Getting Higher

Chapter 5

Chapter 5When the bottle came his way again, Joe took a long, hot swallow, then sat back and smacked his lips. The whiskey was cheap, all that he and Crank could afford at the time, but together with the dope, it still made Joe feel good. His head spun, turning endless, airy cartwheels within itself; he felt like he was floating in midair, though in truth, he was sitting on the floor of Crank's apartment with a bottle between his knees. He felt good, high, free from the stingy, strong pull of Brownstown.

"So man, this is the right way to spend an evening, y'know?" Joe laughed and took another drink. Crank was also on the floor, sitting against the crate he used for a table. He was facing Joe, and was also feeling pretty high from the whiskey and dope. In his arms, he cradled his m*******a pipe, and every once in a while, he sucked on it absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, yeah, you got it, pal. This is what it's all about." Crank took a deep tug on the bong, then leaned over and handed it to Joe. "Wanna' trade, man?"

Joe laughed, then took the bong and passed Crank the bottle. The two had been doing this for the past two hours, ever since they had come home from Tap's. On the way back, they had picked up the whiskey at the liquor store, and Crank had dug into his secret stash for the dope; then, they had gotten right to business. They had already been drunk when they left Tap's, and after two hours of guzzling whiskey and smoking pot, they were both stoned senseless. They were sprawled in ragged limp piles on the floor, grinning stupidly in the dim light, their conversation fading into unintelligible garble.

"So, you f-feelin' good, Joey?" Crank swallowed some whiskey, wiped his mouth on his hairy arm, and belched.

Joe sucked deeply on the pipe, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He held his breath, trapping the warm, acrid smoke in his lungs. "Oh, yeah...," he mumbled, losing a wisp of smoke through his teeth. "Oh, yeah..."

Crank chuckled, pointing a stubby finger at Joe. "Oh, rnan...you s**t-faced sonnuva' ...bitch...you're...oh, you're losin' it, man. You're fallin' asleep, man, you're losin' it! Ha ha!"

Joe's eyes blinked open and he laughed, too. "No way, you...you jackass. I ain't done yet ...not...not yet." Slumped like a boneless man against the wall, he had to crane his neck to suck on the bong again. As he did, a blissful expression crawled over his face. "Oh, this is great, y'know? This is a party...for sure."

"Yeah, bud," rumbled Crank. "We sure know how...to get it all together, right?"

"Yeah. We have got it all together...no two ways about it." Joe smiled and stared at the ceiling. "So, whatta' you think, man?"

"About what?" Crank looked puzzled as he lifted the whiskey bottle to his chubby lips.

"I don't know. Whatta' you think?"

"Watta' I think about what? Booze, dope, what? There's a shitload of things to think about. Narrow it...down, man."

Joe kept watching the ceiling. His eyes, though hazy with whiskey and pot, seemed thoughtful. "About...umm...whatta' you think about..." His voice trailed off in an inaudible mumble.

Crank was starting to look annoyed. "What th' f**k, man? You...fallin' asleep already? Wake up, damnit, wake up." At that, Crank's booted right foot thrust out and cracked Joe's kneecap. Joe yelped, then jerked forward like a catapult and grabbed his leg.

"Ahhh...damnit Crank...what th' hell's...your problem, man? That fuckin' hurt!" Joe rubbed his knee gingerly, wincing. "I was awake, you asshole!"

"Yeah, Joey, you looked like it. Uh-huh...wide-awake, for sure."

"Screw you, man." Joe gestured angrily at his friend, jabbing the middle finger of one hand up in the air. Then, he turned and plucked the bong from the floor, where he'd dropped it when Crank kicked him. "Oh well, this'll make it feel better. Yeah." He took a long drag on the pipe and again slumped back against the dirty wall.

"Hey Joey, you wanna' know what I think? I think this damn bottle of booze is empty. That's what I think." Crank turned the bottle upside down and a shiny clear trickle of whiskey ran out on his lap. He stared dumbly at the wet spot on his pants for a moment, then at the bottle. "Time for garbage, little bottle." Twisting around, he heaved the whiskey bottle in the air; it flew across the room, then shattered against a wall. Joe jumped at the sharp, tinkling crash it made.

"Ahh, man, less noise, less noise. What'll the neighbors think?"

Crank snickered and rubbed his hands together. "Do I look like I give a f**k, Joey? Here, gimme' that pipe, man. That pitch took a lot out of me. I'm burned out, now. Gimme' a toke."

After taking one last hit, Joe handed over the bong. "Here, man, get into it."

For a moment, the room was silent as Crank sucked on his bong and Joe stared at the ceiling again. The only sound was the rain outside, peppering the windows with a ceaseless tapping. It was still pouring down hard, even worse than it had that afternoon; the Stonybank River was slowly climbing its banks and the streets of the city were filled with puddles. Thunder drummed in the distance.

"Say, Crank, watta' you think...about Rocky?"

"Well, personally...I thought the movie...sucked."

Joe groaned, his eyes still on the ceiling. "Not the damn movie! That dude...you know, that dude that's always at Tap's."

Crank laughed. "I know who it is, dumb s**t. That was a joke...don't you get it? Ha ha ha...you dumb s**t! Boy, are you…stupid!"

Joe ignored the wisecracks. "Rocky said he's gettin' a job in Bartlett, maybe with Donald...Donald Duck trucking..."

Suddenly, Crank roared. "Oh, geez...ha ha! It's Donaldson, not Donald Duck! Ha ha ha...you stupid sonnuva'..."

He started laughing hysterically, uncontrollably. Soon, he was rolling on the floor, clutching his side; the bong clattered to the floor, fine dark dope spilling out of the bowl. "Donald Duck, Donald Duck...ha ha ha ha ha!!"

It seemed that Joe didn't even notice his friend's performance. He just sat and stared upward, mumbling on to himself. "Haven't you thought...you know, about...like, about a job?"

Crank just kept tossing and giggling on the floor and didn't hear a word Joe said. "Well, whatta' you think?"

His laughter subsided a little and Crank rolled over to look at Joe. "Hey, Joey...ha ha ha...how many Pollocks does it take...ha ha ha...to screw in...ha ha ha...a lightbulb?" He roared, as if that were the whole joke and there was no punchline.

Joe kept talking. "Only problem is, there's no...no fuckin' jobs to get in the first place. Who gives a s**t, right?"

In five minutes, Joe forgot what he was saying and fell asleep. Crank was still laughing.

"H-hey, Joey...ha ha ha...I just...I just s**t my pants, man!! Ha ha ha ha! I laughed so hard...I...shit...my pants!! Ha ha!!" He laughed and laughed for a long time; then, he drifted off to sleep, too.