The Dugout

The Dugout


There was this place called The Dugout. I don’t know how it got that name. It wasn’t dug out of anything nor did it resemble a dugout one might find on a baseball field. It was just a small dirt circle encased by trees. It was twenty feet down the hill from Route 6 and didn’t seem to be anyone’s property. The path linking it to the road was obvious to everyone that knew it was there, but somehow it hid itself from every parent, cop or Neighborhood Watch Nazi.
I had seen some older kids go in there now and then. I often stopped my bike at the entrance and strained to decipher the muffled words trickling through the leaves. I never made out anything but murmurs, coughs and laughter.
Sometimes everything would go silent. Then, suddenly I would hear a rush of snapping twigs and rustling leaves. The Big Kids were coming out. I pedaled off as fast as I could, even standing up to get the most out of my twelve year old legs. I don’t think they ever knew I was trying to eavesdrop on them.
One day everything changed.
It was a summer day, not too hot, shortly after Highland Elementary had paroled us for three months. It must have been a Saturday because I had just finished delivering The Register; it had a Saturday but no Sunday, like my other two routes. I turned the corner, aimed my front tire into the hill and started pumping my legs. I had barely gained momentum, when I looked up and saw Chase come around the top of the hill and disappear into The Dugout.
What The Fuck?
I was shocked.
I know Chase was cooler than me. He was friends with some of the older kids. He always knew what to say if we came across them shoplifting at The Notch or when we had to give up our spot down at The Pond. I just never thought he would go into The Dugout.
I pushed my bike up the hill as fast as I could.
I reached the opening and hesitated for just a second, then pushed my bike into the archway that split open the forest.
Twenty five feet stretched into a mile.
Nobody was happy to see me when I pushed back on the coaster break and slid into the circle. I smiled at Chase. He wasn’t even looking at me.
“What the fuck are you doing in here, you piece of shit?”
It was the oldest kid there and ruler of the realm, Bob Keuhl. He wasn’t very tall but my prepubescent frame dwarfed under his cleft chin and bowl hair cut. He was just a flat out asshole. He could be. He was 3 years older than me and my friends and nobody was going to stand up to him.
“I saw all you guys duck in here.” I replied.
“So, nobody invited you.”
I pulled a bunch of saliva from the insides of my cheeks and creased my tongue to collect it into a ball. I spat a glob three inches from his left foot. Bob glared at me, and then yanked the handle bars of his bike up over his head as he pushed down on the pedals. He let his spinning back tire kiss the ground and shoot some dirt and pebbles at me.
“OOOOOOWWWWW, I’m scared.” I smiled back at him.
“Fuck you.”
“No….Fuck You.”
Another older guy named Kevin, pulled a soft pack of Marlboroughs out of his fanny pack at gave everyone a cigarette. He hesitated briefly when he got to me. I held out my hand and he flipped one onto my prostrate palm. The small cylinder rolled back and forth between the fleshy mound of my thumb and the under-knuckles of right hand. I waited for it to stop then flipped the dark yellow end between my lips. Kevin flicked the tip of his yellow Bic into flame and everyone bowed their head forward. One by one, each cigarette was lit and its owner puffed a few times to make sure it was lit, and then they pulled back from the circle and sucked the smoldering head into a brilliant cherry red.
Then it was my turn.
I felt the wind stop. Everyone looked at me. I looked at Chase but he looked away. Bob stared down at me and started laughing. “What’s wrong Mormon Boy? Is your Magic Underwear protecting you from that cigarette?”
Nothing pisses me off more than ignorance.
Well, maybe being laughed at by ignorant assholes.
I pierced my lips and pulled a small cloud of smoke into my mouth. I held it there for a moment then pushed it out. I repeated this and started to feel cool.
“Why don’t you fucking inhale pussy?” Bob barked at me.
“I am.”
“No you’re not you dipshit. Pull the fucking shit into your lungs. Don’t waste our cigarettes,”
I sucked a little harder on the filter and tried to inhale. As soon as the first particle of smoke hit my lungs, I could feel my mistake. It burned. My knees buckled and I hit the ground doggy style. I couldn’t stop my diaphragm from juggling my lungs. A stream of drool stretched from my bottom lip down to the exposed root I was hanging onto. I felt all the pain. I felt all the shame.
Bob and Kevin were laughing hysterically. They kept calling me every variation of female genetalia they could think of.
I rose to my feet.
I took another drag.
I fought back the urge to cough, my stomach rippling like just poked jello. I winced and I weaved, but I didn’t cough. I even let the gray exhale stream out from my nose.
I clamped my lips around my smoke and got on my bike.
“See ya dickweeds!” I said and pedaled back to the street.
As soon as I was out of the Dugout, I relaxed my jaw and let my cigarette fall to the pavement. I started to down the hill, but backtracked and picked up my smoke. I didn’t want them to know I didn’t finish it.