Dirt

13

Knox

The trailer we pull up doesn't look very promising. The only light was coming from behind a black curtain from what I can assume is from a TV in the living room. I park right in front, no cars nor Princeton's bike upfront. Beer cans rattle with the wind that's picked up so much since we got to the dance.

Princeton jumps out of the car before I can even turn it off. He's got his hands tucked into his pants as he walks across the gravel to the door, not waiting a second for me to catch up. I'm still jogging in Roger's dress shoes when Princeton's opening the door and stepping in. 

It's some reality cop show playing, I can hear the sirens running. It's dim, but you don't miss the grime or beer bottles. When I step in, Princeton leaning against a kitchen counter talking to a man with a beer belly resting in a recliner. 

"I didn't want to be there anymore. School dances are pretty shit, I think I've mentioned that a few times."

The man in the chair with a burly beard and beer belly just waves his hand -the one not holding a beer bottle- in the air, "Oh, whatever you say, Prince. You should have stayed, been a real teenager for once," He has that joking tone that makes it hard to think Princeton has a swollen eye.

When I shut the door behind me both their heads snap to me. Princeton doesn't move, but his dad sits up in the recliner with a big grin. He glances between me and Princeton before he smiles up at his son.

"Who's this? I didn't think you expand your little group. Certainly not bring 'em back here. I never see those boys. Who's this?" I can't tell if he forgot he already asked or if he's just bringing it back because now he's smiling at me a big ole' drunk grin that spreads easy almost as much as butter.

My back straightens, I try to give an easy smile back, even with Princeton staring me down with daggers, "Knox, sir. I'm related Roger," I do know he's not about to get my whole shit-show of family relation.

"It's nice to meet you-"

"Alright, Dad," Princeton cuts our little exchange off, pushing away from the counter and starting to tread down a very small hallway. I've got no option to follow, "Call if you need anything."

"Goodnight boys!" He doesn't even slur anymore. Princeton just shakes his head in front of me and leads us into a closet-sized room.

It's got a dresser, brown bedside table, a twin mattress on the floor, and plenty of estranged things spewed about. Princeton doesn't bother turning on a light, a street lamp outside lightly illuminating the room. I quickly spot a couple of beer bottles hidden around the room as I stand in the doorway and watch Prince stip down to his undershirt and boxers, digging around in dresser until he pulls out a little white line and a lighter. 

I frozen in the doorway, too conflicted to move. However, when Princeton still sees me in the doorway, he scowls and gestures to the bed before lighting his joint.

"Well, come in. You've already invited yourself," I nod slowly, pushing his bedroom door closed behind us, not moving any further in. Princeton drops down to his bed, laying back while taking a puff, "Take the dress clothes off and lay down. If you're feeling risky I'll let you take a drag."

I kick off the shoes, strip of the awful dress pants, and funeral shirt. And then suddenly I'm lying next to Princeton in a chilly, tiny room in our boxers. When Princeton takes the joint away from his lips, I slide my fingers around it and pluck it from his hand. I can feel his head turn towards me but I just stare up at his yellow ceiling. 

"Get's tiring being careful, huh?" I don't know how to answer so I just pass it back and let the smoke resonate in my lungs. It feels good being a teenager, living without worry. But there will never leave that warning label in my head that forgets what I come from.