Styrofoam Throne (6 page)

“Fuck, dude.”

“Yeah, whatever. Master of destiny, bro.”

It might have been wrong but I relaxed hearing someone else’s more brutal tales from home.

“How do you deal with it?”

“Man, I’m high all day, every day. I’m so high you can’t fucking touch me. You think you’re beating the shit out of me. But I’m not even there. Total locust, bro. Kissin’ the sky. Everyone looks like ants where I’m coming from.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t mean you, I mean . . .” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Anyways, catch ya lates,” Renaldo said.

“Cool.”

Renaldo skated off and I walked home. His stratospheric detachment was something I could relate to. Especially after looking out on Dunes while up on top of the Castle. Heavy thoughts in high places.

The metallic sloshing of all the new change in my pockets made me sound like I was wrapped in chains. By the time I strolled past Odd Fellows Cemetery, I had to hold my belt loops up because of all the weight in my pockets.

I made it home and saw through the window that the living room light was still on. My stomach knotted as I walked in. Janice sat on the couch, drinking wine. She didn’t take her eyes off the TV or make any movement acknowledging my arrival.

“Hey . . .” I said.

Janice let out a deep sigh and stayed fixed on the TV.

“I don’t want to work at The Roost anymore.”

“You made your point.” She took a sip of wine, eyes still on the TV. Janice went to set the wineglass on the coffee table but missed. The glass hit the beige carpet. She didn’t notice or didn’t care and still hadn’t blinked. I watched the clear wine soak into the beige carpet. Is this why she drank the white kind?

“I got a new job.” I held out two fists overflowing with change. Janice glanced at my fists and back to the TV. Somewhere hiding on her face was surprise.

“It’s at the Castle.”

Janice reached for her wine that wasn’t there. She got off the couch, went to the kitchen, and came back with another. She gulped half of it down as tears lined up in her eyes.

“I get food for the people that work inside. They usually let me keep the change.”

“Sounds like a beggar at a shit hole,” she said at the TV.
 

“You mean what you do at The Roost?”

As soon as I said it, I felt terrible. I shouldn’t have gone for a death blow.

Janice turned the TV up like she was turning me down and returned to the other half of her wine in unruffled silence.

My line would have normally inspired a nuclear retaliation, leaving nothing but a burn mark where our house once stood. But tonight, she was entirely expressionless.

I went to bed thinking that my mom had actually given up on me. The feeling was worse than getting yelled at. This catatonic wrath was far more effective. Earlier, I might have thought it meant some sort of freedom. “She doesn’t give a shit, so I can do whatever”–type of thing. The puking incident at The Roost was a legendary act but she didn’t even mention it. At least it inspired a reaction in the moment. But to get none here made me feel like a ghost in my home. The idea of haunting a place without a spooky brochure didn’t feel the same. I opened a window and lay on the bed with the Castle’s “Toccata” still echoing in my head. It told me to brush my problems off. No matter what was going on, it didn’t matter. The Castle door had opened just enough.

4

When I woke up the next morning, Janice was already gone. The wineglass from the floor was put back in the cupboard. Normally, a box of cereal sat out waiting for me with a carton of milk, a bowl, and a spoon. This was the first day it wasn’t there. I quickly gave it a “Whatever” and headed out the door toward the Castle.
 

When I showed up at the side entrance, Renaldo was already there, smoking a cig.

“Donovan! What’s up, man? You look bummed.”

“Ah it’s nothin’, just . . .”

“Mom shit, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, dude, no offense, honestly, but who gives a fuck? You shouldn’t. I don’t. No point worrying about that now. Take a look around—it’s Friday at the pier and the weather is killer. That means two things: chicks aaannnd . . . chicks! Get ready to rock, motherfucker!”

I gave Renaldo a funny look.

“I mean mother . . . Just like, dude, fuckin’ A!”

We hung out at the base of the pier and waited for the first Castle workers to call us up the ramp and place an order. We traded turns getting the orders while shooing away any competition, which was pretty easy since they were mostly younger kids, easily intimidated by a flash of Renaldo’s brass and my height.

