Date: Wed, 30 Apr 2008 06:06:05 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kevin Carson <kc.drummerboy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Drummer Boys - Part 38

Drummer Boys
By Kevin Carson

This story is about my relationship with my friend and, well, much, much
more-than-a-jack-off buddy.  Yes, it includes gay teen sex stuff.  It's
based on true experiences but some of the names and places have been
changed for privacy.  Hey, if this is illegal where you're at or if you're
too young to be reading this, then you better not.  Getting in trouble
isn't cool.  All rights reserved.  No reproductions permitted without prior
permission.  Copyright 2008.

Thanks to everyone who has written to me.  I really appreciate your
comments/feedback and questions about this story.  My email is:
kc.drummerboy@yahoo.com.

Sincerely,
-kevin.

Part 38

The last thing you want to hear happening right in front of your house, at
two o'clock in the morning, is the sound of a car accident.  Especially
when the accident involves your brother and his girlfriend, who, by the
way, also happens to be your boyfriend's sister...

The last thing you want to hear is the sound of a car accident immediately
after you've just had sex.  Nothing pops that bubble of "just-fucked
euphoria" any faster, believe me.  Except, maybe, getting caught WHILE
you're having sex.  That's pretty bad, too.  Believe me!

The last thing you want to hear when there's an accident is all the
collateral noise: sirens that are intentionally too loud and disturbing for
that time of night... police radios with all their screeching and broken
chatter... the cries - cries of pain, cries of emotion... cries of guilt.
You don't WANT to hear the loud voices of police officers and paramedics
asking unending questions and making stupid assumptions.  And you don't
NEED to hear the muffled voices of nosey neighbors and curious onlookers
asking stupid questions and making unending assumptions.

And if you didn't actually hear the accident, you sure as fuck don't want
to hear your phone ring at 2 AM, with someone telling you your daughter or
grandson was in a wreck... their "condition at that point in time is
unknown."  Translation: "Yeah... they're alive, but..."

But what??

And the very last thing you want to hear is nothing... nothing at all.
Just silence... pure silence.

Lisa was silent.

She was slumped back in the front seat of Keith's car, her arm limp and
hanging out of the passenger door window.  Her head was tilted to one side,
and she was bleeding, from what looked like quite a big gash on her
forehead.  I hoped that was all that was bleeding.

Shattered glass was everywhere.  The hood of the car was crinkled like an
accordion and part of the front bumper was sheared off.  We found it about
thirty feet away in the neighbor's tree lawn.  We never figured out why the
fuck the airbags didn't go off, but from what I gather, sometimes it's
better if they don't.  Whatever.

Dad used my phone to call 911... but I guess someone else had already
called.  We just didn't know who that person was, at the time.  Maybe a
witness?  Our street is a pretty quiet one... our whole damn neighborhood
is, in fact.  It's not like random people are out cruising the cul-de-sacs
at 2 o'clock in the morning looking for things-gone-wrong.  The 911
operator said the police were en route...

We first heard the sirens in the distance... then they got closer.  What an
eerie feeling.  You expect to hear those sounds on the main drag or in a
business area, that's commonplace.  But not in a residential neighborhood.
Not ours.

Dad checked Lisa's pulse, then managed to get Keith out of the car.  They
were both alive, thank God.  Lisa was breathing, but unconscious.  Dad told
me to run in the house and get a towel, which I did.  He didn't want to
move her, but he put the towel on where she was bleeding.  She seemed
stable, but we hoped the squad would get there soon.

Keith was obviously shaken and upset, and didn't make any sense when he
talked.  "Jesus, my head!  My fucking head.  Fuck!"

"Son, it's alright... settle down."

He was trying to tell us someone tried to run him off the road.  Who the
fuck would do something like that, for no reason?  Maybe it was someone who
doesn't like Keith, but that's really strange, because my brother doesn't
have any enemies that we know of.  No one who would want to do something
extreme like that.  Me, on the other hand... that's a different story.
Maybe it was some drunken asshole who didn't know where the fuck they were
going.  Maybe it was just some idiot being a fuckwad.

