We called it the Space Cruiser.

We “hot-boxed” the car, filled it with as much marijuana smoke as we could, music turned up loud to anything as we screamed at the top of our lungs, the battle cry of our fading youth.

SPACE CRUISING BY MARIO GALVAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 101

We called it The Space Cruiser. Glow-in-the-dark planets hung from the crimson roof. We blazed along the back roads between Jerome and Wendell, Idaho, Grace, Alex, Jordan, Chad, and I packed inside my old banged-up 1992 shit-brown Ford Taurus, our escape ship from the small town of Gooding where we lived.

We “hot-boxed” the car, filled it with as much marijuana smoke as we could, music turned up loud to anything as we screamed at the top of our lungs, the battle cry of our fading youth.

We were all around 18 to 20 escaping the rest of society. We were going to live, Goddamn it! That was what we wanted to do that night, live!

2009 was coming to an end and the winter winds blew through the Magic Valley.

“Hey Alex, man, what time are we going to meet him?” Chad asked. His bulbous nose poked out of a curtain of long blond hair. He held a short green pipe that resembled a frog with two toads near the carb on the side in which one could rest their thumb. He packed a bowl, lit up, puffed up his cheeks twice, and exhaled a cloud of smoke with a small cough at the end. “Here dude,” he managed to push out, as he passed it to Jordan.

“Fuck yeah,” Jordan’s boney fingers curled around the pipe. He was the tallest of us and he sat like a crouched scarecrow, his hair like a mop over his face. Snake-bite piercings gleamed in the street lights.

Miss May I’s Porcelain Wings blasted through the speakers. Jordan’s long legs bounced up and down as if he were on a drum set with double-bass pedals, “ Turn it up!” he yelled. A mess of black hair flew around as he banged his head back and forth. Jordan lit up and inhaled just at the moment the band shouted, “My eyes are bloodshot! They have seen the damned!”

Grace, in the passenger seat, held the piece to my mouth. I inhaled, my eyes on the road. She passed the bowl along to Alex, sitting behind her.

“Hey! He asked you a question,” she glared at Alex. Her temper rose out of impatience. “Hello, hey get off your phone.” She reached back and smacked the flip-phone out of his hand.

“Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Alex yelled at her. These two were always going at each other. They dated months earlier but were broken up by this time. They were still friends but a tension still hung between them. They had similar tastes, listened to the same type of music, and wore identical clothing. They had even swapped pants. They wore My Chemical Romance brand T-shirts with checkered vans, and multiple studded belts.

Alex picked up his phone. “I was just texting him. He wants us to meet him at Walmart at seven,” he said. He passed the bowl back to Chad.

“Right on, I got 20 on it,” Chad responded. Everyone else chimed in with what they wanted to contribute to our meet-up with Mr Satan.

+

As we drove on my thoughts went back to earlier that morning. The smell of masa was in the air and the sound of Cumbia vibrated the wall between the pantry, converted into my bedroom, and the kitchen. I groaned. That music could mean only one thing and that was morning cleaning.

“Cisco! Wake up,” my father banged on the window. “Come Help me shovel snow!”

I broke a sweat in the frozen still air. I looked up at the speckless of snow starting to fall. The sky was grey.

“Hey, Mario,” I called out to my father. He was bundled up in a beanie and a heavy coat and only his peppered grey and black beard showed.

“Huh,” he grunted. He disliked me calling him by his first name. I chuckled to myself.

“Mind if I take the car to Twin?” I asked trying to sound like I didn’t care if I got the car or not.

“Hey Cisco,” he said. He walked over to the garage where he kept his failed car projects. “Go, but stop by Yolanda’s in Jerome, on your way back. ¿Puedes coger unas pan?”

I said I would grab some sweet bread from the Pandaria in Jerome. Yolanda, a family friend, owned the store.

I ran back inside and texted Grace that I was on the way. I had gotten the car. I forgot all about picking up the bread.

+

When we reached Jerome we stashed our weed and pipe in the back, our routine whenever we saw streetlights. Alex and Jordan had had run-ins with the police before and they didn’t want to take any risks.

Jerome was just another small Idaho town but with a Walmart, Pizza Hut, and Mcdonald’s, and a Mexican community. Panaderías and other Mexican shops were on every corner. My family would come to dances and concerts here and celebrate our heritage.

As I drove past a hair salon where a family friend worked I felt the hot blood of shame. What would my parents say if they knew why I was here tonight?

I drove through the worn-down streets towards the Walmart near the interstate exit. Here the area was more populated by those round-bellied Idaho whites. They wore working-class clothes, the kind you would wear if you were a foreman for a dairy or farming company.

