8/8/2019 Stark Raving Mad - Ch. 2

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Waking up after one of our parties is usually the last thing I feel like doing.It's early afternoon. The summer sun blazing merrily through my window makes me wish I

were blind. I've had about three hours of sleep, and I'm still tweaking. I crave something mentholated,anything , and I just might kill for a drink of water. So, I jam a Vicks inhaler up my nose, fire up aMarlboro Light, and stumble out into the kitchen for a bottle of water. By the time I finish off the bottle, I begin to feel close to human again. I step over Anthony on my way back to my room. He'slaying half in, half out of his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of rainbow-striped toe socks and a

severely depleted collection of candy bracelets. Anthony has a tendancy to hand out his bracelets like,well, like candy. He'll wonder where they all went when he wakes up, and he won't believe me when Itell him. A quick peek into the living room as I pass by finds Rachel, Jason, and Scott curled up on thecouch's fold-out bed, as usual. I go back to my room, crawl into bed, and nearly drop my cigarettewhen the blankets next to me yawn and say my name. Recovering, I pull the blankets back to reveal theadorably rumpled form of Evelynn. She squints in the sudden light, then deftly reaches out andsnatches my Vicks inhaler and my cigarette.

“Bitch,” I say in my most loving voice.“Asshole,” she replies. “Where's my bottle of water, you selfish prick?”“In the fridge, right where I left it. Any more questions?”She doesn't answer, only climbs out of bed and starts taking off all her clothes.

“Tinkerbell,” I say, a grin spreading across my face, “what are you doing?”“Going to rehydrate, of course, since my boyfriend can't even bring me a bottle of water.”Catching the hint, I roll out of bed and ditch my shorts and t-shirt and follow Evelynn into the

 bathroom for a very relaxing (and satisfying) shower. This is a fairly normal after-party routine for us.Let me just take a minute here to give you a better idea of who we are and what we're all about.

I'm afraid I didn't do such a great job of it last night, but I was on drugs at the time. I'll break it downfor you Barney-style.

My name is Mark Rogers. I'm twenty-three, six feet tall, with brown eyes and hair, of average build, and an Aries that enjoys long walks on the beach and brightly colored beads. My friends knowme as The Lizard King, or just King, a name i earned one night while channeling the spirit of JimMorrison while on peyote. My parents died in a car wreck six years ago, leaving our house to my brother and me in an unprecedented show of trust. A lady from some state agency came by once amonth for the first year, I assume to see if we were still alive, but then we both turned eighteen, and shequit coming. I guess we had become responsible adults by that point. Or so they thought.

My twin brother Thomas, the good twin, who, as I said, looks nothing like me, moved out after he graduated from high school. He's a head shorter than me, blond, with light brown, almost goldeneyes, and he likes men a lot better than he likes women. You'd never know it just to look at him, as helooks like any other slightly rumpled straight guy. He never styles his hair, he wears whatever he findson the floor, and he likes to watch football and work on cars. I know, he doesn't  sound gay, but if youdon't believe me, ask his partner, Seth. Thomas used to party with us, until he got ahold of some badmushrooms and spent a week in the hospital. He nearly didn't make it, and now, he's a high-on-lifekinda guy, which got him his moniker, DJ Reborn.

His partner, Seth Asher, is everything you'd expect out of a gay man. He's immaculately

groomed, very fashionably dressed, and goes absolutely loopy when Anthony spins Madonna of KylieMinogue. He was big into musical theater in college, and claims that his finest moments were during Rent , cavorting around the stage as Angel Dumott Schunard, until tragically succumbing to AIDS. He probably says that because Thomas claims to have fallen in love with him during his performance of “I'll Cover You” in the same show. The crew calls him Prettyboy, mostly because of how much hediffers from Thomas in his practice of grooming and fashion.

