My Glimpse at Freedom

My Glimpse at Freedom My Glimpse at Freedom

Status: Finished

Genre: Literary Fiction

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Literary Fiction

Summary

In the spirit of Kerouac and Thompson I give you my spin.

Summary

In the spirit of Kerouac and Thompson I give you my spin.

Content

Submitted: March 15, 2009

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Content

Submitted: March 15, 2009

A A A

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“Shit! Run!” yells Leif, tackling the security guard. The skinny teenager was able to knock the guard on his back. I have the bottle of vodka in my hands. We skate away, to Arroyo Park.
The Park was the place we would go to drink, fuck, and get high. It was the place where we would run to whenever we stole some alcohol. Surprisingly enough, it was aplace where cops never went. We just needed a location to drink and skate, that’s mainly what the park was for us. Some families probably saw it as a place where they could make lasting impressions on their kids.
Tonight was just another night, it might have been Wednesday or maybe Friday, who knows, who cares? Truth is, by this time I was already feeling like I was walking on a giant record player, spinning and spinning.
Once we reach the park, it is pretty much safe grounds for anarchy. We have one bottle of vodka in our hands, and adrenaline through our veins. It is the type of night I live for. As we sit on the table, with our precious nectar, passing around our coherence and inhibitions, we hear a skateboard. It was Vicky, coming here to drink up.
“Vicky! What’s up man?” Vicky was a female, that is, she had a vagina and was straight. She violated any other preconception of gender. She had green hair and a thirst for public intoxication.
“Hey man! Is that some vodka?”
“We just got it, you know what that means, you have to get the next one.”
“Even if I brought this quarter ounce of chronic?” She answered as she pulled out a bagful.
“Shit man, let’s go smoke.” Said Leif
If there is one advice I always try to remember is to not smoke weed after I’m already drunk, but no matter how many times I try to remind myself, I always end up doing it.
“Bring the bottle then” She says
The bottle is empty at this time. I think I’m laying on the ground. I try standing… I managed it! I’m on my feet. I try to give a step, but I stumble, I’m up again. I’m on the ground—what is going on? Vicky’s and Leif’s voices, where are they?
“Wake up dude” says someone, I can’t distinguish who. I look up to see 3 identical people talking to me. They all look like Leif. “We just got some Jager”
“Let me come down from the weed”
“Why did you want to smoke it then?” Says Vicky, and Vicky, and Vicky.
Leif and Vicky start drinking, they are both going to reach my level of drunkenness in no time. Vicky was the heaviest drinker I knew, considering her body mass. She was around 100 pounds and could hold her alcohol better than many 200 pound men. She could not however withstand the blow of Mr. Jagermeister, and Mr. Smirnoff, and a couple of Mr. Mickey’s 40 oz.
After the Vodka was done with (After a challenge involving inhaling, then drinking, then exhaling—which I won), Vicky and Leif left me on the floor, passing out, to get some more juice. They got a bottle of Jager that I did not try, but after they were both struggling to stand up we made a three way agreement to go for some beer.
Wal-mart, what a heaven it is; it’s the place to steal beer from.
“Open my backpack and load it” I say
Vicky and Leif follow my orders. I’m facing the end of the aisle and all I hear is the clanking of glass, and all I feel is the weight of bottles in my backpack. I tell them it’s time to go.
“Hold on” Said Leif, stuffing a tall can in his pants. I see this, and figure one more beer would a lot, so I did the same. We walked outside and skated again, to our little haven, the park.
On our way to the park, Vicky decides to have a break. She loads a bowl and gets a 40 from my backpack. Yes, that sweet Mary Jane. We went back to the same spot we were a few minutes ago, we had been there days, and weeks ago. We barely left that spot. It seems like our past 40 afternoons were spent at that spot, doing exactly as we are doing now—smoking and drinking.
A mother sometimes passes us by, sometimes with her kids. They don’t do much appreciating of the spiritual search we are having. She sometimes just stares in disapproval. Her kids are teens at times, sometimes they are little kids. Sometimes she talks to us, most of the time we are too incoherent to respond.
“Fuck off!” was my response to a condescending thirty something year old woman telling us it’s a Tuesday night and we shouldn’t be so fucked up.
“Come do something” Leif yells at her son, probably younger than us, also disapproving of our behavior.
My time is up by now. I was supposed to be at work today. I called in sick earlier. No… Fuck curfews I’m staying out.
“Hey I’m staying here all night, fuck curfews”
“Alright let’s smoke a bowl then.”
Vicky pulled out that bag and managed to control her senses enough to load the pipe. By this time, we can’t make sense out of anything.
Confusion is the right word.
She passed around the pipe. Fuck, everything is spinning more. It’s hard to stay awake. I need more beer. There is one more in my backpack. How is this possible? There were at least 10 earlier. I drank four. Maybe I drank the 400 ounces of beer myself, but knowing Vicky and Leif I doubt they didn’t drink any.
“Guys, one more bottle?” said Vicky
“Let’s go”
We can’t go to Longs, we already tackled security there today. Wal-Mart only has beer. Vons it is, for the second time today, even if it is a little further. The mixture of the weed with alcohol made me fall thrice on my way there. We finally make it—something is not right. Security looks at us, three kids at 10 pm coming into a store, the intercom says something like: “Mark Renton to aisle 3.” This means nothing to us.
We go to the alcohol aisle, so much to choose from!
“Hello Mr. Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan—”
“What are you doing, punk?” Says a 300 pound security guard.
“Here it goes again.” Were my thoughts, followed by my natural instinct. “Shit, Run!!!”


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