Beelzebub and the Beer

It was the moment I'd been waiting for all my life. The moment I'd heard about ever since I could remember. The moment that would finally allow me to cross that threshold. The moment that I would become a man. The moment I drank my first beer.

Charlie had arranged it. He knew his dad kept some beer hidden in the garage. His wife would've kicked his butt if she knew, but his father had to have his “escape.” Living with his Bible-toting, Southern Baptist wife, I can understand why. Charlie told me the day his dad finished adding the extra room onto the garage, he told Myrtle, “Now that is MY room! Don’t ya’ll go near it!" If you do, by God, I’ll go to church with ya the Sunday morning after!”

That was all it took. What would Myrtle have to talk about at? What would be the use of going to church if she couldn't complain about her back-slidin', no good Homer? She was so afraid he'd do it that Homer didn't even have to put a lock on the door to his "escape." What a great place it was too! A "man's cave" before the term meant something more than where a Neanderthal lived. What it really was would have made Heff proud. A man's "pad," not like in the Playboys he used to see when he snuck them out of his uncle's place, but a "Redneck Palace" right here in our hometown. It had an old beat-up fridge that was good enough to keep his PBR cold, a ratty-looking lounge chair that was molded to Homer's amble behind, and a radio. What else could a man want?

Charlie and I walked into the garage. It was early in the afternoon on a sunny summer in June, and the only sound was the critters that chirping away in the brush behind the garage.

It was like entering a cathedral. We dared not speak at first, taking in the atmosphere of a “man’s place, untouched and unvisited by any woman. The dust motes floated in the sunlight coming in from the only window, and it was as pretty as light filtering through a stained glass window. I guess the outline of a naked woman (the kind seen on mud flaps of trucks) on one side of the window, and the STP sticker on the other side helped to set the mood more than any picture of the Shepherd and his flock. Tacked on the wall next to the window was one of those plates you put on the front of the car. It read proudly, “Hell no, I won’t forget!” Underneath the words was a battle flag of the Confederate states, with Yosemite Sam standing next to it with guns drawn and blazing.

On the floor next to the lounge chair was the biggest stack of girlie magazines I had ever seen. Charlie saw me on the looking. “You gotta be careful, “he whispered, “he’s got his own system.” He laid his hand reverently on top of the stack “If any are out of order he’ll know.”

“He musta figured you’d been peakin’” I said, grinning. Charlie didn’t laugh. “Yeah, and he whupped me good for it too.”

He picked up several of them making sure to keep the mess as haphazard as they were stacked. These weren't just your normal Playboys. I saw such titles as Stag, Gent, Rogue, and on the top one, blazing out from the front cover, was a woman with the biggest breasts I had ever seen! I finally dragged my eyes from the marvelous mountains and saw the title of the top: Jugs. I almost laughed, but I didn't want to break the hushed atmosphere in this place.

I’d almost forgotten about the beer. I could have spent the rest of the day ogling the ladies, but Charlie must have read the look on my face. “We don’t have much time.” He looked out the door. “My mom will be home from the A&P soon.”

“But we’re in here,” I protested, “she never comes in here.”

Charlie shook his head. “She watches the place like a hawk. I think she expects Satan himself to come walking out at any time, and she’s got to be prepared.” I laughed. “Prepared to do what? She gonna wrestle ’em?” I started to laugh again, envisioning Myrtle and the Evil One facing off.

“All I know is that we can’t waste time.” He reached into his knapsack and pulled out some empty PBR bottles. “I found these down by the creek where the jocks go drinking on Friday night after the game.” He smirked. “I guess they don’t worry about the deposits.”

The plan was simple. We’d replace the ones we took with empties in the box next to the fridge, making sure we replace the cold ones with new ones from the other case. Homer always made sure to do that. “Take one out; put another in!” he laugh after ’bout his eighth one. We weren’t going to take more than three to four, and Homer wouldn’t miss them. We hoped.

Charlie reached for the fridge handle. The time had come! I had heard about how Homer kept the whole thing full of ice-cold beer, and even though it was a small, it could hold at least a couple of cases. The door swung open and I stepped forward to get a closer glimpse of paradise.

It was empty! We couldn’t believe it. Then Charlie slapped the side of his head. “Damn! I forgot that he was playing poker tonight over at Sam’s place.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it.” The disappointment was almost palpable. I couldn’t speak. Charlie finally broke the silence.

“Well, there’s beer here,” pointing toward an open case on the floor.

“But I wanted a cold one,” I whined, “I’ve been waiting all week for a cold one.”

“Beer’s beer,” Charlie shrugged, “Hell, in England they always drink it warm.”

“C’mon,” I said, “how do you know that?”

“My grandpa told me that,” he said. “He saw them do it when he was there during the war.” He smiled, “they even like it.”

