Sterling's Weekly

The lake really did me in.  I was, as they say, outta commish for a couple of days.  It was probably the fact that, despite my earlier doubts, the four of us had finished the two cases of Rolling Rock—me, Kelley, Suds, and, once she’d calmed down, Ava.  Chet, if you’re wondering, turned out fine, by the way.  Not long after abandoning ship, the idiot was plucked from the water by state wildlife resources agency officers who were out patrolling the channel for holiday ne-er-do-wells.  Said that he posed a danger to passing boaters, that he’d been called in by a couple fishermen and even a barge making its way towards the dam.  You can’t help but laugh at the irony in that.  Dude was probably the only sober cat out on the water, yet he’s the one who got picked up by the cops?  And look, I’m not making light of boating while intoxicated.  No, certainly not.  But like I said before, our little bald jockey had abandoned his aquatic steed, som...

Kelley had tasked me with packing a cooler for the two of us, and I was ready when she arrived at Morning Wood.   Or as ready as I could’ve been.   I wasn’t really sure what to expect.   I didn’t know anything about Kelley’s friends, didn’t know anything about going out on a lake.   Hell, I didn’t even know which lake we were going to, or if our plan was to sit our asses on a beach or in a boat.   As it turned out, it was the latter, which was probably why Kelley let out an Oh wow, okay as I climbed into her passenger seat with two 24-packs of Rolling Rock.   The last time I’d had a Rolling Rock was probably in high school, but something about the big green cases spoke to me, the promise of the emerald 12-ounce cans inside them.   Perfect for the lake, no? But it was only going to be five of us—me, Kelley, and three of her friends—so forty-eight beers was probably overkill, especially considering the others were bringing their own alcohol.   O...

I quickly forgot about Des, though.   She was probably still hot anyway.   But word of my injury and recuperation, that I was back on my feet again, must’ve gotten around, because not even five minutes after I’d walked inside did I get a call from my enormous neighbor, Sparkplug Dixon.   He said he’d be done with his shift at the Smoothie King at 8 that evening and asked if he could bring me anything, perhaps a smoothie or two for dinner and dessert?   I thanked him for his thoughtfulness but told him I had plenty in my own fridge that I needed to eat before it spoiled.   A cold smoothie did sound refreshing, though, partly because of the summer heat and partly because I’d been subjected to Ms. Spigot’s cooking for the past several days.   While Sparkplug talked my ear off about the craziness of head injuries, I secretly wondered if he’d even be able to fit through my front door anymore.   He’s always been a massive man—at least for as long as I’ve k...

  I should’ve known Des was going to be a total drag.   She could get like that sometimes, all surly and shit.   This usually followed the random, little spells of our not talking to one another, no matter how inadvertent or trivial the reason.   And sure, I admit I probably hadn’t been the best, the most communicative, of friends the past couple of weeks, but I had a lot going on, what with my own stint in the hospital and then my subsequent recuperation in the church rectory.   Thanks for asking, Des, I’m fine, by the way!   But she’d clearly taken my silence personally.   The first thing she said when I got in the car was that it was typical of me, of men in general, to call only when I, or we, needed something.   Without asking her to give an example, I reminded her that, technically, Reverend Al had called her, not me, and that, quite frankly, I was pretty foggy on what had been going on the last few days.   Deep down, though, I knew tha...