I’m not one to go making proclamations or go about airing anybody else’s dirty laundry in public but sometimes the weight of the mantle on your shoulders is just too much to bear.
I think we were drinking in one of those Mexican cantina’s somewhere in and around Tijuana. The beer, tequila, weed, and hookers were flowing pretty freely and we had enough pesos in our pockets to get us through another couple of days or so. All of a sudden, I turned and looked at my compadre and noticed a sullen look on his face. He was staring off into the mirror, his eyes glazed over and a lone tear drop dribbled towards his chin.
I’ve cheered up many a drunken soul over the years. Everything from jobs, marital problems, money issues and you name it, I’ve tried to help solve it. With this in mind, I turned to my partner in crime and asked.
”Hey amigo, what’s the problem?”
” Dude, shut the fuck up, I got stuff on my mind.”
Whoa, whatever was torturing this poor guy sure seemed to get the better of him. I figured another couple of shots of tequila were in order to lighten the mood.
”C’mon man, it can’t be that bad. Look where we are and what we’re doin’. We’re livin’ like kings!”
”Let it drop man, please, just let it fuckin’ drop.”
Okay, this was gonna be a tough nut to crack. I figured everybody feels better after they bare their soul so I kept on drinking and offering up help and wisdom but it looked like it would all go for naught.
”C’mon man, one last time, tell me, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”
It’s then that our own beloved Jet-Poop whipped out a switchblade in one hand and crashed a beer bottle down on the bar with the other. The shards that remained in his hand were aimed directly at my throat…
”You wanna know so much you fuckin’ piece of shit, it's my brother man, he’s…he’s…EFFEMINATE!!!"
It was then the he started sobbing uncontrollably, his massive shoulders shaking and quivering. He stared me down for a bit but I thought if he sensed fear he would attack or at the very least we’d get arrested and dumped into some Mexican prison. I wouldn’t break eye contact with him for second, not even to blink.
It almost seemed like a scene from the movie High Noon and felt like it lasted just as long. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he dropped his blade and the busted beer bottle on the floor. I didn’t know what the hell to do. Was it time for one of those “man hugs” or would I get kicked in the balls if I came any closer?
Finally, in hushed tones he began to speak about his younger brother, the one you’ve never heard about, Twiddle Poop. He told me how the kids at school used to make fun of him and how Jet-Poop would always rush to his defense and all other kinds of sordid stuff. I tried to tell him that all us had our own cross to bear and sometimes we had to bear some others too. He looked at me through drunken watery bloodshot eyes and sniffled a bit..
”I guess you’re right man, let’s go grab another beer and try and forget about it.”
I don’t have too many memories of that night in Mexico, my last ones are of watching the sunset and drifting off to sleep in the arms of some young maiden. I guess it’s just something guys don’t talk about with other guys.
I thought it might’ve been over but now Twiddle Poop has reared his head once again. I’m sure my friend Jet-Poop has gained some inner strength over the years and has come up with some kind of different coping mechanisms other than that of a switchblade and a broken beer bottle.
For all of our sakes, let’s hope so.
If any of you have had similar experiences with Jet-Poop and what he considers his shame, I’d love to hear them. I think it will make us all stronger in the long run.