Keith staggered into the front yard, and then sat down in the grass, gazing
at his wrecked Honda Civic.  He was still mumbling, talking nonsense.  Mark
stood there in the driveway, stoic... trembling... sobbing... shaking his
head side to side... so, so unusual for him.  He's always in control.  He's
always smooth.  He wasn't now.  I've only seen him a little bit nervous
once or twice, but nothing like this.  This was different... it was his
sister who was bleeding and not moving.  I wanted to put my arms around him
and hold him.  I didn't dare, under the circumstances.  But God knows, I
love him.

Somehow, Dad and I were the two who seemed calm and in control.  Sort-of.
Everything happened so fast, I'm still not exactly sure who did what and
what happened first.  It was all so confusing.

Dad used my phone again, this time to call Grandpa... "Pop... sorry to wake
you and Mom... Yes, I know what time it is, but... we've got a situation
here... there's been an accident out in front of the house... It's
Keith... I think he's OK, but..." His voice trailed off, and I sorta went
numb, watching Dad's lips move and his head nod, listening to what I'm sure
were Grandpa's words of reassurance.  That said, I'm positive my
grandfather was just as startled and stunned by Dad's phone call, as much
as we were by what was going on.  "Yeah, I'm sorry about this, too, but as
soon as you and Mom can get over here... I need you guys... and
Pop... thanks."  It's a good thing my grandparents live less than ten
minutes away.

EMS was right behind the police when they pulled up.  They kept the blue
and red lights flashing, but the blaring sirens came to a spiraling halt.
Shit!  I recognized one of the cops in the second response car.  It was
Officer Flashlight, who, along with his partner Officer Hardass, busted
Mark and me at the library last winter.  Remember that??  Hardass wasn't
with him tonight, it was another cop.  Flashlight recognized us, too.  I
know he did because he walked right up to us.

"Are you boys alright?  Did you see what happened?"

"We're fine, sir," I answered, "It's my brother who was in the accident,
but, no, we didn't see it... we just heard it.  We were inside.  Are they
gonna be OK?"

"I don't know, son, we just got here.  We'll check everything out.  You
fellas behaving yourselves?"

Mark didn't say a word, but at least he had stopped crying.  I didn't
answer Officer Flashlight either, when he asked if we were "behaving
ourselves."  What the fuck??  Was he genuinely concerned or was he being a
smartass?  Of course Mark and I are "behaving ourselves!"  Well, just then,
Flashlight and the other cop walked over toward Keith, so Mark and I
followed.

"Shit, I better call my parents and tell them about this.  Fuck.  What am I
gonna say??"

"What do you mean, young man?" the other officer asked.  "Your parents?"

"That's my sister... the girl in the car who's hurt.  My parents don't
know.  How am I gonna tell them?"

"Don't worry, son.  We'll handle it."

Just then Dad walked up and took over talking to the police.  He and Mark
gave them the Graham's information and they made the phone call.  Even with
all the noise and excitement I could hear Mrs. Graham gasp over the phone
when they told her the news about the accident.

"It-t-t was a foreign car... like a Buick or something..." Keith blurted
out incoherently.

Everyone turned, looking at him, still sitting in the grass.  I don't know
as much about cars as Keith does, but hell, even I know Buicks are American
cars, not foreign ones.

"Keith... it's OK..." I tried to reassure him.

"No... I saw it.  I think it was like, tan... or gold, or something.  And
whoever it was had been following us for a while.  So that's when I..."

"Keith... just calm down..."

"No, wait Kevin, listen to me...  All of a sudden they sped up and got real
close and I thought they were gonna rear-end me.  They swerved around and
hit me... that's when I hit the lamp post and then the fence and the tree.
I'm sorry, Dad."

The cops made Keith stand up.  "Have you been drinking, son?"

"GOD NO!!"  Keith yelled.

Shit.  I knew my brother should have kept his damn mouth shut.  If his
mouth doesn't get him in trouble, his Irish temper will.  He can be such a
hot-head, ya know!

"Where have you been, out this late...?" the cop asked, in a
not-so-friendly manner.  In fact, his tone was sort-of accusatory.  Why do
the police always seem to think the worst?

