Of Age

Becky looks at me as if I have the reasoning skills of a five-year when, in the line outside to get into the Black Cat Nightclub, I tell her that I hadn’t brought my driver’s license.

“How do you expect to get in?” she asks.

“I have my school I.D. It won’t be a big deal. It’s not like I look under eighteen.”

“Neither do half these people here and they probably aren’t, but they still have I.D. s saying otherwise. It’s going to suck if we have to go back. You better get in,” she says.

“I will. Don’t worry.”

The only thing any form of I.D. with a birthdate on it is good for is proving that you are old enough to drink. Since my I.D. shows that I am under twenty-one, I see no point in carting it along, figuring that I can use my college I.D. to let me in the over-eighteen club and that if I somehow procure alcohol, the license can only be used against me.

The plan backfires. At the door the bouncer looks at the school I.D. and asks for a state ID.

“I forgot it. I’m over twenty-one though. I’m just not used to carrying it, since I never get carded.”

“You must be getting forgetful in your old age,” he says. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest.”

“Look, it’s not like I’m going to drink anyway. Could you let me in this once. Please. This is my favorite band”

“I’ll do you a favor, but this time only. Stay away from the bar.”

He draws two black Xs on my hands and puts a red bracelet around my wrist.

Inside, Becky is near the bar drinking and sporting a green bracelet.

“They’re so dumb out there. They just went by the year on my license, so even though I won’t be 21 for five months, they me let have a bracelet. You could have drank too if you had brought your license.”

“Well, at least I got in. And I had some drinks beforehand so I don’t really care anyway.

However, the world just feels out of sync when Becky is drinking while I stand soberly by and watch.

“This just isn’t right. Come on, let me by you a drink. Anything you want.”

“I really don’t need one,” I say. “All right, a bourbon and coke.”

I pull the sleeves of my long leather jacket over my hands and relax as the warm-up band begins playing. As I sip my drink, I think that maybe I can handle drinking responsibly as an adult, instead of engaging in binges with Becky whenever we can get our hands on a bottle of hooch.

I remove my coat after finishing the drink and Becky’s boyfriend brings me over another one. After my first sip, a stocky middle-aged woman with wild, tight, curly hair grabs me and tells come with her.

I almost refuse, thinking she is a lesbian enticed by my visible bar straps, but then realize that she is actually security attracted by my visible X’s.

“Where’d you get the drink?” she asks “Did your friends get it for you?”

“No,” I say. “I was at the bar and some guy bought it for me.”

She pulls me toward the bar. “Which one is he?”

“I don’t see him,” I say. “That kind of looks like him across the room but it was really dark. He was kind of short and old and had brown hair.”

“Let’s go,” she says and brings me the lobby of the club. “Sit here,” she says and puts me on a stool in the corner of the entrance. “And don’t go anywhere, because you’re being watched.”

I sit in the corner for fifteen minutes staring at the X’s on my hand, glad that I’m not drunk. A police officer wearing blue biker shorts and an orange vest approaches me and looks up and down. He is in his late-twenties, has a bald spot and would be thin if he didn’t do a lot of weight-lifting.

He smirks. “I just want to know one thing and believe me don’t even try to lie to me because I have seen, done and heard everything, all before you were born. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Well Sir, I’m very sorry, I just wasn’t thinking. Someone offered me a drink at the bar and he seemed nice and I didn’t want to-“

“Save the bullshit, you wanted to drink so you drank and now you’ve ruined my night. You know, I could put you in jail if I wanted to and you wouldn’t be able to get out all weekend. Do you want to spend three days holed up with forty crack whores from the inner-city?”

“No sir.”

“Or, I could call your parents right now and see if they’d take you into their custody. Where do your parents live?”

“Pittsburgh.”

“Do you think they’d drive for six hours to get there girl out of jail?”

“Well I mean probably and it’s only—“

“Do you think they’d be happy about it?”

“No sir.”

He then asks for my name, age and birth date and where I go to school.

“You must be a smart girl, so I don’t know what you were thinking. Well, I do know what you were thinking. You weren’t. I’m not dumb, I know kids like to drink and believe me. Believe me, I partied in my day. But I was smart about it. Me and my friends brought the licquor to our room and we had good times but we didn’t cause any trouble and we didn’t keep the police force from dealing with important business instead of junvenile delinquents. So I know exactly who you are and where you are coming from. If I wanted to, I could throw yu in jail, do you understand?”

He looks at me, trying to suppress a grin.

“Yes sir,” I say, also trying not to smile. I can see exactly who he is. I see him as a skinny, pimple-faced teenager, obsessed with World War Two. I see him trying and failing to join the wrestling team and instead serving as the manager’s assistant and ordering team members to do push-ups and jumping jacks and having them throw dirty laundry in his face instead. I see him in college as a marching band leader and picture him looking longingly at the football team as he tells incoming freshman to march in place and keep their shoes shined. I see him wanting to ask girls out to bars, but instead spending his Friday nights drinking well-gin Martinis and watching James Bond movies with his friends. I see him failing to become a narcotics officer in the police force and instead patrolling the street by bike on the lookout for spoiled college kids.

“I understand.”

“Okay, so I could put you in jail, but I’m going to let you go. Just go home. You are barred from the Black Cat and if you show up on these premises you’ll be arrested. And if I see you in any club or bar in this city drinking, I won’t go so easy on you. This is your last chance.”

“Yes sir.”

“And like I said, I know what it’s like. Just be smart.”

‘Thanks,” I say.

“The exit’s that way,” he says and points to the door.

Outside, I find Becky’s boyfriend’s car, but neither can be found.

“Been released!” I write on a piece of scratch paper. “Pursuing other mind-altering substances”.

I go to a nearby coffee shop and the caffeine soothes me.

Outside I meet up with Becky.

“There you are bitch,” she says grinning. “We’re running around like crazy looking for you and you come out slurping a cup of coffee.”

We decide it’s time to get home, but make a stop at the liquor store before doing so.

“I feel like having Martinis,” I say, picking up a handle of vodka for Becky’s boyfriend to purchase. “But without the vermouth”

For the rest of the weekend, we follow the police officer’s orders and stay holed up on campus, celebrating my escape and finishing the getaway prize.