The enchanting beauty of Old Orchard Park unfolds as twinkling fairy lights gracefully drape from ancient oak tree branches, forming a captivating scene along the boulevard. Softly glowing streetlights illuminate the winding walkway that meanders through the lush greenery, casting gentle pools of light on Jory and Jason as they pedal down a path through this mesmerizing expanse.
Jory, sporting blue jeans and a vintage Grateful Dead concert shirt, effortlessly maneuvers his old Mongoose Motomag bicycle, its pegs attached to the front and back forks. Jason, perched on the handlebars, maintains his balance with casual ease, his flannel shirt and Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars adding a grunge flair to his slender frame. One of Jason's feet, comfortably clad in Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars, rests on a peg, maintaining his stability. The other foot extends out in front of him, encased in a cast. Despite his injury, Jason embraces their adventurous ride with a laid-back attitude, gripping a six-pack of Bud Light in one hand while his crutches remain jammed under his armpit, tightly secured against his body.
The park itself is a treasure trove of natural beauty, with the ancient oak trees towering majestically overhead and the fragrant aroma of flowers wafting in the air. The meandering path beckons them on an enchanting nocturnal escapade, weaving through expansive moonlit meadows and deserted playgrounds once filled with children's laughter. The smell of fragrant jasmine wafts through the air, their sweet scents blending with the earthy aromas of damp soil and fallen leaves. It mingles with the laughter that dances on their lips and adds an intoxicating layer to their adventure.
"I'm telling you, these magazines, I think it was called Cosmo-something, words you up on the ten things women look for in a man. They literally tell you what girls want! So, I figure, just reverse engineer that shit," Jory says, his voice brimming with excitement and skepticism. Amusement dances in Jason's eyes as he shakes his head at Jory's unconventional theories, “You’re so weird, bro.”. Their laughter intertwines with the gentle rustling of leaves under their bike tires as if harmonizing with the enchanting ambiance of the park. Jory’s uncertainty laces his words, as he asks, "Speaking of weird, are you sure it's cool I come with you?"
Jason radiates confidence as he nods his head, "Yeah, man. Things changed a little while you were at camp, but it's all good. These guys are like, totally cool, bro. Dude, they dig me, and they'll dig you, too." A mischievous spark gleams in Jason's eyes as he cups his hand to his mouth, "Beeyoup, beeyoup!" Mimicking a police siren's chirp that reverberates through the park. "Beeyoup, beeyoup," echoes back from the park ahead.
As Jory hesitates, grappling with the intangible thoughts that have taken root in his mind, he finally finds the words to express himself, "Speaking of weird, ummm, I want to ask you something." Jason steadies himself, his grip firm on the handlebars as he glances back at his friend. "Interesting setup. Hit me," he replies, a tinge of apprehension lurking beneath the veneer of calmness as he turns forward. Carefully, Jory continues, his words measured as if walking on fragile glass, "Remember that day?” Jason appears perplexed as he promptly inquires, "Oh, that day." Jory's countenance contorts with frustration, as he retorts, “Damn, dude, chill. Give me a chance to get there. That day... at the pool.” He promptly adds, “If you don’t want to talk about it, I..." Jason's uneasiness briefly surfaces, a fleeting flicker in his composure. "It’s cool, dude. I’ve dealt with that. What’s up, bro?" he reassures, the cadence of his voice a calming lull amid the swirling tempest of thoughts.
Gathering his courage, Jory chooses his words with utmost care, "Do you remember seeing, like... ghosts or something... inside people? Like… spirits, but I don’t know, scary as fuck." Jason's skepticism surfaces, raising an eyebrow. "Seeing ghosts. Dude, did you die, or did I?" Jory explains, "I don't think I died. I mean... I saw these spirits in people, or ghosts, something. At camp, I met this kid who showed me this book on the occult and, like, spirits and stuff. I mean, do you believe in, like, ghosts?"
Suddenly, Jason grows wary of the conversation, "Really, dude? I know you warned me this convo was gonna get weird, but... Man, I told ‘em they'd dig you, so don't bring this stuff up. My name is on the line." Recognizing the need to lighten the mood, Jory replies with a touch of humor, "Just playin'. Duh. It’s, just, like a... what if type of thing." Jason looks up ahead, “Just relax with the weird stuff. We’re here.” He cups his hands over his mouth, “Beeyoup!”
