Me and these guys from high school, Brian, Luke and Reid, climbed to the top of this grain silo with a case of beer to talk. It was something we occasionally did in summer when the town was dead and none of us felt like driving to the next town to find something to do. You could stand on top of that domed roof, ten stories high, and see lights blinking for miles around, fields of wheat and corn separated by dirt roads and mesquite windbreaks beneath a night sky that was crisp and clear as crystal. Heat was rising from the corn inside the silo, mixing with the night air, creating this buffer of tranquility that was making me drowsy, or maybe it was the beer making me feel that way. Either way, I felt contented, like everything was perfect then, if that makes any sense?

Anyway, Luke was catching us up on his parent’s divorce, telling us about all the bickering and fighting that was going on at his house, the games his dad and mom were playing, trying to get him to take sides by buying him all sorts of stuff, you know, the typical kind of crap that goes on during a divorce. So far he’d gotten a new truck from his dad and a car stereo, television and gaming system from his mom. He was currently living with his mom, but said it didn’t matter because he liked them both equally. Whatever happened, he knew things would never be the same again. He was a fragile, pale kid who looked like he’d never seen the sun in all his life. “I don’t know what they expect me to do,” he said. “It sucks.”

“It could be worse,” Brian said. “Just look at all the stuff you’re getting. For a new truck, it wouldn’t bother me at all if my dad and mom got a divorce.”

Reid had been quiet throughout most of this, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the silo, swigging from his can of beer. Occasionally he’d chuckle at something we said, maybe a thought crossing his mind. Now he spoke up and said the whole concept of marriage was a joke anyway, just another stupid ritual started by Christians to guilt people into doing what they wanted them to do, like praying and going to church. It caught me off guard. He’d never mentioned he had a problem with religion before, now all the sudden he was being a jerk about it, like he wanted to ruin the night for all of us believers.

“They hit you with that crap the minute you’re born,” he went on. “And they keep piling it on until you can’t think for yourself without feeling some kind of guilt. Fuck that.”

We all got quiet, staring at him. Personally, I wanted to call him out on his bullshit, but I didn’t know how without blowing up the evening for all of us, so I kept my mouth shut.

He went on to say marriage went against man’s basic nature. That we were really all just animals, and you didn’t see any other animal mating for life. If they did it would mean an end to their species, since they wouldn’t be able to spread their good genes around.

I stayed cool and told him that wasn’t true. I’d read about a lot of animals that mated for life like swans and wolves and other animals I couldn’t think of at the moment. Regardless, their species were all strong and plentiful.

Reid said that was the exception, not the norm, and it was either because I had a pretty good buzz going or he was ticking me off that I told him he was full of crap, that America was founded on God and religion and it wouldn’t be the country it was if not for that. I told him without it people would be running around raping and killing each other.

He said we had laws to prevent that sort of thing, and I said then why aren’t they working. He said he could say the same thing about God and religion, and I said the people who believe in God aren’t the ones running around raping and killing people. He said you mean like all those priests out there raping altar boys? I said that couldn’t be more than five percent and, besides, everyone knows the Catholic Church has been screwed up for decades, so they didn’t really count.

He said what about all the religious cults that were out there killing their own members? I said they weren’t really Christians or they wouldn’t have killed them in the first place. He said what about all the people murdered during the Crusades? I said that number was exaggerated. He said what about the Salem Witch Trials and Native Americans you assholes wiped out that you’re still trying to justify to this day? At that point I told him he better just drop it before I got mad and said something I’d be sorry for later.

That’s when Brian jumped in and said everyone needed to cool down. “Drink more beer,” he said, so we did. We chugged beer and commented how nice the view was up there on top of the silo. After that, no one had much more to say, and Brian sighed and said, “This night sucked,” and we all agreed.

We collected what remained of the beer, and climbed down from the silo. The four of us squeezed into Luke’s new truck, and he drove us back to where we’d left our cars in the parking lot of the new Big Box Store, and everyone went home.

***

Luke called me the following Saturday and asked me if I wanted to hang out with him, just the two of us. My first thought was he wanted to hang out with me instead of Brian and Reid because of the disagreement we’d had earlier in the week, but he explained they were both with their parents checking out potential colleges for the fall, and he didn’t have anyone else to call.

