It wasn't the first time he'd passed out in the old blue Adirondack chair in his yard. Over the years, his habit of drinking alone until the wee hours had grown from occasionally to usually. He'd reached the point in life when most of his friends were married, had families and lives, and heavy drinking just wasn't part of their world anymore. Being a bachelor and a man of singular habits, he'd merely accepted it.
What woke him was the sensation of something cold and wet nuzzling his inner arm, followed by what felt like a surprisingly large tongue licking his hand. This was different.
Without any great response, he looked down to see a bear cub licking his hand. He didn't move. He knew better than to scare a wild animal. He looked around and saw another cub rooting through a now presumably empty bag of Doritos.
His yard was lit only by the light above his garage and the dying embers of the fire pit. He noticed empty beer cans on the old picnic table. From the look of it, one would've guessed there had been a party. Except, that wasn't the case.
It started to come back to him. Earlier, he'd been sitting in the old Adirondack drinking beer. He'd picked up a case of Stroh's - on sale - and a large bag of Doritos and had settled into his almost nightly habit of solitary inebriation. He remembered thinking that he was old enough to remember when Doritos only came in two flavors; Nacho Cheese and Taco. He was pretty sure they didn't make the Taco flavor anymore and he felt a slight pang. He missed it. It probably wasn't the flavor he missed so much as he missed that time of life. Friends, good times, lots of parties. It was, at least for him, a period he could equate with innocence. This was long before he left school, started his little sign-painting business, and years before his first arrest for drunk driving.
He thought back to the last one - a few years back - when the court finally took his license. He cracked open another cold one, after crumpling up the previous can and throwing it into the yard.
He told himself he should probably put in some effort at maintaining his property better. But time, money, and motivation were things he lacked.
He looked back at the cans strewed on the picnic table. Who, exactly, had been his guests?
He remembered the feral-looking homeless guy. He'd seen him before. He would just appear, quietly, standing among the trees behind his old two-rail fence. He always looked dirty, but harmless. He'd invited him to have a beer. Talking to a stranger, at the time, sounded better than drinking alone.
The feral-looking homeless guy moved, slowly, toward the fence, then paused. His timidity wasn't unlike a wild animal. He slowly made his way over the fence. His host tossed him a can of beer.
The two drank together in silence. Still, it was better than his typical solitude.
The stranger had one beer. He looked uncomfortable sharing a quiet moment of seemingly typical social behavior. He quietly thanked his host, then said he better get going, and went back over the fence into the woods.
The feral-looking homeless guy returned a few more times since his first visit - never having more than one or two beers. This time, more of his kind followed.
Along with whatever cheap beer he'd purchased, the man had taken to occasionally swigging from an equally cheap bottle of tequila during his now nightly drinking. This hastened his eventual unconsciousness - usually on the old Adirondack.
When the feral-looking homeless guy showed up, along with his companions, their host happily suggested they help themselves, as he motioned towards the cooler full of beers and ice.
They all, with a level of quiet gratitude, grabbed a beer but none sat with their host. Instead, they made their way to the old picnic table. There they held a hushed confab, never once looking over at their host. Having been excluded many times in his life, he just sat with his bottle, occasionally reaching into his bag of Doritos for something to munch on. A mouthful of corn chips was excuse enough to not attempt to intrude on his guests' conversation.
And so the evening went.
Occasionally he would add another piece of scrap wood to the fire pit. It was really more for ambience and lighting than warmth. The nights were growing colder but still not yet cold enough to keep him indoors.
His guests never seemed to notice, and if they did, they just didn't care.
This was all fine with him.
His beer to tequila ratio was off, though, and he was getting drunker quicker than usual. He thought for a moment that maybe he should slow down a bit. He didn't know these people and for what little he did know, they could rob him or worse.
As he sat back in the old Adirondack, he heard a quiet rustling. This wasn't unusual, especially with the woods in such close proximity. It could be almost anything; a deer, racoon, hell - even a stray dog.
He just slouched a bit, getting comfortable, and tried to enjoy his quiet, impromptu party.
He felt something lick his hand.
Momentarily startled, he looked down to see a small black bear cub, taking a taste of the Dorito residue on his fingers.
He thought this was really cute. He'd never seen a bear on his property, let alone a cub. Then he noticed another cub, over near the fence.
He reached into the bag of Doritos and grabbed a handful, tossing them onto the ground for the cubs to snack on.
"Better not. Their mama probably won't like it." came a voice from the picnic table. He wasn't sure if the person who uttered it was male or female, not that it mattered. The tone of the voice was less concern than merely stating the obvious.
The group at the picnic table mumbled amongst themselves and began retreating back into the woods. He'd been the last man standing - or sitting, as the case may be - at enough parties to know it was over for the night. He thought to himself that maybe he should pick up more beer tomorrow, in case they came back.
At least the cubs stuck around. They seemed to be enjoying the Doritos and playing with the empty cans strewn all over the yard.
He took another swig from his bottle, then reached into the cooler for a beer. That was the last thing he clearly remembered.
He passed out.
As he woke, noting the sensation of one of the cubs licking his hand, he noticed the other napping a few inches from his feet.
He chuckled to himself. He thought it was cute. One bear cub licking his hand, the other napping close by - and him, still drunk, sitting in his old blue Adirondack. He didn't notice the mama bear coming out of the woods. By the time he saw her, it was clear that she was none too happy about her babies being plied with beer and junk food from a smelly old human.
It was a tragic end to a sad little party held by a sad little man.
copyright notice © 2026 Michael C. Metzger
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