The requests were all the same for the most part until the most “famous” member of the Castle, Dracula, came out of the back door. Wearing sunglasses, he strode past the tables and sat at an empty one. He was a local celebrity from being in the Castle commercial but carried himself like a national one. After being immortalized on TV, I learned that Dracula’s head swelled up and he abandoned his big-city actor dreams in favor of dominating this one. He had some sort of actor clout at the local community college but never outgrew it, becoming forever drunk on low-level power, semi-hot chicks, and on-the-job liquor.

I was the only runner around and Dracula waved me over like it was the third time he had done so.

I walked over, stoked to work in some small talk and maybe hang out.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” I said.

“I need some fucking nachos.”

Dracula didn’t even look directly at me.

“Sure, man,” I said, waiting for him to provide the money.

Dracula stared at me.

“What?” he said.

“I need the money.”

“Ugh, God. Here.” He threw two dollars on the ground that started to blow away.
 

I chased after them and filled the order.

When I came back, Dracula examined the nachos closely.
 

“You passed the test.”

“What’s that?”

“You didn’t spit in my nachos,” he said, taking a bite.

If that’s all it took to gain his favor, I figured this dude could be pretty cool. I handed Dracula the leftover nickel. He pocketed it and looked me in the eye.

“Can I trust you with something?”

“Yeah, totally.”

“It’s a very important task and holds a lot of responsibility.”

“No problem. I’m your guy.”

Dracula pulled out a ten-dollar bill.

“I need a fifth of Jack Daniel’s and some condoms.”

Holy shit. My mouth hung open.

“Can you handle that?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” I barely said. I was too starry eyed by fame and intimidated by an impossible task.

“I’m not giving you ten bucks for some ‘I guess.’”

“Yeah. Yes. I can do it.”

“I need them quick, so move your ass,” Dracula said, standing up. He was much shorter than me and visibly bothered by it. “And don’t fuck with the Count,” he said, whipping his cape around as he headed to the back door.

“No, sir.” I had never, ever called anyone “sir” in my entire life and it felt strange that it came out now.

Dracula disappeared back into the Castle. I walked down the ramp and found Renaldo smoking at the bottom.

“Dude.”

“What’s up? You look like you just saw a ghost,” he said.

“Dude.”

“Uh, a ghost with big titties?”

“Dude, no. Wait, have you seen one of those?” I asked.

“Spit it out already.”

“Dracula came out.”

“Which one?”

“Huh?”

“There’s like a couple, dude.”

“Dracula! The one in the commercial.”

“Oh yeah, Colin Dixon,” Renaldo deadpanned. “What’d he want, booze?”

“Yeah. And condoms.”

“That dude is such a dick, he needs a condom for his whole fucking body.”

“How am I supposed to get that shit?”

“You’re on your own with that one, man. I can’t go into any liquor store within ten miles of here.”

“How come?”

“The monsters always want booze once they get rolling, and they’ll give you more than the change. Tip a couple bucks, actually, and maybe a can or a pull off a bottle, but I got greedy with it, dude.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, you have to buy nachos and churros, right? You can’t go behind the counter and steal chips and cheese and jalapeños, right?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Well, dude, you can totally fucking steal beer. And I would. But I wouldn’t tell that to the dude who asked me to get it. So he’d give me ten bucks and I’d just pocket it, steal the beer, and also get tipped. It was great while it lasted.”

“Whoa.”

“Yeah, so I can’t even try that anymore. Last time I did, I walked into the store and was checking out the soda, getting ready to inch over to the beer . . . when fuckin’
wack
! Some asshole buried a baseball bat in my head. Fuck. That.”

“Dude, I’m not gonna steal beers. I can’t even run that fast, you know.”

“Bro, you’re tall enough to get away with it. Buy that shit. Just act old.”
 

“What does that even mean?”

“You know, be, like, tired and complain about how much everything sucks and that you’re getting your ass kicked out there.”

“Out there?”

“Or you could get a fake ID. I know a dude.”

“I need the stuff in an hour or two.”

“Just go for it, man. The tall thing is gonna work, I swear.”

