Part 3—One Week Earlier (Chautauqua 3 of 7)

(Author's Note: This is part 3 of a 7 part series. To read previous entries, please visit jonpenfold.com)

Chautauqua: A Story in Seven Parts

Part 3—One Week Earlier

I crush the golf ball with a Big Bertha driver, sending it sailing down the grassy field, before it hooks left and disappears into the woods. Not going to find that one.

“That’s the last of the balls,” Tex says.

“What do we do now?”

“Get drunk?”

“Obviously,” I say. “But where? And how? Remember, I lost my fake ID last week.”

“I don’t know,” Tex says. “Let’s ask around.”

We’re at Chestnut Ridge County Park, at our friend Jeremy’s graduation party. It’s fun and all—good food, good friends, good times—but it’s one of those graduation parties that take place on a Sunday afternoon, the kind with no alcohol, and being just two weeks removed from high school, there are few things more important to us than getting a good buzz on. So, we ask around.

Being the end of the weekend, it seems that everyone has to work the next day—suckers—causing our dream of drunkenness to fade faster than the setting sun, when out of nowhere we find a glimmer of hope from an unsuspecting source. “I’ve got an idea,” Tommy says.

Tommy is two years younger than Tex and I, about to be a junior in the same high school that the two of us will never have to unwillingly step foot in again. Since he’s the youngest person at the party, you’d think we’d be surprised that he’s our best chance at scoring booze, but we’re really not, for Tommy, despite his age, is not only as smart as a whip, but radiates an air of confidence that would make most professional athletes jealous. “I say we drive down to the lake,” he says. “Mike Smith’s dad owns a bar down there—all the booze we can handle.”

“Mike Smith?” Tex asks. “Which Mike Smith?”

[A quick aside: “Smith” is easily the most common surname in the United States, with just over 1% of all individuals bearing it. The reason for this is because names were once commonly based on occupation, so anyone who was a blacksmith ended up with the last name “Smith.” Well, there must have been a point when our little town was occupied by primarily blacksmiths, for it seemed that one out of every four students in our school had the last name “Smith.” In addition, “Michael” was by far the most popular given name for newborn boys in the early 1980’s, causing there to be over two dozen Mike Smith’s in our grade alone, which you can imagine created much confusion over the years. Thus Tex’s question: “Which Mike Smith?”]

“Fat Mike Smith,” Tommy replies.

“Which lake?” I ask.

“Chautaqua.”

“Isn’t that like two hours away?”

“An hour, tops,” Tommy says. “I know a short cut. Driven it a hundred times.”

“Even an hour is a long ways to drive just to get drunk,” Tex says.

“What if I also told you that I know a bunch of hot girls who live down there?”

There’s no reason not to believe him, and as for obtaining alcohol—the most essential ingredient to our happiness—and girls—the second most essential ingredient—we have no other prospects. So, road trip it is. Oh, the things teenage boys will do for the chance of women and booze.

To be continued...