Bass chugged a bit, bent at the knees, giving it a little body English. “Yeah. And the Rastafarians. They prayed using weed. God gave it to them so they could know him.” Burp.
“I mean, wine’s the blood of Christ for chrissake. Turning all that water into wine.” I hopped down.
We both nodded at the concepts we’d just unveiled upon human discourse for the first time and in the fog of a beer buzz coming on, we stood there quiet for a moment and thought of the monks and the Rastas and God, the water and the wine and the weed and the expanses of stained glass set into all those churches’ frames.
“Speaking of,” Bass said. He looked at me and smiled.
“No, man. Not in the mood.”
“Not saying that. Left it under the tree. Pipe too. Crap.” He patted himself down to make sure. “No. Music is what I mean.”
“Yes, good call. All day there’s nothing but ad jingles and dead air. I’m not wanting to watch a DVD or even read. No playing Monopoly, Cards Against… Humanity. I don’t think I can for a while, you know?”
“Yeah. Same way. Institutions, days of the week, none of it makes sense. A whole new framework built.”
“You sure you’re still not a little high?” I kidded and smiled.
“No, man. You know what I’m saying, right? It’s like BC, AD, and now, whatever this is.”
“I think we get to name it.” I stared into the floor, shook my head clear. “But we’re not going to think about it tonight, right?”
“Music. Music I can do. In fact, if I don’t hear some music in the next minute I’m going to freak out. I’ve never in my life found it more necessary.”
“Any requests?”
“You know, I could listen to anything right now. Anything.”
“I’ve got some killer Dead bootlegs, man, where I keep my weed, man, in that ornate wooden box with the etched mandala under my bed, man.”
“Okay. Shut up. Not anything. Not the Dead. Of all days. Let’s not play the Grateful damned Dead today.”
“Just kidding. Man.”
Me and Bass raced to my room. Kodie jerked up and squinted at us. “What? What’s happening?” She looked down at Rebecca, the child who apparently just couldn’t get enough sleep. Badness teemed off her skin like heat. “I must’ve… What time is it?”
“Bob Marley time,” announced Bass.
“Quarter past beer.”
“You guys are drinking,” Kodie said in this fantastic mock-disappointed mom voice.
“You are correct,” I said, taking my phone from my desk and holding it up. “Damn thing’s still good for something.” I remember not even wanting to search the phone for clues about the outside world. I didn’t care about vigilance, survival, the connectivity that could maintain it. Didn’t care about people on the other end of the world who had figured out how to avoid the rolling death. The beer had claimed me into its short-lived euphoria, and I just didn’t care.
Because I knew that there wasn’t anything to look for anyway.
I wanted music. I wanted to live and to dance right then, not think about all tomorrow’s maybes. That’s all I’ve ever done, plan for tomorrow. Practice SATs, practice for Macy’s, preparing for this, getting ready for that, forever rehearsing some life to be fully lived in that mystical more perfect future.
The old world’s future was gone. I will never sit for the SAT. There will never again be a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. There may never be parades again, with their pomp and symbols reflecting the past, foretelling a future, children’s lost balloons floating into specks in the sky. On the night of the day of, with a belly full of beer, I got to understanding that zen idea of living in the present. Because that’s really all there is.
Right. Now.
Martin was none too pleased when he knew I’d been messing with his stereo. God, he was such a dick! I touch his stuff and he freaks.
Though later I would feel bad about feeling so good playing Martin’s stereo with impunity, it did feel good. We needed to feel good.
Kodie closed the door on Rebecca and got a mug of beer. Johnny didn’t want to commit to bed after what had happened and had stretched out on the loveseat in what Mom called the reading nook of the dining room and was now asleep, looking like the cherubic little kid he was.
The bass shook our bowels, thrummed in our chests, competed with our heartbeats. Bob Marley never sounded so full and glorious. Martin’s great speakers stood tall on the wood floor. The sound fanned out along the polished grain. Now rain had moved in with the night, the clouds blooming up from the Gulf. We danced to all The Wailers I had on my phone for long stretches without talking.
Kodie had thrown her boots off as she let a third mug’s foam settle while Bob’s “I Shot the Sheriff” started up. She started in on this solipsistic dance, one where she closed her eyes and got lost in the music and spun slow with her arms twisted above her head, the knowing hip-sway and knee bends. It’s the dance of the nymph, and when you see it you understand how men’s ships let themselves be wrecked to wrack and ruin at the falling notes of the siren’s song.
She was lost in her dance and me and Bass stopped whatever it was we thought passed for dancing and watched her.
And in Bass’s eyes I saw what I hoped I wouldn’t see. He watched and bit his lip as Kodie dipped her hips, as Kodie twisted and flowed.
She was showing off, proving so when she opened her dolorous avid blue eyes and smiled at us without a hint of self-consciousness, her cheeks flushed with the arousal that comes when all eyes are on you.
I stepped up to her and moved with her and she slid and bent into my movements, rendering them less awkward.
Bass went for his beer. Kodie and I danced to the thumping reggae and for the first time I felt myself grow jealous because I knew Kodie was watching Bass move across the room when I’m the one right here dancing with her. I lamely thought about something Martin used to say about loyalty—dance with the one that brung you. Like this was a date we were on, like she owed me. Absurd.
I watched her eyes watching him, watched her flick her hair back with a snap of the neck, and knew the math was wrong now. Our ratio summoned up an SAT practice test word problem: When it’s the end of the world and you’re pretty sure you’re the last near-adults on Earth, what happens when there’s one pony keg of Warsteiner, one girl, and two guys with her?
Fill in the appropriate bubble with your No. 2 pencil. And though this is multiple choice, don’t forget to show your work.
A mouth twitched and spread open into a broad smile of dark shining teeth.
I sat straight up in bed. My eyes shot back and forth in their sockets searching the moonlit room. Kodie lay beside me undisturbed, fully clothed as I. The alcohol trying to drag me back down but adrenaline overrode it.
I whispered to Kodie, “You hear that?” Her breathing remained the same.
The clock’s digital green said three thirty. I sat there in a beer sweat, breathing shallow breaths, not sure what made my body go on alert when my mind had yet no notion.
Understanding came when I heard the distant light rumble. The Gulf rain clouds had met with a trough of cooler air from the north and the collision made thunder.
I lay back down slowly so as not to bother Kodie.