IT IS FINALS WEEK

Over the Keg

Their eyes met. Ron put his hand over Kara’s. “Ron.” She released the spout, filled her mouth, and Ron threw his mouth over hers. Ketel One Vodka spilled out the seams between their mouths and wet his t shirt and her blouse. Just then, Ron’s best friend, Jer, walks in. “Let’s turn this shit up a notch!” All twenty people in this basement cheer and give a singular Arsenio Hall ‘Woot!’

____

Light streams from between the blinds and settles on Ron’s eyes. He blinks awake. All around his closest friends and newly minted girlfriend slump on the floor in a supra-carpet weave, though in the dark he can’t make out anybody in particular. “Aww man, that vodka sure did a number on me. And geez this hangover won’t give me a rest. I gotta get some food in me if I wanna settle my nerves.” Ron said under his breath. But not under enough. An unfamiliar face rustles awake from the corner of the room, by the door. “Yeah man I could go for some hash browns. There’s a McD’s right around the corner.” Ron figured one of his friends must have brought this stranger as his plus one. And he’s always been most charming in the morning anyhow. Why, he could use this opportunity to try out some of his character impressions before his one man show tomorrow night. And the two stumble out the door and up into the frigid mid-town streets.

Ron: “So you’re Jer’s friend from his improv class, right? Liam?”

Liam: “Aw, so you do recognize me. No offense, but I felt like you were avoiding me all night. Ha!”

Ron: “Of course not! Any friend of Jer’s is a friend of mine, especially on such a special occassion. But — hehe — to be honest, I don’t remember much from last night.”

The two shuffle around a corner. McDonald’s beams seemingly unscathed by the snow, just down the street a bit.

Liam: “We did go pretty hard last night. You know at one point you even wrapped your jeans around your head and declared yourself Lord Levi. Ha! You demanded everybody take a shot to prove their loyalty but by that point we were all too deep to handle anymore!

Ron: “I really took off my pants! God I’m glad my flabby ass didn’t dazzle you blind”

Liam: “Still Twenty-Twenty. In fact I can see from here that McD’s is closed today. Looks like they put up some scribbles about ‘Inclement Weather.’”

Ron: “Pussies. Their workers can’t handle the commute, but a couple of glazed turds like us can still valiantly make the trek! Whatever. This cold has got me awake anyway.”

Liam: “Actually, I think I know a place nearby where we can still get some . . . fulfillment. Want to check it out?”

Ron: “Let’s.”

Liam leads Ron down a nearby alley, around some corners and down to the outside of a basement door much like the one they just left, except intense heat radiates here.

Ron: “Woah! What is this? A toaster factory?”

Liam: “What?”

Ron: “I was ju — Sorry.”

Liam: “Whatever. Rodneys first.”

Ron: “Actually, my given name is Ronal — “

Liam shoves Ron straight up into the basement door, without opening it or anything. I’m talking shoving IN TO a wooden door. And it doesn’t bounce Ron off. No, Ron phases through the ‘door’ as if nothing was there. Disoriented, Ron opens his eyes and sees not another dank urban basement, but lush green fields bounded by ancient oak trees all underneath an innocent blue sky.

Ron turns to confront Liam but he’s not there.

Ron: “Hey, nigga, if you slipped something into my drink, I’m about to be real cross!”

A voice much deeper than Liam’s but with the same cadence responds.

Ismail: “My true Name is Ismail and, Ronald, I did slip something into your drink, but it wasn’t MDMA or muscle relaxants that I sneaked into you. It was the key to the Kingdom of Heaven.”

Ron: “This, is heaven? Looks — yeah, looks close enough, no clouds though. But isn’t heaven supposed to be above earth not below?”

Ismail: “If you actually read Jesus’ sermons, you’d understand that the Kingdom of Heaven is inside of everything, you need only earn the key to access it.”

Ron: “Okay, so what’d I do to earn the key. I’m just your average vaping, wandering, kale-munching millenial. Is this because of Kara?”

A heavy-set man waddles up the hill to Ron. Sweat pools around the armpits and chest of his ‘Pickle Rick!’ T-shirt.

The Buddha: “Hey man, it’s me, The Buddha.”

Ron extends a fist bump to The Buddha, but he covers Ron’s hand with his.

The Buddha: “Lol, paper covers rock.”

Ron: “Hey, what the fuck, man.”

The Buddha: “Anyway, yeah, you’re here because we need your aid, Ron. We need the counsel of one pure of heart like yourself, somebody still in the period in a new relationship when you’re all tingly and soft.”

Ismail: “Indeed, we need somebody who’s still optimistic about the world to give us a fresh perspective. See, we’ve all been pretty bummed out since the election.”

The Buddha: “Trump’s such a dick.”

Ron: “Such a dick.”

Ismail: “Yeah, so we’re just going to talk over breakfast then you will be free to go. Cool?”

Ron: “Yeah sure. You guys have hashbrowns?”

The Buddha (in a dopey voice): “‘Do we have hashbrowns?’”

The Buddha rubs his massive belly and the two teleport to a table where Ismail is seated, now snug in a drug rug, in between Muhammed in a Black Lives Matter tee and the prophet’s girlfriend Aphrodite who’s sporting a spacious Liberty University sweatshirt. The table hosts a spread of hash browns, featuring every make and model of hash brown conceivable. And at either end of the table, a pile of hash brown towers, their peaks reaching to the end of the infinite sky above.

Aphrodite: “Asalaam Aleikum!”

Ron: “Howdy! I heard you guys needed some sunshine! Well, fwawh!”