He came by in his truck, picked me up, and we drove to a liquor store where the owner was willing to sell to minors. Actually, he was a friend of Luke’s father, though whether or not Mr. Driscoll knew about the arrangement I never knew. As always, the owner reiterated if we ever got caught we were to play dumb if asked where the beer came from. We agreed.

We purchased a couple of six packs and cruised up and down Main Street several times before realizing the Ridgeview police were out in full force that evening. Luke suggested we drive to his father’s hangar on the outskirts of town where he stored the plane for his crop dusting business. It was private property, Luke explained, therefore off limits to the police. We could drink the beer, get a nice buzz, then hit Main Street again and try and pick up some girls. It seemed like a plan that would work.

The two of us were parked there for the better part of an hour drinking, listening to music on Luke’s new stereo, and talking. We both agreed, unlike Reid and Brian, college wasn’t for us, though we had no idea what was. I was currently working as a stocker in the dairy section at a local grocer while Luke was manning the deep fat fryer and flipping hamburgers at a fast food restaurant. We could feel change looming.

He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled. “Sorry I’m being such a wuss.”

“You’re not a wuss.”

“I feel like one.” He sighed and plopped his head back against the seat. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“Maybe you should tell them,” I said. “Let them know how crappy they’re making you feel. Is that something you could do? I mean, would they listen?”

“He shrugged. “Probably not. Maybe I should go to college after all.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go to college.”

“Maybe I could learn to like it,” he said. “Maybe if I go I’ll find something there to interest me. Maybe there are classes I don’t know about somebody could show me.”

“You don’t want to do that. College is for people like Reid, and you’re definitely not like Reid.”

“At least he’s not afraid to tell people what he thinks.” He grinned and punched me lightly in the shoulder.

The music cassette ended, the truck went silent, and we sat in the darkness thinking.

Finally he said, “Dad bought me a motorcycle. Orange, to match my truck. Now I just need to learn to ride it.”

Minutes later the policeman knocked on his window, saw the open containers and gave us both sobriety tests. We were ticketed for M.I.P. as well as D.U.I., then hauled to the station in his squad car where we were forced to call our parents.

I don’t know about Luke, but my punishment came in the form of severe threats from my father (a butt kicking was levied but never carried out), increased chores around our house, mandatory attendance in a D.U.I. clinic over the next four weekends and forty hours of community service.

Turns out the police can go anywhere they want in Ridgeville, private property or not.

***

Neither Luke nor the truck driver had time to react, especially Luke, who’d only passed the motorcycle exam weeks earlier and had just gotten his license in the mail. In my mind there was no way he could’ve felt confident riding that thing, not yet anyway. He’d pulled out of the local Quick-Pick onto Main Street with a steaming burrito in one hand, steering the cycle with the other. Witnesses say he was accelerating as he rode north out of town.

The approaching sixteen wheeler made a sharp left onto a road twenty yards in front of him. I can’t imagine what must’ve gone through his mind other than what the hell is this guy doing and should I drop this burrito and try and save myself or wait and see if everything works out okay? Whatever he decided, it was too late. He smacked against the broad side of the trailer and slid beneath it, crushing his face, snapping his neck and dying instantly.

Brian and Reid and I were asked to be pallbearers at his funeral along with several of his cousins. They drove home from college to attend the service. Surprisingly, it was an open casket ceremony, and while I’ve no doubt the coroner did his best, there was something disconcerting about Luke’s appearance, something awry. I studied him for long moments but never determined what the problem was. I’m not sure about Brian or Reid, but aside from a couple of pets and several relatives I wasn’t close to it was the first time I’d experienced death so intimately.

After leaving the cemetery, we drove back to Luke’s mom’s house for ham sandwiches, a cold vegetable tray, iced tea and coffee. We spoke little on the drive there other than to have a brief conversation about the extremes of college life and how things remained the same in Ridgeville. Afterwards, we stood awkwardly in one corner of Mrs. Driscoll’s living room while strangers, likely her relatives and neighbors, spoke in hushed tones amongst themselves.

