DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 11
by Donny Mumford
Robby and I are feeling cocky and a little smug this morning. Our spur of the moment sex after Friday's classes was intense and very sexually satisfying, but more importantly it was experienced with true love for one another. Love takes the animalistic thrill of sex to a higher-human level. I'm of the opinion that few, if any, of our fellow students are experiencing a loving sexual relationship like Rob's and mine. We've worked at our love affair over the years, showing respect for one another, being flexible when necessary, and always with a willingness to compromise our differences. I suppose it's arrogance on my part to assume others can't match our love affair, but it's how I feel. For Rob and me it's been a roller coaster ride at times; like when I've taken his love for granted, but now we're exactly where I've always dreamed we would be. I read somewhere that first love, young love, is the most powerful and intense love there is. Robby and I fell in love when we were seventeen; a first love for both of us. At times I feel a giddiness of joy knowing how much Robby loves me. Just seeing him can make my palms feel sweaty as a flutter of electricity runs through my body. He's really something special and I want to be special for him. Huh, as hard as I try, my feelings of love for him are basically indescribable; I can't find the words to adequately describe the wonderfulness of it all.
We take our time showering, then get dressed casually in jeans and sweatshirts for our trip to the Rockingham Mall. I'm in need of new sneakers and then we'll grab some lunch. This morning's 'Modern Society' class with Ryan was the last class for me until Monday afternoon, and I've completed all after class assignments for next week. How sweet is that! In true confession mode, I begrudgingly agree with Robby that completing study requirements, papers, and reading assignments each night, while a royal pain in my ass, is still the most sensible way of staying on top of my college courses. All night cramming sessions for midterms and final exams is stupid. I roll my eyes at the attention-seeking cries of, 'I'm so screwed for this exam!' Those overly dramatic cries are made by fools who ignored studying until the last minute. Their cries of being screwed is a subtle inference that no one told them final exams were tomorrow; it's someone else's fault they're screwed. Some students actually think it's cool to do all night cramming sessions while imbibing large quantities of caffeine from coffee, cola drinks, and Red Bull to help them stay awake. Some of them borrow a study pill from a friend hoping Adderall will stimulate enough dopamine in their brain to give them the superhuman feeling they'll need for their last minute cramming.
Many of these nitwits are simply playing out the stereotypical college ordeal of all-night cramming sessions that they've read about or saw glorified in a movie. Dumb! During the drive to the Mall, we're listening to music without having much to say. It used to be only with Chubby could I feel comfortable spending an extended period of silent time, but I'm comfortable being silent with Robby now too. During this quiet time I'm mostly wondering what to do about Ryan. I'm supposed to text him later this afternoon when Robby's at the ballpark mentoring Golden, but I'm leaning towards not doing that. Ryan was acting peculiar again this morning. He's touchy about little things and I'm frankly getting sick and tired of trying to pacify him all the time. It's like he'll be fine one minute, and then moody the next. His ex-boyfriend, Mike, felt Ryan was too gloomy and I'm beginning to see what he meant. I'm Ryan's friend though, so if he has a problem I wish he'd tell me what it is so maybe I can help him with it. For now though I'm going to stop reaching out trying to placate him every two seconds. If he reaches out to me, then we'll see. That's how I'm leaving it for now... I won't be texting him today.
Almost certainly, no matter how gloomy he is, Ryan and I would end up having sex if we hooked up this afternoon. The thing is, the way he's been so schizoid since arriving on campus I'd just as soon not have sex with him, especially when he acts like he's doing me a favor. Fuck that! My boyfriend took care of all my immediate sexual needs a half hour ago... took care of them twice, as a matter of fact. Bottom line: Ryan and his paranoia are out of luck in the sex department, at least as far I'm concerned. That's my position unless he gets over whatever it is that's bothering him. And, if he has someone else to screw, like that tall kid he walked into the new dormitory with, then good for him. I gotta say though, I'm extremely doubtful there's anyone else. Not here at Merrimack anyway.
As Robby's parking at the Mall, he asks, "Where do you want to look for sneakers?" Getting out of the truck, I shrug, "Let's try Dick's Sporting Goods." Inside the Mall, as we walk past the various stores, we stay as far away from the high pressure salespeople hawking stuff from the kiosks that run down the Mall's first level center aisle. If you accidentally make eye contact with one of these vultures you've in danger of buying whatever they're selling whether you want it or not. We make it to Dick's without buying anything and, Jesus, every time I shop for sneakers there's like twice as many to choose from. Jesus, a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo sneakers cost $1500. Huh, and they don't look much different from the pair on the next shelf that cost $75. If I was shopping with Willie though, heh heh, which pair of sneakers would you guess he'd buy me...? Oh man, that Willie! Robby picks up a retro Chuck Taylor Converse high-top black sneaker, asking, "Do you think this looks cool?" I nod, "Yeah, I do. Let me see that. "He hands it too me, and it's size 9, which is my size, so I kick off my old beat-up Adidas sneaker and try on the Chuck Taylor one. Feels good, looks good! Robby reads the sneaker's label out loud, "It's the official retro look of the nineteen-sixties, but with a modern Lunarlon insole for comfort."
