Outside In (14 page)

“So are you glad you came this summer?” Cinch asks on our way back to the red barn.

“It’s kind of strange,” I say. “My favorite parts of being here are the times we have at night at the monument, or the cove, or the boat ramp. None of which I even expected.”

It’s a rare serious moment for us. Not that our relationship
is complete frivolity, but most things are understood. You don’t have to spend years together to have a bond like Cinch and I do. You earn brotherhood—the purest friendship, trust, love, whatever you want to call it—moment by moment through how you treat others. Whether people admit it or not, they’re always keeping score. Little by little, you either build a friendship, destroy one, or maybe just hang out never really knowing if you can trust the other person or not. It’s probably this uncertainty that causes most people to talk seriously. They require continual affirmation of feelings and thoughts because the spoken word is all they have to share. Most are afraid to give up anything more.

In the red barn Cinch locks the door behind him and retrieves the lock box. “Probably time to survey my supplies. We’ve been partying pretty hard. A trip off the island might be necessary sooner than I planned.”

On one side of the lock box is a stack of twenties, tens, fives, and hundreds, totaling $1,570. Scattered throughout are small bags, several straws, a scoop spoon, a scale, a bag of mushrooms, and a bag of pot.

I say, “There’s an American portrait Warhol should’ve done.”

To make light of the excess is the only way to downplay the potential consequences. To abuse the indulgence is the only way to rationalize the risk.

Cinch fans himself with the stack of bills. “It’s been a busy weekend. We have twenty-five grams left and almost the whole investment returned.”

“Is twenty-five grams a lot?” I ask.

Cinch holds up the golf ball–sized bag. “A little under an ounce.”

I use the opportunity to ask another question that has been bugging me about why coke is measured in both grams and ounces.

Cinch says, “Not sure. It’s a weird US/metric hybrid system for coke. A kilo is equivalent to about thirty-six ounces, and things
go down from there. A half of a kilo is eighteen ounces, and a quarter kilo or ‘quarter bird’ equals nine ounces. I usually stay within the one- to two-ounce range, or twenty-eight to fifty-six grams. Consumer levels begin after you get below the half-ounce mark: a quarter ounce is seven grams; an eighth or ‘eight ball’ is three and a half grams; a sixteenth or ‘teeter’ is anywhere between one and a half and one and three-quarters. From there it’s all metric: a gram, a half-gram, even a quarter-gram.”

“I thought I was the math teacher. They never taught me those conversions in college.” I still don’t consider Cinch a drug dealer—not really, anyway. He’s not pushing coke to kids on street corners or anything. He’s pooling money, buying in bulk, and distributing to acquaintances for no other reason than to keep the party going and have a good time. I say, “Don’t you ever worry about all the hand-offs?”

“People are always giving and receiving. Transactions define our society. It doesn’t matter whether it’s a newspaper, money, or information. People interact with one another only to gain something or give something. From the outside, no one knows what exactly is being transferred—unless the people involved act strangely. Remember, the key is to act natural.”

All afternoon the Jet Express arrives with passengers ferried on all three levels. The waves catch the sunlight, juggling it momentarily before throwing it back toward the sky. The island has suddenly become small. When compared side by side, my days can barely be distinguished from one another. The only difference is what I do after work and with whom I do it. It’s not déjà vu; I’ve literally already lived the moment, and probably only twenty-four hours before.

When I return from break, Haley confronts me by the side door. “Are you dealing drugs?”

I remain composed, reminding myself what Cinch just taught me, that people only know what you let them know. “What? Get serious.”

“I know you’ve been partying pretty hard lately, but while you were gone, that fat bouncer from the Beer Barrel came in all coked up looking for you and Cinch. You guys can do whatever you want, but if you’re selling that shit, I don’t want anything to do with you. I can’t have that associated with this bar. I have too much to lose.”

“Relax. We were at a party the other night where there were drugs. Cinch knew the guy that had it, so he hooked that dude up with him. I do the stuff once in a while, but is that what you think of me? I mean, really, can’t you at least give me the benefit of the doubt?”

She backs off immediately. “I’m sorry,” she says, her posture relaxing and the attack disappearing from her eyes. “It’s just that I haven’t seen you much, and you and Cinch have been running around like crazy people since you got here. When that guy came in, it all fell together. Please don’t be mad at me. I guess the weekend is catching up with me. Promise we’ll have dinner this week. I just miss you.”

After all the superficial party chatter I’ve heard the past few days, Haley’s sincerity dissolves my disdain. But watching her slam shot after shot behind the bar during her shift transforms the warmth to acrimony. Who is she to judge me? I’m not the one who needed help getting home the other night. Fuck her. I can do what I want.

Knowing tonight’s going to be a wild night, I prepare extra to take along. I pack five grams into one of the baggies and form the remaining pile into two six-inch rails.

Cinch walks in as I manicure the lines. “We need to get a bigger mirror. What’s gotten into you tonight?”

“Guess who stopped by all bug-eyed looking for us while we were on break? Fuckin’ fatass from the Beer Barrel. Haley jumped my ass about dealing and partying. What should we do?”

Cinch snorts his line except for an inch, which he rubs on his gums. He shakes his head, unable to speak. Undeterred, I do mine. The roof of my mouth goes numb. Cinch’s laugh is like a forty-five record played at thirty-three speed. I read his lips:
Are you okay?

