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I decided it was time for ZH to grow up. He had been spending all his time at Sea World, promenading from one attraction to the next covered head to toe in Sea World swag. We were supposed to meet for a drink and commiserate but when I texted him he replied, “Can’t today, bro. Catching the sea lion show.” I told him I was coming for him and bringing a bottle of scotch and that we were going to finally have that drink and it was time for him to grow the hell up. ZH had been evasive about the drink, about meeting for a solemn scotch in the afternoon like reasonable and caring and well-intentioned adults. Listen, if it were up to me I’d be a volunteer engineer for one of those small gauge railroads in New England, and I would smoke a pipe and wear denim overalls and I would have casual sexual relationships and attend the vast majority of the local Single A home games. Then I turned 37 and realized, Avee, it’s time to grow up. And this entailed of course having solemn conversations in the afternoon over scotch about the economy and the arts and lawn care and having a retirement plan, a fund I mean. The ‘plan’ such as it were for retirement would be to remain steadfast and continue to drink scotch in the afternoon and commiserate.
ZH kept delaying the scotch. “We have an appointment with scotch,” I texted him when I arrived at Sea World. The children were braying around me, little lost idiots.
“Dude, so awesome you’re here. Meet me at the Sea Lions show!”
I knew what he was doing. He was trying to disarm me, but it was time to drink scotch, so what if there was splashing near by. I had to drink scotch once in a bounce house with my father-in-law Tim at my niece’s birthday party. It was not ideal but the clock struck two and we realized if we didn’t get an afternoon scotch session in that we’d be up all night feeling anxious and indigested. I asked ZH once, “don’t you feel anxious and indigested at night?” He answered, “Oh yeah, I just blow it out my ass, you know, and change the sheets.” Jesus Fucking Christ. When I think of a person so incurious as to his own needs, who is just willing to shit himself constantly, I think of ZH.
I caught up with ZH in the line for the Sea Lions and proffered the scotch. He shook his head and said, “No, man I’m okay. Want to be present for this, you know.”
“You’ll have a scotch. You’ll have a scotch. It’s medicinal and social.”
“I feel fine, bro. I’m at Sea World! We’re at Sea World. Come on!”
“You have a spot of this and you’ll carry an entire ocean inside you. At all times,” I said.
But he wouldn’t do it. He would not relent. “I’m not ready,” ZH said. “Just one more season. One more summer.”
“ZH, it’s time. I am here. I wouldn’t be here if it were not time.”
“Time to grow up you mean!” ZH shouted as he backed away from me and took off running. I gave chase. I followed him past all the attractions and to the very back of the park where the Orcas worked with their trainers. There was no one around. ZH climbed up to the platform adjacent the big tank.
“I’m not ready! I’m not ready for scotch. I’m not ready to grow up! What does that even mean? Ogling women. Paying taxes. Does it mean children. And dealing with their constant goddamn stupefaction. I’m not ready! I’m not ready!”
ZH covered himself in a bucket of chum and threw himself into the big tank, and the Orcas, the mastiffs of the sea, devoured him. Years have passed and I can only recall this moment with any sort of sagacity because I’ve just had an afternoon scotch.
