Balloon Fiction

Ian looked up from his Captain Crunch. It was about eight o'clock, and the sun was going down on Delaware. On the rickety old turntable he and Todd had found at the Wilmington PTA Thrift, one of Todd's records was blasting strong. Ian forgot if this one was Steely Dan or Stealers Wheel, they sounded alike sometimes. But it was a cool song, and it was winding down, and that's when he heard the steady pounding from outside on Todd's porch.

Ian leaned over and kicked Josh, who was nodding out, as usual, reading an issue of Hit Parader from 1976, with Kiss and Bowie and Sweet and Thin Lizzy and the Sex Pistols all in one issue. Josh just ignored him.

"Dude! Get the door!"

Josh kicked him back. "Huh? You're closer."

"I'm eating lunch." To prove his point Ian lifted the bowl to his lips and slurped the milk as loud as he could, then leaned back on the couch.

"Well fuck you, man. I'm too drunk." Josh didn't even look up.

Just then Todd came back from the john and tossed an empty beer can past both of them into the big plastic keg barrel left over from last weekend's party, the one where they celebrated turning eighteen, Todd getting his own place, and them all being out of Mount Pleasant High forever. The barrel was already piled high with empty cans, and the can fell on the floor.

Todd looked at them both like they were morons. "Didnja hear the door?" He walked to the front door and undid the deadbolt. As the tumblers clicked, the door flew open and in stormed Rob, carrying a dangerous looking pistol.

"What the fuck, yo!" Rob's eyes were blazing and he looked irritated. "I been out there for five minutes, banging on shit. Don't you motherfuckers have ears?"

Ian pointed at the stereo system. "It's loud in here, dude. Quality tunes."

Rob sat down in Todd's big blue easy chair, the one that lived on the porch for awhile until the green couch broke because eight kids jumped up and down on it at once trying to synchronize their pulse rates to some Black Flag song. "What the fuck you guys been doing all day, anyway. It's like, eight o'clock."

Ian reached over to poke Josh, who was asleep again. "Drinking, man. What else?"

Rob set the pistol he was carrying down on the low coffee table in the middle of the room and pulled a baggie out of his jacket pocket. "I got some weed."

On cue, Todd came back into the room carrying his bong. "No doubt. Pack that shit up." He set the bong down in front of Rob and started looking through his record shelf for the next cut.

"Did you put ice in it?" Ian was real particular about how he sparked up.

Todd pulled out a Foghat LP, the one with the biscuits on the cover. "Yeah. Obviously."

Ian looked at the gun on the table next to the bong. "What you been shooting?"

Rob finished packing the bowl and leaned back to take a hit. "Streetlights, mostly. Maybe later we can go get that new signal at Papaya and Vine."

Todd spat towards the open garbage can standing between the stairs and the front door. "I hate that frigging light. The timing's way off, I'm waiting at that shit for like, three minutes with nobody in sight, for real."

Rob exhaled his hit. "Just go through it, man!" Rob was a terrible driver.

Ian laughed. "Yeah, and be like you. Fucking traffic ticket collection crowding up your entire car."

"They're just parking tickets, bitch."

"Well, I was right there you when you blew that stop sign." Ian swallowed one last spoonful of cereal.

Rob passed the bong to Todd, who lit up immediately. He looked pissed. "That was a bum deal, man. You're my fucking witness when I challenge that shit, get your story straight. There was a car broken down right in the goddamned intersection when we rolled up there, what was I supposed to do, drive right into it? Or stop in the other lane? Anyway, it would've all been good if two cops weren't parked on the hill."

Ian shook his head. "You numbskull. Why'd you go through the stop sign with two cops right there?"

"They looked like they were busy! You know who they were stopping? Rollo Hollo! Straight up."

"What?" Ian started giggling. "That fat bastard? No way."

"I found this out later," said Rob. "I saw him at the Be-Lo and he told me one day. But seriously, man, that's my first moving violation since driving in the breakdown lane on Wilmington Parkway."

Todd sat down on the worn satin pimp couch and put the bong down in front of Josh. He was doing his best to stay conscious, but barely holding onto the magazine, twitching every thirty seconds or so as he started getting sleepy. "You want some weed, man?"

Josh opened his eyes wide at the mention of pot. "Cool. Good looking out." He fumbled with the lighter but inhaled a huge hit, then passed the bong towards Ian, who was busy inspecting Rob's pistol.

"This shit sure looks real. It only shoots BB's?"

Rob took the gun from Ian and pointed to the handle. "See that right there? What does it say, big letters. It says, "BB."

Ian finished another hit and exhaled. "Whatever, man. It looks real. Shit like that could get your ass killed if somebody thinks you're packing."

Rob laughed. "The motherfucking mean streets of Wilmington. Get serious." He looked around the room. "Yo, I'm hungry. You guys wanna go to the House O Waffles?"

Todd jumped up and hit the power switch on his stereo. The record kept playing, but the sound died out except for the faint buzz of the needle riding the grooves. "Food! Let's go!" He stalked into the bedroom to get his wallet and keys.

Ian kicked Josh again. "Wake the fuck up, man! Let's go get waffles."

Startled awake, Josh kicked Ian back. "Fuck you, man! I wasn't sleeping!"

On their way out the door, Todd realized Rob had left his pistol on the coffee table. "Aren't you gonna take that with you?"

Rob shook his head. "Naw, man. House O Waffles is like, cop heaven. Place is just around the block from here, you know that."