The traffic was heavy. Cop cars blasted by, sirens on. I dared not go above the speed limit. My hands sweated. Just get to the parking lot, I told myself.

We waited for more than an hour. We listened to Bring Me The Horizon, Miss May I, and As Blood Runs Black.

Jordan pulled out some white pills. “Who wants a five while we wait?” Alex, Chad, and Grace crushed the the five-milligram oxycontin into a powder and snort it up through a 20-dollar bill. I heard the sniiiifff. Jordan and I preferred to eat it.

“How many are we getting?” I asked Alex.

“Thirty of the fives,” he said. He looked at his phone. “He’s here. Let’s go inside.”

Alex got out of the car and began to walk to the Walmart.

Jordan shouted, “Don’t forget the promethazine!”

The drug deal was simple. Alex, Grace, and I walked the aisles until Mr Satan texted Alex which aisle he was. It was never clear why the deal was done this way, but Alex and Mr Satan had been in business together for some time.

While they had their meet-up Grace and I looked at some kitchen supplies.

“This looks pretty nice,” I said. I picked up a cast-iron skillet. “This would be nice for when I move out.”

“Yeah? Where are you gonna move to? Twin?” Grace asked. Her hair was full of static from pulling off her zip-up hoodie. “You haven’t had a job since Little Caesars,” she said.

Her words stung. My lack of employment and lack of ambition weighed on me.

“I’m going back to school.” That was my answer. I would go back to school eventually, maybe at the College of Southern Idaho in Twin. “I’m in no rush. I like hanging out with you guys,” I said.

“I’m going back too,” she said. “My parents already got me an apartment in Twin. You can live with me if you want.” Her voice trembled as she said it. I was taken aback and I said nothing.

+

I hadn’t told my parents that I had dropped out of college. I had meant to tell them that morning but the trip to Jerome came up.

My mind raced as I thought of my mother, how she would be furious if she knew I wasn’t enrolled in class. My parents had taken a second mortgage on the house so that they could pay for the next semester. But I had failed all my classes besides photography. I squandered my time in dank basements where I would drink to the sound of Outkast’s Hey Y’all.

I was going to call my parents to tell them after I picked up Grace.

At Jordan’s house she got out. “C’mon,” she said. She grabbed my beanie. “Can I wear this?”

“Of course you can.” I tried to make my voice sound cool. “Go ahead I’m gonna call my mom real quick.”

I sat in the car and watched 10 minutes go by. The cold air stung my lungs. I flipped my phone open. I clicked the buttons, click, click, click. The contact screen read “Mum”. Then I slammed the phone shut. I’d tell them tomorrow.

I opened the phone again and texted my dad that I would spend the night at Jordan’s. Tonight we were going to live without worry.

+

When we got back to the car after the Walmart deal Jordan and Chad had smoked another bowl. Their eyes were red and droopy.

“Hey man, there’s a party at Ashley’s. Let’s get some beer,” Jordan said.

The problem was that none of us was 21. I was the oldest and I was only 20, but luckily, I had a childhood friend who lived in Twin Falls who could help us.

Twin Falls was an additional 15 minutes from Jerome, going south and over the Snake River Canyon. Downtown was my destination to the rundown apartments where my friend Ben lived.

Ben was tall and slim. He had the temper of a bull and the haircut of a bowl. His glasses were round, and he was often referred to as a tall Harry Potter. In our childhood days we would spend the night at his house in Gooding playing Perfect Dark on the Nintendo 64. In front of his house was a giant giraffe sculpture in honor of his late sister and the house had the same giraffe spot pattern.

He was my longest friend and always welcoming, but this was not a good day for hospitality. He had married recently, and his wife was pregnant. Our meeting had to be brief and was in no way approved of by his wife. It’s strange how friendships change when marriage becomes a part of the equation. Still, he was happy to see me.

“Hey man, good to see ya,” he said and he hugged me. “Dude, how’s it going?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Sure, man, what’s up?”

“Mind buying me some beer? A 30-rack?” My hands fidgeted. Anxiety rose inside. I’m a piece of shit for asking, I thought to myself.

“Dude, yeah! I got you,” he said.

We walked to the Albertsons a few blocks away from his apartment. As we walked past my car parked in the street he checked out the occupants.

“You hanging out with those guys?” he asked.

“Yeah, so what?”

“Be careful, man they don’t get you in trouble.”

“You hung out with them before.”

“Yeah, I got a kid to worry about now. Just saying, man be careful.”

His advice came from a place of friendship, but I was in no mood for his concern. We were on a mission of freedom.

Ben bought the case of beer and put it in the back seat under Chad’s legs. “Drive safe,” he said and then took off to his apartment.

“Where to?” I asked as I turned the ignition.