"Really, Dad.  Seriously... it was a foreign car, like Japanese, or German,
I think.  It was a Buick, Dad, I'm sure.  And they tried to run me off the
road, for real."

"OK, son, stand up... come on..." the cop demanded.

"You believe me, Dad, don't you?  Kevin... do you believe me?  It was a tan
Buick, really... Kev...??  Dad...??"

I didn't say any more, but thought to myself... "Just shut the fuck up,
Keith.  They obviously think you're drunk or high or something.  So zip
it."

"On your feet, young man... NOW!"

OK, was this cop acting like a prick or what?  I swear, Keith was NOT under
the influence of anything, I could tell.  I just knew.  He may have had
that bag of pot before, and I'm positive he's drank his share of alcohol at
one time or another.  But he wouldn't do that kind of shit and get behind
the wheel of a car, especially not with Lisa.  He knows better.  He would
never do anything like that, I'm positive.  And she would have never gotten
in the car with him if he'd been drinking.  Besides, don't you think if he
HAD been drinking you could smell it on his breath?  Get real for Christ's
sake.

I know the police were just doing their job, and actually Officer
Flashlight was pretty nice.  It was his partner who was acting up.  I
wondered how much of this bullshit Dad was gonna put up with from that
prick cop.  I got my answer: not much!

"Officer... I want the paramedics to check my son over before you ask any
more questions.  Please."  Dad was extremely calm and polite, but, as
always, very firm.

That fucking cop gave Dad a weird look, like 'who the hell are you?'  He
didn't know who the fuck he was messing with, but at least he had the
God-given sense to get the paramedics like Dad requested.

I looked over as the other squad crew put Lisa on the stretcher.  They had
started an IV and it looked like she opened her eyes a bit.  I had no idea
how bad she was hurt, and it seemed like she was drifting in and out of
consciousness.  Mark just stared, unable to walk completely toward the
ambulance, although he started to.  That was sad, and I felt helpless.  It
was like he was the one with an IV – a slow morphine drip.  You know, I
love him.

It hadn't been long since the phone call to Mr. and Mrs. Graham, but they
got to our house in what seemed like a matter of seconds.  They pulled up
as close as they could, and I saw Mrs. Graham run up toward the ambulance
they were putting Lisa in.  Mr. Graham walked over to Mark and hugged him,
then went to talk to the paramedics and the police.  Mrs. Graham got in the
back of the ambulance with the paramedics and Lisa.

Then Mr. Graham caught up with Dad and they talked as the other paramedics
checked Keith over.  While I was trying to listen to both conversations, I
overheard the paramedic tell Officer Flashlight it didn't appear Keith had
been drinking.

"No, no... he's clean," the paramedic said, "But we still want to take him
over to North Shore for x-rays and bloodwork.  He banged his head pretty
good."  I heard someone say over the radio that "the subject doesn't appear
intoxicated."  So now my brother's a "subject"?  A fucking "subject"??
Shit!!

Keith was insistent on walking to the ambulance, but the paramedics got
their way and put him on a stretcher.  They strapped him down.  "This is so
fucking lame," Keith snarled.  "Dad... Dad... do you still believe me??"

I saw Mr. Graham pat Dad on the shoulder... "Kenny, we're, um, gonna get on
over to the hospital... we'll meet you there.  And don't worry, everything
will be alright..."  There probably wasn't much to their conversation as
far as details about what happened.  It's a good thing Mr. Graham is laid
back and cool... and that he and Dad are friends, because I gotta tell
you... it would be easy for him to point the finger and jump to
conclusions, blaming Keith and all.  And what if this took a devastating
turn for the worse?  What if this WAS Keith's fault after all?

Mark hopped in the car with his dad and they took off for the hospital in
such a hurry.  I didn't want to stay behind, not even for a second, but Dad
and Keith needed me too.  I wanted to be with Mark.  I knew I'd see him
again, soon, but it would have been nice to maybe whisper "I love you" in
his ear.

They were still doing stuff with Keith in the ambulance, like checking his
vision and blood pressure and giving him oxygen and all.  Dad was answering
questions for the police, giving them all kinds of information, like about
our car insurance and how we all heard the accident happen... all the
bullshit.

