I was terrified of Monopoly and said, “Fuck yeah,” in a sad pathetic drunken voice.
Monica continued, “Yeah, everyone is excited. Joseph is pumped. He wants to be the shoe.”
Marissa yelled with a high degree of madness, “I want the hat. I always win with the hat.”
Monica looked at me and said, “What piece are you gonna play with?”
“Hmm, the dog.”
Marissa yelled, “Oh my god, you want to be the dog. Nobody ever wins with the dog.”
“I feel that this is the dog's lucky night,” I said.
Monica yelled, “No, the dog is never lucky. You're doomed with the dog. You should be the hat.”
“I don't wanna be a hat. A hat isn't even alive. I want to be an organism.”
“You need to take this seriously, Monopoly isn't a joke,” said Marissa.
Monica said, “Yeah, how you play Monopoly shows what kind of man you are. Like if you can take control in bed and show a woman what it means to be a woman.”
“Are you serious?” I said.
“Oh yeah, it's all about competition. About how you can take down your fellow humans, destroy them in front of their friends and lovers. They are so embarrassed when they have been destroyed. I love to destroy my opponents. I want them to cry themselves to sleep after I have annihilated them. I know when I see a man work hard to beat out his friends playing Monopoly I know that guy is good in bed. Because he wants to win that orgasm. He strives to make that woman have the best orgasm she ever had. So she'll never forget it. She will hate all men that cannot give her that orgasm,” said Marissa.
“I've never thought it about like that,” I said.
Marissa continued, “You should. It's the same for women. Women who want to win at monopoly want to give their boyfriends huge orgasms. That's what Monopoly is about.”
“Sex?”
“Oh yeah. It is like an orgy of sexual tension,” said Marissa.
Monica started to have a funny look on her because she was also confused about what drunken Marissa was talking about. Monica said, “I'm gonna go talk to Amanda.”
Marissa said, “That's why I voted for Barack Obama. He's all competition all the time. You can tell that Obama fucks with determination to be the best fuck that woman ever had. That man competes constantly. He is truly American. He loves to destroy his opponents. Did you see him destroy Hillary? I mean, I'm a woman, but I don't really like them. But I do like men that seem like they have sex like they mean it. He seems like he would have sex with a sense of charity too. Like if Barack Obama was going down on me, and he didn't want to anymore, maybe because his jaw hurt or something. Barack Obama would suffer through it and keep eating that pussy until an orgasm blossomed.”
“Blossomed?”
“Oh yeah, the female orgasm blossoms, it arises from the earth like flowers on the apple trees in the spring.”
“I thought it blew up like a grenade.”
“No, blossom. But listen, Barack Obama destroys. He went up to McCain at those debates and annihilated him. I didn't know who to vote for, but when I saw him just wreak havoc upon John McCain in those debates and McCain walking creeping around the stage at that town hall meeting, saying all that crazy shit about the KGB. I knew he loved to destroy his opponents. And that's what makes a great president. He wants to be the best president. He looks at paintings of Abe Lincoln and says, 'Bitch, you know who I am. I'm gonna take your ass down.' Then he flicks off the painting and swaggers down the hallways the White House.”
“That sounds like really weird behavior,” I said.
“No, it isn't. That's totally normal for competitive people.”
“John Kennedy was competitive and he almost caused a nuclear war.”
“Hmm, America is about competition. It is about the individual expression of destroying your opponent. We can't all be writers. Some of us express ourselves through games.”
“Okay, I get it.”
Marissa screamed, “Obama will beat them all.”
Then the lights came on and the bar was closed. It always sucked when the lights came on. You knew it was over then. No more drinks. No more bar fun. The music was over. Everyone would disperse like nothing ever happened. Everyone put on their coats. Their stocking caps and gloves. The night was over. People went to the bar and paid their tabs with credit cards. Why people thought it would be prudent to buy alcohol with credit cards I never figured out. But they did and didn't care what the consequences were.
For some reason Tom was crying. Amanda and I went over. Tom was washing glasses and said, “My dad died two years ago and Christmas season is driving me crazy. I don't know what is wrong with me. I've been thinking about it all night.”
We stared at him and said nothing.
Then we looked and Monica was crying. She was text messaging her boyfriend in Columbus and tears were going down her cheeks. Tears tumbled over her freckles down into her mouth. She grabbed one of those small napkins off the bar and blew her nose. We knew why she was crying and didn't ask, but she supplied the information anyway, “I'm so sad. I miss Brandon so much. He's down there all alone sitting in his parent’s house. I want to be with him. I would really feel good if I was with him.”
We didn't say anything.
Everyone was crying.
Several people were helping Sarah get to the door. She was so drunk she couldn't even walk. It looked like she was crying too. Hopefully she wasn't planning on driving. Maybe she would drive. People do that. They get in their cars drunk to the point of having the mental state of a tree and drive their cars into telephone poles. The pole gets bent a little, their car is destroyed and they get a DUI and have to pay 2,000 in legal fees. And then the state sends them a letter stating they have to pay for the telephone pole which is another 1,000. Then they have to go to DUI camp in Austintown for the weekend where they talk about their feelings. Then they don't drink for a week telling everyone they are “turning over a new leaf.” Everyone tells them that's great. Then a week later you see them in a bar drunk, but they have no license for a year so they have to walk home. Then you see them walking down the street drunk at night and instead of offering them a ride you just laugh and beep. And that is what is called life. What separates man from the animals? Animals cannot get DUIs.
Seven
I ended up in a car.
In the backseat with Monica.
I was drunk.
Monica looked beautiful.
She had stopped crying.
Her make-up ran a little down her cheeks.
I love when black make-up runs down a woman's cheeks.
When she looks all torn and true.
She put her hand on my leg.
Joseph was up front driving.
Amanda was beside him touching his cock.
Monica was jealous and moved closer to me.
I moved closer to Monica.
I said, “I don't know if I can fuck tonight. I'm so drunk. It might not work.”
Monica laughed.
Then Joseph hit a curb.
The car shook violently.
“HOLY SHIT,” Amanda yelled.
Monica was laughing hysterically.
I yelled, “I can't die tonight. I'm supposed to get on a bus in the morning.”
“Where are you going?” Monica said in a sluggish voice.
“I'm going to NYC, bitches. I'm getting interviewed.”
“What magazine?”
“Fuck, if I know. They want to talk to me and other writers about shit. What shit, who knows.”
It was dark in the backseat. It always weirded me out how we rode in darkness in cars. Especially when I was drunk. Riding along the street in public engulfed in darkness like we were in the jungle, going to sleep, or fucking.
Joseph yelled back, “I'm sorry guys. I won't hit anymore curbs.”