Tiny's Tree House

No card game, sleepover, camping trip, or party was complete without at least one outrageous story about Tiny's tree house. That might sound juvenile unless you know Tiny was the huge groundskeeper at the prison, his tree house was on the criminal side of the fence, and only the baddest asses had first-hand experience with either. Everyone else thrived on rehashing stories they had heard from someone, who had met someone else who had been there.

Let me back up and explain my teen-aged theory about badasses. In addition to the vicarious thrills and wild stories they provided, if you treated a badass right you had a friend for life. You were as good as walking with a bodyguard or packing an assault rifle, even when alone, because nobody in his right mind messed with a girl who had developed a friend-for-life relationship with a true badass.

It seemed like the best of both worlds to me; without having to throw a punch, issue a warning, or muddy my image, I carried their threat through association. A couple of my friends-for-life, seldom-in-attendance bodyguards kept me supplied with first-hand stories about wild parties and huge fights at Tiny's tree house, which I retold every chance I got.

At home, Kim was the good one who did not befriend badasses. Jill and I tested every rule, stopping short of illegal, or permanent damage. However, if the people we were with decided to break laws, cause permanent damage, or crossover into baddass status, we hung on tight for the ride. Kim kept our escapades from Mom and Dad because we provided her with stories to tell her friends who never did anything exciting.

Jill and I stayed grounded much of the time, despite Kim's discretion. We were on no-friends-over house restriction the night we ended up at Tiny's, but Kim managed to pout us out. She shocked Dad, usually unaffected by her droopy bottom lip and forced tears, with, "I might as well do the bad things they do, since I'm stuck here every time you ground them."

Without looking up from his book, he replied. "You don't have to sit here with them. Go out and have fun."

She rolled her eyes, plopped beside him on the couch, planted her head on his shoulder, and asked what he was reading. I'm sure he knew Kim would not let him read another word in peace. He called Jill and me down from the stairs where we sat waiting, and said we could go out, if Kim decided where we went and what we did.

I could live with Kim's weird notion that eating a pizza was a good time, as long as I was out of the house. We felt like winners as we paraded off the block, Jill and I because we beat the rap, Kim for being our heroine and in control.

Three blocks before we reached Pizza Hut, borderline baddass Ron Johnson's car pulled up beside us. Kim grabbed Jill and me by our clothes and smirked. "Don't forget, we do what I want."

While the two of them fought over the damage Kim was doing to Jill's blouse, I invited the four guys in the car to join us for pizza. "Fuck Pizza Hut," Ron said. "Ride out to Tiny's with us."

Jill's blouse forgotten, Kim surprised us. "I get front seat," she called, marching toward the car.

I suffered a few moments of total panic until I settled in the backseat beside Lloyd Penn, who had earned his baddest-ass-ever status by having a good ten years on the rest of us, and a history inside the prison.

The forty-five minute drive was uneventful except for Kim's constant harping at Ron to drive faster. "We have to be home in the time it should take to eat our pizza," she kept reminding him.

Ron took it well. He didn't slow down until we skidded through a patch of gravel and came to a jolting halt inches from a chain-link gate. Kim screamed and the other guys laughed. Ron flashed the headlights three times, leaving them off on the last one. Being in on the secret code gave me goose bumps, followed by a full chill when the gate opened and the car rolled over the line into dangerous territory.

The gate closed and we rode across the field with only a bonfire in the distance to guide us. I decided that first chill was all the first-hand experience I needed and interpreted Kim's silence and Jill's heavy breathing as confirmation of their agreement, but doubted we could convince the guys to turn back. Their energy filled the car.

Lloyd's iron thigh pressed against mine, the heat branding me with confidence and energy by the time Ron stopped the car and shut off the engine. Jimmy, Lloyd, and Kim got out ahead of me and stretched beside the car. When I finally poked my head out and glimpsed an ordinary house that was not connected in any way to a tree, I turned, ready to save Jill the trouble of crawling out. But, before I insisted they take us home, Ron stepped his massive frame to the side and I spotted the tree house.

Anxious to see if lanterns or extension chords supplied the light coming from inside, I paid little attention to how our group paired up and fanned out. Jaime led Jill and me up log stairs, and through the opening left in the wall of the cabin that someone had built on three trees.

