Free Long Past Stopping by Oran Canfield

admit it’s a good idea.”
    I could tell Jake was actually a little bummed out.
    â€œIt might be a funny idea, but it’s fucking mean. Have you seen the look on those kids’ faces when they lose their balls? It’s the look of pure panic, like they’re going to die if they don’t get them back,” I said.
    â€œGood. Maybe when they find out that they won’t die from losing a stupid ball, they’ll realize it’s not such a big deal, and stop screaming at us all day.”
    â€œJust ignore them!”
    â€œNo way, man, this is going to be great! So listen, if you’re out there and see any balls, I need them for the piece.”
    â€œWhat? Are you nuts?” I yelled. “Go ahead and make your little art piece, but I’m throwing every ball I find back to them!”
    â€œOh, so that’s how it’s going to be?”
    â€œThat’s right,” I said.
    â€œOkay, Cranberry, but just remember, I wake up before you.”
    As much as I may have believed I cared about the kids, Jake was right. If I was unable to wake up for a job, I certainly wasn’t going to get out of bed to climb down into the pit and retrieve balls.
    I watched Jake try to attach the new ball to what, in a very short time, had become bigger than any of us had expected. The thing was already about twelve feet wide. Not a bad-looking piece if you ignored what was behind it.
    â€œHey, so Lawrence came over last night,” I said while I was waiting for my coffee to steep.
    â€œOh yeah, what did he want?” Jake asked.
    â€œHe didn’t seem to want anything. I guess he just came by to hang out or something,” I said.
    â€œHuh.” He wasn’t really listening. Jake was starting to have trouble getting the balls to stay on the wall, because there were too many of them at this point.
    â€œYeah, it was kind of fun actually.” That got a little more attention. “Fun” wasn’t a huge part of my vocabulary at the time.
    â€œWhat…you guys hung out? I thought you hated that guy,” he said.
    â€œI thought so, too. He’s not bad, though. Anyway,” I continued “you know the other night when he did his thing, I smoked a little of the heroin, and I didn’t really feel anything. But last night he brought some over, and man, that shit is pretty good.”
    â€œYeah, it smells like honey-baked ham.”
    â€œHmm…I thought it smelled more like molasses,” I said.
    â€œI had some the other night, too. I kind of felt something, but I’m not sure what exactly. It was good, though?” he asked.
    â€œYeah, I’m kind of surprised…I mean, I smoked a lot of that shit last night, but I feel totally fine today, no hangover. Actually I feel good, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Don’t you think it’s kind of strange that these ‘hard drugs,’ like heroin or coke don’t seem to fuck you up as much as alcohol or pot? I mean, last night I just felt kind of relaxed, but if I smoke even one hit of weed, I can’t do anything. It seems to me they got it backward.”
    â€œThat is weird,” Jake said, not paying attention anymore. He was going nuts with the staple gun, trying to get the balls to stay up, but it wasn’t happening.
    â€œYou think I should use longer staples, or start using nails?” he asked me.
    â€œI’m not helping you with that thing,” I answered, finishing my coffee. “All right, I’m going to go sand some pianos,” I said.
    As I was walking out, Jake said, “Don’t forget to tell people about the Cisco party on Friday night.”
    â€œAre you serious?” I asked. We had an unplanned Cisco party back when we had first moved in, and the results had been disastrous. Cisco was a fortified wine, but it wasn’t like any alcohol I had ever had before. That shit may have been the strangest drug I had ever done, and