There is nothing quite like vodka. A truly beautiful drink, translucent and pure. From a ways, it
can look as innocent as water, which makes the first taste, that first dabble in to life the most
extraordinary burn one will ever feel. Vodka’s classic and sophisticated appearance can turn an
abandoned warehouse in to  Studio  51. Of  course,  drinking  quite  a  bit  can  help with  such  a
transformation.
Other liquors do exist and some are rather wonderful. All are said to effect the body in the same
way, but to anyone who knows anything, that is not true. Tequila flies away with the drinker’s
clothes, schnapps brings the worst enemies together, rum has temporary steroids and the right
bourbon can double one’s age. As fun as each can be, none gives the atmosphere that vodka does.
Some may say it is merely good advertising on the Russians’ part, but it is much more. Vodka is
magic.
Chilly   aware   slowly   awoke   my   senses   as   we   numbly   staggered   the   streets   that   fall   day.   A
manageable but annoying hangover was stating itself in my head and I’m sure in Tim’s as well.
Still, the mild ache was expected, especially since we had risen at the agonizing hour of eight
o’clock. That’s AM, by the way. But there was a purpose, a damn good one­ party planning. 
We were walking, just Tim and I, through a residential area of Lawton, Oklahoma; my beloved
hometown. I should mention that I am perhaps the only person to ever love the small army post.
The sparse population is as bored as they think this place is, but I believe that it is what you make
it. And I was making it glorious, indeed. 
****I’m sure Tim and I were quite a sight to see that morning. A white­buttoned, black blazer was
all I wore as a top, tight torn blue­jeans, and finally combat boots. My bleached, blond hair was as
much a mess as my face was, and to be honest I had not yet brushed my teeth. 
Tim probably hadn’t either. Now I could have managed to be a bit less conspicuous had it not been
for Timothy Walden. He was well over six feet at only seventeen years, compared to my 5’ 8’’ at
fifteen. He wore the tightest jeans he could find, a long tank top, and a black jacket. With bed head
and bad breath he reminded me very much of a drug dealer. But I knew for a fact he didn’t deal.
Oh, how easy life would have been if he had started.*****
“Mason, where are we going?” Tim’s voice had a tone that made me feel uppity in the best of
ways. 
“I’m not quite sure, darling. Let us just walk.”
And so we did, without another thought.
After a couple hours here and there we both unconsciously started heading towards Cam and Ally
Rook’s house. They were our favorite Asian sisters, not that we knew many others. Cam was the
older at sixteen, but also the shortest. She had long black hair with severe bangs that came just
above her  retro glasses. The  glasses matched her eclectic wardrobe. Her  figure and hair were
fitting for her quiet, but sometimes scary, personality.
Ally was fourteen, the youngest of our friends. She had light brown hair, blonde bangs, and was
still finding her personality in middle school drama. 
We walked up their cracked stone porch steps and knocked. We were here enough that we should
have been able to walk right in, but the Rook’s were a paranoid family. I had once left without
locking the door and was not allowed there alone for two weeks due to “lack of responsibility.”“The fags are here,” Cam announced as she led us inside.
“My dears, how I’ve missed this place.”  I looked all around the small living room as I spoke.
“How long as it been now? Two days?”
“You were here last night, dumbass.” Ally is such a lovely bitch.
“Oh, yes.  I  forgot.”  I turned to Tim and we laughed dramatically before sitting. A successful
entrance, I do think.
“So what are the plans tonight, my gay boys?”
“Well, hopefully a party,” Tim said.
“Obviously,” Cam said in the faked mean voice she gets, “but where?”
“Not here,” Ally asserted. “Mom isn’t going out tonight.”
I turned to Timothy. “Damn. Where, then?”
“I don’t know. Let’s go to the garage and think it over.”
I led the way through the back door, across the yard, and into a small, abandoned, falling building.
There was a sign over the entrance that read “GAYRAGE.” Earlier that year, Cam and I had spent
a week of our summer cleaning out the useless but interesting junk that filled the place. From then
on we used it for holding parties. It was soon decorated with hanging Christmas lights, thrift­store
furniture, empty liquor bottles and ashes.
Cam had followed Tim and I, but Ally stayed in the house. Tim sat on a faded loveseat and Cam on
a kitschy, armless chair. I sat on her lap and she pulled me down for a sweet kiss.
“I love you, my hag.”
“And I love you, my fag.”
“Excuse me,” Tim said as he lit a cigarette. “We have work to do.”
I began pacing, weighing our options for the night. It was many hours away, but time did seem to
just disappear for us­ especially when trying to have fun. Thank the gods for the all­night liquor
stores on every military post. 
