look a little tatered, son. You been drinking?" Jason asked. "Let me drive."
I handed him the keys, quietly thankful.
We piled into the car. The three girls sat in back, Marisa in my lap. I didn't listen to Jason's patter as he built up the 'hurricane' ride we were about to have. Instead I smelled the sweetness of Marisa and thought about the softness of her hand holding my arm for support. I peeked at her chest and tried to control the excitement in my jeans.
Jason pulled into the parking lot of a closed grocery store. He revved the engine, hunching over the steering wheel, peeled the tires and rushed across the parking lot to slam the brakes before a row of newspaper dispensers.
"Go! Go! Go!" we shouted. Marisa and I rushed over to the dispensers that held the free classifieds. I handed her a stack from one dispenser and I emptied another. Once back in the car, Jason sped off.
"Start balling them up," I said, tossing a stack to the girls in back. The car was filled with laughter and the tearing and crumpling of newspapers.
"The car has to be filled or it won't work," Jason said. Everyone was laughing, balling and throwing paper and taking pulls from the wine bottles.
We drove up between the gas station's convenience store and the drive-thru car wash. The lonely cashier, drowning in florescent light, was unaware of the car filled to the windows with crumpled newspaper. Jason fell out, flailing his arms and making a show of putting back the cascading paper.
"Shit. I need three dollars. It must be the three dollar car wash or all is lost," he said. One of the girls in back dug through the sea of newsprint to bring up her purse and a five dollar bill. "Right. Be right back."
He returned waving his receipt. He drove around to the car wash entrance and typed in the code. A red lighted sign suggested, please pull forward. The wash began. The girls giggled and played catch with a balled up glossy, car advertisement. "Are you ready?" Jason asked softly as weak squirts of suds fell onto the windshield. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and shook it.
"Are you ready?" he asked slightly louder as red and blue wheels of fabric began to spin.
The girls kept giggling and asking, "What's going to happen?"
"Are you ready," we shouted in unison as the column of blow dryers started to move toward the car.
The girls squealed and thrashed in their seats.
"Roll down the windows -- Hurricane!" The papers began to rustle as the loud roar of the dryers came through the open windows. When the column reached the center of the car, there was a whirlwind of newspapers, the howl of the mechanized wind and our screams and laughter. Jason tossed arms full of paper that were immediately blown around the car. We shouted 'hurricane' at the blur of newsprint flying out the windows. The car was filled with the girls' squeals and flailing arms feeding the tempest. Marisa bounced excitedly in my lap amongst the frenzy of flying paper. The dryers made two passes over the car before quieting and returning to their starting position. The wind had cleared most of newspaper mess from the car. When the lighted sign told us the wash was complete and please pull forward, we surveyed the damage. The scattered newspapers were stuck all over the machinery of the car wash. For fifty feet from both entrance and exit, the debris of classifieds was everywhere. Damp newsprint almost covered one nearby bush like a poorly done paper-mâché. Marisa leaned over to remove an ad for a sailboat from the rearview mirror.
We drove past the cashier unaware of the mess behind him. We laughed at him in his little booth, honked and waved; he looked up confused. Marisa looked into my eyes and wiped ink from my cheek. We were still laughing when we returned to the crowded house party, handing the guests the free newspapers that didn't get blown away in the 'Hurricane' car wash.
"Hey, where'd you stash that other bottle?" Jason asked.
I raised my eyebrow and I led Marisa away.
"Do you want to go outside?" I asked her.
We walked through the backyards, peeping at people through their windows. An elderly couple snuggled against each other, their faces frozen in flickering TV blue. Their laughter matched the studio audience's. We sat on a lawn chair beside their pool. We drank and whispered. We tried to blow smoke rings with the fog from our breath. Her teeth chattered.
"Are you cold?" I asked.
"A little. I can't believe it. It was so hot today. I was dying."
"You want my jacket?"
"Then you'll be cold. We'll share it. Take one arm out." She put her back against me and slipped her arm into the emptied sleeve of my jacket. I held my breath when she settled against me.
"There, that's better," she said and I nodded dumbly. We finished the bottle fast. When she wanted a sip, she would give me a nudge and I would put the bottle to her lips. She leaned back across my chest; her eyes scanned my flushing face and she kissed me. I thought of nothing but the lips against mine and the warm tongue seeking my own. My hand moved under her shirt onto the soft skin of her waist; her stomach fluttered at my touch.
"You hands are freezing," she teased.
"Sorry."
She kissed me again and didn't stop until someone in the darkness hissed her name. A plain-looking blonde girl approached us.
"Where have you been? The cops are here. Let's go," the blonde said and looked at me with disapproval.
"One sec," Marisa said.
"No. Now. I'm not getting busted again."
"Fine," Marisa said. She turned to me, "Sorry. I gotta go." I watched her leave. If she looked back, she liked me. Before they disappeared around the house, she glanced over her shoulder and gave a sheepish wave. I waved back, grinning like a fool.