1994 : Part 1 - Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls

They debated through an opaque cloud of smoke who was a Joey, a Chandler or a Ross.

3 boys in wide-legged jeans and ripped-up flannels sat in a triangle on the concrete floor of a grungy basement of the rundown, rental home of Locke's family.

The orange floral couch emitted smoke and no one actually sat on it unless they wanted a hard, coiled spring in the ass. The concrete floor was bone-chilling cold, but that was because Locke's parents never bothered to turn the heat on even during the winter time. A light-toned wooden coffee table sat between them. It was one of those items that no matter how much you cleaned it always looked like it was fresh out of the dump. Mind you, it was covered in dozens of burn marks and splinters and, for some reason, had a permanent sticky residue on it.

The basement was lit by one singular light bulb hanging from the ceiling that always seemed to be swaying during the evenings, and a yellowing lampshade that rested on the left end of the couch.

Jimmy thought It was the perfect place to hold someone captive, blindfolded to a chair, interrogating them to spill all their darkest secrets like he'd seen in some of his favorite gangster movies. But it was also the perfect place for them to hang out where no one could bother them and no one cared. Locke's parents were rarely home and when they were they 'naped' all day long.

The boys could be their authentic selves down there, free from the cruel, watchful eyes of the small conservative town they lived in. And at that moment, their authentic selves were getting high.

Jimmy held the smoke in his lungs and counted down from three before letting out a white cloud so thick he could barely see Patrick sitting right in front of him. It was like a hazy autumn morning coming out of his mouth.

He coughed, "I'm obviously a Joey because I'm the prettiest."

"Pretty dumb maybe," Patrick snickered.

He flipped him off, "You wouldn't even be any of the main guys. You're a fucking Berry."

"Which one's that?"

"He's that dude Rachel left at the altar."

He smirked, "Can't be that bad. I got to hook up with Jennifer Aniston."

He thought about it for a moment then laughed into his fist, "Yeah that'd be pretty sweet."

He passed the joint to Locke, their self-proclaimed "white friend," who pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and greedily inhaled two hard puffs before killing it on the sole of his shoe.

The kids at their school liked to bunch them all together and pull on their eyes into slits and yell "ching, chong, ching, chong!" at them while passing in the hallway. They would even do this to Locke by association. Their school was filled with idiots.

They were careful to be fast during their hazy times in the basement. There was usually a fourth, Michael, whose asthma had gotten so bad the smoke started to restrict his breathing.

Jimmy had been the first to notice.

Michael would never participate but always sat and partook in the stupid banter that would form between them playing along with the "what ifs," and the "could you imagine's." But one day Jimmy noticed that he was holding his breath for periods of time for reasons he couldn't understand. He asked him why he was doing it and Michael had answered honestly, clutching his marked-up inhaler in his fist like he was mad at it.

"It hurts when I breathe it in." He said, then added, "But it's okay though, really. I just want to hang out with you guys."

That was unacceptable. Michael shouldn't be putting himself through pain just to hang out with them. Didn't he understand that their friendship was worth more than just a few puffs of weed?

He immediately told the others and they all agreed that they wouldn't smoke around him anymore.

As soon as the joint was killed, the three of them started waving their arms frantically trying to disperse the white cloud lingering in the air. Patrick got up and opened the window and started to push the invisible smoke through the small crack. Locke grabbed a can of air freshener and sprayed every inch of the basement with artificial waterfalls.

Jimmy ran upstairs to grab Michael who was patiently waiting in Locke's bedroom. Or at least that's where he was supposed to be.

He opened the door to an empty room with a single mattress on the floor and two plywood sheets held between concrete blocks and the breath hitched in his throat as paranoia poked its ugly head into his thoughts.

Did they take too long? Did Michael leave? Did he feel forgotten or left behind? Did he hate them?

Locke's golden retriever, Macy, came up behind him and brushed her soft head under his sweaty palm. She startled him at first before he gave her a couple of good scratches and resumed scanning the room.

Panic settled in when he heard the flush of a toilet from across the hall and Michael emerging from the bathroom.

He was a second-generation Chinese-Canadian. He was smaller than Jimmy by at least three inches and no matter how much he ate, he always had a gaunt look to him. His eyes were heavy with bags and he had a permanent unrested look similar to an exhausted corpse until he opened his mouth.

His shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh of relief.

"What's wrong?" Michael asked, seeing the panic on his face.

Too high to form a lie, he said, "I was scared you left."

Michael laughed softly and planted a bony hand on his shoulder. "And miss whatever invention you guys come up with? Never."