I say, “Whoa, that’s the line I’ve been looking for. We better hurry back. Put this stuff away. I already have an adequate care package for us.” The surging endorphins launch another topic. “Hey, did you hear something running around above us this morning? Was that on the roof or in the attic?”

“Probably just squirrels or mice. Hope they don’t fall through. Can you imagine being asleep and fucked-up when a half-crazed raccoon drops through one of the ceiling tiles into your bed?”

“As long as they stay out of our stash,” I say. “Do you think we should move it?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s safe in the box. You know, tonight there’s an after hours at Bean’s. His parents own a big house on the water on the east side of the island. They left today, so he’s having people over. Since tonight could be a long one, I picked up two more pills from Stein.” He pops one of the hits in his mouth and gives me the other. “About our visitor: We cut him off. We cut everybody off and just chill for a while. We’re getting low anyway. We don’t want to leave ourselves short.” Cinch takes a final swig and drops his beer in the trash can on our way out the door to head back to work. “You take the side. I’ll check the front.”

Inside the bar, familiar faces surround me, two of which are fortunately foreign to each other despite their indirect connection. Dawn and Meadow have moved from opposite sides of the
bar to directly in front of me, where they face one another with their friends at their sides. Robin and Stein stand back-to-back between them.

The meeting materializes like a car crash. Stein inadvertently bumps into Robin, then they both turn and laugh at the coincidence, followed by introductions. It’s just a matter of time before they move past the pleasantries and talk about what they did last night.

A beam of light slaps me in the face as Cinch motions me to the front. I gladly flee to the porch.

Cinch says, “As much as I enjoyed watching you squirm, I need you to help throw somebody out. He keeps bumping into people and spilling his beer on them. Just watch my back.” Cinch approaches the man, who is in his fifties, short and stocky, with a sun visor on backward and thick, curly salt-and-pepper hair sticking up through the top. He is wearing white shorts covered with so many stains they look like camouflage, women’s flip-flops, and a sleeveless T-shirt that, judging from the fresh rips around the shoulders and the distinct tan lines around his biceps, he must’ve created himself not too long ago. Cinch says, “Sir, I think it’s time to move your party somewhere else.”

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong.” His movements are slow but hostile, his speech lumpy.

“Sir, we’ve had several complaints,” Cinch says. “You need to take a break.”

“I’m going to finish my beer.” He sways side to side with some back and forth. “You had no trouble selling them to me all day.”

Cinch’s tone strengthens. “Sir, I’m giving you a choice. Either walk out, or two of my friends with badges will take you out. No difference to me. It just seems easier if you leave and go somewhere else so you don’t ruin your evening.”

His body straightens. “Fuck you. I ain’t leaving.”

Cinch grabs the beer from the man’s hand. “You’re done. Either walk out, or the cops will drag you out.”

As Cinch turns to throw the cup in the trash, the guy takes a swing. Cinch never sees the punch, but the guy never sees me. I rush him off the porch and onto the sidewalk. The police charge across the street. Cinch helps me get the guy to his feet.

“What’s his story?” one of the officers asks.

“Too much to drink and took a swing at me,” Cinch says. “It’s no big deal. Just get him out of here.”

The officers walk the guy over to the park and sit him down at a picnic table to evaluate his condition.

“I owe you one,” Cinch says. “I never even saw the punch. I guess that’s why they call it ‘under the influence.’”

“Him or you?” I say. “Besides, I couldn’t let it ruin your buzz.”

Isn’t that all anything is about anymore?

After our shift Cinch and I walk out the back door of the bar, both of us beaming from the ecstasy. The empty kegs in front of the cooler glisten like an elaborate ice sculpture.

He asks, “So what are your plans? I’m meeting Stein upstairs and we’re going to Bean’s. You want a ride?”

I point to the empty kegs in front of the cooler. “There must be one hundred kegs there.”

“Hey, space cadet, you coming or not? Stein wants a package, and then he and I are going to Bean’s.”

“I feel too good to go in a car. I’m going to ride my bike to the Skyway and then to Bean’s. Give me directions.”

Cinch explains the way, but I don’t write it down. After all the biking I’ve done, how tough can it be? Even if I choose the wrong driveway, I’ll find where I’m going eventually.

EACH TWINKLE OF STARLIGHT CORRESPONDS TO SOME TINGLE INSIDE ME
. With each revolution of my pedals, the tension regarding Dawn and Meadow fades. I’m free again. Goosebumps on my legs feel as big as dimes, shrinking as they travel up my body to my head, where they feel like tiny electrical shocks. I begin to sweat and can feel my heart pumping through my shirt. My mouth goes dry. Maybe I’m pushing too hard. Three cars pass. An eerie feeling swells inside—I’m being watched. I pull over to the edge of the woods. The darkness attacks. Someone is standing up ahead.

I call out, “Is someone there?”

No one answers. I walk my bike forward. The figure doesn’t move. The lights from an approaching car chase away the darkness. The person is only a shrub. Two more cars pass: police. I remember what’s in my pocket. Cinch isn’t with me to save me this time. I must keep going. The Skyway’s ahead. I need to be around other people.

Twigs snap in the woods. Someone is following me. I pedal on, but the eeriness remains.

The sight of the Skyway lights calms me. I hide my bike in the back. A group of strangers are in the kitchen. I step up on the stairs but withdraw. I’m not ready to deal with unknowns. No one from work is inside because they’re at Bean’s. Why didn’t I go there when I had the chance? Maybe Meadow is back at the condo. If I see someone I know, I’ll come out of this state.