mah maou

It was a ridiculous time to be throwing a party, the night before Honey Bear and I had to wake up obscenely early and drive Yunus to see the judge in Redbird County.  Yunus was Honey Bear’s uncle and was awaiting sentencing on a vehicular manslaughter conviction.  He had accidentally killed some Turk with his truck on the way home from the bar one night.

The party was Malcolm’s idea.  It was supposed to be a going away party for Honey Bear and me, but that didn’t make too much sense because we weren’t really going anywhere.  Just up the hill leading out of Amaranth a little bit, moving in to occupy Yunus’s cottage and take care of the place while he was in jail.  It was only a ten minute ride from town.  But Malcolm was our friend, loyal in his own way, and he used the slightest excuse as a cause for massive celebration.

I tried to talk him out of it, implored him incessantly to move the party to a different date.  After all, we would still be there in Amaranth for another couple of days anyhow.  Malcolm wouldn’t budge, though.  He had spent all week consulting with Yolo and Walker and Fritz and Janice and calling all the girls in his phone book, until it was written in granite across the inside of his forehead: “FAREWELL PARTY ON THURDAY NIGHT AT THE BEEHIVE.”

The Beehive was the name we gave to a big house by the river where we had all been living together for a couple of years…me and Honey Bear and Malcolm that is - the only three that had been there for the duration.  There were always a dozen other people staying there at any given time as well, since it was such a big house and there were so many places for people to crash.  Yolo, for example, with his cracked voice, grungy black jeans and crusty dreadlocks sleeping in the attic; Fritz, long and gangly with his freckles and bright orange hair, curled up on the sofa looking like his joints had somehow been put together the wrong way; Walker, dark and surly with his pants too tight to fit his hands in his pockets and smiling wryly at jokes that no one else understands - no one knew where he slept if he ever did; the list could go on…

Anyway, the party was destined to be a disaster.  From the beginning, it was clear that everyone in attendance would make it exceedingly difficult for Honey Bear and I to meet our obligations the next day.  When I pled my case to Yolo, he was unsympathetic.  “When the fuck else you wanna have a goin’ away party, man?  If I see you on the street after tomorrow, I’m gonna ignore the fuck outta you.”  I couldn’t stop feeling badly about how Yunus would react the following morning, showing up late and hungover, discheveled, unkempt, his sole voices of support during the judicial procedings.

Yunus used to be a dentist when he still lived in Macedonia.  Honey Bear always called him his uncle, although he was really more like a father than anything and he actually wasn’t a blood-relative at all.  Yunus had a wealthy friend named Mr. French who posted bail, so the judge decided not to hold him on remand.  This meant that Yunus was able to live at his cottage in Elk Hills for the duration of the trail, drink gin and watch the sunsets, play Bridge every Thursday with his insane Armenian friends, and slowly build up enough optimism to be able to face his conviction and eventual sentencing with some sort of pride and perhaps even a grim satisfaction.