Part Bear, Part Boy. All Beast..

The red cup I hold vibrates against the brown of my skin and the yellow of my belly. I look down to my poking, bulbous stomach, I am getting fat. Skinny arms, poofy hair, legs, chest, eyes, lips, knees, I am the boy Frankenstein. All of my parts seem like there were stolen from the corpses of several different men, maybe even a woman or two. There is a girl with sandy brown hair dancing with her friends, she thinks I’m cute. There is another girl with some tall hipster following her around, she is beautiful and she shoots me an inviting smile, but tonight will not be our night. I haven’t the words tonight, I seldom do, but tonight I am dried out. A kid I know pats me on the back and shakes me, “Adam you look fucked up.” He is grinning waiting for me to say something funny.
“Sure am.” I tell him this, and he can smell the lie on me. His grin withdraws and so does he, into the jumping, neon crowd. I just want to sit down, sit with my drink, maybe pull someone into a conversation about bats or movies or hot girls. I wander to the bath room, there is a long line. Girls enter the bathroom in groups of 3, two dudes go in side together and everyone in line points and snickers. They didn’t look gay, and that’s what made it funny. A drunk girl strikes up conversation with me, we talk about how much fun the party is. She is cute and would probably give me her number, but I just want to sit down. The two non-homosexual fags exit the bathroom and I cut 5 people. Before I close the door I look back and them and give an empathetic shrug, I feel like a jerk, kinda. The wooden door of he shitter muffles the music, thank God. I look at myself in the mirror, I look as janky as ever. Bags round my eyes, the hovering light shows me my acne. I’m making a face that implies I’m bored or mad or unapproachable. Sometimes I hate my face, but then again sometimes I hate everything. I sit on the toilet and think about the vodka and red bull in the Solo cup, I drink the rest and throw the cup in the sir, it lands in the bath tub.
“Do I have to pee?” I speak to the shower curtain and ceiling fan and tooth paste. I take my wee-wee out and shake it like I’m trying to get money out of it. No pee pee. I spit in the toilet and watch my saliva circle the bowl like a shark. I wish I could transform into a shark, or anything. I think about how gnarly it would be to go in the bathroom and janky brown boy and emerge form the water closet a gigantic brown bear. I thought about how cool it would be if no one noticed, and I kept dancing and swaying and smiling at pretty girls. Party bear. Party animal. The door is being knocked on a dude tells me to hurry up and calls me a jackass. Party bear will not tolerate this. I flush the toilet and give myself one last glance in the mirror, vanity doesn’t suit someone as weird as me so I smile and rush out stepping on the guys foot purposely. I’m smiling on the dance floor. I’m smiling because the world, my slice of the world at least, isn’t terrible. I smile because they are contagious, I smile because I hope that my smile spreads like a forest fire. Forest fires affect bears, but not party bear. This place, this house is alive with something I don’t want to kill myself trying to explain. I’ve spent many nights jumping up and down to songs I don’t know and many morning hunched over toilets regretting each and every sin. Fuck, youth is weird. Sometimes, I’m ok, Sometime I aint. But tonight vibrates against my skin and inside my chest and around my hat. The girl I came here with smiles and winks at me, but I don’t care. Girls come and go and get lost in the stars. Fuck them, tonight will be about chasing this vibration. Not pussy, not even love.

What will you leave this town with?

My Brother is going to have a kid. By “brother” I mean my oldest friend and closet thing I have to a sibling. And by “going to have a kid” I mean of course he got a lady pregnant who is bearing the child, Brother himself is not having the baby. (If a man got pregnant there would only be three possible exits for the child to escape the man-womb, Orally, bursting out of the stomach like in the movie “Aliens” or through the pee hole. Fuck the whole lot of that right?) I have limited experience with babies but I know that taking care of a baby is like taking care of a friend who is way too wasted. Babies scream nonsense at the top of their lungs and get aggravated when you cant understand the “Agrhhhhrhhrtop.” means “Hey, can you give me some socks, my feet are pretty cold.” Babies can choke on their own vomit, thats how Jimmy Hendrix died. Babies and drunk people seem to share this weird death wish, babies are always putting their fingers in sockets and drunks are always picking fights with bouncers at strip clubs. Both drunks and babies make unreasonable demands, Babies want milk at 4 a.m and drunks want to go fishing at 3 a.m. Both have an obsession with breasts and Mexican food. Babies are a buzz-kill. On top of ozzing shit and snot every three minutes, the responsibility that bringing a new life form into the world is terrifying.
There are viruses and rapists and mountain lions, and all types of treacherous women. When you have a kid you introduce the little, defenseless, useless shit machine to all the dangers of the world we barely understand. (I shouldn't say useless, babies make great paper weights and door stops, hey I got a joke; "How many babies does it take to paint a wall? Depends on how hard you throw them.") And that new life, that pure child devoid of all sin, has to learn of lies, and heart break and cold lonely nights.
Me and Brother talked about this for awhile, and like it has always been, I'm way more worried than he is. Brother didn't grow up with his dad and the only thing i've seen of their father-to-son love is free hair cuts and the occasional 20 dollars that brother would spend on pot and food. Brother told me that he is willing to give his son everything and I absolutely believe that. ITs just hard to see my best friend the same retard I used to watch jump houses (We had a game that supposedly trained our reflexes where we would take turns throwing forks at one another and try to dodge them, although whenever it got to my turn to do the dodging I quit.) He is also getting married and while I usually dont condone marriage in the early 20s marrying the women whom is to have your child is only the right thing to do. (When a girl has a baby she gets bigger boobs but a looser vag, In my eyes, not an even trade. You can have triple Ds, if your pussy is like the bat cave I aint fucking with you.) Brother is unafraid and maybe even excited about the possibility of having a son. There will be love for the child, of this I am sure.
Fuck, lets wrap this up, I'm getting teary eyed.

Dear nephew to be;
My name is Adam and I'm going to be your favorite uncle.
Your dad and I were raised in Chicago but its best you grow up under that southern sun of Atlanta. The sun there is so close to the earth you have no choice but respect that there are larger things. It will humble you. The red dirt of the southern will teach you many things the dirty snow of the mid west won't. Do me a favor and be hard on your dad, in his dealing with you he will mature. Cut him no slack. Eat junk food, learn the joys of grease because fat kids are cute, fat adults have health issues and breath too loud. Like the prettiest girl in class, but play it cool, your father never had half the girl problems I did but we all can't be as lucky (or tall) as he is. Be kind, don't be a jerk. The world is full of assholes (i.e your dad and I) but what we really need are more gentle hands. When you get older (like 12) I'll drink whiskey with you and we can talk about girls and video games and adventures. Your father will do a great job raising you, but I'll teach you what to do when the weight of your thoughts and chest get to heavy. I''ll teach you how to bounce down the stairs and roll to your feet.