Slugger

I pick up Warren at his house because he's fifteen and I just got my license. I'm feeling good in my mother's station wagon, I lean my elbow on the door armrest like I've been driving most of my life. Warren gets in and gives me a nod and a smile and a "'Sup." We have big dopey smiles on our stupid little faces. Then we drive to McDonald's and get chicken nuggets.

"Do you have a way you always eat them?" I ask.

"What?"

"I would always take one bite of cheeseburger, or one bite of nuggets, then eat three fries with it, and then take a swig of Coke. That's how I ate all my Happy Meals." That's how I'm going to eat this meal, despite the look that Warren gives me. One bite of nugget, three fries, swig of Coke, and I've got a car outside.

We drive back to my place and play video games. Warren beats me, every time, pummels me. I get upset about it sometimes but not today, let him beat me. We drink more Coke, poured into shot glasses, tossing some back and sipping others slowly. I'm a gunslinger in a saloon.

My mom brings us two thin crust frozen pizzas, one pepperoni and one sausage. We eat them while we watch the three original Star Wars in a row, like we did in fourth grade. When we're done it's two in the morning and we each open another can of Coke.

"This is just what we always do," Warren informs me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you have a car. And, like, look at us."

I grab a piece of paper from my dad's printer and one of his pens and we make a list:

          1. Drive to Corey's

          2. Crash Lisa's slumber party

          3. McDonald's again (milkshakes)

"I think McDonald's is closed already," I say.

"Is there any other place where we can get milkshakes?" There isn't.

          4. Hang out in the park

          5. Just drive

It's all we can think of. We decide to just start driving and see what happens. Maybe we'll get some milkshakes, maybe we'll get some girls, maybe Warren will get tired soon.

My parents' room is right above the garage so we open the garage door with our hands. I slowly turn the key in the ignition, as if that would keep the car quiet, but it turns on the way it always turns on. I back out and Warren starts lowering the door, then stops. He crouches under and disappears, returning a few seconds later with something in his hand. When he gets in the car I see it's my dad's old wooden Louisville Slugger.

"What's that for?"

"Just drive," he tells me. And I do, pulling out of my driveway and onto the street, and I turn on the headlights.

I don't know what's open, I don't know what, if anything, there is to do. Two freshmen in the middle of the night driving in a mother's station wagon. Part of me wonders what we're going to do besides just drive around, and the other part is wondering if my mom checks the gas tank. That's crazy though, she wouldn't. Would she? Did she wake up when we left?

"Slow down a little," Warren tells me, and I do. He rolls down his window, and before I can ask what's going on he smashes a mailbox with the bat. I just stare at him, stupid. I don't want to swerve onto the other side of the road, but I don't speed up or pull over, and then he smashes another one. He's laughing and telling me to "Wait, hold on," and he smashes a third. "Dude, this is awesome! Did you see that one fly?" And that's when we see the cop.

The cops in our town will pull you over for going twenty-six in a twenty-five, so I'm not feeling good about our chances. So neither of us are surprised when the cop pulls into the street and turns on his lights. We start swearing, and I gun it.

I'd raced cops a hundred million times in video games and arcades. I'd watched a hundred thousand car chases in movies and TV. I didn't even think about what I would do if a cop came after me. And I don't know what the penalty is for smashing mailboxes. Was it a federal offense? Am I Warren's accomplice? Would they even care since we're minors? I just drove.

There aren't many places to speed to in this town. But we were close to the baseball park, and I figured I could probably lose the cops there. When I turned into the entrance I floored it, just like I've seen, the pedal against the floor. There were no other cars, no people. I could see the diamonds going by. There's where I played when I was eight, there's where I played when I was twelve... I brake a little before turning out of the park, onto North Wilde Avenue, and I floor it again. Wilde is straight but hilly, and I hoped no other drivers were out this late. The cops were further away now.

Then we remembered: Lisa lives at the end of Wilde. Sure enough, after one of the crests, we see a pile of cars lining the street. One car is pulling out of the driveway, a Jeep Wrangler, and I'm able to pull in and kill the lights. Warren and I hop out and hear a voice, "Warren? Hunter?" The voice belongs to Becky, one of Lisa's best friends. Lisa and I dated for a couple months, if you can call it that, and I'm sure she thinks that's why we're here. We don't say anything, we just run around the house, through the yard, past the trees, and onto the bike path. We're safe, and we start walking.

I don't ask Warren what he was thinking and I don't really care. I get a text: Did u just run outside my house??? I don't respond. Then I remember: The bat. The bat is still in the car. I freak out. Is that evidence? If the cops pull over and look for the car, will that be the thing that does us in? Am I getting all worked up over nothing?

The bike path hits Buffalo Street and we take a left, heading back to the car. We turn onto Wilde and walk the block or so to Lisa's, getting quieter and slower, not quite sure if we're going to run into an officer or a gaggle of weirded out teenage girls.

The car is still there. There are no cops, no girls. We get in. There's the bat. I drive us back to my house, I turn off the headlights before we reach it, we open and close the garage door by hand, and sit on my downstairs couch. We finish our Cokes from earlier. They're room temperature now, and flat.