Getting the handle of rum was easy enough. As was the whiskey. They might not be full, but the bottles will serve my purpose. After all, I’d promised Rebecca I’d bring something and my parents will never miss them.
The bottles fit perfectly in my backpack, which makes it easy to take the bus to Rebecca’s house. I grip the bag’s straps tighter while waiting at the bus stop. A cop car drives by, which grips my attention. I could have sworn he looked directly at me. Oh god, what if I’m that obvious?
The paranoia drives me crazy until the bus shows up. I climb on, pay my fare, and join the collection of car-free individuals on my public transit trip.
I sit with the backpack in my lap. Both bottles clang together with every bump. I try to hold them still, so nobody notices. Is that woman looking at me? I can’t tell. She might just be looking out the window behind me. I try to ignore her.
Looking at my phone, I see it’s after seven. The party should have started by now. Crap. Once I make it to my stop, I’ll still have almost a dozen blocks to walk before I get to Rebecca’s. She’s probably already drinking with some of the other theater kids. I know she’s had this kind of party before; I’m the amateur here. I don’t even know what the liquor I stole tastes like and I’ve never been drunk before. What if the others can tell I haven’t had a drink in my life?
It’s my stop. I climb out of the bus, trying to forget my concerns, and hop onto the pavement outside. The sun went down a little while ago; the streetlamps light my way.
As I begin my trek, my mind wanders back to dread. I worry I’ll be ridiculed for being so uptight. I don’t want this whole trip to be for nothing, though. I’m anxious enough bringing the bottles one way. I don’t want to take them back!
My thoughts consume me so much that I almost slam into a man walking past me.
“Oh, sorry,” I apologize quickly and sidestep him.
I readjust my backpack and try to walk faster when I hear him chuckling. He calls, “Hold on, boy! Let’s have a drink!”
I freeze. I stare down the empty sidewalk ahead of me. Did I hear him right? “W-what?”
“No need to rush off,” the man says as he takes wide, confident steps to catch up with me. With his squinty, emerald green eyes sparkling, he wags a finger at my bag and gives a smarmy grin. “Let’s have a drink of what you’ve got in the sack there.”
He’s a short guy. Doesn’t even come up to my shoulders. His nose must be cold; it’s shiny and red, like the curly hair of his head and a few shades brighter than his jacket. The coat covers a yellow shirt tucked into green trousers, held up by brown suspenders. The guy must be foreign or something. Nobody dresses like that around here that I know.
How did some weird foreign dude know I have booze? How many other people can see right through me? The discomfort is unbearable. I shift back and forth and start to back away from him.
I say, “Er… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir. Have a good night.”
“Don’t be daft,” he laughs. “I can smell that whiskey. Let’s have at it!”
I grip the backpack straps like a life preserver. Looking around, I see that there are other people out walking. I can’t get caught! What will they do to someone my age? My parents would be pissed!
He rubs his hands together eagerly as he speaks. “Let’s pop the cork! It’s a beautiful night for a little celebration, lad.”
I stammer some more. A celebration, sure, that’s what I wanted. But not with some random stranger. I should go, but I don’t want him to call the cops.
The man’s eyes light up as though he has an idea. He reaches into his jacket pocket.
“What if I eased the transaction?” He pulls out a money clip with a folded stack of bills in it. He thumbs through them and produce a hundred dollar bill. He gives me a broad smile as he displays the cash. “This fine piece for a draught of what you have in the bag. Do you call that a deal?”
My hesitation lasts only long enough to make sure nobody is looking. I glance down at the old man again, his face all wrinkled in a grin. “I kind of… need this for, er, friends.”
He waves his hands dismissively. “Ah, drinking with friends! If that’s all you wanted, you could do that. But imagine how much more drink you could buy with a hundred in your pocket!”
He waves the bill some more, practically shoving it under my nose.
I eye the hundred dollars, and decide to ignore his terrible logic. There’s probably no harm in letting him take a sip of the whiskey. I’d still have plenty of it, plus the rum.
“Okay, fine,” I whisper. “But in the alley over here! Come on!”
We hurry over into the space behind the buildings, away from prying eyes. I set the backpack down and open it, quickly pulling out the cheap whiskey to hand to him.
The man’s practically dancing with excitement. Why he didn’t just buy himself a bottle at a liquor store, I’ll never know. Maybe he’s a wino that the owners don’t like hanging around or something. If that’s the case though, I probably should have been a bit safer instead of ducking into close quarters with a potential madman.
My fears brush away, though, as he hands me the crisp dollar bill. One hundred bucks. I don’t make that in a month working part-time for my dad. I could take Rebecca out for dinner and still have plenty of cash left over to pay some college kids to buy me a handle of something good for her next party.
As I’m contemplating my newfound wealth, the little man cradles the whiskey bottle in his arms. I catch him looking it over reverently. His smile softens for a moment before he lifts the bottle by the neck to his lips.
He throws his head back and drinks. A few seconds later, I realize he’s not stopping: he’s draining the bottle.
“Hey!” I protest, grabbing at the whiskey, “Hey, that’s enough!”
But he continues to chug faster than the alcohol could even be poured. He finishes, wipes his mouth clean, and beams brightly at me.
I’m fuming, raging, ready to punch him. “What the hell! I told you that was for my friend’s party! Why would you do that?”
Briefly, when I see him out of the corner of my eye, the man looks shrunken. Like he’s the size of a child. When I turn to face him, though, I realize it was just my rage clouding my vision.
The man eyes my backpack. His eyebrows raise. “I see ye have another bottle there. Would be a shame to let it sit there alone, not a friend in the world.”
Before I can stop him, he snatches up the backpack and the rum. As he spins the cap off, I grab the strap of the backpack to try to pull it away from the crazy boozehound.
It was a mistake.
The rum goes flying out of the unzipped pocket. The cap whirls off in another direction. I hear the glass clatter to the ground and then the glug-glug as the precious alcohol spills onto the pavement below. Before I can get my wits back from the tug of war with the man, most of the rum is gone.
I fall to my knees, the cheap liquor soaking into my pants. I scoop up the bottle and manage to save a third of it.
I cry, “Are you crazy? Now I don’t have anything for the party!”
How can I show myself to the party at all? Without anything to offer, Rebecca will think I am a loser.
I grit my teeth and seethe. This bizarre old coot just ruined my chances at impressing everyone at the party! This was my shot. My chance to make friends with that crowd. I might as well just run back to the bus stop at this rate!
“Ah, spilt drink! ‘Tis a shame.” He puts his hand over his heart as if he’s saying goodbye to a dear friend. “But! I can get you more than that if you’d like.”
I eye the little man. If he could get his own drink, why pay for a sip of mine?
Still, I need something to bring to Rebecca’s party. “All right,” I say. “But make it fast.”
~*~