Then, we have my next-door-neighbors, Eric and Sarah Nixon. Eric looks like your classicmetal-head, with his long, dark hair and tendancy not to shave for weeks at a time. His closet consistsof nothing but ragged blue jeans and faded t-shirts promoting death metal bands you've probably never heard of. How he became a member of our little coterie is anyone's guess. I would say it was just the

8/8/2019 Stark Raving Mad - Ch. 2

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 process of evolution. He was my neighbor and best friend, and we always partied together, and whenmy parties took a turn for techno, he followed right along. He adjusted beautifully, and some nights,even I have a tough time keeping up with his mosh-pit honed enthusiasm. Eric's second rave with uswas the Roman Holiday party, and everyone who saw him in his toga swore they were witnessing theSecond Coming. Eric has gone by Jesus ever since.

Eric's sister, Sarah, has been a thorn in my side for years. Lately, she's been growing from thornto rose, but I try to ignore that. Slender and willowy, she has the same long, dark hair as her brother,

with startling hazel eyes and a heart-stopping smile. Eric used to call her Baby Sister, which got pickedup by the group, but she really didn't like that at all, so it changed to Babygirl, which seemed to satisfyher. This past year or so, she's been more flirtatious with me than usual, and honestly, she's gettingharder and harder to ignore.

 Next in line is Rachel Gibson, the Jessica Rabbit of our group. Men love her, and she's inspiredmany a hetero female to nights of experimentation. She's a modern-day Amazon, at an even six feettall, and her jet-black hair falls around her shoulders in thick ringlets that long to be touched. She's builtlike a Playboy model (all-natural, she'll proudly tell you), and she knows how to use every inch of it toher advantage. We call her Cleopatra, and only half-jokingly.

And then we have the two knuckleheads who follow her around. The first is Jason Romero.Tall, dark and handsome, he's just the guy you would expect to see Rachel with. He's witty, charming,

and has chocolate-brown eyes so big and soft that sometimes, when I'm rolling, even  I want to fall into.His only character flaw is his unshakable belief that he is the supreme being. When we started callinghim Adonis, he took it as a compliment to his appearance instead of a thinly veiled attack on his vanity,and that's how he's been known ever since.

Rachel's other plaything is Scott Witten. Scott is the complete opposite of Jason. Scott is of medium height, a little chunky, and fair-haired with light blue eyes. He's quiet, and usually hangs back in conversation until just the right moment, when he interjects something wonderfully appropriate. He'snot suave or confident, but there's something about him that just captivates you once you really get toknow him. He's the philosopher to Jason's rogue. Rachel crowned him Socrates, a whollycomplimentary and appropriate sobriquet.

I'm sure you're all wondering, what about the girl in the shower? Well, that's Evelynn Sexton. Imet her shortly after my parents died. Red-headed and full of energy and joie de vivre, she put my pieces back together again. I owe her a lot, and I try all the time to let her know how much I appreciateher and how important she is to me. I know I'm not perfect, and I'm sure I don't treat her the way shetruly deserves, but I try. She's my little faerie, my Tinkerbell.

And last, but not least, my inspiration, my shepherd into the world of light and sound, the manthat spun my world right 'round, baby, right 'round...Anthony Santos. Anthony moved in with me aboutsix months after my parents died. The house was paid for, but I was having a tough time with the utility bills, as I was trying to work and finish high school. Anthony had already graduated, and when heresponded to my ad, I was a bit skeptical. But his check was good, and he was a genuinely likablefellow, so I let him move in. His story was simple, just a young man roaming around looking for a place to start putting his future together. I remember the first time he switched on his turntables, hisshoulder-length hair shining honey-blonde as he swayed back and forth between the decks, his fingers

deftly adjusting knobs and sliders on a mixer that had definitely seen better days, and the music pouring forth like sweet salvation at 160 beats per minute. Anthony was my new messiah, come to leadme to the most holy of holies, and in his left hand he brought techno, and in his right hand....

Ecstasy.To me, Anthony always has been, and always will be, DJ Saint, come to Earth to spread the

words.And the words were: Rave on.