Just as the paramedics signaled they were ready to go, my Dad's parents
pulled in the driveway.  Dad talked to them for just a second, then the
ambulance drove off, Dad in the back with Keith.  One cop car remained
while I waited with Grandma and Grandpa for the tow-truck.  If there was a
time to cry, that was it, but I didn't.  Grandpa talked to the police and
then to the tow-truck driver, who got there a few minutes later.  Grandma
and I watched... her arm around my shoulder.

"Thank God they're alright," Grandma said.  "Your father doesn't need any
more on his plate."

What the fuck did she mean by that?  My grandmother's comment sorta bugged
me, damn it!  So, I asked her what the fuck she meant.

"OK, Grandma, what do you mean?  We love Dad, you know that.  He doesn't
have any problems with Keith and me.  Shit, Grandma... why'd you say that?"

"Oh, Kevin, you're over-reacting.  All I meant was that no parent wants to
see something happen to their kids, no matter how old they are.  I
sympathize with the Graham's, too.  Lisa's a cute girl, a real sweetheart.
Keith adores her.  I've noticed how he looks at her, and I've seen that
look before.  And your Dad talks about her and your brother all the
time... he thinks the world of both of them."

Fuck.  Now THAT comment bothered me, too.  Like, what the hell?  Dad talks
about Keith and Lisa but doesn't talk about Mark and me??  Is he too
embarrassed to talk about us?  Well, I decided to drop it... I wasn't gonna
go there with my grandmother.  The last thing I wanted to do was have a
debate on my love life.  But at some point, I'll talk about it with Dad.
I'm not jealous, honest.  Well, maybe I am a little.  But pissed off and
confused is a little more like it.  Whatever.

We watched as they towed Keith's car, and after the police left, Grandma,
Grandpa and I went into the house.  Grandma made a cup of instant coffee
for herself and put Coffee Mate and real sugar in it.  Yuck.  I swear, you
notice the most ridiculous, stupid mundane shit when your eyes are wide
open at 3 o'clock in the morning.

"Alright you two, let's finish up here and head on over to the emergency
room."  Grandpa insisted, yawning.

That's another ten-minute ride, to North Shore.  Mark was in the waiting
room, and stood up immediately when he saw us walk in.  I went over to him
while my grandparents went up to the desk to ask about Keith and Lisa.

"My parents and your father are back there with them.  No one's come out
yet.  I don't know what the fuck is going on.  I tried to go back once but
the nurse stopped me.  So I'm just waiting."

I sat with Mark.  "Dude, I'm so sorry about this.  I don't think it was
Keith's fault.  I mean, he wouldn't do anything to hurt Lisa.  You know
that, right?"

"Yeah, I guess... I just wanna know if they're OK."

"This isn't the way I wanted the evening to end up, you know that, too,
don't you?"

"I know.  I just wish we were back at your house, sweetie."

Mark smiled!  He finally smiled!  Oh God!!  That smile!!  I got Mark to
smile!  "Me too!"

"Doing what we were doing."

I swear to God I almost kissed Mark on the lips when he said that, right
there in the waiting area of the emergency room at North Shore University
Hospital!  After all this, after everything we'd been through in the last
several hours... he finally seemed to perk up!

"Yeah!  Doing what we were doing!  Exactly!"

I wanted to tell Mark to lie down across the seats and put his head in my
lap.  I wanted to run my fingers through his hair.  I wanted him to relax,
and I'd give him little kisses and nibbles all over.  Not really anything
sexual... just comforting.  I know how much Lisa means to him... they're
really close.  Their relationship is different than mine and Keith's.

Grandma and Grandpa sat down a few seats away from us.  I decided I
shouldn't get so defensive toward my grandmother any longer.  She means
well, and she really is pretty cool.

"The nurses are going to let us know how Lisa and Keith are, as soon as
they know something.  Mark... Lisa's going to be fine, I'm sure.  Your
parents are with her, and they're doing tests... that's all they know right
now."

"Thanks, Mrs. Carson," Mark said to my grandmother.