Introductions escaped me as I registered three full-sized couches, end tables with lamps, and a wall phone inside a tree house. Minutes passed before I gave any attention to the men on the couches, who were older, rougher than badass, and actively ingesting, injecting, or inhaling drugs in various forms.

Kim's distant scream concluded my interest in the tree house and it's peculiar occupants. I backed down the stairs and ran, Jill and Jaime at my heals, through a stretch of darkness, past the deserted bonfire, and into another area so dark that a glowing ash on a cigarette was the only way we knew anyone was there. Jill tripped over a tree root, Jaime pulled her up, and we continued toward the tiny red target. As we got closer, Kim's laughter sent Jill into a rage.

"Why'd you scream? We thought you were hurt." Jill pulled Kim's clothes this time.

Ron tried to explain. "She walked through a spider web." A racing car engine cut him off.

Headlights cut through the darkness and showcased Lloyd, standing fifty feet ahead. Jill screamed when the car sped toward him and skidded to a stop just before hitting him.

My first experience with Tiny came from behind. "Get the screaming bitches out of here," he blasted. The voice shook me to the core, even before I turned to see that none of the stories I had heard came close to describing how large, or hairy, this man truly was.

"I'll take them to the house," Ron said. Jill and Kim followed with no argument.

Jaime reached for my hand. "I didn't scream," I whispered. "We can't leave Lloyd."

"Lloyd doesn't need us here." Jaime's words held little conviction.

Tiny, whose name seemed more ridiculous than ever once I had seen him, laughed. "Long as she keeps her mouth shut, she's okay."

Lloyd traded places with the driver. Jaime and I watched a few more rounds of this game where everyone but Lloyd jumped aside before the car stopped and the crowd shouted chicken.

Confident my baddest-ass-ever friend was safe without me and had no intention of quitting any time soon, I nodded when Jaime suggested we go sit by the fire.

A different group, looking much like the tree house gang, had gathered around the fire. They played a less dangerous chicken game where they tossed hot rocks at one another and laughed when anyone jumped or dodged. One guy called out numbers, which I assumed were scores, but didn't bother trying to figure out the rules of the game.

Disappointment set in. The actual experience did not measure up to the stories I had heard about Tiny's. I found these sweaty, scarred men more repulsive than frightening, the tree house more absurd than legendary, and the games more childish than brave. I wanted to find Jill, Kim, and Ron and remind them we had exceeded our pizza eating time. I wanted pizza.

Jaime's voice interrupted my thoughts. "She isn't playing." He didn't sound like a badass and suddenly looked small and innocent compared to the stone tossers who were laughing at him. The fear in his face scared me, even though I had no idea what he had seen or heard before making his comment.

"I'm not playing any games," I said. "I need to go home soon."

A toothless version of Tiny howled. "Ain't nobody asking her to play. She's the fucking prize."

Jaime grabbed my hand, more insistent this time, and pulled me off the bench. "Let's go find Ron and the girls."

"She ain't going nowhere," Tiny Jr. said, no trace of the howling laughter left in his voice. To confirm his order, the wiry guy closest to me tossed his stone into the fire and placed a searing, death grip on my arm. After losing a brief game of tug-o-war for my body, Jaime took off toward the house.

Toothless guy decided wiry guy had not won anything, and had no claim on me. Wiry guy eased his grip to argue the current score with the other contestants. Figuring screaming would serve no purpose and I was raped or dead if I stayed, I jumped the bench and ran.

The self-proclaimed game winner chased me, catching up when I ran into a small tree a couple of feet into the darkness. He tugged at me; my inner arms absorbed a layer of bark from hugging the tree.

Headlights out and back door opened, Ron's car pulled in beside me. I kicked the winner and jumped in the car. We left Lloyd behind and sped through darkness to the gate, which miraculously opened for us, a puzzle that escaped me until much later. Tiny must not have been the monster everyone assumed. I left his image tainted, thinking he would prefer it that way.
Mom met us at the front door. I hid my barky arms and choked back the please ground me for the rest of my life sitting on my tongue.

Kim's life changed as much as mine did that night. Once she stopped gloating over the fact that she was as grounded as we were, she decided she was officially bad enough to date Ron.