As Jory and Jason ride down the path, a "Beeyoup” echoes back from the bleachers beyond a picturesque baseball diamond that comes into view in the distance. The lush green grass and well-defined baselines frame the diamond, while an empty elementary school stands silently beyond the expansive outfield.
Three cases of Coors Light, a bottle of Boon’s Strawberry Hill, and a six-pack of Zima sit on the bleacher next to rebellious brats in their mid-teens as they hang out. Rod, Travis, and Jason, with their long hair, flannel shirts, and jeans, exude a rebellious vibe. Alice In Chains “Man in the Box" blares from a nearby boombox, setting the tone. Rod's imposing stature sets him apart from the rest, making him stand tall among the crowd. His commanding presence demands attention, amplified by his warm, broad grin and radiant enthusiasm. Despite his relatively diminutive size and broad build, Travis has an unmistakable ape-like presence, emanating confidence, and self-assuredness, through his mischievous smirk. Robel stands tall, his broad frame exuding an air of strength and power, while his fusion of rock and roll meets hip-hop influences defines his unique style. His hair is twisted into shoulder-length dreadlocks, a symbol of his individuality among suburban youth.
Jory and Jason roll up to the bleachers. As Jory hits the brakes, they come to an abrupt halt. The sudden stop causes Jason's feet to slip off the pegs, leading to a tumble to the ground. He slams down on his crutch, and the six-pack flies out of his grasp, rolling to a stop nearby. Rod, Jason, and Travis erupt in laughter. Rod shakes his head as he hands Jason the joint, “Dork.” Jory tosses the bike down, then helps Jason off the crutch and picks it up. Jason pushes Jory away and rises to his feet. Jory extends the crutch toward him. Jason, still recovering from the fall, gratefully accepts the support and gingerly places his weight back onto the crutch. Rod sneers, then spits beer towards Jason. Jason hits the joint, then coughs as he offers it to Jory, who declines, "Naw, I'm cool." "Oh, are you?" Robel asks, then chuckles.
The familiar strains of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana play in the background as Rod takes the joint, and then cranks up the volume. "Now, this is what I'm talking about," Rod declares. "This shit right here, man. This is real music." Jason agrees. "Yeah, Bro, fuck posers in hairspray and make-up." Robel drinks the spider from a 40-ounce bottle of Old English beer before he hurtles it into the outfield, "You'll never hear this music in no fuckin’ commercial," he adds as he grabs a can of beer. Rod passes the joint to Travis. "So, party at your house tonight?" Jason shakes his head, "I don't know, dude. My dad finds out, I'm royally fucked." Jason extends his hand towards the joint, but before he can grasp it, Travis hands it over to Robel.
With a mischievous hint in his voice, Robel interjects, "Your dad open a black hole yet?" Rod reclaims the joint from Robel and chuckles. "We'd all be dead, jackass." Curiosity still lingering, Robel shifts his attention and asks eagerly, "So, when are the girls getting here? I better not have blown my cash on this Boons and Zima crap." Amused by the memory, Travis smirks and replies, "Remember that guy's face when you asked him for the Zima?" Rod teases Robel further. "Yeah, he thought you were gonna hit on him next." Robel fires back defiantly, "Oh, come on! You know Heather loves... whatever the fuck that shit is." Rod interjects with a playful remark, "Panty dropper juice." His comment elicits laughter from Rod, Travis, and Robel, creating a jovial atmosphere. Jason awkwardly joins in the laughter, attempting to blend in with the group's humor. However, Jory is not unamused. Growing restless, Robel looks around and remarks, "They better get here soon. I'm bored as fuck."
Jason digs into his pocket. "Hey, man, check this out." He presents a Masonic ring, a square and compass symbol embossed into it. Rod passes the joint to Jason and snatches the ring. "Hey, give it back," Jason demands. Rod examines the ring. "This ain't real, dude." He puts on the ring and admires it. "Let me see," Travis requests. "Get your own," Rod retorts. Jory interjects, "Give it back." Rod challenges him, "Who the fuck are you, guy?”, puffing out his chest and giving Jory a wild look, “Square-ass bitch." "Come on, give it back," Jason pleads, "He was so pissed looking for it." Jory's hands ball into fists. "He almost didn't make his flight to Switzerland because of it," Jason continues. "He'll kill me if..."
