Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

I yelled at him that day in the deli, like I always did. And he responded like he always did: “You said the same thing about cigarettes two years ago.” He was right, of course. Before my sophomore year in high school, I vowed I would never smoke. But that was different. You can drive a car and smoke a cigarette, and they don’t make you lose your goddamn mind.

Kyle had been a big drinker ever since I met him, but I was used to it and it never bothered me. That was just part of Kyle’s style, I guess. But Rick’s behavior broke my heart. To see him drink was to hear Maria lie. It was unnatural, offensive, and evil. He’d changed so much that summer, I wondered if we could even be friends anymore. He didn’t become mean or anything. If anything, he was friendlier than ever before. More relaxed. Real California. He was more talkative, had more friends, and went out more often. I don’t know, I just hated seeing him become an adult.

As Rick told me more and more about the party, I got more excited about the free pizza than the free beer. I figured I’d go to the party, eat, and leave within an hour or so. I couldn’t stand to see him lose control. Actually, Maria lived nearby. I figured I’d make an obligatory appearance at the party, and then, since I had the car, I’d planned on serenading Maria from the sidewalk outside her two-family attached house. Funny how things never go as planned.

“Can I bring Maria?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. I smiled. “But is she as anal about alcohol about you?” I told him that she hated alcohol as much as I did, but tempered my words by adding, “don’t worry, she’s cool.” Again, I wondered about her trip Upstate. But I believed her story, and tried to forget all about what she’d told me.

Strangely excited about the party, I picked Maria up at her house the following week. As usual, she was beautiful. She had a white sundress with a violet floral print and new penny loafers. It was a muggy night, but Maria didn’t sweat a bead. I, on the other hand, felt bullets dripping down my back and forehead. I was nervous about that night, I admit it. I’m not really sure why. I suppose that I was unsure about bringing Maria to a party with The Family since we’d never socialized with my closest friends before. Also, there was Maria’s lie about drinking, and now we’d be among dozens of teenagers guzzling Heineken. But there was something else that. Something… indefinable.

With a queasy tingle in my gut, I rang Rick’s doorbell, expecting the party to be inside. Nobody answered. Maria heard some laughter coming from the backyard and motioned for us to go there.

My introduction to everyone was knocking over a beer keg as I turned into his yard. About 50 people stopped moving and talking and looked at me—but only for a second, thank god. Kyle, his eyes watery as if he was already drunk, laughed his ass off as he came running over to place the keg upright. The party was really going. There were tons of people, especially girls, who Rick had met over the summer. Mike was sitting on a swing set with a plastic cup filled with beer in his hand. Paul was playing basketball with himself, using Rick’s driveway hoop. I didn’t know what the hell to do, so I just yelled out Rick’s name into the crowd. He came running over to me, clutching a bottle of rum, saying my last name over and over again.

“L’Enfant! L’Enfant, baby! What the hell’s up, dude?” I could tell that he was already a little drunk, because he never called me by my last name, otherwise. It made me a little sick to see this nice kid from freshman year totally lose control of himself like that.

Revolted, I placed my hand firmly on Rick’s shoulder and said: “The name’s A.J. ” He didn’t seem to give a damn. “By the way, where the hell’s the pizza?” He said there wasn’t any left. I wanted to leave right then and there.

I glanced at my watch. It was ten o’clock and we’d only been there about fifteen minutes but I wanted to go home. A light rain fell from the sky, but that didn’t slow the party one bit. Maria tugged at my shirt, leading me around the backyard, saying hello to each of my friends. She was so fucking cool. She completely cheered me up. Suddenly, I realized that I was with Maria, my best friend, and that was all that mattered. As Rick and Kyle and even Mike downed beers and shots one after the other, Maria stretched her tiny fingers around my wet hand. “Are you having a good time?” she’d say every so often. “I love you, baby.”

Proud and pleased, I strode around the backyard with Maria by my side, showing her off to idiot after idiot. At first glance, when I noticed their smiles and laughter, I assumed that they were in awe of my beautiful girlfriend. But then the truth became obvious: The Family, as well as everyone else there, was oblivious to my existence. They didn’t give a shit about me or Maria. It wasn’t on purpose, that much was clear. They were just having so much fun, because of the alcohol, that they didn’t bother with the two sober nerds.

Between the humid rain and the noise and the liquor, it was a terribly uncomfortable night. Leaning toward Maria’s ear, attempting to speak over the music and laughter, I said: “Let’s go home.” She acquiesced.

We left the party, I dropped her off, and began to drive home on the Interboro Parkway. I was going nowhere in particular, and found myself on rain-slicked Queens Boulevard, heading west. I zipped by the Queens Center Mall, Stern’s, the European-American Bank, and made an illegal U-turn at 65 thPlace near the BQE. Although I was only driving a beat-up Buick, I swear to god I felt like I was flying in a Viggen AJ-37, a sleek, gray, Swedish-made aircraft that I would probably never fly. It’s WEFT: a pair of small delta wings mounted on the side, in front of a pair of larger delta wings; a large, single exhaust; a pointed nose and bubble canopy; and a large fin with a small, slipped tip. Loaded with cannons, gun pods, missiles, rockets and bombs, it could easily level the mall in no time flat. What a great aircraft , I thought.

Around 46 thStreet, I was neck-and-neck with the 7 train, which rumbled above and to my left, lit like a jack o’ lantern in the murky night. Thinking I was crazy for racing a train, I ached to act crazier still. So I began talking to myself out loud: “Maybe I’m missing something,” I said. “Maybe Rick and Kyle and the rest of them know something that I don’t.” Like a punch in the face, it hit me. I don’t know what it was—a feeling, I guess, a compulsion, a drive. I had the chance, right then and there, to experience something I’d never experienced before. I asked: “How often will I get to drink with my best friends before I get to Colorado?” While skidding into a tailspin at the corner of Queens Boulevard and Van Dam, just missing a tractor-trailer parked in front of the 24-hour newsstand, I made up my mind. Now heading back east toward Woodhaven Boulevard, I felt at ease, as if I was finally going in the direction that the magnet was pulling me.

I parked my car half on the curb and ran into Rick’s backyard. Not an adult could be found, only teenagers. I pushed my way through the crowd and found Rick and grabbed him by the arm.

“Where the hell are your parents?” I asked, surprised at my own inquiry.

“They’re in Florida,” he said. “They’re on vacation. You can sleep over if you want. Kyle’s staying the night, and so is Mike.”

I looked around me. I saw dozens of people, more girls than guys, dancing and laughing and screaming. Kyle walked over to me, obviously drunk.

“Have a beer, my man,” he said, shoving a cup of brown liquid in my direction.

“No thanks.”

He took a swig of his bottle of rum, the same one that Rick was drinking from earlier. Rick and Kyle stood there, telling jokes and laughing and having a blast. Once again, they seemed almost oblivious to my existence. And then Paul walked over. I thought he’d be the only sober person there, but I was wrong. Get this: he had a glass of red wine in one hand and a bottle of Yeungling in another. We all talked for a while. Outside of school, I hadn’t seen my friends much since before I went to Virginia. Rick was always with his beach buddies, and Paul was happy being at home if nothing was going on. Mike gladly went to movies alone, and Kyle did whatever Kyle did. And I was always with Maria.