No More Fences Part 20

  The next few days went by pretty quick for Pete, as he soon realized that he was heading back to Florida, just the next morning.  He tried to think of a way he could stay, if only a few more days, but Randy wasn't hearing any of it.  "Come on, Randy," Pete pleaded as he packed his clothes, "We are outta school the next two weeks for Christmas, just let me stay til school starts, I will come up with the money to take the Greyhound back, I promise,"  Pete was sure he had a good arguement, since it was no problem to come up with the $115 to ride back, now that he was home.  "If ya stay, ya don't come back," Randy answered in his thick, southern accent, which only came through when he was serious about something, and getting aggravated.  Pete realized he wasn't going to win this one, so he continued to pack his clothes, before heading to Jeremy's for one last party.

  Pete walked as fast as he could down the road to Jeremy's house.  The crisp, cold, December wind ripped through his flannel jacket, as he made his way past the creek where he used to catch crawfish as a kid.  He decided to cut across the neighbor's yard, hoping to cut at least a minute off his walk.  As he neared the house, he was surprised to notice that everyone was there, including his cousin, A.J., who had dated Jeremy his Sophomore year, and hadn't been over since the breakup.  They were all there to say goodbye to Pete once again, as he got ready to return to Florida.  He saw Terra and Mike, who were sitting out on the front porch, trying to stay out of the weed smoke, which by now had completely overwhelmed the interior of the house.  She was looking as big as ever, but he noticed that what he had heard was correct, as she did seem to have a glow about her.  He made a few jokes with Mike, before heading inside to find Jeremy and Bob. 

  It wasn't hard to find Bob, as he was in the living room, telling one of his long, exciting stories.  Everyone knew these stories, but the details always seemed to change.  To Bob, these were actual memories, but to everybody else, it was a chance to listen to his new exaggerations, his exploits in the wonderful world of Bob.  Jeremy was in the kitchen, cutting out lines of crank for everyone that walked in the room.  "Make mine a double," Pete shouted, hoping he could be heard over the music, coming from the other room.  Jeremy laughed, as he cut Pete's line out, extra wide, and extra long.  He then cut one out the same size for himself, before handing another straw to Pete.  Pete knew what this was, as they had done it numerous times before.  It was a race they had come up with one night, trying to see who could fill themselves with the most poison.  Pete started to fill the shot glasses with Jim Beam, as Jeremy cleared his nostrils, so that he wouldn't have trouble inhaling the drug.  They were going to start at opposite ends of the table, snort their lines, then take five shots of whiskey apiece, slamming the last shot to win.  Pete had beaten Jeremy before, but it had been awhile since he had done anything, and Jeremy was certainly not out of practice.  But Pete was not one to pass up a challenge, so he grabbed his straw, and proceeded to the starting line.