Muhammed: “Hey, yeah, have some browns, dude. We can’t finish all this ourselves.”

Ismail: “So, Ron, I hear you’re looking into breaking into screenwriting?”

Ron: “That’s true. That’s true. I’ve always liked TV and there’s so many good shows being made right now, I gotta be able to make it in somewhere.”

The Buddha: “Rick and Morty’s the shit, no?”

Aphrodite: “As if, fatty! Have you ever heard of HBO? Westworld, Game of Thrones?”

Muhammed: “Streaming sites have some nice offerings, too. Handmaids Tale, eh?”

Ismail: “Nice we are breaking ice as a group well. I just started getting into Broad City”

Muhammed: “Mmm. A toast to Abby and Ilana!”

All raise their glass of liquefied hash brown in respect.

Ismail: “Well done, all. Now, Ron. Don’t you think screenwriting would make you a sellout? If you truly feel for the art of writing, you would do it free of charge and regardless of the size of your audience. Those who chase a career in television, tend to want it for the prestige of working in Hollywood and girth it grants their wallet.”

Ron: “Woah. That’s out of left field. What a buzzkill, right guys?”

Nobody responds. Aphrodite glares at Ron.

Ron: “Geez, okay. Yeah, I feel like I need a career in writing so that I can spend the most amount of my time writing. If I continue working as a pencil-pusher, the only art I’ll be refining is pencil-pushery!”

Muhammed: “Sure, but if you try to making comfortable cash off of your bliss is quite difficult. The only way you’ll be able to break even is if you pander to your audience and silence your principles.”

The Buddha: “You become a soul-less, blood-sucking sellout!”

Aphrodite: “Listen, here, boys. Ron wants to pursue his passion. And passion is what I know best. Hell, it’s all I know. So, trust me when I say that you sometimes have to make sacrifices if you want to love hardest. And you guys are presupposing that Ron will for sure have to sellout. Maybe I’m just a stereotypical quixotic woman, but I believe Ron can become a professional artist and keep his integrity. I think taking that chance is better than becoming a libertarian hermit so that you can write your novels instead of working. And better than doubling as an office drone during the day and bohemian savant at night. Shoot for the gold, I say. If you become a sellout, it’s still better than your other options.”

Ismail: “Yeah, I agree with the woman. Allow me to play an inspiring audio clip from an Alan Watts lecture.”

Better to have a short life that is full of what you like doing than a long life spent in a miserable way. And after all, if you do really like what you’re doing, it doesn’t matter what it is, you can eventually turn it — you could eventually become a master of it. It’s the only way to become a master of something, to be really with it. And then you’ll be able to get a good fee for whatever it is.

Muhammed: “I can feel that. Matter of fact, I was talking with Lao Tzu, who hung out with Alan a bunch, and yeah he’s a real wise dude. Kind of stuck in his ways though. I mean you can’t blame him. We’re living in an era of ubiquitous screens and changing social norms the likes of which nobody could have predicted a generation ago, let alone thousands of years ago when Lao Tzu was raised.”

The Buddha: “For real. Don Ron, you know, we are pretty powerful folks, but none of us saw the iPad coming. Woof.”

Aphrodite: “The mufukin~ Zune neither, niqua!”

Ismail: “Yeah, Alan Watts has got a feel for our situation though. I think we can trust him to interpret eastern philosophy for the modern era.”

The Buddha: “How do you use filters in Snapchat? The interface is such shit!”

Aphrodite: “It’s not the interface, wise-load. Your finger smooshes half the screen every time your fat-ass tries to tap an icon!”

The Buddha: “Come over here and let my fat-dick try to tap that ass!”

Muhammed: “What the fuck!”

Ron: “Who gives a cosmic shit, guys! We were talking about me pursuing my bliss. Didn’t you say you wanted me here because of my love for Kara?”

Ismail: “Exactly. What about Kara, Ron? In your quest for pursuing your passion, you forget about your family and loved ones. You may not care if you fail in your quest and die alone, but what about Kara? Surely you want children. How can you pay for them, if you fail. How can you find them to care for them if you succeed? What if you die in obscurity, poor, and alone? What if this happens soon and your parents have to bury you?”

Aphrodite: “Ey Momo, shoulda said called him ‘Wide-Chode’, right?”

Muhammed: “Yooooo~”

The Buddha: “Whatever, you bitches. 600 million people follow my teachings. Literally fucking nobody even believes in Aphrodite.”

Muhammed: “1.6 billion over here, big man. Projected to pass Christianity as the world’s most popular religion by 2020.”

Aphrodite: “For real?”

Muhammed: “Ye.”

Ron: “Damn. That’s crazy.”

Ismail: “Yeah Abu-Rashim is slated to take my job when it comes time. And I heard rumors that Allah is going to redecorate Heaven when they pass us up. Put up some more waterfalls and fountains and stuff.”

Muhammed: “And some mufukin lambos! Corvettes. Volvos.”

Ron: “Well look at the little prophetic hypocrite. Didn’t you just tell me not to become a sell-out?”

Muhammed: “Whatever, dude, Every second I’m living my bliss. And 1.6 billion people is my family. And guess what, I can’t disappoint them.”

Aphrodite: “You really gotta walk a fine line, Ron. Remember Socrates? He followed his bliss until the bitter end. When the nigga got fucking crucified by his own countrymen! And for what? Trying to encourage honest self-reflection.”

The Buddha: “Don’t let these assholes scare you, man. You gotta work hard, but you can find a balance between your work and family.