“Ashley’s, but first,” Alex pulled out two bags of pills. One bag contained 30 oxycontin, and the other had five promethazine. The promethazine was an anti-nausea so that we would be able to take the oxycontin without the risk of vomiting.

+

The back roads were dark, and my consciousness had become like liquid. A warmth came over me. Everything felt so comfortable. My driving became careless.

I was crisscrossing through the lines on the road when Alex yelled out. “Where the fuck are you going?! The turn was back there.”

As I turned on the next street the car popped on top of the sidewalk and scraped the bottom. The black and white had seen us and their flashing red and blue lights filled the car.

We looked like ghouls in the flashing lights.

Alex muttered, “Fucker can’t drive.”

“We’re going to jail for sure,” Jordan said.

I could feel them glaring at the back of my head. Here it was I thought to myself, our demise.

Our freedom was at stake here. How many felonies were in Alex’s pocket right now? I can’t hide that case of beer. Fuck, mom and dad are—

My thoughts were interrupted by Alex’s hand hitting my shoulder. “Here, eat this.” I shoved some more pills in my mouth.

Another cop car pulled up. An officer opened the back door to let a German Shepherd out.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” Chad murmured, “we’re fucked.”

I jumped at a tap on the window. The police asked me for identification. I gave them my ID, insurance, and registration.

One of the officers spotted the case of beer on the floor.

“I need everyone to step out of the vehicle,” an officer said.

We all got out. “Anything on you that can poke or stab?” the officer asked. “Any drugs or weapons in the car?” I was unable to speak.

I stared at my shoes for an eternity before I looked up at the others. They were wide-eyed. We all had the same question in mind, are we going to jail?

“Who’s beer is this?” an officer asked as he pulled the 30-rack out of the car.

My legs began to shake. I thought of the reaction my mother would have. They won’t let me use the car any more. I won’t be able to come to Twin any more to visit Grace.

“If no one admits to it, I’m gonna give the owner of the vehicle a citation.”

“It’s mine,” I said in a low voice. “That’s my beer.”

There was no way to keep this from my family, I had been caught breaking the law. My life was over.

The officer gave me a citation for under-age alcohol possession and I had to appear in court the next week. Alex was charged with possession of marijuana.

To our surprise, that was it. The drug dogs had not found the stashed marijuana pipe and bag between the back seats. Alex had gotten away with the pills. He tied the drugs up in his pants pocket and the police officers somehow missed it.

We sat in the car for some time. I sunk into the driver’s seat. The marijuana high was now replaced with the numb tingling heat of the painkillers.

“Well, Ashley’s is right up the road,” Jordan said light-heartedly. I could tell he wanted to change the mood. We all agreed to continue our mission. “You want another five to calm the nerves?” Jordan asked me.

“No.” It was all I could say back to him. I was done with pills for the night.

We made it to Ashley’s party. The house had only been a couple of turns away from where we were pulled over.

Inside the house was a celebration of youth. A door had been taken off and rigged as a beer pong table.

The people were like phantoms to me as they made small talk. “Hey, how are you?”, “Grace! It’s good to see you!”, “Hey what happened out there?”, “Were you the ones pulled over?”

I made my way over to the kitchen. Grace had a green bottle in her hand. She lifted it up and moved it, she caught the light inside. “It’s absinthe,” she said, “do you want some?”

I nodded and she poured herself a shot and one for me. The taste of black licorice coated the inside of my mouth and a moment of sobriety came over me.

“My parents are going to kill me.” I said, “I’m sure I’m gonna get kicked out of the house for this one.” I was going to miss my parents.

“Hey,” I said, “I’ll move in with you.”

Before the party was over the whole incident was already a distant memory. We laughed about it and retold the story and this time we were brave. We had conquered the incident with the cops and we were bold enough to get away with just a couple of citations.

“I still have the pills!” Alex shouted, he bragged about his quick thinking in the car and went into detail about the intricate knot he tied in his pocket so that he would be able to conceal the drugs.

We felt invincible but my old life was on its way to being over. My license would be suspended and I would move to Twin.

That night we all fell asleep huddled together on the basement floor.

+

MARIO GALVAN

My stories reflect on my early 20s friendships, my family, and culture. I am a 33-year-old first generation Mexican American. I was born in Chicago, Illinois and moved to Idaho in 2003. I have an Associate in Arts (AA) in Creative Writing from the College of Western Idaho and I am studying a Bachelor of Arts (BA) in Creative Writing with a minor in Literature and Multimedia at Boise State University.

Instagram mario.c.galvan, Twitter @mariocgalvan.

DID YOU LIKE THIS STORY? SEND MARIO GALVAN A DOLLAR OR TWO