“No way,” I still protested.

Charlie picked up four of the beers and replaced them with empties he brought. “He’ll never know the difference.”

All of a sudden there was a sound we all dreaded---Myrtle was pulling into the driveway!

“Oh, shit!” Charlie whispered. “She wasn’t supposed to be back from the store for another hour!”

“She musta come back for a warm beer,” I said. Charlie punched me in the arm.

He peeked out of the crack of the door. “Pipe down!” he growled. “Be quiet and she‘ll never know we’re here.”

We huddled together to peek out the crack, and watched as Mrytle walked from the car to the back door of the house. All of a sudden she stopped and took a long look back at the garage.

I jumped back from the door. “She saw us!” I whispered. Charlie hadn’t moved. “Naw, she can’t see us.” He looked at me. “Without her glasses she can’t see ten feet in front of her.”

I wondered how she could even drive. Charlie read my mind. “Everyone knows when she’s on the streets to get out of her way.” He laughed. “Even the cops.”

Mrytle stood there glaring at the garage. Even though we knew she couldn’t see us, we backed a little away from the crack in the door. “What is she doing?” I asked. Charlie was quiet, watching her. “This is weird,” he whispered.

I took a closer look. As I watched her face, it seemed as if she was waiting for something, or someone, and her mood seemed to be changing the more she stared. At first she seemed scared, almost frightened, but slowly her look turned into a scowl, and she assumed an almost threatening posture.

“I know you’re in there!” she shrieked. We almost fell over. She did know we were here!

“Even when Homer’s gone, I still know you’re there!”

We looked at each other in bewilderment. “And I want you out of there now!” She slowly started toward the garage. Then I noticed the bible clutched in her hand. The look in her eyes was fierce, but I still you could see the fear there as well.

“God commands you to leave!” she shouted. She continued slowly towards Homer’s “Escape.”

I was ready to bolt, hoping that Myrtle’s poor eyesight wouldn’t help her remember me. I looked at Charlie. He was smiling!

“Have you flipped?!” I whispered harshly.

Charlie points above the fridge. “That’s what I love about my uncle,” he grinned. “Remember last Halloween?”

I saw it. I grinned too.

Mrytle was less than ten feet away now. “Get thee behind me, Satan!!” she almost screamed, holding her bible in front of her now, using it like a shield against the Evil One.

Charlie opened the door slowly. I almost wanted to make a creaking sound like you heard when a coffin opens in a Hammer film.

Mrytle stopped in her tracks, her bible shield dropping to the ground.

Charlie poked his head out the door. Of course, to Mrytle it wasn’t Charlie---it was Beelzebub himself! Charlie was wearing the rubber devil mask that Homer had bought last year to scare the beejebus out of his wife. It had worked: for a month she refused to take a shower, expecting to see the Evil One himself pulling back the curtain, standing there naked all lathered up, holding a scrub brush in one hand and a hard-on in his other.

“Are you feeling dirty, my dear?” he asked, and he really could make that rubber mask smile with a wicked grin. Once that wicked grin emerged, Mrytle lost it.

Her jaw dropped, she raised her arms over her head, and tried to scream. Nothing but a choked squeal came out. She turned and ran for her life. Not for the back door of the house and not for the car she had just parked---she ran right out the driveway, crossing Maple Street (not even looking for any traffic), and kept on going down the street heading for who knew where. The closest church, I guess.

For a moment, we stood looking at each other, and then burst out laughing. After a few moments of rolling on the floor, we finally came to our senses. “We’ve got to get outta here!” Charlie said, grabbing his knapsack.

We gave Homer’s “escape” one last look-over just to make sure that nothing was out of place. As we turned the corner of the garage and headed down the trail, I almost dared a look back. It wasn’t until we reached Miller’s Creek that we finally slowed to catch our breath.

We were alone. When out breathing finally slowed down, we could hear the creek below us. Charlie reached into his knapsack and pulled out two beers, handing one to me.

“Shit!” he cried, “I don’t have a church key!”

I almost started to laugh. After all this, and no key to happiness?

Charlie felt all his pockets, then relaxed. “That was close,” he said as he pulled one out of his back pocket.

He threw it to me. I forgot that the PBR was warm; I forgot about all the earlier daydreams of ice-cold beer going down my eagerly awaiting adolescent throat; I forgot about my fantasies Mabel serving her cold Black Label…I just drank.

“Damn! That tastes like shit!” There was a smile on my face, though.

“Damn straight!” Charlie laughed. He looked back where we came from. “I wonder if Myrtle is still running like hell down the street.”

I smiled. “Homer owes us one now.”

Charlie pulled out another one. “That’s for sure. I don’t think Myrtle will ever come close to the garage again.”