The game ended. We won. Life moves on. Much time was wasted traveling via bus past the party location only to shower, change, and drive back. But I did what I had to do.

The party was at Richie Kidwell’s place. He lived off the farm to market road that ran parallel to the main highway that connected Cherokee Hills to Magnolia. This meant he was out of reach of CHPD who have nothing better to do than raid such parties and in the jurisdiction of the Magnolia County Sheriff’s Department, who could care less.

The only snag was his parents. They were almost as old as my grandparents, and they were conservative. They were home. They were asleep. That’s right. His parents were asleep at home, and by the time I pulled up there were thirty drunk teenagers making racket. The real beauty of Richie’s was the layout. There was the main house, followed by Richie’s detached efficiency (think carpeted shed) followed by a corrugated steel fence and barn. If we kept the party on the barn side of the fence, we couldn’t be heard from the house.

A few scattered cheers came when I got out of my truck. By the time I reached my tailgate, Ric was handing me a beer.

“As your attorney, I advise you use this to swallow this,” he said in his best Benicio del Toro as Dr. Gonzo voice, handing the beer to my right hand and a blue oval to my left.

“Is this wh . . .”

“Yes,” Ric said, cutting me off. I gladly popped the pill, knowing I’d be able to catch up on the short order of things. When I felt the sting of beer hitting the lining of my empty stomach, I knew this night had epic potential.

“So, what’s going on in the smoke house?” I asked Ric, who had obviously just left the glorified shed.

“Zane and Bill are in there with about an ounce. Everybody’s taking turns rolling joints,” he said with great effort. Apparently his alprazolam had already kicked in. “We should go there.”

“How many of those footballs did you take?” I curiously inquired.

“I’m two beers ahead of a plane ride,” he replied, referencing my father’s travel advice.

“Two blues and eight beers?” I confirmed. He nodded in agreement.

“I need to catch up,” I realized and turned the bottom of my cup skyward.

“You aren’t driving anywhere, I hope,” I threw out, hoping it would stick.

“I didn’t even drive here,” my pint-sized friend said as we made our way to the smoke house. Considering its lack of contents, my red plastic cup needed a refill. We stopped at the keg along the way. “Crazy” Ray Pullman was the acting keg Nazi.

“Ginnings! Great game,” he said while ripping the cup from my hand.

“Did I man the sideline like never before?” I asked, displeased with his seeming sarcasm.

“Don’t be an asshole. I meant it. That tackle you made was awesome. That fullback never saw you coming,” he said, offended with my lack of faith. “Biggest hit of the night next to that bong rip I took at Wesley’s.”

He handed me the cup. Ray abandoned his position of power and joined our journey to the tiny dwelling. He knew where I would be going upon arrival. We opened the door to find all of the usual suspects. Zane, Bill, and Wesley were huddled over the desk where I saw the ounce Ric had told me about.

Sure enough, they were all rolling joints. On the couch were Kristi, Taylor, and Jessica. The former were hangers on to the ZBW crew. The latter was my defensive line coach’s daughter.

“Ben Ginnings, just the man I wanted to see. The rest of the team could learn a lot from you,” he said as he finished the task at hand. “You’re the only one who shows up to these.”

He handed me the result of his effort: a slightly misshapen yet smokable monstrosity. I looked at him disappointedly shaking my head.

“Come on Z, you can do better than this,” I teased.

“I know. It’s far from my best worst, but under the circumstance,” he mumbled, confirming the source of Ric’s party favors. Soon, Bill and Wesley were finished, so the nine occupants of the room began a three-way rotation. Joint rotations end up turning into joke telling circles when Ray and I get involved.

“Hey Ray,” I called, despite the fact he was next to me in the circle.

“Yeah,” he replied.

“What did one condom say to the other as they walked into the gay bar?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“We’re gonna get shitfaced!” I said to a crescendo of laughter.

“Alright, Ben,” started Ray. “Why is midnight bedtime at Neverland Ranch?”

“Why?” asked Bill.

“Because that’s when the big hand touches the little hand.”

And a round of giggles ensued. The laughter died down, and a few more passes were made. Then Wesley chimed up.

