Ramon's Kickback
by j.charles @ textproductions
The address was familiar to both of us, but we couldn’t quite place where we knew it from until we pulled up in my white subcompact car. Phil was the first to notice it, because he has way better vision than me. The backyard we were going to be partying in was a familiar one due to the fact that our good friend Blake used to live in it. Not in the yard, there were two houses on the property. The main house was in front, and in back at the end of the gravel driveway was a garage that had been turned into a single bedroom.
As you walked down the driveway and just past the house it immediately opened up to a reasonable sized yard. Right in front of the studio was a planter which was overflowing with pumpkins, squash and tomatoes. The walkway breaks left and follows closely the edge of the house. Planters line the walkway, extending branches that no longer contain leaves or flowers, thanks to the drunken traffic flowing through the yard all day long. The fences that outlined the yard were reinforced with climbing plants and vines of various density and color, throwing the last flowers of the season. Trees from the neighbor’s yard and the few that grew on this side provided plenty of shade, keeping the evening light from the September sun diffused and reasonable.
Loud celebratory voices and the general hum of a good kickback were my first impressions as I walked down the gravel, past the side of the main house. Slipknot was blaring loudly as I turned the corner with a tall can in each hand, thinking I was going to slip in unnoticed. I got about two steps past the planter when the roar came from the buzzing crowd; “TEXT!” turns out, as it often does in Napa, that I knew most of the party. Patrick was the first to recognize my presence. (The same Patrick later referred to as cabbage Patrick). Chad, Ramon and Aaron were the next in the line of “what’s up’s” as I slowly made my way to the shade were the barbecue and food were.
Dennis and his lady are the ones who live in the main house, with their son. Dennis wants to be a chef and his talent shows whenever there’s a barbecue. He’s always gladly rubbing and seasoning and preparing anything that comes into contact with the fire. By the end of the night he smells like a campfire because of the amount of time he spends in close proximity to the grill. At any rate, he’s a cool ass dude, and a great man to know. Especially when it his backyard. I say my whats ups, take inventory of the food and realize i've been here way too long not to have opened a beer. Right then I hear the crowd go wild over another arrival; “PHIL!!” my homeboy had finally come into the party, after about a good five minutes of talking to the mail man. Phil was also carrying two tall cans, realizing what a good day it is to do so as I was making my beverage purchase. Phil followed almost the same path as me; giving dap, shouting whats up, throwing up a couple peace signs, slowly making his was to the plate of food under the trellis.
“What’s up, kid? You’ve been here five minutes and still that tallie isn’t open.” “Whatever, Phil. You know as many people here as I do. You know you gotta make the rounds before you start into drinking. Nothing like some lovely lady being all butt hurt all night because you forgot to say hi.” “Good call” he said as he lifted the beverage to his lips, took a nice long pull and proceeded to open mine for me. So in the short amount of time I had been there each and every one of my friends had to ask the same god damned question; “why the fuck did you bring beer to a kegger?” yes, these are my friends, and we love them for it. Quite possibly the most sarcastic and rowdy group of kids that i’ve ever beheld. Each and every one of us came from a different type of life. Each one of us, for the most part was raised here. And most of us were born here. We had gone to school together, played baseball, rode bikes. Several of the kids I had learned how to drink with over the years. Some of them I taught a few things. Some of the girls I had sex with. Some of my friends had sex with the same girls. One of them has actually caught me having sex with a girl that he used to fuck. Yeah, we have been friends for a while. Of course the group is ever expanding and changing. Jail had been no stranger to any of us, neither had probation or court appearances. But we were all good people. All of the people in that backyard or in that house had a dream. All of the kids I remember from redwood middle school were starting to grow up and play the adult game. Don’t get it twisted. We may look like adults, we may drive adult cars, and we may have kids, mortgages, credit card debt and d.u.i’s. But when it comes time to play, time to forget work and all that responsibility we still act like high schoolers. It’s strange, really. I’m sure none of us miss it, high school. But in some way that awkward learning faire that is being a teenager is a part of your life that you always aspire to. None of us here could sit in a car and smoke a whole eighth in an hour anymore. None of us would be stupid enough to drink six straight shots of 151. Hopefully. None of us would yell ‘fuck the police’ at the top of our lungs if the cops came. Every single person in this backyard has led a different path. Some are similar, but all are different. And they all converge at this point in time. Here in Dennis’s backyard. With the grill going, and the sun setting. With the dying keg as the center piece. With red plastic cups, cigarette butts, and party hats decorating the dead lawn. What are we all here for? What have we all amassed to witness? Perhaps it’s Ramon’s birthday party. I mean, that’s the draw, obviously. But is it maybe more? Is it that sometimes everyone, not just my group of friends, wants to be a kid again? Just to have a few hours of careless and harmless pleasure. Just to revisit what it is we had when we were still able to kick it every day and smoke. I think so. And if you manage to meet a few new kats during the course of the evening, then good on ya.
