A story about alcohol and being an arch-mage

"Why I Became a Police Officer"

I was an arch-mage, Kev was an Oreo, and Mills had pulled some things together from his closet to make an almost-passable cowboy. He would have been just at that age where he suddenly started feeling like he was too cool to dress up for Halloween, but had decided he’d go along with us younger kids one last year. It was only after we got to the next block, behind the tree on Mr. Pearson’s house, that he took the bottle out from his bag.

Now remember, Kev was an Oreo here. He was only 10. I think he was just happy to be included. I was old enough to know what it was, but young enough to still have unquestioned moralistic values forced into my consciousness, so I had said (“doing the voice,” Mills insists), “Come on, Mills, that stuff is bad!” I don’t think he’ll ever let me forget that line.

We ended up going to Montrose Park and sitting on the playscape, drinking alcohol (which was a mickey of rye, by the way). Kev had about three shots worth then went on the swings, even more raucous than usual. Mills and I shared the rest of the bottle. I hated the taste of it, but he insisted the worse it tasted, the drunker we would get. He was right. First we couldn’t even stand, so instead we sat there and ate the candy from the five or so  houses we’d already been to, which wasn’t enough to satisfy. We needed more.

“Kev, come on, we’re going!”

He wanted to swing more, but when we started taking his candy he was quick to jump off and dive to his bag’s protection. All in all we had three mini chocolate bars, a small bag of chips, a box of chocolate covered raisins, and 5 shots of liquor each. We were not walking straight. I’m surprised I remember any of what followed, actually.

What I do know is this: we were passing Mr. Pearson’s from the other side, and saw his car running, and both front doors open. As it happened, he was carrying two kegs from the passenger seat of the car, and was currently inside finding a place to put the first down. Of course, we didn’t know that at the time, we had just had our first experience with excessive alcohol at a likely far too young age.

What happens immediately after, I don’t remember. Apparently I got into the passenger side of the car, and didn’t realize the giant barrel at my feet was a keg full of more alcohol (trying to impress Mills, I’d said, as we walked back to the street, that I hoped we could find more alcohol and drink it all). Apparently the car drove (or, Mills drove the car, if we're being active here) into a car parked across the street, but didn’t top there, no – he tried turning, taking the car with him, and eventually pushing it (and both of us) into Mr. Pearson’s own tree. The air bags deployed in our car, and I remember sort of coming into consciousness at that point. Like, when people call something a sobering experience – literally. When I got out of the car I was dizzy and unable to strand, but I think a lot of that might have been getting hit with the airbag.

My arch-mage costume got ruined. It tore all the way down the back of my robe somehow, and I never even noticed until the next morning. That was ok, though. By next year, it wouldn’t be cool to be an arch-mage anyway.