Grillin’ with the Gang

“Hey white boy,” I heard a voice from a car behind me say. “You be needin’ a ride?”

I turned around to look and started to laugh at the big goofy grin on the fellas face driving the car. It was Sherman. I was on the last leg of my daily hike heading home. Sherman was coming from giving someone a ride over to the nearby housing projects. He pulled up beside me and told me to get in.

“What’s up you crazy bastard,” I told him in a goodhearted way as I smiled and got in the passenger’s side.

“It’s Miller time!” Sherman said as he put the car in drive and we began roll. “I just be gettin’ paid.”

“How much did you make on that fare?” I asked him.

“I brought dat nigga all da way from Greenville and he only paid me thirty dollas,” Sherman said.

The thought of Sherman’s decrepit car doing the speed limit on the interstate made me shudder. I would feel safer in a plane full of terrorists bound for New York.

“You be havin’ any money on you?” Sherman asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Let’s be getting’ a few cases of beer and some steaks and go grill dem out at the lake,” Sherman replied. “I be buyin’ the beer if you be buyin’ the steaks.”

“Who else is coming?” I asked.

“We are gonna get dat fat fuck Big S and see if Droopy and Ferret are over there as well,” Sherman said.

I have to admit that the thought of a cookout with the gang was intriguing. It certainly would be a first time experience.

“Okay man,” I replied. “I just can’t drink though.”

“Why you ain’t drinkin’?” Sherman asked.

“Man, I told you the other day my doctor said I can’t drink on the new medications I am taking,” I replied. “You must have been too fucked up to remember.”

Sherman drove over to the grocery store where I work. Big S was sitting out front along with Droopy as usual. Sherman rolled down his window.

“Get yo fat ass in da car!” He hollered to Big S.

“And you too, you lazy-ass no-good-for-nothin’ nigga.” He said referring to Droopy.

They both climbed into the backseat apparently ready for one of Sherman’s adventures.

“You seen Ferret?” I turned around in my seat to ask Big S.

“He said he be goin’ across the river to the liquor store about fifteen minutes ago,” Big S replied.

They don’t sell steaks at the grocery store where I work, but do at the grocery store across the river. The people in the neighborhood that frequent my place of employment are far too poor or cheap to buy them and they never sell. We don’t even put them out for sale in the butcher’s department anymore.

“Good, that will be on our way,” I said. “Sherman, we will pick up Ferret and then go get the beer and steaks at Lashley’s grocery.”

We made our way through downtown and started across the bridge spanning the river. Ferret was halfway across the bridge peddling furiously on his bike in his quest for a drink. Sherman just stopped right in the middle of the road on a major thoroughfare completely stopping traffic. He told Ferret to put his bike in the trunk and to get inside the car. The car behind us started to honk their horn repeatedly with impatience.

“Kiss my black ass!” Sherman hollered to the driver behind us as he stuck his head out of the window.

Sherman was causing a scene and was driving without a license with a possible warrant out for his arrest. I just knew the police would show up at any minute.

“Come on, hurry up!” I hollered out to Ferret as he struggled to get his bike in the trunk.

Ferret finally managed to get it where it wouldn’t fall out and we were on our way.

“Take me by Big Jim’s package store,” Ferret said.

“I be buying da beer,” Sherman said. “Ain’t no need for dat.”

“I ain’t drinking that watered down shit,” Ferret replied.

We swung by Big Jim’s package store as Ferret went in and bought a large bottle of cheap “wino” wine. We then made our way over to the grocery store. Sherman made a beeline to the beer aisle as I went and bought five of the cheapest sirloin steaks I could find along with charcoal, paper plates, napkins, salt and pepper, plastic forks and knives. We finished our shopping and drove out towards one of the parks on the lake.

“Yo fuckin’ ass stinks,” Big S said referring to Ferret who was sitting next to him in the back seat on the way to the lake.

Droopy laughed heartily and agreed. “You need to wash yo stankin’ ass.”

“I took a bath in the river the other day,” Ferret responded. “I’m not stinking that bad.”

“Andrew, do I stink?” Ferret asked me as if I were some expert on malodorous issues.

“Well, a little deodorant wouldn’t hurt,” I replied trying to be polite.

He really did reek and the smell filled up the car causing all of us to roll down our windows. The odor was kind of a mix of days old fish, body odor from sweat, and stale river water.

We finally made it out to the lake park and took up a table and bench covered by a shelter overhead. I insisted that I would be the grill master and cook. The gang all proceeded to start drinking. The grill next to the shelter was a mess. It took me quite a few minutes to clean it up. I lit the instant light charcoal and soon it was ready to put the steaks on. By the time the steaks had cooked medium well, only one case of beer was left. The temptation for me to drink some beers as well was almost overwhelming, but somehow I resisted.

We all sat around the bench “shooting the shit” as Sherman likes to say as we ate. Big S couldn’t quit giggling like a small school child due to feeling rather high from the many beers he had consumed. Even the most banal of conversation matters were funny to Big S.

“Yo goofy ass will laugh about anything,” Sherman said to Big S.

Being cheap steaks they were a little tough, but good none the less. Then it started to rain pretty heavily. We all headed for the car after throwing away our trash. Sherman ran to the driver’s side door to get in. He had already had well over a dozen ice beers.

“Hey man!” I hollered. “You sure as hell ain’t driving.”

“I ain’t drunk!” Sherman exclaimed.

“You’re my friend, right?” I asked.

“You be my brother,” He said as he put his arm around my shoulder.

We were both getting soaking wet in the rain as I tried to convince Sherman to let me drive.

“I just want to drive the Diplomat today,” I replied.

Sherman handed me the keys and we started on our way home. Driving Sherman’s dumpy car made me appreciate my nice Honda. The front end was so bad out of line that I had to fight the steering wheel to keep it in a straight line and on the road. I then dropped Big S, Ferret, and Droopy off by the grocery store and took Sherman on home to sleep it off as he was far drunker than he let on to be. No doubt, he will sleep a few hours and then get right back to drinking as Saturday night is his nightly game of poker at Pookie’s house. I walked the thirty minutes home praising the weather gods that the rain had stopped and hoping it wouldn’t begin again and what a beautiful late spring walk it was.