Later, the three of us made our way back to Luke’s bedroom to stand in the hallway and look at it as it was on the day of his death, his unmade bed, desk cluttered with magazines, books, pens and paper, packs of gum, candy and cans of chewing tobacco, dirty clothes in a pile on the floor and draped over the back of the desk chair, CD cases strewn everywhere.

We’d all spent time there laughing and listening as he lamented his situation, discussed girls and music, listened to CD’s via the player still in the book shelf on the wall, watched porn on his computer, made plans for our futures. I doubt any of us would’ve been surprised to hear his high pitched laugh, turned to see him brush past us into those familiar surroundings while inviting us to do the same. It was surreal.

We returned to the living room to see Luke’s pale, diminutive mother making her way through her guests, thanking everyone. She seemed unbalanced at times, teetering on her heels. People told me later it was caused by the sedatives prescribed by her doctor, or the fact she hadn’t slept in days.

She approached us with bleary eyes, looking us up and down as we each attempted to say something appropriate, something befitting mature young men, which is certainly not the way we felt in the present company. We told her Luke was special, that we liked and would miss him, and each of us tried to share something, a story or detail, to reinforce those statements, proof he was unique, someone we’d never forget.

Whether she believed us or not I wasn’t sure. She listened patiently and said, with a hint of reproach, “I just hope you all learned something from this.”

We nodded vaguely, and Brian said, “We definitely have, Mrs. Driscoll.”

Days later I was still pondering what she meant. Was I really so ignorant, or was there something to be learnt from what had happened? I dwelled on it even after Brian and Reid had gone back to college, and I was alone in the walk-in cooler at Scott’s IGA, pulling expired cartons of milk, yogurt, eggs and cottage cheese, replenishing the shelves again.

Eventually, I decided what she intended was no person should ever attempt to operate a motorcycle with one hand while nursing a burrito with the other, a fact no one needed to tell me in the first place.

***

I didn’t talk to Brian or Reid again until they returned the following summer for break. Other classmates came into Scott’s IGA and mentioned they were back in town shortly after summer began, but neither had bothered to call or stop by.

In the middle of July, on a Saturday morning, I stepped through the swinging doors of the stockroom into the main portion of the store, turned and ran into Brian as he stood staring at the beer cooler, a puzzled look in his face.

I was wearing my stocker’s apron, stained with splotches of dried milk, beef blood, tomato juice and who knows what else. At first he seemed surprised to see me, then he relaxed and grinned, looking me up and down.

“I didn’t know you still worked here.”

“Yep.” I nodded. “Got to make them big bucks somehow.”

He continued grinning. “Where are you living at now?”

“Still at home with dad and mom.” The words were out of my mouth before I thought about, or realized, the implications. I could feel the warmth rising in my cheeks. “Why? Where are you?”

“Reid and me are leasing a two bedroom at the Sandhill Apartments. You should drop by sometime.”

“I might just do that,” I said.

“Cool,” he said. He opened the cooler and pulled out a twelve pack. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Reid’s dad lent us his boat for the weekend. We’ve got it hitched to the truck, and we’re heading to Kannapolis.”

“For sure,” I said. “Don’t let me hold you up if you’ve got plans.”

“I won’t.” He turned and walked away. “Take care, Trevor.”

I waited for him to turn around or glance back, to acknowledge me one last time before leaving, maybe even invite me along, but he didn’t. Something had changed. A sort of hierarchy had arisen while we were speaking, a hierarchy that said I wasn’t worth his time anymore. My perceived value had been trumped by his sense of self-worth.

***

The summer was long and hot and dry. With Luke gone and Brian and Reid ignoring me, I was lonely a lot. I volunteered for any overtime I could get at Scott’s to fill my free hours, tried to find things to do outside of work and attempted to put together some sort of plan.

One afternoon when I was lying on the couch watching television, my mother asked if I intended to make a career out of stocking shelves. I said I hoped not, and she suggested I begin submitting applications to some of the larger, better paying manufacturers in town. I began the next day without any interest or sense of direction. I simply didn’t know what I wanted for my future.

She apparently sensed my depression and told my father about it because that weekend he roused me from my bed early. When I asked why, he told me there was a gun show at the Wichita convention center, and he wanted me to go with him.

I got up, showered and dressed, and stuck some of the money I’d been saving over the summer into my billfold and crawled into his truck with him. I’d always enjoyed hunting with my father and uncles through the cool months, duck, pheasant and quail, and the show seemed like a good way to fill an afternoon. I’d owned rifles since I was a boy, having been given a .22 rifle one Christmas when I was eleven and a shotgun for my fourteenth birthday. It was a rural, Kansas thing, and I knew few boys and girls who hadn’t gone hunting at least once in their life.

The show was a hodgepodge of weapons and accessories, rifles, scopes, loaders, decoys, bows, arrows, knives, camouflage, traps, throwers, bullet proof vests and hand guns. I’d seen most of it before, but the hand guns especially drew my attention that day. I’d never owned a hand gun before, though I’d considered it, and it seemed like just the thing to break my current blues and focus my mind on something new and exciting. I purchased a gnarly looking Glock G19 with a fifteen round clip, some ammo, and my father and I took it home to shoot it in the woods behind our house.

***

I got a call from Reid late one evening. He was playing poker with some friends, and my name had come up. They’d taken a break to use the bathroom, and he thought it’d be a good time to give me a call and see how I was doing since he hadn’t seen me yet that summer. Despite occasionally slurring his words, he was coherent.

He told me it was stupid the way we’d ended last summer. He said we never should’ve let it go that far, and while he’d wanted to talk to me about it at Luke’s funeral, he never got the chance with all those people around.

“You have to understand,” he said. “I’d been trying to get that stuff off my chest forever. I didn’t need to hear your bullshit.”

“What bullshit?” I asked.

“You know,” he said. “All that self-righteous crap you’re always spouting.”

“I don’t spout anything,” I said. “And it’s not crap.”

“I don’t like it when it’s this way between us,” he said. “We should get together and talk before Brian and I have to go back to school.”

“Fine,” I said. “When?”

“I dunno. Maybe next weekend. Is it true you still work at the grocery store?”

“What if I do?”

“Doesn’t that suck?”

“Why would it suck?”

He paused. “I guess it doesn’t.”

***

They were waiting for me in the parking lot of Scott’s IGA after I got off work one evening. We all piled into my car and drove to a bar on Main Street, had a couple of beers, played pool and talked until Brian and Reid said they wanted something harder.

I took them to the liquor store Luke and I went to the night we got our D.U.I.’s, then we drove around in the country, listening to music turned down low on the stereo and talking just like old times. None of us knew where we were going, just kind of let the dirt roads take us where they would, sipping from the bottle of bourbon Brian had bought.

Reid asked me if I’d been doing anything exciting lately, and I opened the glove compartment and showed him the Glock. “I take it behind our house and shoot at bottles and stuff. It gives me something to do.”

Reid frowned. “You bought a gun to have something to do?” He made quotation marks in the air with his fingers when he said ‘something to do.’” “Do you know how many people die every year from guns?”

I glanced back at Brian, who shrugged. “Look,” I said. “It didn’t bring it so we could get into a big hairy argument about whether or not people should own guns. I brought it because I thought you guys might want to shoot it?”

“Thanks,” Reid said. “I think I’ll pass,” and Brian said, “Me too.”

After that they started talking between themselves like I wasn’t there, about how glad they were to be going back to college after their long, boring summer in Ridgeville, and how they doubted they’d be coming back anytime soon. I got the feeling the whole conversation was for my benefit, like they’d planned it beforehand especially for that evening. I couldn’t understand why or what their point was.

On our way back to Ridgeville we drove past the cemetery where Luke was buried. The moon was casting a blue hue on the tops of the tombstones, and I wasn’t sure if they noticed where we were at, so I interrupted their conversation and told them. None of us had been back since the burial, and Brian suggested we turn around and try and find Luke’s grave, just to see if we could.

We were all pretty buzzed by then and stumbled around in the dark for nearly a half hour, passing the bourbon between us, before Reid finally called out he’d found it. Brian and I made our way to where he was and looked down.

It was one of those long, flat tombstones that lie level to the ground, and it had a big ceramic tile with Luke’s graduation picture printed on it in the center. I knelt to get a closer look, and Brian did the same. We stared at it until finally I said, “he’s in a better place now,” because I’d heard other people say similar things regarding dead people, and it seemed like one of us should at least say something.

