Me, You and Peon

Sitting in your haphazard basement, we’d laugh, play video games and smoke. Our laughter would echo throughout your Dad’s house as we watched our favorite comedian dash around in women’s shoes. We’d take pictures in silly costumes, pushing our faces together to fit on the same screen. I’d stick out my tongue and you’d gasp. The uploading…that’s what always made us laugh. The pictures were always such disasters. We’d post them to our web profiles, not a care in the world.

Most nights we’d pile into your broken down deathmobile. You’d call it your piece-of-shit-Neon – Peon for short. The doors creaked when they shut and the hood fluttered under the weight of the speeding wind. We eventually pegged pins into the hood to hold it down but it’d still lurch. We even spray-painted it multi colors. We wanted this jalopy to stand out – to be an eyesore to everyone who witnessed it. In the end, it just put our immaturity on display. We celebrated our youth – smiling in the face of age with a hearty grin.

In matching uniforms, we worked peculiar hours in nearly vacant convenience stores. We giggled into intercoms and sliced meat for sandwiches with our eyes closed. Often, we’d triumphantly drink liquor from the bottle in the weathered basement and subzero freezer. A little glazed over, we’d smile at strangers, sneaking glances at our watches.

What little money we scooped together, we’d spend frivolously. I’d spend my money on tattoos, you’d spend yours on piercings. We’d steal clothing together in the darkened dressing rooms of department stores. We’d walk out into the sunlight wearing six new shirts and three pairs of new pants each, bragging about the price of each respected piece. With our cell phone calculators whizzing, you’d always claim victory.

Our friends consisted of degenerate rockers, lovelorn atheists, low-level druggies, hardcore gamers, twitching lunatics, barely there heartthrobs, morbid assholes, quasi-military know-it-alls, Walmart employees. We always could find the fun ones… despite their short shelf life. A month or so here and there and we’d move on quickly to our next version of excitement occasionally rewinding. We’d smile at their comments, flipping our hair. We loved the laughter, the attention, the romance… It never lasted.

We sped off to places unknown. We slinked around when others were winding down for bed. We’d travel across the county and the state, searching for new areas to see and new avenues to travel down. Our futures were blank and we relished in the nights that were spent discovering new passions, new experiences, new places… We’d hang outside of car windows, smiles exploding across our faces at the sight of a fast, dreamy man or a faster, dreamy car. We’d race our Peon down Route 37, hoping to attract the right attention as the flashing lights appeared. You always told me that no matter what happens, we had a good time.

As night fluttered away, the sun – despicable monster – reminded us another day had come to a close. I’d trudge inside, regretfully pressing my head against my pillows. With heavy curtains drawn, I’d sleep late into the afternoon. My eyes would burst open around the time the school bus arrived with my little sister. I’d toss a pair of pants and shirt on and rake a hand through my nearly afro-ish hair. I’d rush out the door… into the waiting arms of your filthy Peon and we’d embark on another day of work laced with debauchery.