bones of the moon
black cocktail
a child across the sky
outside the dog museum
the panic hand
kissing the beehive
the land of laughs
the marriage of sticks
from the teeth of angels
sleeping in flame
voice of our shadow
THE PARTY AT BRENDA'S HOUSE
by Jonathan Carroll
I got change from Charlie because the machine only took quarters-not one of those automatic jobs that takes anything. It was kind of stupid buying my own smokes because we all smoked Marlboros and you could always get one off another guy if you were out. I'd been smoking for about five months on the streets. I only had two months to go before I was sixteen and then my old man would give me permission anyway. I was always careful though when I'd see a tan Impala drive by. That was the kind of car we had, and if either my old man or old lady ever saw me smoking before I was sixteen, I'd get smacked like he always does when I do something wrong. Besides that, he and the old lady are okay not like some of the other guys' parents who get drunk all the time and beat the shit out of them for no reason at all. Alot of the guys always talk about running away, but I don't think I'd want to because this is alright the way it is.
I like True the best, but no one knows that. They're cool and light, but I always buy Marlboro, even though I cough a lot from them in the morning.
After buying the smokes, we all walked over to the back of the school where we were supposed to meet up with some of the other guys before we all went up to Brenda's house for the party.
Everyone looked good. Joe had on the new yellow mohair sweater that he bought at Korvettes on sale along with his brother's burnt-orange Nehru shirt under it. It looked tough, and I was pissed off that I hadn't gone to Korvettes the day Joe asked me to. But I thought about it later, and I still felt that my rainbow V-neck that the old lady made for me and my lavender fringe vest was just as tough. The other guys were just as done up and one of us cracked that we were the dudes of Dobbs Ferry.
Frankie and Vincent from Irvington were waiting behind the school at the steps and since we all had a while before it was time, we sat around and had a last minute smoke.
Vincent had just started making it with Brenda, and although we didn't mind it too much now, it hadn't been too cool in the beginning because Irvington and us are big rivals especially on the field, and we all knew that Vincent had put Donald Ocopinto out of the game last year with a knee in the balls. Finally someone said that it was time to go and so we all lit up another smoke-we all felt that a guy looked pretty good walking down the street with a butt hanging from his lip-and took off to Brenda's.
On the way up, we met Anthony and Charlie Sciliano from Ardsley, and all of us walked up towards Brenda's together. Anthony and this other Charlie, who I had met only once before, had a fifth of Southern Comfort which we all took a shot from. Even though I took only a little shot because I'm not a big Southern Comfort man myself, I felt it hit bottom right away. I always like to have a shot of something before I go to a party because it takes away any more of that nervous feeling I get sometimes. Being nervous is bad because if you are, maybe you'll do something stupid that'll make you look like a shithead in front of everybody, and which all the guys will kid you about for a long time at the steps behind the school. Stupid things like having to go to the bathroom too much when you're drinking a lot, or fighting with some guy before the party's over. Personally, I don't like fights. I'm not chicken or anything, but my old man says that fighting is for jerks who don't know how to talk out what's wrong, and I feel the same way. But don't get me wrong-I've had my share of cuts and blood in the last couple of years, no matter what the old man says. I don't push anybody around and I don't like anyone who tries to push me around. There had been some pretty heavy fights between us and guys from other towns at parties in the last couple of years, but if you did it at the party, the girl who was holding it always made everybody leave. So it ended up you'd start a fight at a party, but then you wouldn't get down to it until after. If you ask me, the whole thing's pretty stupid, but as long as one of us needs help, I'm there, no matter what.
Brenda was like a friend to all of us. She had the biggest boobs you ever saw, and all of us had gotten in a feel sooner or later after she first started putting out to all of us a couple of months ago. Our Charlie had been the first one because as all of us knew, she loved him more than anyone, no matter who she was going out with at the time. They had been going steady on and off since the sixth grade. They'd go for a while and then they'd break up, but then a couple of months later they'd be back together again. It was as regular as clockwork. We all knew that they'd probably get married someday, but neither of them ever admitted anything because they knew that if they did, we'd all kid the hell out of them. The last time she and Charlie broke up, which was only a couple of weeks before, all of us took her out for a while so that we could get a good feel in, but once we did, she became more of a guy to everybody than a girl you'd want to screw. And although she looked pretty good, all of us had stopped taking her out once we got our fingers in. Now other guys, like this Vincent from Irvington, had heard about how she liked to make out, so for a while she was going out with alot of guys from other towns. But we all knew that sooner or later, she and Charlie would get back together again.
Her parties were always good not only because we had such a good time and all, but Brenda's old man had to be one of the greatest old men around. He worked construction in Yonkers and looks like an ugly Danny Kaye. He was also one of the best drinkers any of us had ever seen. He could put away a case of Pabst without anything happening to him, and even thought it never showed, after he had drunk maybe seven or eight, he would tell the funniest dirty jokes you ever heard, and even once in a while he'd make a pass at one of the girls, which was okay because we all knew that he was kidding. Brenda's old lady, who always did my old lady's hair at the Esquire Beauty Salon where she worked, was okay too because she knew that he was kidding, and anyway by the time the old man got around to making the passes, she was usually pretty well out of it on Pabst anyway, and so it was really relaxed, and we could do or say anything we wanted without having to worry about our manners or anything like that. He even told us to call him Frank and not Mr. Criselle, and that we should call Brenda's old lady by her name, which was Angie.
