The Deadbeat of the Party

The party split like the Red Sea, with Calhoun Mane’s stubborn antics to blame. He grew more drunk as his cups of beer spilled around the garage. The teenager stumbled into the arms of classmates, trying to be the life of the party. Calhoun should have focused on the birthday girl, Aimee Caraway. Her sweet sixteen had all the luxuries a wealthy family could afford. Judge Frederick Caraway spared no expense to celebrate his princess. Aimee’s smile was a lovely reminder of how much she had enjoyed the earlier parts of this event.

The one thing Aimee and Judge Caraway never planned for was the keg of beer Calhoun brought with him. After about an hour, drunken teenagers began to intermingle in parts of the house that were off-limits, and Aimee failed to prevent the intrusions. Calhoun had begun to grow aggressive once his vodka flask ignited his bullying instincts. He stood way too close to people’s faces in conversation. His talking over enraged guests forced most of the teenagers to leave early. They pointed fingers at him and called him offensive names. He laughed off their insults.

The evening worsened when Calhoun shoved Michael Neville. Michael begged him to stop, while other teens urged Calhoun to do the same.

Calhoun yelled, “No one has the guts to punch me in the face. Cowards, you’re all a bunch of wimps. The girls here have more courage than y’all punks do.”

When Calhoun tripped over his own feet and sprawled out incoherently on the warm concrete, he had fallen fast asleep. Drool foamed from his lips. Everyone gathered around him and started the party all over again. They danced around him, jumped over him, and some playfully manipulated his facial expressions. Even though he heard everything going on around him, he struggled to regain consciousness. That is, until Judge Caraway came from the house, armed with a twelve-gauge shotgun loaded with rock salt in both barrels.

Judge Caraway yelled, “Aimee—I warned you. Whoever brought alcohol to this party is in big trouble. You’re all minors, and I’m in charge here.”

Everyone pointed at Calhoun, still sleeping soundly on the garage floor. Teenagers scattered to their cars, and Aimee waved goodbye to her classmates and friends. Once the majority of teenagers had driven off the property, Judge Caraway walked outside the garage and fired two rounds of rock salt into the air.

Calhoun jumped up to his feet, ran into a field behind the Caraway house, and walked miles until Judge Caraway found him struggling to walk on a nearby road. The Judge ordered him into the car. 

Calhoun said, “I’m sorry for my actions, sir. I don’t typically drink alcohol.”

Judge Caraway kindly said, “You’ll sleep this drunkenness off at home, but I’d best never hear of you doing such a stupid thing as this again. This is your one get-out-of-jail-free experience.”

Calhoun looked at the demanding man with admiration. He knew better than to say much more than thank you.