The only reason I bring it up is because I watched it happen. That’s what you do when you’re a writer. You interact with life simply as a catalyst. Play just enough of a part to encourage the flow of the evening. To encourage people to act like themselves. The first person I ran into that I hadn’t seen in a damn long time was a man named Vince. Actually I spotted him from across the party and gave him a nod while I was making my way. Vince came over, planted himself in the lawn chair next to me, and extended a hand. I countered with mine, and admitted I didn’t remember his name.
“I'm sorry, dude; I totally forgot your name…its right on the tip of my tongue.” And it was. It had just been so long. “Vince. And your names Justin, right?” dammit. He had totally made me feel like an ass, and I expressed just that. “Oh, it’s all good, the most important part is that you remembered me.”
“Fucking seventh grade science, man. I don’t remember much from redwood, but of course I remember a cool cat, what’s up man?”“Just chillin with my girlfriend for Ramon’s birthday. Usually she hates the girls that we kick it with, but she’s all excited to come to the party. So I figured id make the best of it and get started early. I’ve been drinking since one o’clock.”
It was a lot later than one o clock, and Vince had managed to at least stay outwardly composed. Not even slurring a word. Good for him. I was already starting to feel the beer, and I hadn’t even finished my first beer. It was exactly that reason that made Vince stray from his chair. He had been eying the keg since his cup bottomed out, and I wasn’t going to get in his way. Good for him. Id be there in a few hours time. Promise.
Almost immediately after Vince left I had noticed that there was a rather large gentleman sitting to my left. I had never met him before, so I proffered a handshake and announced that my name was Justin. My friends called me text.
“What’s up, my names Steve. Steve O’Dell. How you doin' kid?” Steve and Phil were good friends, id later find out, and he was cool with a couple people in the crowd.
“Still kinda sober, but I’m working hard on it. I figure another three or four tall cans I will be okay. Apparently I’m the only one who brought my own beer. I got so much shit for that when I came in!”
“Hay, lemme just say that carrying a tall can in each hand is a dope way to enter a party…”
“I agree completely.”
“And it shows that you’re not here to freeload. So fuckin' cheers to you, dude.” Steve held out the flask bottle of hundred proof peppermint schnapps he was nursing, and we clinked. After he took a swig he handed it to me.
“Naw, man. The first time I got alcohol poisoning was off that shit. A seven fifty of it, some Goldschlager, some tequila, and rum just to make it interesting.”
“Fuck that, man. Everyone ahs those stories about schnapps. And tequila, too. That’s what high school is for. It was in high school, wasn’t it?” “On the head. I was seventeen. And notice I said the first time. The second time was off tequila. Jose Cuervo, if you can even call that shit tequila.” So we worked out a deal, Steve took two serious pulls, and I took a shot. Ahhhh, peppermint schnapps burns so bad when it goes down. Especially when it’s the hundred. But it did taste good, and there was no way my breath wasn’t minty fresh. “Thanks, Steve.”
“No thang.” After uttering those words, Steve set his sights on the girls sitting directly across the table from us. One was an attractive girl, well proportioned and just bangin’. That was Vince’s girlfriend. The other wasn’t so fine. So of course Steve had to try to get at the fine one. He reached over and tried to whisper in my ear; “see the one on the right? Fuck those are some bangin' ass titties.” He made the cupping motion and tried to get her attention.
I agreed and explained to him that the guy that was just sitting next to me was her boyfriend, ant that I probably wouldn’t fuck with him.
“Which one?” Steve inquired. And I pointed to the kid sitting right next to her, the one she was affectionately leaning on. “Shit, I’d fuck his little ass up.” Again I warned that size was not a factor here, and that Vince had a temper once you got him going. Right about then is when Vince saw Steve motioning to his girlfriend to come sit next to him. I was just waiting for something to go wrong. This isn’t the place to start trouble, and there are two very capable boys involved. Vince said something to his girlfriend, and they got up and stood in a group with the not so attractive tall girl, out of sight of the drunk bastard.
