Whiskey and Family (05/16/13)

FUCK YEAH! 

THE FAMILY WAS WHOLE AGAIN!

The excitement, however, was short-lived. Our multicultural family had only been reunited for a few hours before we'd fallen back into our asinine routine of talking about phallic devices and contorting our faces into painful positions.

So much for personal development. I'd hitchhiked here solo in an attempt to regain some sense of my mind, but it had reverted so quickly back into retardation. Oh, well. It was okay. It would have to be.

Frank had returned to his old ways. He hadn't said much since he'd gotten here - not much for big groups, I figured - so he was well received. It's hard to pass a negative judgement on a silent man.

We soon found ourselves at Marcellus's house. Marcellus - a pot-bellied, mohawked, projectile puking father of a newborn, had taken me on the road for my first time a few years ago.

I'd met him when I was in high school. He'd stumbled into my hallways during the period between class change and was demanding of different kids to tell him where the water fountain was. His flailing dreadlocks and tattooed, beer-stinking biceps seemed to frighten the other kids away, but they drew me towards him. I took him on a walk to the water fountain and he told me to come shotgun a few beers with him. We did, behind the bandstand, until the principal decided to show up. Marcellus and his partner fled the scene as the principal dragged me back to the office, telling me that if I wanted to shotgun more beer, I should meet them at the mall after school.

I did, and this meeting blossomed into the gradual definition of my entire life.

Regardless, we were different breeds. Marcellus is a punk with a short temper and a raging anger problem; I'm stupidly laid-back and frequently referred to as a hippie. Strong bonds are often formed between opposites.

It was great to see him again - along with Ally, Mat, and Deany, his two best friends and his baby's mama, respectively. These were the other 3 folks who'd been with us on that fateful journey that introduced me to the world of travelling.

They were all doing good - as was evident by the two 60 pounders of whiskey that greeted us as we arrived. As the whiskey dwindled away, the volume rose, and the conversations grew less sensible. Soon, drunken threats were being growled back and forth across the table (fuckin' whiskey...) and Frank was quick to threaten to beat the shit out of Marcellus for pronouncing his name wrong.

Fortunately, Marcellus took this as a joke (for if he hadn't, Frank still would have been in the hospital.) However, Fernweh and Scrib took this as an insult to their own persons, and the night escalated into a flurry of headbuts, pushes, shouting and other macho stupidity. These flying fists and fighting words built a barrier between the group. Frank was now separated from the rest fo the family.

I still liked him, but the rest of the crew weren't down with him anymore. The rage slowly simmered down as the alcohol filtered itself out of our systems. As we sobered up, the fact still remained: Frank had been ostracized. He needed to leave.