Keeping up with the Joneses.

"Come on! Do it! Don't be a pussy!"
That was easy for him to say, he
was somehow immune to the smell
of it frying in the oil as it rolled around.
"Don't you want to be one of us?"
I did, but not as badly as I'd thought.
It was too late to turn back, though.

Giving the frying pan a little shake
I tried not to pass out as I heard the sizzle
get louder and felt my temples throb.
Surprisingly my stomach hadn't given up yet
probably due to the familiar feeling
of enough whiskey to stay well over the legal limit
for at least another eight hours.

"Hurry up. The longer you take the more time
you have to think about it and the harder
it will be. Just eat it already. You like your meat
on the rare side anyway."
The leader of the pack always knew how to end
his sentences with that extra punch
and when I finally got in with these guys
I was going to make damn sure to take his place.
I'd come this far, what was left to stop me
from putting some slightly more deranged bastard
overzealous with his catch-phrases
in his rightful place?

I turned off the gas range and stabbed it
with a fork, popping it on to a waiting plate.
Taking a gulp from my ninth cocktail of the night
I reached into the silverware drawer for a steak knife.
The butcher's knife in the sink next to me
had a filmy red streak half-an-inch thick
in the center of the blade.
A part of me wanted to run for the door
avoiding the members of this sadistic Secret Society
for the rest of my life and telling everyone else
it was all an accident.

But I didn't.
I scraped some off from the bone with my utensils
and shoved it into my mouth, washing it down
with another generous swig of whiskey and Coke.
The rest of the meat was consumed in the same fashion
in the span of five minutes as the Rules of the club
I'd just entered mandated.
Once I had finished I turned to face my new Brothers.

"So do you feel like one of us now? Well don't, not yet.
You got off easy. Johnny here had to eat something
far more unpleasant..."
Johnny's eyes dropped to the hardwood floor and
squeezed his thumb in his clenched fist
as his toes tried to console each other
through his shoes.

The others gave me a sympathetic look
as if to discredit what the soon-to-be dethroned
leader of the pack had just said. They knew
it wasn't an easy feat, they'd been there.

"I'm going to go wash my hands now,"
I said in a slurred monotone as I headed
for the bathroom. The small group parted in the middle
to let me through, but it was nothing like
Moses and his Red Sea.
Nothing at all.

It didn't look like me in the mirror, and not
just on account of the green tint my face had turned.
Somehow I was drastically different and would be forever.
I ran the faucet at full blast and splashed my face with water.
It almost came back up my esophagus on me, but I knew
they were listening and I'd never gain their respect if I
didn't hold it down. I gave the toilet that hateful stare
that I had so many nights before after too much liquor.
If only it were that simple this time.
Nothing would be ever again.
This was it.
The Big League, baby.

"You alright in there, man?"
It was one of the sympathetic ones.
I knew I already had his vote when the time came.
"Yeah, be out in a minute. Who's ex's house are
we torching first tonight, anyway?"

The cold water stung my hand
since the whiskey was starting to wear off in increments
and the adrenaline had subsided some as well.
I unwrapped my bandaged hand and saw the raw circle
of singed flesh where my pinky had been just
minutes before. The cigarette lighter from my car
had cauterized the wound fairly well, but I knew
it would sting a bit in the morning.

You'll have that from time to time.