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The following is a fictional short story, written during my most recent stint in rehab. I hope you like it.
Title: Mountainside
I took a handful of xanax trying to kill myself and next thing I knew I was in the back of my buddy Parmesan’s van.
“Where are we going Parmesan? What happened?” I ask.
Alfredo snarks back from the passenger seat, “Don’t worry about it Mutti! It’s none of your fucking business!”
Alfredo is usually pretty torqued up, tense, angry and red in the face.
I look out of the window to my left, but I can’t see much through the old Chevy van’s wooden shades, it looks like we’re on the highway.
Parmesan is driving like a mad man, weaving in and out of traffic. The van doesn’t have much get up and go, but it can maintain speed pretty well - on account of its weight.
Parmesan has it pinned at 95 mph. The old drum brakes don’t work well and the road is congested, so Parmesan is making some pretty aggressive maneuvers.
I reach into my pocket to check my phone, but it isn’t there. Great.
“Parmesan! Slow down god dammit! Where the fuck are we going and what the hell happened to me? I don’t remember shit.” I shout.
Parmesan looks sweaty, he half turns his head and says “Sh-shut. Up.”
Whatever. I get comfortable and try to close my eyes. My head feels like it’s imploding, I need to shit (probably diarrhea) and Parmesan’s driving is making me nauseous.
There’s a JBL speaker in the cupholder upfront, The Chats are playing. With my eyes closed I try to focus on the music and drift back to sleep, if you’ve ever listened to The Chats you’ll know it’s not easy music to sleep to.
I reach into my pocket and pull out a lint covered xanax bar. I pop it into my mouth and swallow it dry. Thank god.
Next thing I know, I’m being woken up by the violent slamming of the front two doors. First the passenger door slams and then the driver’s door.
I look out of the window and we’re at a Sunoco.
I climb out of the van and light a Camel unfiltered cigarette, the kind that still comes in a soft pack.
Parmesan is pumping gas while smoking a Black and Mild, wine with a wood tip - his usual.
The last thing I remember was getting back to my house pretty drunk, it was a Friday and I had been drinking the whole day while at school. I emptied my xanax prescription into my hand and then into my mouth. The next thing I remember is waking up in Parmesan’s van.
It’s morning, I can smell it - the air, it’s fresh. It must be Saturday, or maybe Sunday. I took a lot of xanax, I can’t believe I’m alive. Maybe this is a dream or the afterlife, wouldn’t that be hopeful.
I need a fucking xanax.
Whatever I did, I fucking chooched it up to be on some kind of trip with Parmesan and Alfredo. They’re my best friends, but the three of us together is like dropping a hair dryer in a bathtub - electric and deadly. I guess I’m not opposed to the latter. I’m too tired and fucked up to deal with the electric part. I’m not fucked up like being drunk or high, I’m fucked up like being strung out and going through withdrawals.
“Life is tough, get a helmet!” Parmesan chirps. It’s almost like he can hear what I’m thinking.
The gas pump clicks and he holsters it.
“What’s up you fucking Muppet?” I reply, dropping my cigarette and stepping on it.
I turn to get back into the van and realize that we’re towing a trailer with two snowmobiles.
Parmesan is walking around the front of the van to get in.
“Hey Parm! Why are we towing two sleds?” I ask.
He snickers and climbs into the van. It’s July and as far as I know we’re still in New York. Westchester.
I climb into the back of the van, where I was sitting before.
I wish I had more xanax.
“You gonna keep fucking with me Parm or are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?” I ask.
Parmesan snickers again and looks back at me. He reaches into the center console and pulls out a pack of caffeine pills.
“You want some?” he asks.
“Sure,” I reply.
He dumps a bunch in his hand and throws them back at me, they go everywhere. I pick up a few off of the thick plush carpeted floor and then pop them into my mouth. Parm pours three into his left hand and swallows them.
The front right door opens and Alfredo pops his head in. Alfredo climbs back into the passenger seat with a handful of scratchies. He hands each of us one, then tosses me a penny from the cup holder.
I scratch away… “Winner! $50,000” it reads.
“You fucking with me?!” Alfredo mumbles.
I toss the ticket up to him, he looks it over for a minute and says I better give him half.
“Should I just go in and redeem it? I don’t know how these stupid things work,” I say.
“Yea, go up to the cashier!” Alfredo says, sounding chipper.
“You better give me some gas money!” Parmesan adds.
“Okay, okay…” I reply.
I open the door and hop out onto the asphalt.
I won’t bore you with the details, but it certainly wasn’t as simple as walking in and handing the cashier the ticket. Here are the details:
Any winnings over $600 needs to be redeemed at a customer service center or by mail. We wanted the money so we looked up where the nearest service center was.
45 South Service Rd,
Plainview, NY 11803
The cashier told me we were in Katonah, an hour or so from Bronxville where we all live.
The boys were up for the adventure, we talked the entire way about what we were going to do with the money.
There was no traffic so it was a straight shot South and over the Whitestone Bridge.
We arrived and when I went in some fat bitch was at the front desk.
“One minute,” she said.
I watched her wander over to a conference room where there was a box of Dunkin Donuts sitting on the table. She either didn’t think I could see her or didn’t care, but she went to town.
She picked out the Boston cream donuts first, lining each one up with her open mouth like a pool shot. She was a sharp shooter and very deliberate with her movements, but she still managed to get cream on the outer edges of her mouth. Once she polished off the two Boston cream donuts, she smeared the missed shots across her cheek with a napkin. She finished up the spectacle by stuffing a jelly donut between her lips, the same way a piece of printer paper might get shoved through a 2 inch hole. Waddling back to the counter with raspberry jelly, powdered sugar and dried Boston cream on her face, we got to work.
The process of filling out the paperwork and actually claiming my prize took a few hours. I had to make a decision whether to get the full $50,000 in installments or take a lower, lump sum payout. I opted for the lump sum.
$26,000
Once back in the van I asked the boys what we should do next…
Alfredo whips out his phone and looks up the closest check cashing place, putting the pedal to the medal before he can even hit “start” on the navigation.
We’re rich, at least by our standards, for our age. I don’t think the money will last very long, but even if we had the time to spend it we have to be back in school on Monday.
We arrive at the check cashing place, I walk in and cash the check. After everything is said and done we’re left with just $22,687 to play with.
I hand Alfredo $11,000 and Parmesan $1,000 - leaving $10,687 for myself.
“Alfredo, let me borrow your phone to call Dijon!” I ask.
Alfredo tosses the phone back and I call my drug dealer, Dijon Champagne.
“Yo. Whatsup?” he answers.
“Where you at? I need to cop,” I reply.
“I’m posted up in Greenpoint, I’ll text you the address,” he says.
“Cool.” I say, hanging up the phone.
Typical drug dealer conversation. I need a fucking xan, I’ve been shakey and anxious all day. I’ve been using for about a year now, I rarely go a day without.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
Today, I want to be sober.
“My clitoris feels like a knuckle,” some junkie bitch mutters.
I checked into rehab, I’m currently sitting in detox.
Mountainside in Canaan, Connecticut.
Parmesan and Alfredo aren’t ready to get sober, but they were kind enough to drop me off. I still don’t know how I ended up on a roadtrip with Parmesan and Alfredo, why we were towing two snowmobiles when it’s April or where the money I won went - but…
Today, I want to be sober.