Just to the right of me and Steve O’Dell was a folding card table with a wide assortment of beer-soaked items to choose from. The beer soaked chip bowl was there. So were the towels and starburst. Beer salsa? She made an appearance. Her name was ‘La Victoria’. She wasn’t quite hot, more of a medium. A seven, if you will. And for some reason at a party the table always becomes the trashcan. I admit it, I do it too. One of the packs of cigarettes was mine. So was a party hat. I had strewn about several beer soaked paper towels. Whatever.
Patrick found the starburst first. Chad was a close second. I knew right away that they were going into someone’s beer; it was just the logical thing to do. Both of them missed mine. I was ready for that shit. But Ramon’s brother, Miguel wasn’t.
“It’s going into the beer, right into the beer. I’m gonna call that shit.” with one sweet fluid motion everyone except Miguel watched an orange starburst come sailing toward his beverage. And we all laughed when it went cleanly into the drink and Miguel immediately turned around to all of us.
“I’m still gonna drink it. Its fine.” and with one sweet chug it was gone, the starburst was retrieved and used in retaliation, double dipped in beer.
I realized how stupid it was for Chad and Patrick to throw shit into my beer later on. It was, after all, a can. Not really the same opportunities as a keg cup. I realized this because I had finished my beer and was now at the keg, refilling my brown bagged can with some rocky mountain goodness.
And strangely enough, at the same time a few good salesmen managed to convince Ramon that doing a keg stand was a good idea. Drunk and swerving Ramon was going to invert himself and drink beer continually. One second for every year he had been alive. I pumped the keg up just a little bit to replenish what I had taken, and offered my services during this lengthy keg stand. Ramon was lifted upright and the tap was placed into his mouth. Absolutely immediately he began to laugh, and didn’t really stop when he started drinking.
Just in case you ever develop an interest, its two seconds. That’s about how long you can do a keg stand while laughing. It was drink, gasp, laugh, drink, stop, laugh. Cheers to prosperity, you drunk bastard. At least ya tried.
It had finally started to cool off, and I was officially drunk. There was no doubt about either. After the keg stand and a quick conversation with Corrine about masturbation and work place copulation I retired to a comfortable lawn chair with a full beer and my thoughts. The backyard contained enough people to be called a crowd now. Already I find that I can’t remember most of their names, and decide that I’m a dumb ass for it, but that’s how it goes when you’re drinking. Everyone had a beer in their hand d except, obviously for the kids.
In the final hours of free light a cheesecake with candles sticking out of it made its way to the back porch, directly out of view of the birthday boy until it was brought to his attention by EVERYONE staring at it.
“Turn the music down. Somebody go in and turn the music down, I got something to say.” And somebody went in to turn the music down. I remained in my seat with my beer and my thoughts, but threw out the occasional loud wooing for effect. The volume retracting drastically was what Ramon was waiting for to make his monologue to the crowd, and once it was made so, he continued; “I just want to say that I have the best fucking friends in the world. I’m serious, I’m glad you all came out here tonight. There’s a shit load of fools here. Some of you haven’t seen each other since grade school. Some of you don’t know each other at all. And all of you are so cool and having a great time, and that’s all I could ask. Thank you all for making this one of the top three parties i’ve ever been to. Seriously. Have a good time, there’s plenty of steak left, what is there, like six steaks left? Chicken, potato and macaroni salad is over there too.”
‘happy birthday’ began and rose until everyone was singing it, making a fool out of themselves, having a ball and fulfilling Ramon’s birthday request. After the song ended the candles were blown out to a chorus of wooing men, cheering girls and the occasional ‘fuck yeah.’ Ramon ate his cake with his bare hands. I didn’t have any. y’know, because of the beer and all.
Right then and there, after everyone said happy birthday and the party was at its fullest, and everyone convinced themselves to have just one more beer. That’s when the keg usually just blows and sends you packing to the closest chevron to re up on as much beer as you can fit in a backpack. This keg was no exception. It had been looming on dead soldier status for a while, and it finally went to keg heaven.
Chuck got riled up immediately and began a collection for a new keg, which I had also heard before, but I was just in hopes there really would be one on the way so I put ten bucks in too. It was Ramon’s birthday, after all. Slightly long enough for Ramon to ride the empty like a drunken Marlboro man and remove the tap is about how long it stayed in the ice, then it was off to refill the shell. We had managed to not only drink an entire keg; but also procure another one at dusk. Damn were smooth.