We were all tired, sorta like zombies.  Especially my grandparents, who
were woken up in the middle of the night.  One thing I learned for sure,
and I guess I've always known this, is they are right there at my Dad's
side when he needs them, just as he's there for them.  That's family
loyalty, right there.  I guess it just runs in our blood.  We read some
magazines, and I think grandpa took a little snooze.  I don't blame him.
My grandmother drank some more coffee... disgusting middle-of-the-night
hospital waiting room coffee in a too-small styrofoam cup with
institutional artificial powdered cream that's even worse than Coffee Mate.
That's some nasty shit!  I don't know how she can stand it.  Off and on I
noticed the police out in the parking area, sometimes coming into the ER.
Must be a busy night!  I'm sure that all had nothing to do with Lisa and
Keith's accident, but I did wonder how their "investigation" was going.
Just then Dad came into the waiting room...

"Good news!  Keith's going to be fine, thank God.  He's a little bruised
and banged up, but no broken bones.  And he does have a slight
concussion... that's why he's talking and acting a little goofy.  The
police asked him some more questions, then the doctor sedated him and he's
resting right now.  He's still insisting a tan Buick was involved..."

"Mr. C, do you know how my sister is?"

"Your parents will be out in a little while, Mark... they'll know more.
But the doctors and nurses here are fantastic, and I'm sure they're taking
excellent care of Lisa, just as they are with Keith."

That didn't sound good.  I mean, it wasn't exactly bad news about Lisa, and
maybe Dad just didn't want to over-step his bounds.  But damn, I hate that
when people don't really tell you anything.

"So Dad, is Keith's car totaled?"

"I don't know, son.  Right now that's the least of my worries.  I'm going
back with your brother, and he should be able to go home in a little
while."

As my Dad walked toward the big double automatic doors, I ran up to him,
sorta talking low so no one could hear.  "Psssst... Dad... umm... so they
proved Keith wasn't under the influence of anything right?  I mean he's not
charged with anything, right?  He doesn't have to go to jail or anything,
does he?"

"No, Kev... everything checks out.  He's fine.  But the investigation isn't
over.  He could be still be charged in connection with the accident, but
not with drunk driving or for using any substances... nothing like that."

"Oh, good.  I was worried."

"Is there a reason to be worried?  Are you trying to tell me something,
Kev?"

"No, Dad.  It's just that the way he was talking right after it all
happened, and the way that one cop was acting, I just wanna make sure they
don't try to pin something on him.  Plus, Dad, I really wanna make sure he
wasn't being stupid, since Lisa's hurt and all.  I mean, we all wanna make
sure they're OK, but God, Dad, its Keith and Lisa we're talking about.  And
I gotta make sure she's OK, Dad.  Mark's counting on me.

Dad hugged me and messed up my hair.  "He CAN count on you, Kevin.  That's
for sure."

"Thanks, Dad."

Then I was so embarrassed by what my Dad said next: "You better shower when
you get home."  And he didn't exactly whisper that.

"DAD!!"

"I'm joking, Kev!"

Oh yeah, what a sense of humor.  Well guess what?  My Dad wasn't joking.  I
DID need a shower, and I'm sure Mark did too.

Not long after that, Mr. and Mrs. Graham came out with news about Lisa.
They were very reassuring and optimistic: She was awake now and she needed
stitches for the wound on her forehead.  Luckily, she had no internal
injuries, but she did have a dislocated shoulder.  Because with her type of
head injury and all they were going to admit her for observation for a few
days.  They said there could be a possibility of her having a seizure, so
this was all just a precaution.

"That seizure business sounds pretty serious, to me, Mr. Graham."

"It is, Kevin, but they're watching her closely.  They're doing everything
they can."

"Mark, you can go home with the Carson's... Kenny said he's happy to have
you."

"I'm not leaving," Mark said, without hesitation.

"I'll stay with you, Mark."

"Really boys, there's no point in staying.  You should go to the Carson's
and get some rest, both of you.  I'll be spending the rest of the night
with your sister."  Then Mrs. Graham looked at Mr. Graham with sort-of a
dumb look.  "And what are YOU gonna do?"