“What if I get carded?”

“Then ask him if he takes business cards.”

“I don’t have that either, dude.”

“Dude, you’re missing the point. Just go over to Liquor World by Naugles, that dude’s kinda easy.”

“What about the condoms?”

“They have those too.”

“I mean, like, how do I get those?”

“Wait, what?”

I threw my arms up in the air.

“Dude, are you a virgin?”

I shot him a “duh!” look followed by a mental retreat to protect myself from a coming attack.

“Ohhh. No, no. It’s cool. I don’t mean it like that, I just . . . never mind, dude. They will sell those to you, easy.”

“Dude, I’ll be embarrassed as hell!”

“Why?”

“It’s fucking condoms!”

“Bro, if you’re buying condoms it means that they’re going on your dick and into a pussy. Buying condoms is, like, going up to the counter all, like, ‘Tonight’s gonna be one of those hot nights, woo!’” Renaldo said.

I furrowed my brow while processing this.
 

“Dude, don’t worry. If the guy is acting weird, it’s probably just because his dick is stuck behind a counter all night.”

“Okay,” I said as I cut myself off from actually thinking the condoms were for me.

“Don’t be embarrassed to be a badass.”

I left the Castle pier and walked down the street to the liquor store. When I got there, I stood outside and tried to see past the beer signs and lottery advertisements to get a look at who I would have to face. No one was there. A chime went off and made me jump when I walked into the store. It almost felt like a trap that no one was behind the counter. I thought about Renaldo’s beer run tactic and how I could pull off the perfect crime right now. Maybe it was even a setup? I couldn’t bring myself to seize the moment. I stuck to the plan.

And fuck the tall thing. How’s that gonna work? I made my way to the condoms first. I had never even really stared a box of condoms in the eye before. The sexual innuendos on the packaging made it seem like chicks were just begging for these condoms. I had never thought about how bad chicks wanted sex. It always sounded like something you got away with or that they would just put up with. But this box of condoms was telling me they were actually for “her pleasure.” There was a whole other side to this that I hadn’t thought about.

I was getting too hung up on reasons not to go for it. This isn’t going to work, I’m sixteen! I thought about returning empty handed, then finally gathered enough courage to reach out for a random brand. Just as I put my hand on them, an Asian man came out from the back with a porn mag tucked under his arm. Scared the fucking crap out of me. He nodded and just casually returned the magazine to the rack.

“Hey,” he said.

My eyes and hand darted away from the rubbers. I pretended I was more interested in the petroleum jelly and chapstick next to them. After I’d spent what anyone would think was a reasonable amount of time judging the different flavors of chapstick, I went back to looking at the condoms. I remembered Renaldo’s advice and reached for whatever brand was closest to my hand.

I browsed around the store for a little until I stiffly walked over to the liquor shelf. From the corner of my eye, I saw the liquor store employee pick up another mag from the rack and lean back in his chair. The clerk peered over the naked women just enough to observe me. His eyes constantly refocused their gaze as they moved between the mag and the liquor shelf.

I wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and reached for the bottle. With condoms in one hand and booze in the other, I felt the intimidating power of these forbidden objects and got my “old” act together.

“Hey, fucking shitty day, huh?” I said.

“I dunno, been locked up in here.”

“I heard that.”

“What?”

“It’s a slaughterhouse out there.”

“What is?”

“Man, I’m just dog tired, ya know?”

The clerk punched in the prices for the items. My heart was racing as fast as my thoughts.

He didn’t even ask for my ID! Renaldo was right! I guess the height and the old thing really does help.

“That’ll be . . . oh, wait—can I see your ID?”

I froze.

“ID.”

“Do you take business cards?”

The employee laughed and took the bottle off the counter.

“Still want these?” he said, nodding to the condoms.

“Uh, okay.”

“Dollar seventy-five. Want a receipt?”

“No, thanks.”

“Here you go.”

The clerk put the condoms in a bag and handed them over.
 

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What gave it away?”

“You browsed the candy aisle for ten minutes.”

“Oh. Yeah . . .”

I grabbed the condoms and quickly walked out.