Part 2

I had a large group of friends in high school, and in 2015 not many of us had made it very far from the town in which we graduated. The central hub of our activity was the Trap House, a run down apartment in the ghettoest part of Grand Rapids where Micah, Smoes, and Spenny lived. All the neighbors had been in and out of prison, some for drug dealing, others for homicide. As soon as I would park my car on the street, I would run as quickly as possible to the door and knock frantically until someone, usually Spenny, let me in. My pace didn’t stop me from being intercepted on occasion though, and once I had a guy try to sell me crack at their doorstep. I was always relieved when I got inside and the door was locked.

But just because you were inside the walls of the Trap House didn't always mean you escaped the threatening atmosphere of Southeast Grand Rapids. You might hear an argument or a beating from across the hall, or the homicidal neighbor might invite himself to your party, or it's New Year's Eve and instead of fireworks, there's a barrage of gunshots that sends countless bullets into the air around you. I would like to say these occasions were rare, but they became relatively normal. 

By the time it was August, it had been a few weeks since I was at the Trap House, which felt like a lifetime. My absence had been felt, and I received a warm welcome upon my arrival. We were also joined by our friend Brandon, who was a bonus addition to our bro reunion. It was the middle of the day, and we had nothing to do, and as the saying goes, idle hands are the devil’s playthings. We weren’t mature enough to be in each others’ presence without being intoxicated, so it wasn’t long until a concoction of substances was consumed by all. Eventually, the bright idea dawned on us that we should pay a visit to the Kent County Fair, and suddenly I found myself stumbling through horse stables and pig pens, staring into the eyes of soon-to-be slaughtered farm animals.

At one point I found a tree to lean against, where I watched two police officers, silhouetted against the sunset, walking their fairground beat. They seemed pleased to be keeping the peace at this family friendly event that I was so selfishly sullying with my presence. I probably should have turned myself over to them right then and there, and escaped what became quite literally a dark night of the soul.

The night was going well when we made it back to the Trap House. There was a prevailing feeling of freedom in our brotherly reunion, and the summer night was starry and bright. But when we opened the door, we were overwhelmed with a confusing sense of ominous trickery, as it appeared that the world had conspired to play a practical joke on us. I believe there may have even been laughter as we noticed the overturned couch and the garbage strewn about the living room. But when we noticed the TV and Playstation were missing, and that the bedrooms had been torn apart, the reality sunk in that the Trap House had been robbed. 

Micah immediately locked the door behind us, and there was a brief panic regarding what we should do. Spenny, in a fit of rage, put his fist through the living room wall, cutting open his hand. I had to blink and rub my eyes, as I perceived his blood to be floating in mid air for more than a few moments.

Suddenly there was an anxious knock on the door, and the room became incredibly tense. Spenny cautiously opened the door, ready for violence, but it was just Peanut, a little African American boy who was always patrolling the neighborhood on his bike. 

"Dude, Peanut! Get outta here! We just got robbed!" 

Spenny slammed the door.

Who did this? How should we take revenge? Should we call the cops in our mental state? Should we commit insurance fraud? I walked into Micah's bedroom to relax for a minute while the Trap House residents were discussing how to proceed. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and was taken with how unbelievably young I looked, as if I were seeing myself from an elderly perspective. I looked at the clothes I was wearing. I was in my baby blue Gibbet t-shirt that featured an original drawing by JD that depicted a man's head exploding.

After hiding a few things of our own, the decision was made to call the cops. Brandon and I waited on the porch for the cops to arrive while the others double and triple checked that any contraband had been sufficiently tucked away. Intrusive thoughts began creeping into my mind about JD’s dad Steve. He had been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer a few months before, and it was clear that his time was coming. He was like a second father to me, and his influence on my world was immeasurable, so the thought of losing him was devastating. I'm not sure how, but I maintained my composure. 

When the cops showed up, Smoes opened a can of beer and said, "You boys mind if I crack a beer open in my own home?"

They said, "Sure, why not?"

"Because I'm not 21," he laughed. 

They conducted a half-hearted investigation of the robbery and concluded that there was nothing they could do. We sent the cops off cordially and sat defeated in the destroyed living room that had once been our EDM playground.

What happened next wasn't necessarily the result of any conscious thought or decision, but more of a moral decay brought on by mere circumstance. 

Recognizing the ghetto, white-trashiness of our situation, we turned on the most appropriate music we could think of, Eminem, and began destroying what was left of the interior of the Trap House. Any random item was fair game to be thrown at the wall or ground. Even Spenny's electric guitar didn't survive the carnage, having been smashed to pieces on the living room floor.

There were no rules. There was no such thing as responsibility.

Unfortunately, things escalated further, as they tend to do when one takes another dose of what caused them to become insane in the first place. All I remember is that I was overcome with such a wave of animalistic violence that I became afraid of myself. The world around me had the appearance of video game graphics, and I started to feel like I was trapped inside of Grand Theft Auto 5. I excused myself from the maniacal laughter that had recently moved to the kitchen, because I didn't want to be around any knives lest I hurt someone. I laid down on the couch that we had flipped right side up again, and forced myself with all my might to stay where I was and fall asleep. 

I woke up sometime the following afternoon, and the first thought I had was, "I don't care about anything." It would be a long time until I shook that feeling off.

Spenny's alarm had been going off for 5 minutes straight before I knocked on his door to see if he was awake. I finally opened it and yelled his name a few times until he turned over from his stomach and said, "What day is it?"