9 February 2013

Oh Vey!

     "That was not an 'Oy Vey' moment," said Abraham. Abraham was 24, but seemed much older. Even as we sat on the couch of his apartment, exchanging hits from a bamboo bong as wide and thick as a bassoon, he seem more substantial, patrician. It was like sharing bong hits with Abraham Lincoln. He'd even started growing a beard like that.
     "What do you mean?" I said, taking huge hit and holding it my lungs.
     "You were in a brawl with those Eagles fans--that's not an 'Oy vey!' moment. You don't say 'Oy vey, jackass!' when you are in a fight in the Candlestick Park parking lot."
     "Oh," I said, expelling a huge cloud of smoke into the room. "What's an 'Oy vey' moment?"
     "It's like when you've just visited some friends and you walk out to your car and step in a dog turd."
     "Oh wow," I said. "I thought that was an 'Oh shit' moment."
     Abraham, who held the bamboo bong in his hands but hadn't taken a hit, started laughing. A little at first, then more and more. Like a small fire, the laughter engulfed him and then spread to me. In a moment we were both gripped in a full-on cannabis-induced laughing jag.
     "You know," I said between snorts and guffaws. "This is like laughing with Abraham Lincoln!  Like taking bong hits with Abe Lincoln!"
     I was rolling on the couch holding my gut when I noticed Abraham was quiet. "What? I said, still laughing. "Are you offended? Four score and forty years ago?"
     Abraham stared past the bong to the floor. "You know, I wish my parents hadn't named me that."
     I stopped laughing and listened.
     "A name is a big thing," he said. "It marks you for life. Labels who you are. Who you're supposed to be. Your name is Scott. It's light and easy and likable. . . Abraham? Father of the freaking Jews? Savior of the United States of American? I'm a Jew and I'm an American and I'm supposed to live up to that? What were my parents thinking?"
     Abraham stared at me intently, then he fired up the bong and took a slow even inhalation, gathering power as the smoke entered his lungs.
     "Jesus," I said. "Oh wow. . . I wonder what guys named Jesus are feeling?
     Abraham gasped and the sudden inhalation pulled bong water deep into his lungs. The foul liquid exploded from his lungs and a geyser-like gusher of burnt marijuana, gray water and lung juice burst from his nose and mouth across the couch, table and me.
     "Jesus, Abraham, Jesus!"
     "Oy vey!" he said dissolving into laughter, "Oy vey!"