But back to business. Where to go, who to invite, and most importantly, how to get the substances
needed for what we do. The same problems every night. Where to go…
“What about Danny’s?” Timothy said, interrupting my fruitless thoughts.
“You are genius. Pure genius.” He smiled proudly. I like to believe everyone has an unconscious
need for me to accept them, so occasionally I over­congratulate. It pleases me to please others, if
only in a small way.
Daniel   Austin   was   my   boyfriend.   He   was   nearly   my   exact   counterpart.   I   am   dramatic   and
spontaneous, naturally charming, femininely fashionable; he is practical and timid, loving, but
terribly insecure. What attracted me first to him was his potential. I could see a beautiful man
behind that lazy, closeted boy. We were nearing our six month mark now and he had come a long
way since then. So far, in fact, that I had fallen into that terrible pit they call love.
I had Tim call him. I do hate phone calls more than I hate an event without alcohol. And that is
saying something.
“Danny, my friend! Are you free tonight?.... Oh, really? Well then we should all come to your
place for the night! How about it?... Yes, of course Mason will come. We’ll see you soon. Bye
bye.”
Yes, of course Mason will come. Oh, my Daniel.
After establishing the whereabouts and having a few smokes Tim, Cam and I left the Rook house
and went to the mall. Lawton’s mall is small and uneventful, but had food. After the walk there itwas nearly three in the afternoon and we had yet to eat. We found a table and chatted over cheap
Chinese. 
“I can absolutely not believe she is pregnant.”
“Ha! I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Stop, she’s a nice girl.”
“Nice in bed, I suppose.”
“You would know, would you?”
“Don’t say such gross things while we eat, dear.”
And so on.
I called my mother to pick us up. 
“Mother, are you busy?” I asked. 
Always Mother, never Mom. Moms drive Volvo’s and head the Parent Involvement Association.
Mothers love you.
She wasn’t busy and came soon.
The ride home was fine, Tim and I spoke of the previous night’s adventures and Mother laughed.
The laugh had a slight hesitation, though, and that was due to her internal conflicts with my
actions. She had always told me that if ever I started having “adventures” I should tell her without
fear. I did exactly that. She lectured me over safety, but never told me to stop. The hesitation was
for my loss of innocence. I think that on occasion she and I both missed the times before all this. 
I lived in a split­level two­story; that’s the kind where the bottom floor is partly underground. It
was a fifties style four bedroom, two bath. The door opened into a small foyer with a wooden
staircase that led both up and down. The upstairs had an open  floor­plan with a living  room
leading into a  dining  room leading into  a  kitchen. Down  a  hallway were two  bedrooms, my
younger sister Abby’s, and Mother and Robert’s. Downstairs was larger, with one huge open room
that we hardly used. Two large bedrooms were also there, one mine and one for storage. 
My room was a mash of elegance and hoarding. A bare mattress and blanket lied on the floor,
frameless. Gray, velvet curtains hung over the only window down to the floor. Three large mirrors
covered most of the walls and the space left over was decked out in trashy art, expensive hangings,
and memories passed. The only furniture aside from the mattress was a vanity and its chair.
“You really should get some sheets on that thing.” Tim said accusingly.
“Thing? You never complained when you two were screwing on it.” He said no more, and Cam
smirked at herself. 
“Very true,” I said. I was too busy emptying my closet for a change of clothes to come up with a
better remark.
Choosing an outfit is a lot like numbers. Infinite choices, yes, but do you really like any of them?
I  finally  settled  on  something warmer than  I  had  been wearing. A  bare chest wasn’t  exactly
comfortable in November and I do look outstanding in a good scarf.
I stripped without leaving the room and my companions gave little more than a glance my
way. We had all definitely looked at one another in less than underwear and probably done worse
than just looked. I neatly clothed myself and admired one of my three reflections.
“Wouldn’t it be the best if one could always watch himself? I could have a slave who did
absolutely nothing but hold a full length mirror beside me at all times.”
Neither of them commented on my vain dreaming, but I went on anyway as I applied make­
up.“Now how is it that anyone could not fall for such an appearance as mine? Then again, I’ve
yet to meet someone who didn’t, eventually. Isn’t that right Tim?”
“Yes, yes. And what did you do when I fell for you, hmmm?”
“Well, I­“
“You left me.”
“Oh, I never left you. I’m here with you now aren’t I?”
“I suppose.”
Well thank you Tim for ruining my moment, but I did say that people fell for me, not the
other way around. Besides,  he and  I were  better as  friends than we could  have ever  been as
partners. He knew that. Everyone knew that.