“So, a chicken and an egg are lying in bed together,” he softly spoke.

“What did you say?” asked Taylor.

“Alright, is everyone listening?” he asked. When silence responded, he started over. “So a chicken and an egg are lying in bed together. The egg rolls over, lights up a cigarette,” he paused to take a hit. “And says ‘I guess that answers that question.’”

Bill, Ric, Ray, and I laughed immediately. The rest of the room stood still.

“I don’t get it,” Kristi spoke up.

I looked at her and said, “You know that age old question, ‘Which came first the chicken or the egg?’”

I could see the wheels turning, but it still did not register with her.

“Well, apparently it was the egg,” I said. I watched her face turn from highly bemused to slightly amused.

“How about that Little Johnny joke, Ben?” suggested Ric. “I know the girls haven’t heard it yet.”

“How about the Ryan Penn joke?” requested Ray, the foulest of our group.

“Are you trying to get me slapped?” I asked, knowing full well that joke wouldn’t go over.

“I haven’t heard that one,” Bill said. My sphincter tightened. I knew I would now be forced to tell the joke.

“Is it really gross?” Jessica asked, intrigued at the prospect of a truly dirty joke.

“You’ve got to tell it now,” Ray added in his typical “I told you so” tone of voice.

“You think I haven’t figured that out by now. I’m just preparing myself mentally,” I snapped at him.

“Easy killer,” Ric said calmly. “What about the Little Johnny joke?”

“I almost forgot. Fucking Xanax,” I said. Everyone giggled. “Ok. First the Little Johnny joke, then the Ryan Penn joke.”

“Thank you,” Ray and Ric said simultaneously.

“Alright,” I began and cleared my throat. “Little Johnny woke up early one Saturday morning. He wanted a bowl of cereal. They kept the cereal on the top shelf above the stove. He couldn’t reach it.”

I paused for the joint being handed to me. I took my regulation two hits, passed it on, and continued, “He couldn’t reach it, so he walked right into his parent’s bedroom. Lo and behold Mom was riding Dad cowgirl style.”

I paused for laughter. When everyone quieted down, I continued, ”Little Johnny, shocked, looked at his mother and asked, ‘Mom, what are you doing to my dad?’” More laughter interrupted the flow of the joke.

“Mom was quick on her feet. She said, ’Well, sometimes your dad gets so full of hot air I have to bounce up and down on top of him to get it all out.’” On the words “bounce up and down” I did my best inebriated stripper booty bounce.

“Johnny looked at his mother, scratched his head,” I scratched my head, “and said, ’Mom, that won’t do you any good. The neighbor lady is just gonna blow him right back up again.’”

The room erupted with intoxicated laughter.

“Delivery. It’s all about the delivery,” Bill said. “And my man has it.”

“Now for the big finish, Ben. Come on, man,” Ray said, practically urinating in his jeans in anticipation.

“Alright, alright. Hold on to your balls,” I said, taking the joint Bill was passing to me. “Just let me hit this first.”

After the joint was safely in Ric’s hands, I started the joke.

“So I was fucking my girlfriend in the ass last night. I wa-”

“You what? What girlfriend?” Kristi interrupted. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s a joke, stupid,” Taylor reminded her.

“Oh. Continue.”

“Ok. So I was fucking my girlfriend in the ass last night. I was really getting into it,” I began, looking right at the girls. “I had a fist full of hair. I was banging her head against the headboard,” I said through gritted teeth. The boys were amused; the girls slightly perturbed.

“I was right about to shoot my wad when she clinched down, pulled herself off, and looked me dead in the eye.” I paused for dramatic effect. “And she said, ’Ben, it’s presumptuous of you to assume I’m enjoying this.’ I leaned in real close and said, ’ “Presumptuous?” That’s an awful big word for an eleven year old.”

Groans and awkward laughter filled the tiny room.

“Alright, enough with the jokes. Let’s all make like the rubbers at the gay bar,” I said as I made my way to the door. Laughter and Jessica followed me on my way out. She came quickly from behind me and wrapped her left arm around my right. This caught me by great surprise.

