Read Online All the Wild Children by Josh Stallings - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Josh Stallings
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for bed.”
“I don’t wanna. Look up. Where’s Orion?”
“Not in that tree, now come on dude.”
He sneaks me into the house and into my room without Mom catching us. I have to bite on my fist to keep from giggling. Ironically the year before I had been pissed off because my mother made pot brownies for my birthday party. She was trying to impress some mustache wearing man she wanted to sleep with. This was during her sexual freedom phase. I didn’t eat the brownies then. I probably should have. I could have blocked out the dying moose sound my mother made when fucking Andy, the mustache man.
A few years later I will find my brother’s rig, he will yell at me, tell me he’d kill me if he ever catches me shooting dope. I guess I’m glad I listen this time. Two junkies in the house were plenty. That is the next time he and Lilly pulled away from me. But that is years in the future. At twelve he teaches me to play poker and drink whiskey. I will never become good at poker, I care too much about not losing. I do become good at drinking whiskey, a skill that serves me well for many years. From that moment on booze flows through my youth like a river. I can’t remember an important event that didn’t have some drinking involved.
I am 21, and it’s my wedding day. I’m nursing a hangover. “God I could use a scotch.”
“You’re not a drinking man are you, Josh?” My father in law doesn't know me well yet.
“No, just kidding.” I was a drinking man, and I wasn’t kidding.
I am 15, and have just gotten my wisdom teeth removed. I am chipmunked and high as a kite on Percodan when my mother brings me and my girlfriend Kahlua smoothies. Because nothing says I love you like mixing prescription drugs with booze. Not like I probably wouldn’t have done the same thing if she wasn’t home. So I guess I can cut her some slack. Like all parents, she just wants to be cool. She lets us drink and fuck in the house.
“I’d rather them do it here than in some dark alleyway.” She actually said that to the irate mother of a girl Lark was sleeping with. We are a family of great justifiers. We swim in fast moving rivers of denial and addiction.
When Ian Dury sings “Sex and drugs and rock n roll is all my body needs.” I think he is singing my theme song. White Punks On Dope? Fuck yeah, why not.
Sure Lark has pulled away, but I am running real fast by fourteen. I am coming on strong and gaining.
IF YOU CAN’T BE SAFE, BE FIERCE - PART THREE
(In which we learn to strut and stroll in platforms, and sing ‘diamond in the back sunroof top…’)
1975, 3:55 in the morning. Lark and I sit on a park bench. We are the only people awake. We own this town. We are free.
1972, I blow-dry my shag. I’m a freshman. I’m listening to Don Mclean’s American Pie on the clock radio. “What the fuck is that?” Larkin spins the dial, finds KSOL and smiles as Al Green sings Lets Stay Together .
“You’re not wearing that shirt,” Lark says.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Are you a fucking lumber jack?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get your ass kicked?”
“No. I don’t think I do. Although a good ass kicking does have a way of motivating a lad.”
“Shut up wise ass, put this on.” He tosses me a faded Marilyn Monroe T-shirt. I put it on. It looks boss.
“And don’t say ‘boss’. You’re not in Peninsula any more.”
Peninsula school was making art and weaving and going barefooted through mud puddles. Today is the first day of high school. Today I go to Ravenswood. Today I discover that high school in East Palo Alto is scary. Today I get in my brother’s hotrod ’56 Fairlane with my heart racing. “Man, crank that, I love this song. That’s the O’Jay’s right there, that’s the shit.” Larkin sings along to Back Stabbers
“I don’t wanna. Look up. Where’s Orion?”
“Not in that tree, now come on dude.”
He sneaks me into the house and into my room without Mom catching us. I have to bite on my fist to keep from giggling. Ironically the year before I had been pissed off because my mother made pot brownies for my birthday party. She was trying to impress some mustache wearing man she wanted to sleep with. This was during her sexual freedom phase. I didn’t eat the brownies then. I probably should have. I could have blocked out the dying moose sound my mother made when fucking Andy, the mustache man.
A few years later I will find my brother’s rig, he will yell at me, tell me he’d kill me if he ever catches me shooting dope. I guess I’m glad I listen this time. Two junkies in the house were plenty. That is the next time he and Lilly pulled away from me. But that is years in the future. At twelve he teaches me to play poker and drink whiskey. I will never become good at poker, I care too much about not losing. I do become good at drinking whiskey, a skill that serves me well for many years. From that moment on booze flows through my youth like a river. I can’t remember an important event that didn’t have some drinking involved.
I am 21, and it’s my wedding day. I’m nursing a hangover. “God I could use a scotch.”
“You’re not a drinking man are you, Josh?” My father in law doesn't know me well yet.
“No, just kidding.” I was a drinking man, and I wasn’t kidding.
I am 15, and have just gotten my wisdom teeth removed. I am chipmunked and high as a kite on Percodan when my mother brings me and my girlfriend Kahlua smoothies. Because nothing says I love you like mixing prescription drugs with booze. Not like I probably wouldn’t have done the same thing if she wasn’t home. So I guess I can cut her some slack. Like all parents, she just wants to be cool. She lets us drink and fuck in the house.
“I’d rather them do it here than in some dark alleyway.” She actually said that to the irate mother of a girl Lark was sleeping with. We are a family of great justifiers. We swim in fast moving rivers of denial and addiction.
When Ian Dury sings “Sex and drugs and rock n roll is all my body needs.” I think he is singing my theme song. White Punks On Dope? Fuck yeah, why not.
Sure Lark has pulled away, but I am running real fast by fourteen. I am coming on strong and gaining.
IF YOU CAN’T BE SAFE, BE FIERCE - PART THREE
(In which we learn to strut and stroll in platforms, and sing ‘diamond in the back sunroof top…’)
1975, 3:55 in the morning. Lark and I sit on a park bench. We are the only people awake. We own this town. We are free.
1972, I blow-dry my shag. I’m a freshman. I’m listening to Don Mclean’s American Pie on the clock radio. “What the fuck is that?” Larkin spins the dial, finds KSOL and smiles as Al Green sings Lets Stay Together .
“You’re not wearing that shirt,” Lark says.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Are you a fucking lumber jack?”
“No.”
“Do you want to get your ass kicked?”
“No. I don’t think I do. Although a good ass kicking does have a way of motivating a lad.”
“Shut up wise ass, put this on.” He tosses me a faded Marilyn Monroe T-shirt. I put it on. It looks boss.
“And don’t say ‘boss’. You’re not in Peninsula any more.”
Peninsula school was making art and weaving and going barefooted through mud puddles. Today is the first day of high school. Today I go to Ravenswood. Today I discover that high school in East Palo Alto is scary. Today I get in my brother’s hotrod ’56 Fairlane with my heart racing. “Man, crank that, I love this song. That’s the O’Jay’s right there, that’s the shit.” Larkin sings along to Back Stabbers
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