"Well I THOUGHT I was staying here with our daughter, too, Ellen!"

My grandmother talked to Mrs. Graham a little more and between the two of
them, they finally convinced Mark and me to go home.  So we did.  It was
sooo late.  At least we were there to hear first-hand about Lisa and Keith,
to know they'd be OK.  But by the looks of my brother's car, the outcome
could have - and should have - been much worse.

At home, Mark and I crashed in the family room.  He fell right to sleep.  I
fell asleep, too, with one eye open and one eye closed.  I'm a light
sleeper.  My grandparents stayed, doing what, I'm not sure.  Grandma was
probably drinking another cup of that shitty instant coffee.  Eventually I
heard Dad and Keith come home.  I think it was almost daylight.

At some point the next day I woke up.  I was the first.  Mark was cute,
sleeping on the couch in his clothes.  We both were still wearing the
clothes we put back on last night after we "did it."  Dad and Keith were
still asleep, too.  I finally took that shower Dad said I so badly needed,
and I felt a little better.  I noticed it was almost 11:00 o'clock.

Mark yelled in from the family room, asking what time it was.

"G'morning, sleepy!  It's eleven..."

"Shit!" he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning. "I gotta be at work at
noon."

"Are you OK?  I mean, to save time, you can shower here."

"I'll never make it on time... can I borrow your bike, sweetie?"

"Like you have to ask... Just go shower and put on some of my clothes.
I'll get ready after you, cuz I gotta mow at the Lamson's today.  Whenever
I get there is fine."

So that's what we did.  Somehow, after what we'd been through in the last
twenty-four hours, Mark and I pulled ourselves together.  He got ready and
went to work at King Kullen and I got cleaned up and went to my mowing job.
I "borrowed" Keith's iPod, which was lying on the computer desk.  I figured
he wouldn't be needing it, so I took it.  I walked to the Lamson's, which
wasn't really a problem.  When I left, Dad and Keith were both still
asleep.

It was weird, though, as I walked slowly down the driveway, re-living what
the scene was like a few hours ago, with Keith's mangled Honda, and police
cars and ambulances all over the place.  The lamp-post at the edge of the
street was the first thing he hit.  It wasn't knocked down or anything, so
that was good.  But our flowers were ruined and the white picket fence at
the end of the driveway was flattened.  I didn't think it could be
repaired.  And there was more than a big chunk of bark taken off of the
maple tree.  That's what actually stopped the car, where the right front
fender smashed into it.  I'm absolutely sure they'd be seriously injured,
if not worse, if Keith had hit the maple tree head on.  It's a big fucking
tree.

Seeing where the accident was, now in full daylight, made me almost wanna
puke, realizing how bad it could have been.  I stood there and just
couldn't believe it.  I know there's a God.  There HAS to be.  And I
thanked him.

The broken glass had been swept up and other than the damaged property, you
might not know there had been an accident.  Then my eyes went straight
toward something everybody must have overlooked: In the midst of the
run-over flowers and bushes, by the flattened fence, there was a golden-tan
mirror off the passenger side of a car.

"WOW!!" I thought to myself.  Keith wasn't making it up... he wasn't
delusional.  He was right.  Someone with a car that color DID hit him, just
like he said.  He wasn't making it up.  And guess what else... there was
some of the blue paint on it from Keith's Honda.  That's proof it hit him,
right?  I picked up the mirror and ran back to the garage and put it on a
shelf above the trash cans, and headed on over to the Lamson's.

It wasn't quite noon , and I figured Mark wasn't on duty yet, so I called
him... just to say "hi" and to tell him I miss him, and that I love him.
He didn't pick up, so I left all that in a voice mail, but that's OK.  I
kept the message short and didn't tell him about finding the mirror.  It
didn't matter, though, because he was so out-of-it last night, being
worried about Lisa and all, I don't think he even paid attention to what
Keith was saying.

During my walk, I was a bit thirsty, so I stopped at Walgreen's and got a
Red Bull... but, don't worry, I haven't given up on Mountain Dew... It's
just, for some reason, I wanted a Red Bull.  Nora wasn't there, but I did
see Arlo.