“Escort me to the ale?” she asked in a fake British accent.

“Why of course, fair lady,” I added in my own.

“Ben, you’re so funny,” she said, doe-eyed and obviously past the point of no return. The devil on my left shoulder told me to take advantage. The decent human being in my brain told me we would both regret such action.

“I just have a gank load of jokes memorized,” I told her matter-of-factly.

“It isn’t just that. You have a way of making everyone around you feel a little bit better,” she continued, dropping her hand to take mine. My heart was racing and excitement spread through my entire body. As we reached the keg, there was a small crowd. I noticed a few interested eyes gazing on us, but hoped they would forget the scene by Monday morning.

I refilled our cups, my mind searching for how to deal with this situation that sprung up on me. I was saved when Betsy and Laci found Jessica.

“Jess! Omigod, we’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Laci screamed. She must have taken a bottle of vodka to the game by the appearance of her.

“I’ve been in the house,” she said. The girls embraced and made their intoxicated calls to the night. I handed Jessica her cup, and gently made my way for my truck. I sat on the tailgate alone, drinking my beer and contemplating the events of the past fifteen minutes. She’s just fucked up right now. There is nothing to read into. She’s just drunk. She’s probably taken a couple footballs. Besides, Rhianna is coming around. You don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, I told myself over and over.

“Ginnings!” screamed a familiar voice I didn’t want to hear.

“Ginnings, how’s your hammer hanging?”

“Short and shriveled as always,” I answered without looking at my new accomplice. I knew the voice was that of Jonathon Thomas. Everyone called him either Johnny or JT. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t like the guy. I have always considered him to be one of the best people in this god-forsaken town. But he has a tendency to make up stories and never shut up, and I was in no mood for that.

“Righteous party, huh,” he said. “I can’t believe Rich’s parents are asleep inside.”

I knew the longer we were alone, the longer it would take to get rid of him. So I turned the bottom of my cup to the waxing moon and showed the empty cup to Johnny.

“Time for a refill,” I said, getting up from my tailgate and heading toward the barn before he had a chance to react. My plan worked. As with every party, a substantial group of people were congregated close to the alcohol and Johnny was distracted enough to forget about me.

“Ginnings, dude. You have to come see this,” Richie said out of nowhere. He grabbed my shirtsleeve and was dragging me toward his room before I had an opportunity to protest. “You’re gonna shit your pants.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked.

“No questions, just go inside,” He said as he opened the door. And he was right. I nearly had to change my undies. In the middle of his floor stood a bong taller than I am. It was constructed of empty soda bottles and packing tape. On one end, Zane was lighting a bowl. On the other end, Ray was drawing a suicide hit. The small crowd of people who were allowed inside were cheering. Ray waved his hand in front of his neck in the international sign for “no more.” Zane pulled the lighter away and removed his hand from the carburetor. Ray sucked back what must have been over a cubic yard of smoke and almost instantly coughed it back out. Laughter, cheers, and high fives couldn’t drown out the sound of Ray’s coughing fit.

“You’re up, big fella,” he choked out as he slapped me on the back. Despite the fact I wanted no part of this monstrosity, I shook my head, bounced my shoulders, and addressed the business end of the bong. I was relieved when I noticed the care that went into the construction. It appeared to be essentially welded together with the packing tape just there to cover the few spots where air could get out. The carb hole was huge. About the size of a tennis ball. Now I saw how Ray had managed to suck so much smoke so quickly.

“Just tell me when,” Zane commanded. After a couple deep breaths, I decided to throw caution to the wind. I nodded, and Zane put the flame on the bowl. Knowing I would never hear the end of it if I didn’t, I pulled until the entirety of the bowl was gone. A shocked Zane removed his hand from the carb. Almost instantly, my lungs were filled beyond capacity. I kept it inside for about a half second before exploding into the same coughing fit Ray had.

“Jesus, that’s the biggest rip I’ve ever seen,” Zane said in admiration.

“I had to one-up Ray,” I managed to squeak out. “Beer. Where’s my beer?”

“Here you go,” said a familiar voice. Jessica handed me a cup of Bud Light. Here we go again.

