“Ohhh man, your little bro is a total badass,” said Mikey, continuing with the “little” adjective, although I stood at least three inches taller than Tony.
We settled on the couch to engage in Mario Kart 64, my phone tossed to the side, out of sight, out of mind, and before I could even break the seal, the apartment filled with college co-eds from all corners of New England.
Too many people would walk in front of the TV or try and get Tony’s attention when we were on the last lap, so he turned off the N64 and told me to start setting up the cups for beirut while he got us a few more beers.
“Yo, so you got your eye on any underclassmen?” he called from the kegerator. “I know, I know, you’re in love with Maria, but you should have something in your back pocket, Vic. You’re in prime scummin’ position,” Tony pried as we went shot for shot with our opponents.
“No, I don’t, really. I mean, there’s this one girl, a freshman.”
“Oh yeah?” He cocked his arm, leaned back, and let the little ball fly.
“Yeah, we have a class together. Ukrainian girl from Little Moscow.”
“Aww, man, that’s good stuff. What does Dad say? ‘Love ’em all,’ right?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, yo, make this shot. Make this shot,” Tony said as I dunked my ping-pong ball in a cup of dirtying lukewarm water and curled the tangerine orb in my fingers. Our opponents were loud-mouthed “Massholes” who didn’t appreciate my “Paaak tha cah in Havahd Yaaaaahd” joke. “Come on, Vic. You got this. I can’t stand these guys.” I felt the weight of a brother’s pride punching me in the chest.
I took a couple of practice pumps and released. Shot. Splash. Uproar.
“That’s my little bro!” he shouted as he hugged me around my shoulders. After a much-deserved round of high fives, I checked my phone before setting up for a second game.
Text from Maria <3 <3: Where aaarreee youuuu??????
Fuck. I had become so intoxicated by the collegiate mirth (and piss-yellow beer) that I forgot to tell Maria that I was safe inside Tony’s apartment.
Text from Maria <3 <3: Oh… okay.
Text from Maria <3 <3: Fine.
Text from Maria <3 <3: No it’s fine.
Text from Maria <3 <3: Are there girls there?
Are there girls here? Are there girls here? No, Tony’s apartment exists in a post-apocalyptic vulva-less wasteland where it is customary to greet one another with high fives and the sole source of sustenance is piss-yellow beer and beef jerky.
I tapped furiously on my RAZR and got to vulva-less before I realized that perhaps sarcasm would not be in my best interest for this particular (inevitable) argument.
Text to Maria <3 <3: Yeah a few
Text from Maria <3 <3: K
The infamous K; it was like getting warhammered in the chest all over again.
Text to Maria <3 <3: Wht? It’s a college party. Of course there will be girls Ria.
Text from Maria <3 <3: OK Victor! Have Fun!
She did not, in fact, want me to have fun.
My texting had been holding up the game, forcing Tony to calm down our next pair of Masshole opponents—both with patchy beards, Bruins hats, and t-shirts representing local Irish bars.
“You two fighting?”
“What? Yeah, she’s just upset that I’m spending my birthday up here instead of with her.”
“She said that?” he said as my phone vibrated again. I showed him my phone.
Text from Maria <3 <3: I’m just gonna cancel your birthday plans because you won’t be here. K?
“Ahh, I see.” We both shot; his went in, mine was wide right by like a mile.
“You have to deal with this with Margo?”
“She broke up with me a week into freshman year, remember?”
“Oh, right.”
“Yup, haven’t had a girlfriend since. Trust me, you’ll want to be single in college. This really is… Ya know, now you’re a senior, a quarterback, got a car, and the Geigers’ old Jeep is a sweet ride… this really is the time to scum, Vic.”
The thought of not having Maria made my insides slosh.
But Tony’s attitude toward bachelorhood had not always been so cavalier. George even said that Tony drove all the way from Boston one night and was banging on Margo’s door, throwing stones at her bedroom window, shouting like a drunk Romeo, and all of the other desperate acts of teen love that plagued our psyches.
If Maria tried to break up with me, Karl and I would take the Jeep and hit the open road, putting Americana on repeat until we hit Tempe: “Bitching and Moaning in Maricopa County: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Teen.”
Text from Maria <3 <3: It was a GREAT surprise too. But have fun with the MassSluts!—I had yet to be acquainted with this nymphomaniac contingent.
Tony and I lost quickly, which was fine with me, because it was getting clammy in the apartment and I was tired of being called a “queer” by the gentlemen across the table.
I stumbled onto the backyard patio, where the pale blue light from my phone illuminated my face.
Text from Maria <3 <3: I think I’m going out after dinner w/my fam
Maria didn’t just turn the tables—she spun the tables on a broken fucking axis until I fell out of my seat convulsing and foaming piss-yellow beer at the mouth.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What’s goin’ on?” Tony asked, following me out the door carrying a plastic handle of Hayman’s whiskey.
I felt like a nest of snakes were snapping at each other in my stomach.
Text to Maria <3 <3: Are you fucking kidding!??! With who? Who is going to be there?
Text to Maria <3 <3: Where are you going?
Text to Maria <3 <3: Is Zeke gonna b thre? I knw u made out with him sophmorrere yere.
I signaled for the whiskey without taking my eyes off the phone, took a swig, and had to swallow the vomit that came rushing up my gullet, leaving my pipes dry and burning.
Text to Maria <3 <3: OR is it that guy from Seton
