“Van Gogh,” Adelle offered. “The Dutch painter. His paintings are all curls and streaks like someone took an electric blender to nature.” Beauty is loneliness come to fruition.
“Didn’t he lose an ear?” Frank asked. Can you still hear if you don’t have ears?
“Cut it off himself,” Terry added.
“He did those weird sunflowers,” Adelle said. “My mom has a calendar with them on it. June, I think. My mom told me that he never sold a painting during his lifetime.”
“That’s right.” Cathy nodded then began to giggle. They should teach business management at art school.
“Never sold a painting?” Wiggy cried, sitting up. “Some artist, eh?
What did he do for dough? Sell dope? I heard about guys who got stoned on sunflower seeds. It must be a special recipe ’cause I could never get off on them.”
“Didn’t he kill himself?” Adelle asked. “Didn’t I read that on Mom’s calendar?”
“Don’t look at me when you ask questions,” Frank responded.
Cathy took the bottle of gin from Adelle and swallowed a mouthful, made a face of indescribable distaste, and handed the bottle to Terry.
“Shot himself,” Terry said, pointing his finger at his forehead like it was the barrel of a gun.
“I don’t doubt it,” Wiggy said, shaking his head. “Never sold a painting? Man, he must have been one pretty depressed dude. If I’m not a 41 millionaire by the time I’m twenty-five you can check your local river because I’ll be floating in it.”
Frank grinned. Looking forward to that.
“And now his paintings are worth millions,” Cathy said with a sigh, falling back on the tall grass and once again gazing into the sky. Why is emptiness always black?
Wiggy laughed. “Wouldn’t that burn ya, eh? Enough to make you do yourself again. Don’t you just love it when these famous types off themselves, eh? Did you hear how Catherine the Great of Russia died?”
“We heard,” Adelle responded, “and we don’t need to hear it again.”
“But, it’s such a weird death. Who would think that someone who was royalty could be so perverted? Being crushed by a horse while you’re getting porked.”
“We know the story,” Adelle repeated impatiently. “No matter what you discuss with guys, it always ends up in the gutter.” Why would she fuck a horse? They stink.
“Did you ever feel totally happy and depressed at the same time?” Cathy asked.
“I always wanted to play the banjo.” Frank sighed.
“On the one hand you feel completely free,” Cathy continued. “Being here, being stoned, with your friends. At the same time, you have a knot in your stomach. Too much fun. Fun don’t last. Friends don’t last. Weed goes up in smoke. One afternoon while you’re taking out the garbage or you’re opening a bill, you turn into your parents. Fat and responsible.
Hate what you’re doing. Hate who you are.”
“Live for the moment!” Wiggy laughed and passed the joint to Cathy.
“That’s what our parents did,” Cathy cried. My dad and his toys.
“There was a murder in this valley,” Terry blurted out.
There was silence.
Cathy sat up. Don’t!
Adelle’s mouth dropped. What?
Frank choked.
Wiggy fell to the ground. “Say it isn’t so, man!”
“Not that story,” Cathy pleaded, passing the joint back to Wiggy.
“Who was murdered?” Wiggy asked, took a puff off the joint and handed it to Frank who smiled, sucked on it, then passed it on to Adelle.
“My mother told me about it,” Terry said. “It was one of her friends.
They were down here partying one night.”
“Hey, I heard about that,” Frank said. “Didn’t they all get drunk, pass out, and when they woke up the next morning, one of them was missing?”
“That’s what they told the police,” Terry said, smiling smugly.
Wiggy leaned forward, almost whispering. “What’s the real story, man?”
“This isn’t going to scare me, is it?” Adelle asked, looking around at the darkness. “We should make a fire.”
“I’m so hot,” Cathy responded. Don’t tell it, Terry.
“Take your top off,” Frank suggested with a grin.
“You wish,” Cathy said, punching Frank in the arm.
Frank winced and laughed. “Hey, that hurt.” Then sat up. “What’s the story?”
“Ya, man,” Wiggy added, chewing on a long stem of grass. “Don’t leave us sitting here wondering.”
Terry sat up. The others huddled closer to him, except for Cathy who found a large leaf from a wild rhubarb plant and was fanning herself.
Terry began. “They were drinking wine behind the barn over there.” Terry pointed to a dilapidated structure up the hill. “One of them had a deck of cards and they started playing strip poker.”
“I ain’t taking anything off,” Adelle insisted. She took a puff of the joint and handed it to Cathy.
“Your mother told you she used to play strip poker?” Frank asked.
“They were kids too,” Cathy suggested.
“I know, but…God, I’d gag thinking about my old lady stripping.”
“We should have brought some cards,” Wiggy added.
“They were getting pretty drunk,” Terry said. “Laughing, drinking, and playing their hands. They made a fire so it was easy to read their cards. There were three girls and two guys and one of the girls lost her bra. When she hesitated to take it off two of the boys held her down while the other two girls took off the girl’s bra and tossed it into the darkness. They all thought this was great fun except for the girl who was now almost naked. She started to cry. ‘I don’t want to play this game anymore,’ the girl whined. She got up to find her clothes and collapsed.
She was too drunk. They all laughed except for the topless girl. She continued to cry, curled up in a ball to hide her nakedness. ‘I always lose,’ she complained. ‘Somebody better get her clothes before she freaks out,’ one of the boys said. He tried to get up but he too was too drunk to attempt a search. One of the other two girls rose.”
“Your mom?” Wiggy asked, his eyes bulging with a thirst for details.
“No,” Terry said. “Anyway, the girl, I think her name was June, staggered into the darkness to find the clothes the kids had tossed. Some time passed. June’s been gone a long time, one of the boys noticed. Just then they heard June scream.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” Cathy cried, putting her hands over her ears. “I hate these stories. You promised you wouldn’t tell any more of your stories while I was stoned. I get too freaked out.”
“Sobered by the sudden scream,” Terry continued, ignoring Cathy’s pleas, “all four rushed into the darkness. They heard another scream like June was begging someone to let her go. They couldn’t quite make out what she was crying. And then…”
“Yes?” Frank asked.
“No!” Cathy insisted and crawled over to Adelle, burrowing into her side for protection. Don’t say it! Don’t!
“There was nothing.” Terry smiled and looked around.
“Nothing?” Wiggy asked, his mouth dropping.
“Silence,” Terry added.
“Holy shit!” Frank gasped, dropping the bottle of gin to the ground and then immediately grabbing it before what was left of the gin spilled into the grass.
For several minutes Terry did not speak. Instead he soaked up the delicious silence around him. And then when the time was ripe, he began to speak again, softly, almost inaudibly.
“They waited a long time, huddled together. When it was clear that June was not going to return, they gathered all their clothes and dressed.
How were they going to tell their parents that they’d gotten drunk, played strip poker, than lost one of their friends? Who was going to believe them? The police would think that they’d done something to June, that some terrible accident had befallen their friend and that the rest of the friends were trying to cover it up. They made an oath among themselves never to tell the truth, the complete truth.” Cathy began to weep. “You know I hate these stories, Terry. You know I get nightmares…”
“Did they ever find the chick?” Wiggy asked.