"Surpriiiiiiiissssssssseeeee, happy birthday, Ronnieeeeeeeeee!"
This man barely flinched as Casey brought him into the bar, as me, her and the rest of the 30 or so neighbors wanted to throw a small surprise birthday bash in honor of one of the best neighbor slash friends to have. We were all tight on our Attleboro street, as we all came from different backgrounds and just had an unwritten oath to look after each other. No one did it better than Ronnie.
"You know, a guy doesn't shift the older he gets," he said to the group, and we all blurted out laughing.
We all still sung to the five foot nine, 300 lb. proud Englishman, as the guy who worked on everything from cars to children's bicycles, sometimes for free, the guy who made the best clam chowder, the guy, who sometimes had homeless sleep on his couch for no charge, deserved all the love. He and I became close when I divorced my ex wife, Kelli, eight months prior. He'd become a shoulder to cry on, and a helpful mouth as he was the first guy to blow me.
"You'll never find someone to suck you off like I do," he said after.
That was true, but he really was there for me as a friend, helping me pick up the pieces to my life after what I thought was a good 12 years."
"I can't thank you all enough. Feels good to be recognized and appreciated like this. Now, let's party," he said in his deep, northeastern drawl.
We managed to get the owner to allow us in holding this private party on a Saturday afternoon, after Ronnie would finish his shift as an electrical engineer at the local hospital. We paid the owner for a bartender, and two cooks to prepare some small finger foods, as well as a 12-layer cake. We just all basked in seeing Ronnie smile, looking happy as the guy usually carried a reserved look, and was more quiet than assertive. I knew he looked extra delicious on this day and I personally wanted to give him some birthday oral, as an exclamation point, me saying this as folks hugged on him.
"Ronnie, when's the last time you took a vacation," Jeff asked.
"Hell, I can't remember," he said back, as we all laughed.
"Well, the vacation Jeff speaks of, you won't need a passport or even a vehicle, just some strong lungs," I told Ronnie, as it was a nice strand Jeff brought in from his dispensary.
Jeff, a tall, burly Italian bear gentleman who was in his early 60s, handed "the goods" to Ronnie, with Ronnie taking a whiff, then pledging he would smoke it later. This meant he would break it down with his closest friends: Myself, Casey, Jeff and Trey.
Once the party was over, and we handed Ronnie gifts, the four of us would meet at Ronnie's back deck, where Jeff would evenly distribute the ounces into these specially imported leaves, then literally roll joints for each of us. We began toking shortly after, and I would experience a high almost of the psychedelic nature.
"Ronnie, you wearing a dress," I remembered asking, as the others laughed out loud, then agreed.
We were blunted, as we could only credit Jeff for letting us test drive his product that was literally making us feel out of this world.
"It's all natural. It's called 'the color strand," and the seeds come in from Asia," Jeff told us.
I needed only soft drags to feel the way I felt, and would put out my blunt as I wanted to save it for another time. The others puffed on, and when the weed finished, Casey and Trey would depart as they were feeling freaky and needed to be with their significant others. Jeff, myself and the birthday boy were feeling just as frisky, so we ended up going into the house, kicking our shoes off and relaxing in Ronnie's living room.
"Hell, I might need to get unhigh," I told the both of them, geeking, as the three of us were sitting on the couch. "Jeff, if this ain't some intergalactic shit, I don't know what is."
