Part I: Louie
People always thought Louie was drunk. His whiney voice sounded like a gene spliced version of Barney from the Simpsons and Tommy Chong. He was a hispanic stoner rocker who always seemed to be hiccuping. His tough 90's punk/grunge attire did nothing to off set his short stocky, unshaved droopy dog features or his busted up coke bottle glasses. Police would stop him while he sat quietly at a bus stop, threatening vagrancy charges while demanding he produce an open container. Bartenders would would cut him off before he had his first drink. You might think this would be an irritating cross to bare but fortunately for Louie, he was usually drunk. Only his friends could tell by the steady amplification of his cartoony slurs and mannerisms. The booze bubbles I imagined popping around his head would steadily increase through the night.Louie, his heterosexual life mate Lance and his brother Vic composed the holy triumvirate of the Freshly Baked Perspective. They were key parts to my Lost Causes crew from the end of my senior year of high school until my mid 20's when the townies self destructed. The three of them were inseperatable and at least two always lived together at any given time. I met Louie and Lance six months before Vic at a desert kegger. We pulled into the clearing where half the crowd was trying to push Lance's beat up van out of a ditch. I went over to help and after we got the van out Louie invited me to a party at Lance's while climbing into the drivers seat. He then promptly tore out spraying gravel, shattering two car windows in his wake. A hundred yards down the dirt road, he drove into another ditch. How could I miss that party?
The next night I rolled up to Lance's house late for what would end up being a three day bash. His mother was away and their punk band "The Drones" had canceled the last set because Louie had already passed out. Around 2 am he stumbled out of a bedroom and gave me a big hug. He was eager to show me his new "mark of the Drone" on his arm but I couldn't take my eyes of the words "SHIT HEAD" written on his forehead with thick sharpie ink. Lance and their bassist Big Dave stood behind him giggling and giving the shhhsh sign over their mouths with upward pointing index fingers. I choked back my laughter and looked down at his special mark. He had a festering circular burn a little larger than a quarter smack in the middle of his upper arm. "Dude, I've got one too" Lance declared lifting his sleeve with pride. "We heated up beer bottles."
"Where's yours?" I asked Dave.
"I'm not a moron." he answered.
I couldn't argue with his logic.
Somehow no one managed to bring up the "SHIT HEAD" sign on Louie's head for the rest of the night. It wasn't pointed out to him until the next day when he rolled through a McDonald's drive thru and the window girl fell to her knees laughing.
He was exasperated but resigned. Fucking with Louie's drunk corpse was a ritual for their crew. The party continued the next night and the other two Drones had special plans for Louie. They had decided that he needed a mohawk. Everyone was bouncy with anticipation, waiting for Louie to pass out like some set timer would just shut him off. But Louie bucked the routine and managed to wobble on.
As the night progressed it was obvious that he suspected something. Fearing his plan was going awry, Lance took the precaution of stealing Louie's keys only to give the plan away minutes later.
"Dude, you're going to ruin the party if you don't pass out."
Louie was ready to bolt. Big Dave maliciously dangled the keys out of his reach and Louie jumped for them. Five of us stood in a circle like sixth grade bullies and tossed the keys back and forth as Louie jumped from person to person.
Fed up, he made his escape on foot. Lance and Dave waited for a while and then set out to search for him in his own truck. A quarter mile down the country road they found him. Under the weight of the betrayal he had laid down on train tracks, calmly waiting for his own demise. They put him in the back of the truck and when they pulled into the driveway, Louie bolted thought the party into the bathroom. Lance kicked in the door. Louie was standing in the tub and turned on the shower.
"Ha! You guys won't get me now" he laughed as the water began to soak his cloths.
Dave and I looked at each other and reached in and yanked him out. He began kicking and screaming. It took four of us to pin back his swinging arms and kicking legs. He was screaming like he was being murdered. l dropped his leg and the others continued to drag him down the hall, his flailing limbs shattered photos off the wall as they went. It didn't feel right. It was clear to me that we had crossed a line and I stood frozen as I watched them pry his fingers from the molding around the doorway to the room where the scissors and clippers waited. They tugged him in and slammed the door, slightly muffling the sounds of his rape like cries. I felt sick to my stomach. I rounded up my girlfriend and left.
The next night The Drones were in the lineup along with several other bands for a show on campus. I was surprised they were still playing after what had transpired the night before. I was even more surprised to see Louie setting up his drum kit with his new hair cut. His mohawk looked amazingly bad. It was crooked on his head which made him look a little askew and there were whole patches of hair that they had missed. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt and his burn had swollen his whole shoulder beet red and was festering and bloody. With his taped up coke bottle glasses as a final accent, he truly looked insane. I walked up to him with my shoulders slumped and tried to apologize for my part in his violation.
"Dude, what are you talking about?" he laughed. "We play rough, man. Tonight's the night. I got the mark of the Drone and I got my rockin' new do. The Drones are gonna be the new Ramones."
"The Drones! Yeah!" Lance screamed from across the stage.
"Brother's for life dude" Louie screamed back as he ran over and high fived Lance.
I stared blankly at them for a moment and then walked away.
A week later Dave and Lance kicked Louie out of the band. They said he was always too drunk to play.
My Company
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