On the other side of the park, in a sudden eruption of vivid hues, a lightbar bursts into existence, unleashing its frenetic beams that paint the area with a frenzy of crimson and cobalt. Jory remains perched on the bleacher, his eyes transfixed upon the unfolding spectacle.
Instinctively gripped by fear, Rod propels himself into motion, the boombox in his hands, he runs from the police car, “Grab the fucking booze!”
Travis seizes a box of Coors, and Robel snatches up the Zima. Together, they flee from the advancing police car, desperately seeking solace within the embrace of the encroaching shadows. Robel looks at Travis and Robel, "Where’s the rest of the beers!" Rod protests, his voice tinged with despair. Travis shouts, his words laced with urgency, "I grabbed a case! I can only run with so much." Rod glances towards Robel, a mixture of frustration and desperation etched across his face, "Fucking Zimas, man?" Robel defends himself, “What if we run into Heather?” Rod's anguished cry is swallowed by the night as they vanish into the obscurity of their escape.
With fervent determination, Jason employs his crutches in a frantic bid for freedom. He propels himself forward, each movement a testament to his unwavering spirit. Yet, despite his valiant efforts, the futility of his flight becomes apparent. Yielding to the inevitable, he hurls himself behind a meager bush, desperately seeking refuge within its feeble camouflage.
Jory's gaze remains fixated on the patrol car as it comes to a halt. A figure emerges, and a profound surge of warmth and goodwill washes over Jory's senses. Officer Woods, a commanding presence that demands attention, steps onto the scene, exuding an air of authority and vigor. A gentle smile graces his features, effortlessly illuminating his countenance and extending an unspoken invitation to all who cross his path. Woods' compassionate and understanding eyes speak volumes about the depths of his caring soul. It is as though a protective shield envelops him, exuding an air of security and comfort that resonates with all in his presence. There is an undeniable sense of dedication and purpose that radiates from Officer Woods, an unwavering commitment to the well-being of the community as he walks up to Jory.
"Evening, Jory," Woods greets. "Woods," Jory responds. Woods pops open the trunk of his patrol car and walks over to the bleachers. "Looks like a party" Woods inquires, picking up the cases of beer, before hesitating as his eyes land on the bottle of Strawberry Hill. He slants an eye at Jory. "Don’t look at me, man, I just got here," Jory replies. Woods approaches Jory, getting up close to his face. "Exhale," Woods commands. Jory exhales, and Woods sniffs, looking him in the eye. Jory reiterates, while simultaneously exhaling, "Like I said, I just got here.”
Woods walks back to the patrol car’s trunk and places the bottle of Strawberry Hill and cases of beer inside. "Haven't seen you down here for a while. Thought maybe you found a better lifestyle. Thought you had wised up. At least you're not stupid enough to run,” he raises his voice, “let alone, hide in a bush," Woods remarks.
"Damn it," Jason's voice emerges from the bush. Jason stands up, brushing himself off. "Fucking ants all over me for nothing, dude," Jason grumbles.
Woods retrieves a case of beer from the trunk, and it as he glances over at Jason, shaking his head. He places the case next to Jory. "For you and the retard," Woods says. "Not cool. It's just his leg. And this ain't ours," Jory defends. Woods walks back to his patrol car. Woods warns, "Sure, buddy. Next time you arrive somewhere, pay attention to who's watching you from the shadows". Woods gets back into the patrol car and drives away as Jason approaches Jory.
"My dad's gonna kill me. I gotta go, dude. Catch you later," Jason says, hobbling away. Jory grabs his bike and catches up to Jason. He playfully slams into Jason and then puts an arm around him. "We'll get the ring back," Jory assures. "Promise?" Jason asks. Jory jests, "Don't make me sing, That's What Friends Are For." Jason pleads, "Please, don't." As Jason and Jory walk off together their laughter fills the air.