Beers, boys and bruised bladders

That Girl has had several busy weeks in a row and finally decided that it was time to take a mini road trip to see friends and remember what it's like to love the shit out of life for a weekend.  So, like the ol' Cheers adage goes, I wanted to "go where everybody knows your name".  So I did.  And it was awesome.  You can't plan weekends like this one.  I spent part of the day with the ones I love the most, playing with the kids, shopping with my sister and enjoying a bit of normalcy. 

Come sundown though, it was time for beers and debauchery.  Lots and lots of debauchery.  I wanted a night that wouldn't soon be forgotten and that's exactly what I got.  Starting at one bar, I was greeted  by friends I hadn't seen in months with comments about how good I look.  It was a giant step up from a bar with Big Mac.  Got my beers and my girls, what more do you need, right?

The night got interesting as we hopped from bar to bar.  Finally settling in our favorite watering hole, I find myself sitting next to an old friend from the summer of Special K.  You see, that summer was an experiment with ketamine and a wide range of hallucinogenics and coed softball.  Dub as I will refer to him, was a much welcome blast from the past!  As we reminisced and caught up, Dub, who was double fisting it, knocked me on my ass and took my breath away. 

"What are you doing these days, Dub?"

"I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow," he said. 

"Really?  Wow.  That's too bad."

"You should have sex with me.  I mean, I'm leaving for Afghanistan tomorrow.  You could be the last woman I ever have sex with.  It's, like, your patriotic duty!  It would be un-American of you NOT to have sex with me!  Are you an American?!"

I laughed so hard, saluted him, said God Bless America, spread my legs under the booth and said, "Well, in that case, climb on in!"  It had to be one of the best pick up lines ever.  And it was definitely classic Dub. 

As the bar closed, we found ourselves in the parking lot trying to figure out plans for the rest of the evening.  Dub invited us back to his friend Skippy's house for more beers.  We kindly obliged.  As the hours moved on, the moon moved past and the beers dwindled, our laughs became louder, the jokes better and the bond stronger.  These are the nights that I miss living in the city.  In that small town, there's always a porch to sit on in the dark and watch the stars crawl slowly by as the trains whistle in the distance. 

Sitting at Skippy's, I came out of the bathroom to find TJ, another flake from the summer of Special K, sitting in my lawn chair.  After hugs and high fives and a few quick quips from the past, we continued our socialization and antics. 

"Hey, come here for a second," TJ said, not moving from his lawn chair.

I walked over and bent down next to his chair as he motioned me closer, as if he had a secret to tell.

"Can I just see, like, one of your nipples?" he asked with a straight face, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"No!  I am a classy lady!" I quipped.

"I know you are, that's why I asked discreetly and I just meant me, not everybody else."  TJ's logic was flawless.  He had me there.  But Skippy had heard.  Skippy announced it, told TJ to leave me alone and we all had a good laugh, a hearty laugh, the kind that makes your cheeks hurt.

TJ's antics, Dub's commentary and the additional beers culminated in even more pick up lines.  My heart was truly won over when Skippy asked if he could "bruise my bladder later".  I laughed so hard, I nearly peed my pants!

Slowly the crowd faded away.  One by one, taxis arrived, couches were found, short drives were made and I found myself sitting on the stoop with Skippy enjoying the last of my now luke warm beer.  We talked about music, being middle children, our siblings, and what seems like a million more single sentence conversations.  Before I knew it, the sky began to turn a deep turquoise-lavender.  A train rolled by a few blocks away blowing it's whistle loud enough to break our speech and stop our lips.  It was in that moment that we found ourselves in one of those awkward moments of direct eye contact, the kind where you can feel the kinetic connection, the kind where you feel like your touching but you're not... the kind where your breaths synchronize themselves but your heart beats take on a mind of their own. 

Skippy leaned in, gently grabbed my chin, and kissed me.  The next moments were lost until the train whistle stopped and was replaced by birds chirping.  I opened my eyes and it was light.  The sun was coming up.  That morning, I laid myself softly down in Skippy's bed.  We continued to make out for what seemed like hours.  As I traced the tattoo on his right bicep with my finger, I felt a roughness.  I could tell it was a scar. 

"What story does this tell?" I asked him quietly. 

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked. 
"I want to know it all." I replied. 

"Have you ever heard of the USS Cole?" he said quietly.  I could feel his heart racing through his chest as it laid on top of mine. 

At 20 years old, Skippy was serving in the US Navy when the ship was bombed.  He still has shrapnel in his arm and memories, more like nightmares, burned forever in his brain. 

Skippy kissed me again and again.  It was that kind of making out that makes your whole body tingle, that removes every stress, every insecurity, and fills every bit of time and space. 

Skippy called last night to see if I made it home okay, to see when I was coming back and to tell me that he missed my lips.  I know, that this night will never happen again, but the memory of it all is enough to keep me smiling for at least the next few days.  Besides, who needs a hamburger when you've got peanut butter?  I'll take the Skippy's of the world over the Big Macs any day.