I am in the backyard again.. In evidence of today's rains, the air is damp, but the air is still. The previous week has been unseasonably warm and sunny and dry for such a cold and damp part of the world. So, you can feel the humidity dropping as the still green grass and shrubs have a drink.There is a meteor shower peaking tonight, the aptly named Gamma-Normids, and even on dry nights it is impossible to have a clear view of the sky so near the photon glow of the city. I was out here last night too, and have so far not seen a single goddamn meteor. Now I am wondering if Belgians have a different mythology in their culture regarding the night sky. I mean, I joked when I first got here that Belgians did not believe in stars. Almost the whole first year was covered by cloud, rain and wind.
So in this cold and increasingly dry, dark backyard, I am sitting and drinking alone, smoking cigars and a joint while my wife and two young boys sleep upstairs. And I wonder if this is healthy. But getting me away from any of these joys, and especially their combination, would really be just like pulling teeth. I figure the only thing that would scare me back onto the right path would be if a wolf suddenly jumped out of the bushes and attacked me. Being mauled by a wolf, which I am guessing would be inevitable even if I were to emerge victorious, would be pretty unpleasant and most likely traumatic. I would then find myself in a few months with my brother and best friend Chris on our annual sea kittening trip unable to smoke, and probably muttering incomprehensibly. When, on the third or fourth night, they would quit calling me a pussy and a wimp and realize there is something genuinely wrong with me, they would be too dazed to do anything about it.
But I spring into action, and like a man possessed with the Gospel, suddenly find my tongue. I explain to them in vivid detail how the wolf attacked me while I was sitting peacefully in my lawn chair, alone, outside in the backyard, smoking Cubans, having a scotch, while the family slept upstairs, and too stoned to not be able to beat a rabid wolf to death with my bare hands without getting mauled. Not very manly. No, not very manly indeed. I tell them that I sacrificed my left arm to burritos my right arm free to expertly uppercut the wolf in the windpipe, and feel its lifeforce wither away. They enquire whether I will be able to ever walk again; I reply tentatively, but feel the need to reassure them that my cock still works. I explain that the wolf thrashed around a lot as it suffocated, and although one would not think about it in the moment, one should really watch out for their claws. This fact explains my legs, my fucked up face, and why my ears, nose, and right forearm were also missing. We discuss theories on why the only part of the wolf that was recovered was its left canine stuck in my right buttock. I still don't think it could have gotten far. They ask me if I am concerned about the prescription opiates being addictive. I tell them that I really don't care.
Chris starts to get paranoid, and asks what we would do if, as we were sitting around the campfire, assuming we were all still in good health and not a busload of faceless triplegics, a bear suddenly jumped out of the trees and attacked him. My brother and I are both stumped, and eventually honestly admit that we would run away and wish him luck. A few long, tense, and quiet minutes pass, and my brother adds unhelpfully that he would come back with a broom and try to scare the aggressive, 1200 lb Grizzly off. So I turn the question on Chris, and he says that he would make a lot of noise to try to spook it long enough for us to all get away. This seems sensible, but my bother is a curmudgeon, and doubts our ability to execute.
At that point, the joint comes around to me, and I say what the fuck I have nothing to lose. Under the influence of a drug that makes you forget literally everything, we swear to never smoke again, excepting certain key events. We add over 900 exceptions that evening, including being alone in the backyard on a cold still night with a scotch and a cigar.
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