Doctor Johnson and the Red-Neck Block Party

(I have changed some names in this story...)

Chris' brother, Adam, was graduating from high school so we did what any family in South Texas would do. We buried a pig in a pit in the front yard to smoke for 2 days prior then bought some beer and whiskey for the kids and wine coolers for Chris’s mom, Mandy, and her long- time lesbian partner, Jerri. Combine that with some baked beans, a front yard full of guests, and a joint the size of a Sharpie marker, and you have the recipe for a full blown red-neck street party. Mandy even took the time to clean the dog piss off the living room floor!

My brother, Cameron, was in Texas visiting at the time, so he joined us at the party for Adam. We started drinking at 10:00 AM before the graduation ceremony. We drank throughout, and came back to the house to drink some more. Being a seasoned drinker and a full time bartender, I had a knack for all day drinking without feeling terrible and without getting belligerent. My brother, Cameron, while not being “in the business,” was a self-trained drunk. One of those natural talents, you know?

I cannot ever say the same thing for Chris. While he controlled himself to a degree during the ceremony, the after party was a whole different story. Once I had cracked my third beer, he had almost cracked his skull by falling on the ground, narrowly missing the charcoal grill that stood cooking brats and hot dogs. Cameron and I stood side by side, sipping our “Crrrs light” and shaking our heads.

“Whad’ya reckon we oughta do wit ‘im?” Okay, so my drawl hadn’t become that bad yet, but let’s pretend for dramatic effect!

Cameron arched his back in a stretch, yawned and scratched his stomach.

“I don’t fuckin’ care. We can just let him lie there.”

“Sounds great to me,” I said.

I still laugh at the fact that Cameron and I always seemed to be on the same front when it came to dealing with Chris. It was usually us, looking down on him, shaking our heads.

I looked at my watch. 7:32. The sun was still up.

We let Chris lie under the grill. I enjoyed the company of my friends without worrying about where he was and if he was getting himself in to trouble. Jerri carefully maneuvered her 300 pound frame around him to grab food whenever necessary, but otherwise we just left him alone.

“He HEEE….” Jerri laughed. “Boy just caint control ‘imself. Ya’ll been drankin all day, ain’t cha?”

Cameron and I nodded.

“Yeah, but we’re better trained.” I said.

Jerri laughed again. “I know you’ll train ‘im right girl.”

Mandy and Jerri liked me a lot. Say whatever you want, but I think it is just because I was good for Chris.

A short time later, someone had started a fire in the pit in the front yard. We all continued to drink and sneak around the back of the house to smoke the occasional bowl. Cameron had made a new friend, a petite little Latina thing from the neighborhood, and had disappeared. I looked at the grill and noticed that Chris was not in his spot.

“Shit.” I said out loud.

I asked Adam if he had seen Chris, but he was too intoxicated to understand what I was asking. I asked Mandy, then Jerri, but no one had seen him.

He finally emerged from the back door of the garage with a an open bottle of champagne and a handful of disposable wine glasses not yet assembled.

“Heeeyyyyyy.” He said as he stumbled a jagged path back to where we all sat, near the fire.

I put myself between his path and the flames to assure that Chris would remain a drunk moron instead of a drunk burn victim.

“It’s time to celebrate, man!” He thrust the arm holding the champagne in the air and spilled a bit on himself.

“I didn’t know we had Champagne!” Mandy said with a smile.

“I found it!” Chris said with a slur. “It was in the freeeezer in the garaaage.”

“Ooohhh.” Mandy and Jerri said in unison, as thought realizing something very distressing.

Mandy looked at me.

“We have had that bottle of champagne since our commitment ceremony. We were going to save it for our 20th anniversary coming up in 2 years.”

I ran my hand over my face in exasperation.

“Nuttin’ to do now but drank it.” Jerri said.

“Yeeeahhhh!!!!!” Chris yelled.

By this time Cameron had come back to the group, a strange glow about him.

“What the hell happened?” He asked.

I explained everything to him and he gently shook his head.

“What a fuckin’ idiot.”

After most of the guests had gone and the bottle of 20 year old champagne was polished off by people who would later throw it up, Cameron and I began the process of getting Chris in to the car.

