Martian Child

I was off work by four yesterday. Afterwards I had a beer with a good friend and her husband at their house, smoked a couple cigarettes, and talked a lot of shit. It felt great to just have leisure time for once. Her husband started cooking, and I went on my merry way, making one pit stop in Hampton before high-tailing it up to Williamsburg. Ryan's sister Janel had asked me before Valentine's Day if I had any plans. Her husband is deployed, so she was Valentine-less. I had no plans, so I told her I would be her Valentine. We both had classes late in the evening on Thursday (V-Day) but were both relatively free on Friday, so that was the plan. I got to her house and had a white russian. We listened to Sublime and Creedance Clearwater Revival and Eliot Yamin and Seal. Janel breaded chicken breasts that had been cut into strips. She baked the chicken, and cooked baked beans and some Scooby Doo Mac N Cheese. We ate on paper plates and I congratulated Janel on her incredible ability to avoid washing dishes. Ryan got off work and came by in his work clothes for a little bit. He convinced us to watch this movie on OnDemand called "Martian Boy." It's about John Cusack's character who is a recent widower. He and his deceased wife had wanted to adopt a child when she was alive, and never did. She's dead at the start of the movie, and he is considering the adoption process. He is referred to a child that is socially ostracised, spending all his time inside a cardboard box with a slit to see out of. He adopts this child named Dennis. Dennis is convinced that he is a Martian sent to Earth to learn the Earthling way of life. He takes pictures with a polaroid camera and steals things from other people. John Cusack ends up believing that Dennis is from Mars after strange things happen. The movie follows John's process of learning how to be a father and teach Dennis how to live like normal people. It's a good drama film. The movie ended, I hung out for a little bit longer, and then drove home after midnight. On my way home, I received a phone call from my brother.

"Can you do me a big favor?" he slurred into the phone. "Can you come pick me up on your way home?"

I thought about it for a second and remembered the last time this shit happened. I had been at Ryan's house in Newport News. I had driven home, and made it two minutes from the house when he called me back to Newport News to pick him up. I drove there, finding the large party where he had been. There were punk ass kids outside smoking and being noisy. They all started at me when I parked out front, waiting for my brother. I called him at least fifteen times before he got the call and came to the car. I cursed him out the entire ride home. I was livid. SO, thinking of this, I told Chad, "I'll come get you, but I'm only going to call you once when I get there. If you don't answer on the first ring, I'm going home."

"Okay. I'll keep my phone on me."

I pulled into the apartment complex. The cars were beat up and old. The lighting in the parking lot was nothing but cheap fluorescent bulbs, no covers, just exposed. I pulled up behind his car, leaving mine running in the middle of the road. I made the call. The one call. The phone rang one time, two times, three times. He answered on the fourth.

"I'm out front."

"Did you find my car?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm parked right in front of it. Come on."

I sat in the car. The car purred and my headlights beamed on into infinity, catching nothing in their wake other than piece of shit cars and broken glass scattered across beat up asphault. I waited for close to five mintutes before my brother appeared, playing around on his cell phone. He fell into the car, grinning from ear to ear. "Thanks for coming to get me bro. You're a good man." As mad as I wanted to be for having waited longer than a split second, I couldn't help but smile. He looked so goofy. Over six feet of absolute drunkenness. I smiled as I drove, trying to keep my eyes on the road and off of him. He was thoroughly saturated with the smell of cigarette smoke. I knew at that moment why my mom makes that face at my brother and me when we come inside after cigarettes. He told me about drinking half a bottle of Bacardi Limon all by himself, and named off at least four other things he was intoxicated by.

He said to me, "Can I tell you something if you promise not to get mad at me?"

"Sure," I replied.

He told me he took so long getting out for a reason. He didn't want anyone to know he was leaving. He slipped out, heading towards the car. He was stopped by a girl that followed him outside. Here's where it gets twisted. He tells her that he's leaving and that his brother is waiting for him out front. She pushed Chad up against the nearest brick wall and starts making out with him. He's already drunk as it is, and although he'd like to have enjoyed the moment, he couldn't stop thinking that if he didn't hurry up, his carriage would turn into a pumpkin and roll back home without his ass in it. He got her phone number and left. She is my brother's best friend's ex-girlfriend. Chad felt really bad about it and didn't feel right about the whole situation. It really wasn't his fault though. He wouldn't intentionally do that to his friend. The girl forced himself on him too. I felt sorry for him, knowing he had to process thoughts like this while he was so incapacitated.

We made it home fine. He went to his room, and I, to mine. I slept like a rock and hit snooze a total of eight times. It takes a lot to wake me up. I enjoy sleep far too much.

My parents' wedding anniversary is today. They've booked a room less than an hour away and will hide away until Monday. My brother and I have the house. I'm sure my sister will be at the grandparents' house. Chad is already brainstorming plans I'm sure. I'll come home from the bar one night this weekend to find him laughing and crawling to the toilet with a liquor bottle in hand and a slew of girls draped across the couch. I'm crossing my fingers that I won't have that issue this weekend.

Ryan and I decided that we're not going to go to our normal bar anymore. We may still pop in every once in a while, but we're done. The owner has just gotten increasingly rude. He isn't happy at all. I walked on the back side of the bar but not behind the actual bar. The owner became grumpy and rude, not asking, but telling me to move because I was in the way and he was trying to work. I just smiled at him. He didn't return the smile. I moved aside. I am not going to say anything about it. I'd rather just let it go and gracefully fade away. He'll miss me when he can't pay the electricity bill next month. I'm one of the few regulars that are bold enough to show their faces in that shit hole. It's just falling apart. The roof in the women's room leaked so bad when it rained one time. I opened the door because the men's room was taken. Everything was wet, including the walls, toilet, mirror, and floor. It looked like someone pissed all over the place. I came out and told the owner. He said he wasn't charging any extra, and that it was 'waterfront property.'

Anyways, Ryan and I are going to the Wave in Norfolk tonight. It will be a little drive, but it will be more crowded, and the scenery will improve as well. There will be shirtless men showing off their muscles, glistening from the perspiration. I'm looking forward to it. I may not be the best looking guy in that bar, and that has been why I like the normal bar. I'm the best looking guy there, Ryan as well, and I thrive off that confidence boost. I don't get that anywhere else. We'll see how it plays out tonight. I hope it's everything I'm wishing for. If it is, you'll be reading the post by next week.