Hip Hip

Keith and Clay, Clay and Keith, I can't remember who got top billing. Both were cut from the mold of the original hippie, long scraggly blond hair, full bushy beards, bright tie-died shirts and jean cut-off shorts. The both worked for my father to build an apple warehouse in Leavenworth, Washington; the first time I saw them they pulled up in a Voltswagon bus painted in bright color patches and symbols of peace; the inside was billowing with white smoke, belching forth like whirling tops when they opened the doors, dancing to the rhythm of Jimmy Hendrix and his Purple Haze. With them, everything was "mellow" and "cool", and although they were stoners, they were efficient as soldiers on the job. They collected their paychecks and headed for the local bar, and no matter how hard they had partied the night before, they were at work on time and running full speed.

Clay followed dad around the country as an employee and a friend. He eventually cut his hair and trimmed the beard, revealing the face of a striking man. He had a charming smile, and always had a beautiful woman at his side, if not always the same one. He was like an uncle to me, but I loved him like a brother.

He and dad went separate ways when the work ran out, so Clay moved to Seattle and started a remodeling business. Eventually we needed to stay with Clay in order to get on our feet, and he put us up in his Seattle apartment. We spent our days gathering firewood and selling it by the chord, and were literally dependent on a sale each day to eat. We were sometimes reduced to buying the excess bacon fat from the local grocery store, and splitting what little meat it sizzled down to for dinner. This did not dissuade us however from going out on Friday night and blowing the money we had, at a bar tended by Clay's latest girlfriend, a Mexican hottie called Anna, who was the female shadow of Clay, ebullient and delightful. She and I were instant friends, and she loved to flirt with me.

I picked her up from her house to bring her to work where dad and Clay got a head start on the night. With her I could let my guard down and talk about my deepest feelings and dreams; with everyone else, I had to be tough in order to fit in with the "man" crowd. Feelings were for pussies and faggots. Arrrrrrr! Bartender, pour me some grog while I look for an ass to kick!

Anna leaned towards me in the car as I pulled to a stop in front of the bar. My breath caught in my throat. "Do you think I have," she whispered in my ear, "big ones?"

Gulp. "Uh, that's not really a matter of opinion now is it?" I said nervously. She giggled but seemed to move closer, or perhaps my telephoto eyes where on auto-zoom. "I think you should go inside and see Clay now, ok?"

Her eyes seemed to spark in triumph as she reached for the door handle. "See you inside Scotty," she sang, and out the door she went. I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding.