Long short story

Eric Johnson
Joey was a racist. Or at least he thought he was. The concrete was cold, and the night colder. His heart beat like canons going off on a mountain where the enemy made its way down. How did it come to this, he thought.
Joey grew up in a small Midwest town. He was what you might call a redneck. On the weekends he would go mudding with his friends or shoot guns along those lines. His best friend’s name was Franklin; they had been best buds since 2ed grade. He was what you might call a ladies man. He also had a burnout older brother named Red. In high Franklin and Joey’s friendship grew exponentially, most of what brought them together was the love of the outdoors, ladies, and having a good time. There town was mostly all white people, so this made their task easier, but their neighboring town was almost the opposite. One night at a football game, in which the rivaling towns tested their physical strength, Joey and Franklin viewed the stadium from the tops of the bleachers. They smoked cigarettes and conversed with their other friends, paying little or no attention to the game unless a touchdown was scored and they were required to clap and say generic cheers. Everything in that moment was perfect. Their team won and they were all in a prideful mood saying things like, “Stallions!” and such, when a member from the loosing team shouted, “get outa here ya hicks!”. Joey’s crew stepped into action all at once without a word being said. Before they knew it, it was a full out gang fight. Franklin had two big black men on him and was getting pummeled; Joey reached into his pocket and within seconds warm fluid dripped from his hands. At once the fight was frozen in time. Franklin starred at him and they both knew at that second that it was time to dip out. They both pilled into Franklin’s 71’ Chevelle and tore out. “I can’t believe you stabbed him man!” Franklin’s bloody face shot out. “I mean, you stabbed him!” Joey realized he was still holding the weapon and threw it out the window, still not responding. The car was silent. “He’ll be fine.” broke the silence. “What?” Franklin sputtered. “He’ll be fine, trust me”. “It doesn’t matter where you stabbed him, you stabbed him!” Franklin was practically screaming. Silence filled the car for a long while as they reflected on what had just happened. “Are we still going to Brad’s party?” Joey asked. “I’m going to need something to calm my damn nerves man…” “You are freaking out about this more than I am man, settle down.” Joey interrupted. “I know, I’m sorry, I’m just a little shocked is all.” Franklin took a few deep breathes and they pulled into the gravel driveway. “Howdy ya’ll!” Joey called as he draped his body out of the car. Cheers and common greetings fill the air and drinks are lifted as the hero arrives. Red stumbled up to his kid brother and blurted, “You are now a man, my little child, I am proud of you.” He is handed a drink and walks to the raging bonfire, which stretched at least10 feet into the air, shaking people’s hands and getting padded on the shoulder, half by people he didn’t even know. He sat down and everybody wanted to hear the story, from his perspective of course. He boldly restated how he had saved poor Franklin’s life and risked his own. He knew he was getting huge respect points for this. The rest of the night was a mixture of celebration and mayhem, as the alcohol took effect; he wandered to a field, staring at the stars. And all at once, he fell off his high stool and cried himself to sleep.