He huffed a laugh and knew he was being paranoid. Michael would never leave them hanging like that. He was the heart of their friend group. By far the smallest of the four and not particularly the smartest, even though he tried harder at school than any of them combined. The bags under his eyes were the results of studying all night to only get a C on a final and a beating for not trying hard enough at home. Life wasn't fair.

Michael was a rare type of boy who possessed both qualities of kindness and brutality. He could take a hit just as well as he could give it.

They went downstairs together and the overpowering scent of air freshener greeted them with an eye-watering punch. Michael started coughing and waving his hands in front of him.

"Jesus..." He said between coughs.

It struck Jimmy that the air freshener could cause an asthma attack and he started opening all the windows again to get the smell out. He snatched the air freshener and threw it out the window.

"Hey!" Locke protested.

"If the smoke won't kill him, the smell will. Jesus Locke, the inside of my nose is on fire."

Locke mumbled something rude while Patrick started airing out the room with Jimmy.

"Sorry, Mike," Patrick said quietly with his head lowered. Jimmy had forgotten that the air freshener was his brilliant idea. "I just thought it would mask the smoke smell. Stupid."

Stupid was a wasted word on Patrick. Technically, he was "gifted," according to his parents and pediatrician. He easily aced every test and exam he had ever taken in his life and could remember any written text like the back of his hand after a single glance. The only problem was Patrick hated school. He hated being told what to do, what to read, and what to study. Always the sponge yet never the worker. He didn't care about all that and still hadn't applied to any colleges even though the deadlines were long past overdue.

What he really wanted to do was join the army. It wasn't so much to become a soldier or to travel, but he wanted to build and work with weapons. He had an odd obsession with guns and how to aim and shoot them. His uncle took him to the local shooting range once a week and he never looked back.

"Such a waste," Patrick repeated the words his father told him over and over again until he believed them himself. He said them all the time to himself whenever they would get drunk together off the stolen liquor Locke would score from his father.

He'd slur, "Such a waste, such a waste, such a waste."

"Shut the fuck up Pat!" Locke yelled cruelly. "The only thing you're wasting is your breath."

Locke was a mean drunk which didn't differ much from when he was sober, but he was only saying what the rest of them were thinking.

"Fuck your dad," Michael said more lightly. "I would join the shit out of the army just to piss him off." They all laughed.

Now, Michael rolled his eyes and dramatically waved his arms around to help get rid of the smell. "I'd be so pissed if I died from air freshener. I can see it now," He raised his hands, palms up to frame his face. "'Chinese boy dies from smelling waterfalls.' How fucking lame would that be?"

The only thing Michael was gifted with was the ability to destroy all the tension in a room. The white rage simmered as laughter bubbled to the surface.

Locke started to mockingly sing an off-key version of "Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls," by TCL. Michael joined in with a louder, pitchier voice pretending to sing into a microphone at his fist. Patrick sang along with his head arched back on his neck as he bellowed to the ceiling and Jimmy laughed and thought to himself how much money someone would have to pay him to join in.

He crossed his arms when they were done and said, "You guys should be embarrassed for knowing all the words."

"Shut up! It's a great song!" Locke roared.

"The best of our generation!" Michael chimed.

"You totally know all the words too!" Patrick yelled.

He did, and on occasion, sang it in the shower. But, he liked to give them shit.

A quick glance at his watch sent a prick of panic. If he didn't leave now he was going to be late for training. He reached for his wallet and asked Locke, "How much do I owe you this time?"

Locke looked confused even though they did this every time. He would buy weed off his cousin and Patrick and Jimmy would pay him for their share.

Locke waved a submissive hand and said, "Don't worry about it. I covered you this time."

"For both of us?" Patrick asked, cracking his adolescent voice.

Locke nodded.

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. "How can you afford that?"

Locke shrugged, "I got a job."

"Doing?" Michael asked slowly, slipping up behind them.

Locke looked to each of their faces with tight lips. After a few aggravating seconds of the three of them peering down on him, he broke. "Okay, can you guys keep a secret?"

They glanced at one another before all nodding their heads in unison. Locke took out his velcro wallet from his back pocket and proceeded to pull out $400.00 worth of crisp green $20.00 bills. Jimmy's jaw unhinged.

"How did you get all that?"

"I told you, I got a job."

Jimmy had been working for his parent's gas station for over 3 years and had never been able to just take out $400.00 cash to walk around with.

"Doing what? Selling drugs?" He joked.

His awkward smile slowly fell when Locke didn't laugh along with him and continued to stare at him, dead serious.

Patrick laughed sarcastically. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. You're selling drugs now? Since when? And why? If you get caught-"

"I'm not going to get caught."