That's one of the reasons why I don't like to give parties at my house. Whenever I do, we'd all get uncomfortable because my old man and old lady are always hanging around, smiling and trying to get somebody to talk about something stupid like the Yankees or grades or something. I know that they want to be nice and all, but it's just not the same when they're around at a party. I don't mind them when I'm there alone, but when everybody comes over, I get embarrassed and all.
When we got about halfway uptown, we saw old Dominic the drunk weaving down the street at us, and right off we all started laughing. My old man told me he remembers when he was our age that Dominic was a drunk then, so he must be pretty old by now. I'll say this though, from what I've heard about his life, he has had it pretty tough. His wife died of some kind of cancer or something a long time ago and his only kid got killed in Korea trying to wipe out a machine-gun nest. When I see him on the street by myself, I usually say something like "Hiya, Dominic, how're you doin'?" and he always smiles and tells me he's doing okay. It's funny when you think about it, you know? A guy who's been drunk most of his life and who doesn't have anything, always smiling and telling you that he's okay. I guess in a way it's good for people like him to drink. When he got closer to us, we all said real loud, and smiling back at each other "Hiya, Dom!" Or "What's new, Dom?" It was pretty funny watching him look at all of us and trying to smile at everyone at the same time. But then he saw me and came my way. I knew right off he was going to say something to me, so I tried to move. He was pretty fast though and got hold of my arm before I could get away. I felt like hell when he started slobbering and trying to put his arm around my shoulder like we were good friends and all, and all the time he's telling me what a good boy I am. Everybody but me was laughing like crazy, and all I wanted to do was get the hell out of there, but nobody but me wanted to go. All those jerks were enjoying it, you know what I mean? I didn't know what to say, so I just kept saying "That's alright, Dom, that's alright," and kept trying to pull away. That didn't work, but finally Charlie walked up, took Dom by the shirt and pushed him away from me. He told him to lay off, that we had things to do, and that if he wanted to puke all over, he should do it in the street. Dom stumbled backwards a couple of steps and then fell down. He just stayed there and I saw when we were walking by him that he was crying in his hands. I felt like shit because it was my fault but I didn't know what to say. At first I wanted to help him up, but I knew that would just probably start all the guys laughing again and I didn't want any more of that.
Like always, when we got far enough past the police station to know it was safe, somebody yelled out, I forgot who it was because we were all doing it all the time, "Cops eat shit ! " and then we all ran like hell to get out of there before one of them stuck their fat at heads out the window to see who was doing the yelling. Since everybody's always done it, I don't think the cops care anymore, but I wouldn't want to stand around and find out!
"Bullitt" was still playing at the movies, but we'd all seen it a couple of nights before. I was with Jo-Anne and we didn't see too much of it, but what we did see looked pretty good. I was thinking of going back on my own to catch the whole thing before they changed the feature on Tuesday.
It was a real nice night out and I knew all of us felt good about everything. Parties are nice things and everybody always gets up for them. You start thinking about them on Wednesday or Thursday, Friday you're thinking about what you're going to wear and about who'll probably be there, and then Saturday usually goes by so fast that it's really not like a day at all. Someday I'd like to give a party when my old man and lady go to Jersey or something. And I'll tell you, that will be a party. I've thought about it a lot and I know just what I want to do. First off, I'd like to get a live group to play out on our patio. That is if we could get them cheap.
Somebody like "The Dukes" from Hastings or "The Eight Notes" from White Plains.
I was thinking about my party when we were walking the last couple of blocks up to Brenda's, and so I didn't see the cop car until somebody made me look up when they said "Holy Shit! It's in front of Brenda's house ! "
It was the Chief's car, Old Bukimino. Alot of people were standing around outside the house, and everybody looked like they were talking at the same time. We saw a couple of our guys standing around, but none of them were saying anything-just looking at the house.
Mike finally turned around and saw us. He told us that Brenda's old lady, Angie, had taken one of her old man's shotguns-he was a member of the Tophatters' Rod and Gun Club-and blown his head off. All of us dropped dead on the spot. I tried to run for the bushes, but I didn't make it and ended up puking on the street. It didn't make any difference though if anyone saw me because I could see that a lot of the guys were about to do, the same thing. I asked in a voice that was shaking why she had done it. Pete, who was with Mike, asked us if we had any stuff first, but then after he took a good shot of the Southern Comfort, he said that Brenda's old lady had caught him really trying to make one of the girls at the party and because she was loaded, she just took the rifle off the wall and shot him with both barrels right in the face.
Right after Pete told us this, Brenda came out of the house with Bukimino, and none of us had ever seen her like she was. She was screaming like nothing you've ever heard before, and the whole front of her dress was like it had been painted red. She started towards the patrol car with the chief, still screaming, but when she saw Charlie, she stopped screaming and walking. She looked at Charlie for a long time, and then said in a really spooky voice "I'm sorry, Charlie," and then got in the car. We were all shook up bad, Charlie especially. It was her voice I guess that was what got us the most. When she said she was sorry, her voice sounded like some Vincent Price movie-real low and like the Screaming Skull was going to fly out at us.
We all took off as quickly as we could, and since none of us felt like sticking around together, everybody said something about not feeling good or something and went home.
I haven't told anybody this, but when I got home, before I went to bed, I snuck into my old lady's room, stole a piece of paper and an envelope, and went back to my room. I got out my pen and wrote "I'M SORRY BRENDA!" I mailed it the next day, without any return address on it.