“That was impressive,” she said, scooting a little closer to me. We stood around and watched as a few more victims were claimed by Frankenbong as he became known. Our cups were empty, so we headed back to the barn only to find there was no more beer in the keg.

“No need to worry, Ben,” Jessica whispered in my ear. “I have a few bottles in my car.”

So we made our way to her black Trans-Am. As promised, there was a cooler with four beers in her back seat.

“A true professional,” I remarked as she handed me one.

“I always keep a nightcap in the car,” she told me. “Just in case.”

“Well, thank you,” I said, reaching my bottle toward her. She clicked her bottle on mine. “You said ‘nightcap.’ That seems to suggest you’re about ready for bed.”

“Yeah, I’m getting sloppy,” she said.

“Did you mean ‘sleepy?’” I asked for clarification.

“What did I say?”

“’Sloppy.’”

“Eh, they both work,” she said. We laughed, and she put her head on my shoulder and her beerless arm around me.

“Where are you sleeping?” I asked out of desire as much as curiosity.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” she said, looking into my eyes.

“I’m sleeping in my truck.”

“That sounds like a comfortable enough place for me,” she said. This was the exact situation most guys in my class dream about. An obviously intoxicated girl wanted to get into my truck for bed. I was mortified as much as aroused.

“Alright. After these beers are gone, let’s head that way,” I said. She flung her half full beer into the pasture, then pulled mine out of my hand and did likewise.

“Looks like they’re gone,” she said, smiling seductively.

We walked to my truck. And by that, I mean I walked to my truck holding up Drunky McDrunkerson. As much as I knew I could take advantage of the situation, I decided to be the nice guy and swore to myself I wouldn’t do anything inappropriate. I unlocked the doors and crawled in from the driver’s side to lay the seats down as Jessica leaned against the passenger’s side. I climbed out, and opened the door for her. As she climbed in, she ran her finger from my lips, down my stomach. I stopped her before she could find my erection. I shut the door behind her, walked around the bed, and got into the driver’s seat.

“Not the most comfortable thing in the world, but I imagine we’ll be able to fall asleep in our states,” I said. She shushed me and put her index finger over my mouth. She slid her hand to the back of my head and pulled my mouth to hers. The energy transfer temporarily suspended my thoughts, and I lost myself in the bliss of the moment. I soon snapped back to reality and pulled away.

“What?” she asked. “Do you not want me?”

“Quite the contrary,” I leaned back to show her the tent in my shorts. She smiled, moved her hands to my thighs, and was working them toward the source of the lift. I grabbed her wrists firmly, lifted her hands and clasped them together in mine. I looked her straight in the eye.

“It’s not that I don’t want this. It’s not that I haven’t thought about this on many lonely nights,” I said.

“Then what is it?” she asked, confused.

“It’s not right. Not like this. Not with both of us in the state we’re in. We’ll both regret this come Monday morning, and you know it,” I said. The look on her face said everything I needed to hear. She reached for the door handle. I locked the doors.

“You don’t need to go,” I said.

“But I feel so stupid,” she responded.

“You’re not stupid. I stopped us both before we got stupid,” I said in hope of comforting her. “I know if you get out of this truck you’re getting into that car. As your friend, I can’t let that happen. So I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen.”

She looked at me skeptically.

“The mood is dead, so we don’t have to worry about that now. So you’re going to lay your head in my lap, I’m going to put my arm around you, and we’re going to wake up tomorrow and still be friends.”

Her look of skepticism turned to thankful appreciation. I couldn’t resist giving her a kiss on the forehead before she laid her head down. It was appreciated. And I wrapped my right arm around her and rested my hand over her belly button. After five minutes of restless quiet, Jessica broke the silence.

“Ben,” she said as softly as a cherub.

“Uhh,” I growled as much as said.

“You’re probably the sweetest guy I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” she kept on, turning her body to face me. “Most guys wouldn’t have done what you did. They would have just let it go on.”

“I’m not most guys.”

“I know. And I’m glad,” she said before giving me a peck of appreciation.

“Goodnight,” I said.

“Goodnight,” she said and rolled over.