"Hey!  How's my boy??"

I gave Arlo a big hug.  "I'm great, Arlo!  How about you?"

"Couldn't be better!  You behavin' yourself??"

Somehow, coming from Arlo, that question was totally different than when
Officer Flashlight asked it.  It didn't bother me in the least.

"Arlo!  Of course I'm behaving myself!  Forever and always!"

"Good seein' you, kiddo!  Here, get some candy and potato chips or pretzels
or something, and get some meat on your bones.  Now get outta here!  I got
work to do.  I'm always..."

"I know, I know, you're always busy!" I laughed.

"I miss ya, kiddo."

"I miss you, too, Arlo... and um, I'll pass on the candy and chips.  Maybe
some other time.  I'll share them with you."

"Don't be a stranger, Kevin!"

"Well, you're always busy!" I teased.

"Oy!  You kids got an answer for everything!"  Arlo smiled and messed up my
hair.

Remembering that first time I met Arlo, months ago, I never imagined I'd
later look to him for advice... let alone cheering up.  We're the
unlikeliest of friends.  But I wouldn't want it any other way.

I'm sorta proud of myself, that despite all the shit that happened, and
seeing my guy sorta come apart, caught up in the stress and emotion of it
all, I was in pretty good spirits.  The damage to the flowers and fence, as
well as Keith's car, seemed like nothing, knowing my brother and Lisa were
going to be OK.

I knocked on the Lamson's door, hoping to avoid seeing "Mother" or Marcie,
and I got my wish.  Mr. Lamson answered, and said to do just the usual
mowing and trimming, that there wasn't anything special or extra he wanted
me to do.

"That's fine, Mr. Lamson.  I'm sorta whacked," I told him, "It was a long
night."

"Well, I'll be here inside, if you need anything.  I'm a little tired
myself.  Do you want something cold to drink before you get started?"

"Oh, no thanks," I chuckled, "If I have anything else I'll have to pee, and
you know, I wouldn't wanna walk through your house to use the bathroom with
grass cuttings all over my shoes and all.

"Certainly not!  That would be messy!  Mother wouldn't like that!" He
laughed.

"Is, uhhh... she here?"

"Oh... no... no... they're not home right now.  She and Marcie went
somewhere... to umm... take our son-in-law back to the airport."

"Good," I thought.  I hoped they'd get stuck in traffic and would be late
getting back, and maybe I could avoid both of those bitches one more time.

So I unlocked the potting shed, got the mower and put in the earbuds,
listening to "Always Love" by Nada Surf while I cut the lawn.  When I was
done, I put the mower away, trying my hardest to not look up to see the
booze I sneaked back in the shed.  I got the weed whacker, but the damn
extension cord was in the garage.

I opened the fucking garage door, and what the fuck did I find in there
besides the fucking extension cord?  A golden-tan metallic Pontiac G-6.
And guess what the fuck was missing from the right passenger side?  That's
right.  The fucking mirror.  A fucking Pontiac G6.  Sleek and sporty and
kind-of European-looking.  Not exactly a Buick, but damn close.  And
Pontiacs and Buicks are both made by GM.  My brother was right.  He.  Was.
Right.  He knew exactly what the fuck he was saying.  He was fucking right.

I started to shake.  I was scared shitless and didn't know what the fuck to
do first.  Should I call Dad?  Should I call Keith?  Should I call Mark?
Should I call the police?  Should I just fucking not call anyone and leave
as fast as I could and run all the way home?

I didn't have the chance to call anybody.  Somebody was calling ME.  MY
phone rang instead.  Still shaking, I flipped it open, and I didn't
recognize the number.  It was from area code 512.
"Hmmm... 512... 512...??" I thought.  "Where the fuck is area code 512???"
Maybe it was a wrong number?

At the same time, fucking Marcie and Mrs. Lamson pulled in the driveway and
got out of the car.  My phone was still ringing.  Marcie saw me in the
garage.  I couldn't answer the call, I just couldn't press the button.  I
looked at Marcie... I looked at my phone.

Area code 512.  512??  Fuck!  Who the fuck do I know who would be calling
me from area code 512??

To be continued...