One for the road

I was back in my home town for Christmas, it had been a few years since I was home and even longer the time before that. After all of the hugs and kisses and the catching up, my brother and I decide to go down to the bar we used to frequent, walking in gave me such a sense of nostalgia. I hadn't been in here in years yet the place looked the same. We both walked up to the bar, had a seat, and ordered our drinks. I order a Genesse Beer for old time sake and because I felt that ordering my normal drink would make me look pretentious. When the bartender opened it up and set it in front of me, I grabbed the bottle and brought it to my mouth to take a sip. On the way I got a whiff of it and it brought up the memory of the very first time I had it. By the time I had a mouthful I was already deep in the memory, essentially leaving my brother alone at the bar. I was brought back to a time I was hanging out with two of my friends, Jack and Tom. We were young, Jack and I were 15 and Tom was about to turn 17. It wasn't the first time I had alcohol, me and my friends would steal liquor from one of our parents' houses and go somewhere and drink it when ever we got the chance. It was a lot easier to just pour water in the vodka bottle than it was to replace beer so that's what we usually drank. But this particular night Jack was able to get some beer. His older brother had gotten caught stealing beer from his dad the week before and seeing as how Jack's Brother was always getting in trouble, he felt he could take it and easily blame it on him. Most of that night was a usual weekend night, us sitting around bullshitting and doing whatever stupid thing that came to our adolescent minds. I was finishing up my fourth beer when Jack turned to me and said "We only have two more beers"

"What" Tom yelled

"We only have two more beers, Dipshit" Jack repeated himself and add the dipshit for good measure. I was no math whiz but I knew the numbers in the situation did not add up. How we solved the problem of who wasn't going to get another beer was the way we solved every disagreement, we wrestled. First one on the ground was assed out. So, the three of us were on an abandoned Thruway overpass wrestling around in the light of a bright full moon, trying not to be the one who doesn't get another beer. After about four minutes of wrestling, pushing, and shoving all three of us we're still standing. At this point determination was high, Tom, with a full head of steam, charged at me. I luckily, not being a smart and savvy as I thought I was, move out of the way and stuck my leg out just in time for Tom to trip over it. As soon as Tom hit the ground Jack and I stood there pointing and laughing at him for a few seconds, then walked over and grabbed our victory beers. We open them up, cheers each other with a little bottle clank, and then took a victory sip. Just for a little extra poor sportsmanship we reminded Tom how cold and refreshing they were. They weren't actually that cold but bragging about warm beer didn't have the knife twisting effect we were going for. That sent Tom into a full-blown tantrum. He started kicking garbage, screaming and swearing at us. All in all, it was pretty comical and our laughter only fueled his anger. That is when he did it. Tom picked up one of the empties and threw it as hard as he could right on the Thruway. When the bottle broke it didn't have a normal sound of glass breaking on the pavement. It had more of a glass breaking on glass type of sound, as little trouble makers we were familiar with the many sounds of breaking glass. Then we heard the sound of screeching tires come right to a halt underneath the bridge.

"Oh fuck" Jack screamed "run”

That's when I made a crucial flaw. Instead of instantly running I lifted my beer and chugged in a juvenile attempt to not waste a drop and then ran. This gave the man in the car just enough time to see me run into the woods. With about a twenty-foot head start in the woods I heard the man violently enter, like a bull in a china shop. Twigs were breaking, branches were snapping, I wouldn't even be surprised if he knocked down a small tree or two in his efforts to catch me. I was running as fast as I could but no matter how much I tried the man was still gaining on me. After about what seemed like five minutes of running, ducking, turning, trying anything I could to evade him he was close enough that I could start to hear his grunts while breathing. He just keep on chasing, getting closer and closer. Then it happened, his hand came slamming down on my shoulder stopping me dead in my tracks, the man had caught me.

"Help, help, he's got me, help" I screamed at the top of my lungs hoping that Jack or Tom would hear me

"Shut up you little piss pot" the man said "Do you know what you did to my car? You could have killed me." To that I didn't say anything, there was really nothing I could say. After a minute or two of him just holding me there and catching his breath, he grabbed me by the wrist and started to pull me out of the woods. I started hitting his hand hoping he would let me go. I even locked up my feet in a feeble attempt to try and stop him from pulling me but he just ended up dragging me. In a desperate last-ditch effort to free myself I clenched my fist up and threw a punch. I must have misjudged how big this guy was. My fist felt a little short of its mark hitting him in the shoulder. He stopped for a second, but I could tell he was unfazed, he looked at me and then gave me the hardest back hand anyone has ever given me. Then he just turned around and continue to drag me out of the woods. From then on it was less like dragging and more like leading, that backhand had knocked me into submission. I was caught and now I was on my way to face the consequences.

As soon as we reached the edge of the woods, I heard a crack and felt the man release his grip on my wrist, not knowing what happened I felt him brush against me on his way to the ground. I looked up to see what had what was going on, to my surprise I saw Tom standing there with a big smile on his face. In his hand was a baseball bat size branch that he hit him with, he just dropped it, turned around, and calmly walked away.

"What.... Why...."? I couldn't even form to proper question before he turned and said.

"Hey, I couldn't let him turn you in, could I"? he said, only now the smile had turned somewhat evil "after all it was me who threw the bottle." I realizing this wasn't so much about helping me out as it was about self-preservation. "Jack's over here, let's get him and go home". Still in shock but not wanting to get caught I followed him. We met up with Jack and began to make our way home. I wasn't sure if Jack knew what happened, but every minute or so I turned around to check for that man. Tom just marched forward with the calmness of a psychopath. Not once did he turn around to see if the guy got up or was coming after us or anything. As far as he was concerned, that was yesterday's news and we got away with it free and clear. I guess we kind of did, we never heard from anyone about what happened, not that the police, not the man, or any word around town. For the next few weeks, I checked the newspaper to see if Tom killed him, but nothing. After that I figured he regained consciousness, clear the cobwebs from his head, and headed back to his car. It's been almost twenty years since that happened. I use to think about it a lot like every time I meet up with Jack or Tom or drove under that overpass, but I guess the memory just faded with time. Once I moved away I completely left it behind, along with almost everything else. It's funny how the mind works, a certain sight, smell, or taste can bring back such vivid memories that have been locked away for so long. Unfortunately this time, for me, this memory returned with a huge side of guilt.