"Sure. But if you did-"

Locke made a spitting, frustrated noise and quickly closed his wallet, flapping the folds together and shoving it back into his pants with furocity.

"Just forget about it. I thought you guys would be cool."

Jimmy frowned. He couldn't possibly imagine a world where he could understand this. His father used to work for the Korean Police before immigrating and he was positive he would kick the ever-living shit out of him for not only doing but selling drugs.

The only person who didn't seem completely outraged by this was Michael, who was still intensely staring at Locke's pocket pretending he had X-ray vision to have a clearer view of the money again.

He nudged him out of his trance and tried to push him towards scolding. "Mike. This is insane right?"

"Right." He said automatically. Then asked, "How long did it take for you to make that?"

Jimmy yelled, "does it matter?" At the same time, Locke answered, "A couple of days."

Three heads slowly turned.

A couple of days? He made $400.00 in a couple of days?

Patrick, being the voice of reason, asked, "Sure. But how much is owed to your supplier?"

"None. This was my cut."

Baffled, the only sound that Jimmy could manage was, "How-"

"My cousin, Claus. You know, the one we buy from? I was short a little while ago and didn't want to ask you guys for help. He was so pissed and said I had to pay him back no matter what. I told him I could sell to a couple of kids at school until I paid him off. It only took like a day for me to pay off my debt and when he asked if I wanted to keep doing it I said yeah, sure, why not." He half shrugged as if he just admitted to skipping school rather than dealing drugs. "He's a Talon, he could get us in, at least in the small leagues."

Jimmy had heard of the Talons before. It was mostly bad things all being reported on the news connecting them to drug trafficking, gang wars, kidnappings and murders. He also knew that the Talons were notorious for only accepting white members. Something Locke had clearly looked past.

"I want in," Michael said suddenly. Locke smiled smugly and raised a brow to Patrick and Jimmy.

Jimmy whipped his head toward him. "Like hell you fucking are." He pointed a hard finger into his boney chest. "If you get caught you're not getting Saturday school. You're going to jail."

"We don't have to worry about that." Said Locke.

"Says the white kid!" Locke winced uncharacteristically as Jimmy stared daggers at his stupid friends.

"College is going to be rough Jim," Michael said softly. "Even with student loans, I have virtually nothing in my savings. We could do this until graduation and save up."

For a brief, weak moment, he considered this and contemplated what it would be like to make that kind of money in a short amount of time. His features softened and he let his muscles relax for a split moment before he came back to his senses and tensed up all over again like a taut rubber band.

He pointed his finger back and forth between Locke and Michael. "You two are insane." He caught a second glimpse of his watch and let out an aggravating grunt before scooping up his backpack and swinging it over his shoulder. "And now I'm fucking late."

He prayed his father would go easy on him when he arrived but knew he wouldn't be so lucky. He rarely ever was.

He stormed out of Locke's house, slamming the door behind him, got into his car and aggressively started the engine making the plastic crack with the assault.

He took in a deep breath and held it in for ten seconds before releasing it to calm his anger and pulled out of the driveway towards the Dojang.

[…]

"Your late Jiminah." His father yelled in Korean. "20 minutes. Do you have no respect for anyone else's time?"

Jimmy bowed quickly before ripping off his sweatshirt and dressing in his Dobok. "I'm sorry appa. It won't happen again."

His training was particularly ruthless that afternoon. Jimmy was trained in mixed martial arts and had already acquired his black belt in taekwondo by the time he was fifteen. This was partly because his father trained him and was a master in mixed martial arts. He had one goal in mind for his only son, the Olympics.

Being naturally gifted helped his training journey but Jimmy knew he wasn't giving his full effort lately, showing up late to the gym either high or hungover. He wouldn't try as hard as he used to when he was younger and he wasn't winning as many matches.

Sure, the technique was there and he was just as strong if not stronger than any other kid his age, but his laziness was getting the better of him. He didn't like putting in the extra energy to perfect his form or to test his endurance during a longer match. He would tell himself he was exhausted when really he just didn't want to try anymore.

Why didn't other 17-year-olds have to train this hard every day? Why was it just him? He wanted to hang out longer with his friends, maybe get a girlfriend, drive to the theatre. But no. He had to manage his free time between hours of training and his shifts at the gas station.

By the end, he was coated in sweat. He could feel the salty wetness drip down the sides of his face and the front of his chest. His father threw him a towel.

"You were slower than usual today."

This was because he was still high from earlier.

"I'll try harder next time." He said while dragging the towel down the front of his face.