Brian looked up at Reid, and they both smirked before Reid rolled his eyes. I didn’t give a shit what they thought. I said it for Luke’s sake, not theirs.

We got up to leave, starting walking off, and Brian just stood there. “Something the matter?” Reid said.

Brian shrugged. “It feels unfinished, like we should give him a final sendoff.” He glanced back and forth at Reid and me. “Anybody else think so?”

I thought and remembered the gun. “Just a minute,” I said, and turned and walked back to the car.

I’d gotten the gun from the glove compartment, had it in my hand and was making my way back to Luke’s grave, when I heard a commotion, Brian and Reid whooping and hollering, laughing hysterically.

A few steps more and Brian appeared out of the darkness, his face red with laughter. “He just pissed on Luke’s grave,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”

Seconds later Reid emerged, still buckling his pants. “I pissed on his grave,” he said. He was gloating, listing back and forth, and Brian doubled over, laughing like he’d never stop.

I was stunned. “Why’d you do that, Reid? He looked up to you.” I wasn’t sure if I felt worse for Luke or myself.

“’Cause I wanted to,” Reid said, clearly plastered. “Screw tradition, that’s what I say.” He belched loudly, then looked over at Brian and begin laughing again.

It was more than I could take. I’d always believed the bond between us was stronger than any disagreement we might have. Despite varied interests, diverse outlooks on life and questionable senses of humor, in the end our respect for one another would eclipse any disputes. Now, with Luke buried less than a year and Reid already trashing his grave, it didn’t seem possible anymore.

“You fucking asshole,” I said. “You prick. What did he ever do to you?”

They quit laughing, and Brian coughed and looked confused. “You need to chill out, Trevor,” he said. “It’s not like he can see what we’re doing.”

“Oh, yeah?” I was so angry I could hardly speak. “Says who?”

Reid scowled. “Don’t be a dumb-ass, Trevor. You know better.”

I stared at the two of them and realized it didn’t matter what I said or how well I explained the impropriety of the situation, I couldn’t win. They’d made up their minds. I shook my head, disgusted. “Let’s go home. I’m sick of this crap.”

“Good idea,” Reid said.

The two of them turned and began walking back to the car. They were murmuring between themselves as I followed, but I didn’t care. I wanted to forget the entire evening ever happened. They suddenly whooped, broke stride and ran to the car. Climbing into the front seat, they locked the doors and grinned at me through the windshield.

I walked up and stopped to watch them, two monkeys leering at me behind glass, before yanking the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. “Come on, guys. I’m not in the mood,” I said.

They began laughing again.

“Seriously,” I said. “Open the door.”

Brian, who was in the driver’s seat, reached forward, and it was only after the engine started I realized I’d left the keys in the ignition. I stood there stupidly as he turned the headlights on, put the car in reverse and backed away.

“Damn it,” I muttered, stumbling after them.

They were giddy, shrieking and laughing, as Brian maneuvered the car onto the road.

“Assholes!” I yelled.

Brian punched the gas pedal, and the car spun out, kicking dust, sand and gravel in my face. When they were about fifty yards away the brake lights lit up, and Reid stuck his head out the window. “Have a nice walk back to town, Trevor!” he shouted, his grinning face lit by the moonlight.

I was a little drunk, so it was hard to make sense of what was happening. Still, as the dust settled on my hair and clothes, I knew things had changed. I used to run with those guys, was a part of them. Now they were cutting me out. I tried to think what I’d done to make them turn against me, to make them lose respect. It hurt more than I could admit. I cocked the gun and pointed it at Reid.

His grin never faded. “Are you going to shoot me, Trevor?” he called. “Is that what’s going to happen now?”

I didn’t say anything, just kept pointing the gun.

“Why? Because I don’t act the way you want me too?” he said. “Or you don’t like being told you’re wrong?”

I was shaking. The sight on the gun was moving all over his face.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “I’ve known people like you all my life. Go ahead and pull the trigger if it’ll make you feel better. Here. Can you hit this?” He stuck his hand out the window, flipped me the bird and held it there.

I could hear my heart beating. I could feel the night closing in. I could see Reid and Brian leaving people like Luke and me behind forever. The two of us stared at each other, waiting for whatever came next.