Todd shrugged. "Whatever."

When the four of them walked into the House O Waffles, all heads in the place turned their way, including two uniformed Wilmington police officers sitting at the counter, eating omelettes. Ian fought the urge, but couldn't help turning away from their gaze. Rob looked oblivious, like he couldn't care less that the four of them were strolling in there drunk and high off their asses, in search of munchies.

They picked a corner booth, as far away from the cops as possible. Josh sat down first and slouched down as far in the seat as he could, then closed his eyes. Ian slid in next to him and shoved him, hard, under the table.

"Wake up, man! Cops sitting right there!"

Josh opened his eyes and sat up a little. "Stop fucking touching me, man!"

There was a coffee-stained issue of the Wilmington News Journal still sitting on their table next to an overflowing ashtray, two empty cups and saucers, and four half-eaten tubs of mixed fruit jelly. Rob and Todd started fighting over the paper. A waitress who looked about sixty came over and cleared their table. Rob stared at her a while after she'd gone. Then he turned to Ian.

"What happened to Carla, dude? Ain't seen her in here in a while."

Ian snorted. "Gimme a break, motherfucker. No way that shit was my fault. I tried to break it up the whole time we were here. But Josh wouldn't fucking listen. Just kept right on gabbing. Crazy Carla."

Todd looked up from his menu. "No way, man. You instigated the whole thing."

"No I fucking didn't," said Ian. "Josh, why'd you keep talking to that Carla chick?"

Josh leaned back in his seat, and Rob noticed he was sweating a little. "Who?"

Ian stared at Josh with a smug grin. "That crazy waitress, the one whose ass you got fired because you kept talking to her that night."

Josh looked pissed, but he was still too drunk to put up much fight. "I couldn't help it, man. People like to talk to me."

"Well, you cast some fucking spell on this waitress, or somethin', 'cuz next thing I knew, she's getting her ass bawled out by the boss over by the fryers, and she's throwing her apron down on the grill and walking the fuck out into the parking lot, crying. Place coulda caught on fire." Ian shut up when he saw the older waitress heading back towards their table.

After they'd ordered, Rob lit up a cigarette and glanced over his shoulder at the cops sitting at the counter. They were done with their omelettes and now seemed preoccupied with two cups of steaming coffee and a plate stacked high with Krispy Kremes, so Rob relaxed. Todd put the newspaper he'd been reading down on the center of the table and pointed to a photo. "Check that shit out."

Ian looked at it and laughed. "Fuck Alf. Any other alien could kick his ass."

Rob looked for himself and his eyes went wide. "Wow. Macy's Day Parade. That was like, this weekend."

"They had a Stimpy balloon," said Todd. "It's right behind Captain Planet, you can see his ears. Have you seen the one about Rubber Nipples?"

Ian started giggling. "Sick show, man. When he holds up the walrus, that's like, Jeffrey Dahmer humor."

Suddenly, Rob pounded his fist down on the newspaper. "Dudes! I just remembered! There's a giant fucking balloon shaped like a sandwich sitting on the roof of Sub Palace, over by the Wal near the Del Mall. I saw it yesterday! We could totally do a drive-by on that shit tonight!"

Todd looked skeptical. "No way, man. I'm not driving."

"Let's get Josh to drive," laughed Ian. Josh shifted in his seat and slouched down again, closing his eyes.

Just then the waitress came back with their food. Todd and Rob had pancakes and orange juice, Josh and Ian had waffles and coffee. Ian was smirking the whole time she was serving them, and probably would have said something about Carla if Todd hadn't shot him an evil glare. Then she was gone.

"'Bout fucking time!" said Rob, as he poured some syrup on his pancakes and started cutting them up.

"Why you gotta do that?" asked Ian.

"Huh?"

Ian pointed to Rob's plate. "Cut up your pancakes like a little kid. Talk about some silly shit."

"Fuck you, bitch," said Rob, and reached for some jelly to put on his toast. That's when he first noticed something was really wrong with Josh. He was sitting up straight to eat his food, but looked a little sick. Rob took a closer look at his face and realized Josh was sweating hard, with drops starting to pour down his forehead.

"Josh! You alright?" Rob looked nervously over his shoulder at the cops sitting at the counter.

Todd and Ian stopped eating and turned to face Josh, realizing something was up.

Josh swayed back and forth a little before answering. "I don't feel so good, man." Then he dropped face down in his plate of waffles with a loud thud that reverberated around the entire room.

Every head in the place turned. Rob didn't even have to look to know the cops at the front counter had forgotten all about their Krispy Kremes and were now staring straight at them. In a flash, Ian grabbed Josh by the hair and sat him back up. Syrup dripped from his nose and lips. Josh's eyes swung open, and Rob got dizzy just looking at his dilated pupils rolling back and forth.

"Shit, man!" hissed Todd. "Stay cool! We gotta get the fuck outta here!"

In what felt like slow motion, Rob's eyes went wide as he saw Josh pull something out of his jacket pocket and point it up towards the ceiling. Too late to do anything, Rob realized it was his BB pistol.

Josh slurred his words, but he got his message across. "This is a stick-up, motherfuckers! I want every fucking one of you down on the floor!" That was the last thing Rob, Ian and Todd remembered until they simultaneously woke up screaming in Wilmington Memorial the next afternoon, heavily sedated, being treated for the shock of seeing their best friend shot dead the night before by a uniformed Wilmington police officer inside the House O Waffles. None of them could ever eat syrup again.