Short Story / A Forty For Erin (A True Tale Of Teenage Tyranny)
When I was sixteen I would get drunk with my friends. I actually still do. Imagine that. Anyway. When you are sixteen years old, buying booze can be a bit of a hassle. At that age, even a fake ID really isn’t feasible. You just don’t look old enough. So, you need to befriend an irresponsible, socially maladjusted pedophile who is over the age of twenty one, and willing to buy booze for kids because he has no friends. In this case, we will call him Jason. Jason had just purchased a sack of forties for my self and my friends when he decided that he would rather go peruse the local bar-scene than hang out in an apartment with a bunch of high-school drug-addicts. I suppose that this was after he began to feel leery of the legal implications involved in molesting my harem of female acquaintances; a guilty pleasure that echoes though him, with great certainty, the most devilishly fond memories… even to this day.
Jason hands me the paper-sack full of bottles, keeps the change, and leaves without saying much. Normally, we will drink with Jason and perhaps send him on a second late-run to the store if needed. There is concern among my comrades that our beer-ration will not be sufficient for this cold Friday night. One of the bottles is actually reserved for a young lady who has yet to make an appearance. We place her forty safely in the refrigerator and continue to debate the logistics of acquiring more alcohol. The discussion doesn’t last long as we twist off the wide-mouth lids and read the faint, incomprehensible jokes while guzzling. This was in the 1990’s when Micky’s forties had those horrible puns printed inside the lids. Remember?
Eventually, a minute turns into an hour and every drop of our beer is gone, being alternately pissed into the toilet in polite, revolving shifts of profane gesturing as we pass each other in the hallway.
Forty + Sixteen = Fucked up
Being the red-blooded American that I am, forty ounces of beer has never been enough to satisfy my ravenous hunger for hard-core alcohol abuse, even at such a tender age as this. I lumber drunkly into the kitchen and open the refrigerator door to stalk the young woman’s beer. It looks so pretty… so innocent. I want to drink it so badly, but I know that it would be a total bitch-move on my part. Then again, I don’t really care about the girl’s feelings. Pretending to care would be lying to my self, which at this point I have some how managed to conjure up shaky beer-logic to support the idea that this sin against my own integrity would be in fact worse than stealing.
A friend approaches me from behind and says, “You might want to close the fridge. The heat’s on.”
I reply: “How pissed do you think Erin would be if I drank her forty?”
He says: “I think she’d be pretty pissed… but she’d get over it.”
“Right,” I say, “but what if I only drank half of it?”
“I don’t know, maybe she’d only get half as pissed.” My friend replies and walks away. I suddenly get a very, very bad idea.
- Now, let us fast-forward forty five minutes.
“This tastes salty.” She winces after a sip. “And why is it all warm?”
I look around the room at the glue-like expressions of my comrades. We are all daring each other to last another minute with a straight face.
“What?” She glares at me.
“It’s fine.” I snap at her, convincingly and snatch the bottle. I take a long draw, trying my hardest not to gag on the salty, lukewarm mixture. “See,” I say after a few big swallows, “it is fine.” My logic here is to try and convince her to drink the whole bottle, even if I have to swallow some of it in the process.
She takes the bottle from me and tries another sip.
Suddenly my friend, Ian falls out of character and let’s out the kind of laugh that you don’t expect from a quiet guy. In a second we are all rolling on the floor, every one but her.
- Rewind
I slide her cold virgin forty from its slim, paper bottle-bag. “Only half.” I say to my self as I open it and take a long, frothy sip. In minutes, I drink the tall bottle down to the label. I am encircled by half a dozen of my comrades who can’t believe what I am about to do. Once I drink my way down to the official halfway point, I proceed to unzip my pants and insert my cold, shrunken penis into the mouth of the bottle. Once I fill it to the top, I force my self to stop in mid-stream, which sends a twinge of discomfort through my lower abdomen. Piss drips onto the kitchen floor. Surrounded by punk rock fraternity-esque chanting, I cap the bottle and place it in the freezer. The idea is to cool the pissy beer to a believable temperature before the victim arrives.
- Conclude
There is no moral, only an ending: A room full of drunk, sophomoric boys, and this poor girl… with a bottle of my piss. This is probably one of the vilest things that I have ever done. I wish that I could go back in time and slap the shit out of my self. The funny thing is, I think I had sex with the girl after this happened. She must have had some seriously low self-esteem. If I really wanted more beer, I would have just drank the whole bottle. I wanted to be the center attention… the joker. I always have been playing for the crowd.
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I think its evil what you did, but i could’nt help reading it and laughing. you nasty piece of work.
I could visualise the seedy paedophile nature of Jason. This sort of thing happens in England, where i live too. though i’ve never got involved in the scene. I hope the girl you did this too does’nt read this lol.
A devilishly well written item and i loved the fast forward and rewind button idea. I don’t think i’d have a drink from you though.
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Hmm…an interesting read. And although it is a little on the edge, I think anyone who remembers their own teenage years can think of something similar (yet not quite on the same level as yourself.)
It’s well written, and I can clearly see your style of writing portrayed here. Especially when breaking up the story to change the particular time of the night. The effect worked perfectly.
Job well done.
I’m really not sure what to make of it. I think the characterization is decent, and I think it would make good fodder for the story. Espicially if you examine Jason’s character, but then again I have a love for people on the fringes of society.
However it kind of reads like a story you would tell at a party, years after the fact, about the stupid things you did when you were young. I don’t think the construction helped this. The jumping forward and then jumping back interupts the flow of the story for no real reason.
Ok onto the nitpicky stuff.
The first paragraph has a lot of short sentences, which could be combined together to make it flow better.
The sentence that starts:
”I suppose that this was after” Could be written more concisely. Perhaps consider:
I suppose he had considered the legal implications of molesting my female aquaintances.
The section after that could be cut entirely since it is just confusing.
Consider phrasing, ”Normally, we will drink with Jason” as We normally drink with Jason…
I saw a few other things about the story and if you would like I could do a line by line for you. Just email or comment if you have any questions.
December 14, 2006
Deleted User
Oh, it’s gross and awful, yes, but well written – a nice mix of literary style and random teenage shit. a few things in the last paragraph seem to take away from it. wondering if this would be better ending with ”...the after this happened.” either way, not too important.
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