The only person I had ever seen myself get close to was me. Reasons for this were not so
much psychological damage as they were practical logic. I loved myself first, I should love myself
always. If others came along then so be it, but none had. Daniel was getting awfully near, though.
“So what are we doing at Danny’s?” Tim asked, interrupting my thoughts once more. 
“Drinking, I would guess,” said Cam.
“Ah,” he said disappointedly. “Do we have anything else?” We all enjoyed liquor, but Tim enjoyed
the harder stuff much more. I would hate for him not to enjoy a party.
“I suppose we could go see Mike,” I offered. 
Tim’s face lit up and after I got a few bucks from Mother we were off.
Mike Bueller was a sixteen bisexual pothead, and our favorite drug dealer. He was not in school
anymore, and when I met him he was messing with a house arrest bracelet around his ankle and
talking to a girl who didn’t know he had a girlfriend. His troublesome behavior almost seemed
accidental because of his appearance­ blonde surfer hair, blue eyes, lush lips. Even if he was a bad
boy, the cuteness made everyone forgive him.
Mike didn’t have a permanent residency right now, having been kicked out by both parents, so he
was staying at Luvi Miranda’s house. We walked the five or six blocks through allies and came to
his tall privacy fence. I knocked.
The Mexican music flowing over to us suddenly stopped, but the smell of marijuana didn’t. Luv
opened the fence carefully.
“Oh, it’s you guys!” he said, elongating each word in a way that only high people can do. “What’s
up?”
“Actually,” said Tim professionally, “we came to see Mike. Is he here?”
“Yeah, he’s inside. I’ll go with you,” Luv said, his bloodshot eyes squinting at us. He ruffled his
own hair, messing it up as his tanned body led us across the yard. It couldn’t have been over fifty
degrees outside, but Luv was always warm. Maybe it was the Hispanic in him. 
Once through the back door and into the messy house, the weed odor was inescapable. 
“Come here, you dirty Mexican!” called Mike from somewhere unseen.
“Shut up, jerk, people are here to see you.” A great brotherly love they shared.
Mike came stumbling through to us, hardly balanced.
“Whatchu guys need, man?” he said with an adorable smile.
“Well,” Tim began, “we were passing through and thought to ourselves ‘Wouldn’t it be an absolute
treat to meet up with Mike today? Perhaps he would even share his candy.’”
“Oh. Uh, I don’t think we have much. Maybe some gum or something.” Mike’s inability to keep
up with our dramatic speech was awfully cute.“Drugs, Mike,” Cam said. “He wants drugs.” She wasn’t so amused by him. Probably because he
was always trying to sleep with her. If there is one thing Cam isn’t, it’s easy. I’m not sure she had
even lost her big V by then.
“Oh!” Mike realized. “Yeah, yeah. What are you looking for? I got some good shit right now.”
At that he walked to a childish backpack in the corner and started emptying it on the table. Bags of
weed, pouches of cocaine, a couple things I didn’t recognize, and not one pack of gum.
“Quite a selection,” I said. “We do have a budget, though.”
“And by that he means we are broke.” Damn you Cam.
“What I meant was that we will have money soon. But right now we are a bit short.”
“Take what you want, man,” Mike said, relaxed. “You can pay however.”
“This is exactly why you are our absolute favorite, Mikey,” said Tim as he kissed Mike’s cheek.
“You two  should  come to Danny’s tonight. His  parents  are  out  and we  have  a whole thing
planned.”
They obliged and blushed as I blew them a kiss and a wink goodbye on our way out. Tim had
taken a dime or so of weed, two of coke.  The walk was now a more dangerous one. No such thrill
is like carrying drugs in public, except perhaps using them in public.
Tim doesn’t get this thrill and I have learned to manage it, but Cam was getting a bit jumpy.
“I think that is a cop car.”
“Cammy, that’s a bus. A school bus.”
Still, being out in the open street was getting me a bit scared too, and it was nearing dark. We
stopped at Rudy’s Diner on main street. The place was small and quaint, the food was fine. All we
ordered was sweet tea and fries. Tea because not every drink should burn, a small snack because
one should never go to a party on an empty stomach. 
Tim was acting anxious the whole time and half way through the meal he excused himself. When
he returned, his eyes were excited and he was rubbing his nose. Why, I thought, did he actually just
snort cocaine in the middle of a public restroom? Such a surprising character, that Tim. 
I never did get into that white powder. A sense of control is lost when one does it, and I didn’t like
to let go of control. Still, I never judged my dear friend. As with Mike, Tim was also not in school,
but other than that he was a fine kid. Or at least I thought so. He was by far the greatest friend I
had ever had. I wouldn’t say that I was dependent on him, but I did hope he was dependent on me.
It would have been just sweet that he needed me.