Highly intoxicated people can sometimes be a pain in the ass. Chris put a whole new swing on this. Our attempts to get him in the car became a scene not unlike parents with an unruly toddler. He fought us, pushing himself out of the car, laughing hysterically. He would fight or go limp when we attempted to move him. All the while, giggling like a school girl.

After 45 minutes of fighting him, I sat on him in the back seat with my feet on his head to hold him down. Cameron locked the car and we jumped in the front seats and sped away. Chris giggled and jabbered incoherently the 5 mile drive back to our apartment in town. Cameron and I passed a joint back and forth in silence.

Once we arrived at the apartment complex, we fought again to get Chris out of the car. 20 minutes later, Cameron had thrown Chris over his shoulder like a rag doll. Chris continued to laugh. Cameron had to climb a flight of cement stairs to get to the door of my apartment. About 3 steps from the top, I heard him let out a yell.

“OH, I KNOW you did not just do that.” He dropped Chris in front of the door and turned to show me the wet spot that started on his shoulder and went down his shirt and pants.

“Tell me he didn’t just PEE on you?!!!” I said, disbelieving.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kick the shit out of your dumbass boyfriend right now!?!” He said, while yelling down at Chris.

I shrugged. I couldn’t come up with a good reason.

We dragged Chris inside and let him lay in the hall, incoherent, until Cameron had a chance to take a quick shower and put on some clean clothes.

I was in the hallway when Cameron came out. As he did, Chris stumbled in to the bathroom and attempted to pee. He forgot to pull down his pants and ended up peeing on himself instead. This time, Cameron and I just laughed.

He turned slightly toward us.

“Whaaaatt maaaann.” As he spoke, he tipped backward and fell directly into the bathtub.

Cameron and I laughed even harder. We looked in to the bathroom and found him sprawled in the tub, one leg out, with the faucet that always leaked, leaking right on his face. He giggled and licked the drops from chin.

“I am really tempted to turn the water on, but if I leave him here, I get the bed all to myself.” I said.

We left him in the tub. Only minutes later, our usual 11:00 crowd showed up. In the year that we had lived in Victoria, Chris and I had created a huge group of friends. About a half dozen of these could be guaranteed to show up around 11:00 Thursday through Sunday. It was a Saturday.

I was grateful for the company and for the joints that were being passed around the living room. My closest friends, Joey and Alban, had brought me an order of fries from Whataburger.

“What’s happening with Doctor Johnson?” A nickname Joey had given him months earlier, it stuck like glue.

“He is covered in his own piss and passed out drunk in the bathroom.” I said over a mouthful of fries.

Alban laughed, coughing as he blew smoke out of his nose. I told them about the events of the evening while we sat on the patio, overlooking the pool. We all laughed until we were misty eyed.

“Crazy vato.” Joey said at one point.

We sat for a few more moments until I heard my friend, Connie, scream.”

“OH MY GAWD!” She yelled.

We looked inside to see Chris, who had come out of the bathroom. He had decided to take off the piss-covered clothes. Problem was, he had forgotten to put any back on.

I am all for Man-scaping, meaning men who trim and shave. All the better to lick you with, my dear. Chris did this for me, but there was one problem. Being that he was only about 5’4”, 135 pounds it made him look like he was 12 , especially when flaccid.

I rushed in to the living room amid a storm of laughter.

“What’s up guuyyyyyyzzzzzzz.”

“I think that’s about enough.” I said as I turned him and walked him back to the bedroom. I pushed him flat on the bed, pulled some underwear out and threw it on his face, muffling his giggle.

“Fucking pull yourself together.” I told him, angrily.

“Aieeyyyyytt.”

I turned the light off as I walked out and turned to see him in the same position on the bed, with the underwear on his face. I shut the door and immediately decided I was going to sleep on the couch in order to avoid any unexpected projectile vomit to my face.

When I came back in to the living room, Alban handed me a 2-foot bong with a fresh, Texas sized bowl as Connie said,

“Way to go, Mom!”

It was like taking a blow to the gut, and I choked on my hit.

Jesus, I was a mom, wasn’t I? This was just one night. What about the hundreds of other times I had been forced to take care of Chris as I would a child?

“Fuck.” I said to myself.