I'm like, "I'm gonna buy these, but I can't decide if I should go for the white ones or black ones?" He goes, "Ya know what, Dylan? Our feet are the same size so why don't I buy one color and you get the other. We can switch off." Huh, that's exactly what Chubby would suggest if he were with me.
Which reminds me; I left him that 3X5 card under his door this morning. I hope he texts me. Nodding my head at Robby's suggestion, I buy the black pair and Robby buys the white ones. We leave the store grinning like goofs at each other. Outside the store, to break-balls a little, I ask, "Hey, your feet don't sweat a lot, do they? I mean, if we're gonna switch off and all..."
and he asks, "Do your feet ever stink?" I'm like, "Really? You're asking me if my feet stink." He chuckles, "Oh, I forgot I'm dealing with Dylan Newman ... what was I thinking? I obviously withdraw that stupid question." I feel like kissing his mouth right in front of all these annoying shoppers.
We chuckle on our way to THE GAME ROOM store, where we look at the latest computer and Xbox games, but don't buy anything. After that I'm doing my usual boy watching as we walk the Mall, killing time window shopping and thinking how much fun it would be to crazy rich, buying anything we felt like, like an NBA player. Results of my boy-watching are not good: slim pickings for cute guys today. I do spot a couple of cute, although too-young, teen boys who are trying awfully hard to look cool. Other than that, there's not much to see. Then, we go through Macy's Men's Department looking for things on sale. I buy a pair of black skinny jeans at 40% off. I'm thinking that'll go good with my new black sneakers. Holding up the jeans, I look at Robby for just a second, and he blurts out a laugh, then picks up an identical pair of jeans for himself. I knew he would. Outside Macy's Robby runs into three teammates. Then, after briefly introducing me as, 'Dylan Newman, my apartment roommate...' the four of them talk for a couple of minutes about Monday, their first day of fall baseball team practice. You know, I don't mind that generic introduction of Rob's apartment roommate. It's all the information appropriate for most of the guys Robby knows. We're not on a campaign advertising we're gay lovers to everyone we meet. If one or all of them already knew we're gay and mentions something about it, we'd have no problem coming out with, 'Yeah, we're gay boyfriends, what about it?' Fact is:
very few guys or girls at college give much of a shit about it one way or the other. There are exceptions to just about everything of course, but we rarely run into one of the last of the homophobes.
While Robby's talking with his teammates I get a text from Chubby asking where I'm at. Instead of texting him back, I call him and after talking for a minute we agree to meet at the food court in half an hour. Robby says, "C'mon, Dylan, Bud wants us to see something at the ear piercing kiosk." His teammate, Bud, is slim with a black eye and short hair. He looks kinda sexy with the black eye, in a goofy kinda way. I follow along behind and one of the other ballplayers drifts back to walk next to me, asking, "Yo, bro, who were those two chicks hanging on your arms the other day at practice?" I shrug, mumbling, "Ah, just a couple of girls messing around." I almost say they're Robby's fan club except I don't think he'd appreciate me mentioning that. This guy, I've forgotten his name already, says, "Wish I had a couple of hot babes goofing around with me like that. What's the name of the one with the huge jugs?" I go, "That would be, Beth, and the other girl is Frankie. I forget their last names, and Frankie is obviously the girl's nickname; her real name is Francesca, or something like that. I'm not sure now." He asks, "Did you get a cellphone number for either of them." I shake my head, "No, but the next time I see Beth I'll ask for it and give it to you the next time I see you." He goes, "That's cool, thanks. Um, you wouldn't mind if I give her a call, would you?" I say, "Nope, I wouldn't mind at all." He goes, "She's my type, dude." I go, "Uh huh." This guy, whatever his name is, probably isn't going to have much luck with Beth, or most girls.
That'd be my guess anyway. I've no doubt he's confident enough to call Beth, but I'm not sure why he'd bother. I mean, unless I'm missing something, he's not the type of guy girls are dreaming will call them. To be kind, he's not an attractive young man, plus he looks about thirty years old. And yet, from our short conversation and his body language, he gives me the impression he thinks he's God's gift to women. Go figure...
We're at the piercing kiosk and I'm assuming the big attraction here is the girl doing the piercing. She's in her early twenties and not what I'd call pretty, but not bad looking either. I'm guessing her very low-cut blouse with no bra for her significant breasts is the reason for all the fuss.
The guys act like high school juniors laughing and pushing each other, trying to talk each other into getting their ear pierced. Huh, and I think I'm immature at times. Robby glances at me and rolls his eyes. I nod my head back in the direction we came and Robby tells the guys we need to meet someone. As we start walking away, Robby says to a tall, nerdy looking guy, "Charles, you should get your tongue pierced. That way her face will be so close to your face her nose will bump that big nose of yours." He goes, "My tongue, really Rob?" apparently thinking Rob's serious. I'm backing away with Robby following, telling me, "Not all forty guys on the baseball roster are winners, as you may have guessed. All of these guys are backup players, but I try to know as many of the guys on the team as possible. We're all teammates, ya know?" Yeah, I guess. