I’ve got a very thin envelope of what I remember from my late high school years. Of course, I’m somewhat nostalgic for them, probably more so than most. What little glints of those memories I retain mostly concern the cozy moments of the garage attic, absent substances or really any higher experiences that would come later. My friend had a simple garage insulated with solely cardboard and heated by a propane tank but that didn’t stop us from marathoning films upstairs to exhaustion. If it was late Fall (and a weekend), you could count on us being up there, watching something mildly exotic and listening to Tobacco, Surfer Blood or other flavors of the month.
Tonight, it’s 70 degrees Fahrenheit when we begin and the film is The Sasquatch Gang, a needless Napoleon Dynamite cash-in that quite honestly, none of the “core” wanted to watch. In spite of us having seeing it already, it’s a guest pick by a newish girl within the group and her friend so we put it on. I suspect I might add two and a half more viewings to my brain by the time 4 am rolls around. Cleverly we wait until the pizza has arrives to start, in hopes of changing their minds. My girlfriend lives across the street (and probably would like the movie) but I don’t think to invite her. It’s not really her thing. Realistically speaking, I just want to listen to music but company is its own type of good intoxication
The temperature has dropped considerably within an hour, probably in the mid 50s, and we’ve gotten about halfway through Ichi the Killer. Truth be told, we did watch a tad bit of The Sasquatch Gang before the girls left. Now the core remained, bundled up in blankets and bullshit. Mine, like all times prior, is about a foot too small; soon enough I would be in a feverish conflict of cold and hot. The pizza delivery guy, an aloof friend, watches Ichi with us on his shift as our other aloof friend offers me PBR with heavy insistence. I think this is the tail end of my straight-edge phase, spurred mostly by being an involuntary geek. I refuse to even touch the beer, aloud. But I do think about it.
I can’t remember when I passed out but when I wake up, it’s to the sound of gunfire and with a grogginess I haven’t felt since last weekend. Everyone else is passed out on the grubby couches we’ve pulled up into the garage attic and at some point, someone put on Pulp Fiction before we all fell asleep. It has to be close to freezing, nothing short of that would fit Ohio. The three pervading thoughts of my head are of how cold it is, how greasy I feel, and why the movie is playing so damn loud. There’s a fourth, about how I forgot to text my girlfriend back. Naturally though, as a moronic teenage boy, that’s just a fleeting “oh shit” moment.
With some effort, I turn off the TV and close the windows, knowing full well there’s a propane tank running full blast in the attic. The cold is too much though. I wedge myself in the cushions of my couch in search of any heat and try to resume sleep among everyone’s snoring. The battery on my phone is kinda dead, otherwise I would text my girlfriend. She understands though, I hope. We’re just having fun.