His father gave him a disappointing shake of the head while tisking his tongue. "It's always next time with you. Next time, next time, next time. It's never now. What happens when you don't get a next time, huh?"

The only thing Jimmy could say without disrespecting his father further was, "I'm sorry."

Unimpressed with his answer, his father made a disapproving, wet grunt noise in his throat. This noise always meant he was in deep shit.

Before they left the gym his father said, "You need to relieve your sister at the gas station. You're closing tonight."

And there it was. His punishment.

"I closed last night." He argued.

"And now you're closing tonight." His father said in a clipped tone. "Kwan has been there since school ended. During which you've managed to waste time with your meandering friends and completely make a fool of yourself at the Dojang. I'll follow you there to pick her up."

Biting his tongue, Jimmy waited until his car door slammed shut behind him before screaming into his lap, pounding his fists on the steering wheel. This was the second school night this week he had to close the store. His parents agreed that he and his sisters would only have to close one day a week. It was easier when his older sister, Jude was still living at home. But, she moved out the second she got her high school diploma two years ago and their parents refuse to speak of her. To be honest, he didn't blame her for leaving.

He pulled into the gas station with his father trailing behind him. He saw his fifteen-year-old sister looking bored out of her mind, hunched over behind the till with her chin resting in her hands. When he walked in the front door, the loud Ding caught her attention.

Her dark eyebrows pinched together in a confused haze that read, 'What are you doing here?'

He rolled his eyes behind him where their father followed him inside. At the sight of him, Kwan's eyes widened and she quickly straightened her back and pretended to be busy with non-existing work.

Jimmy snorted.

From behind him, his father said, "Jiminah will be taking over the rest of your shift." He waved her over with the subtle flick of his fingers and she eagerly grabbed her things and left her spot.

"Fine by me!" She said with an annoying smugness that itched the muscles under his eyes.

Before they left she quickly whispered in his ear, "What did you do this time?" before chuckling into her sleeve.

He wanted to hit her. He wanted to hit her so badly his fists were already clenched. Instead, he settled for a mean flick to her ear.

"Wow!" she squeaked, reaching over and smacking the back of his head. This rearranged his sweaty hair and she scowled at her hand with disgust. "Ew," she chuckled, "you need a shower!" Then persisted to rub it on the front of her jeans.

He laughed, feeling like he won this round.

Before he could get her back, his father roared, "That's enough!" and wrapped his fingers tightly around Kwan's frail arm and dragged her out of the store. The hand indent in her sleeve made him wince at his father's roughness with her. All he could think was, That's too hard. Her arm is so small, it can't take being whipped around like that. But each time Kwan proved that she could take it.

He more than understood the aggressive need. He wanted to punch something almost every second of every day. But he never understood how his father needed to show his aggression toward his 80 lbs sister. She was annoying, sure, and Jimmy often found himself having to talk himself down from giving her a real hit. But he would never let himself do it. It was like his body repelled against it.

He stood in the same place for five hours behind the till trying and sometimes failing to convince himself not to fall asleep. His eyes grew heavy and his chin drooped down until it touched his chest. The contact always jolted him awake and he'd abruptly lift his head in a panic to scan the empty store.

When 1:00 AM finally came around he took some money out of the ATM and looked at the receipt for his remaining balance. The number was depressingly bleak. He calculated how much it would be after adding the hours he just worked and noted the change to be insignificant.

Later, he laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an additional 2 hours unable to let himself rest. Was this what the rest of his life was to be like? School, work, training and sleep? What was it all for? The Olympics he wasn't passionate about anymore? The future career he hadn't decided on? The minimum wage paycheques that were easier spent than earned?

The image of Locke's wallet thick with bills came into his head. It was an unwelcome picture and he tried to focus his mind on other things, but he couldn't stop thinking about how easy it was for him to earn. He was able to earn what Jimmy made in a month within a couple of days.

The next morning at school, Jimmy walked to his friends who were leaning up against the lockers, playfully talking and shoving at one another. His presence must have smelt like something fowl because as soon as he set himself in their direction smiles fell and chatter slowed to a low murmur. They eyed each other, clearly trying to be careful what to say in front of him. They must have roped Patrick in after he left. Those assholes.

Unsettling awkwardness among friends was a double-edged sword. He was both happy and nervous to see them. Judging by their rigidness and polite, obviously fake smiles, they felt the same way. There had never been secrets between them and he didn't like being an outsider where he was meant to belong. Especially since being around his friends was the only time he felt a sense of comradery. It made what he was about to say much easier.

"I want in."

A wolf-like grin crept over Locke's face. It was so wide it almost shattered his porcelain skin.