the penis game.

“Hey, who finished my drink?” I frown, scanning the couch for possible suspects until my gaze wobbles onto Mel. “Did you?”

“Um, I think you did, Anne.”

“Impossible!” I scoff, then screw up my forehead in concentration. I ponder for a few seconds, then concede.

“Well! That went fast!” Like the three tequilas and accompanying beers that preceded it.

Rasheed was a boy who lived in my town, and we both liked bars and drinking and taking the latest possible bus home, so that worked out just fine. It was our first night escorting each other back to Betton, and while we were walking I decided to ask him why he and his friend Donovan had been laughing so hard in math class that afternoon.

“Oh, it’s because we were playing the penis game.”

“PENIS!” I shout. I know that game.

“No, no….” Rasheed shushes me, steering me away from some bemused passerby. “It’s when you take movie titles and replace one of the words with penis.”

“Ohhh, like 10 Things I Hate about Penis?” I giggle.

“Exactly. Or She’s All Penis.”

“American Penis!” I’m intrigued.

“Finding Penis.”

“The Lion Penis.”

“The Little Penis.”

“The Mighty Penis.”

“FREE PENIS!!!!!” I punch my fist into the air. We’re holding onto each other laughing uncontrollably as we weave down the cobbled street.

“Hold on, I want to see if this place is open.” He darts inside the sandwich shop and I wait outside, sliding slightly down the wall until my feet are sticking out at a right angle into the street. Rasheed returns just in time to save me from being hit on by random men and a bus simultaneously.

“Ok, this is our bus. Up we go.” He helps propels me through the doors, and, in a burst of energy, I dive onto a seat, roll off, grab the bar, and pull myself up again. Rasheed is too engrossed in his sandwich to notice.

“I want some,” I say. It's infuriating, how content he looks.

“Missed your chance.” He shrugs and takes another big bite.

“Rasheed!” I stamp my foot and almost fall off the seat again. The French are all silently observingly our exchange. I surrender the battle and lean back, my head sinking into the cushion. Ahhhh......... bliss.

Next thing I know Rasheed is telling me it's my stop and wondering if I'm going to make it all the way home.

“I’m FINE.” I reel off the bus and begin to teeter down the street, concentrating hard on staying parallel to the wall that keeps moving closer to my right side. I’m painfully aware that the bus has not yet moved, and I have the sneaking suspicion that even the driver wants to witness this spectacle. I can just picture Rasheed laughing with the French people over his drunk American friend... oops, that was the wall. Only slightly bruised, I pull some branches out of my hair and continue doggedly on.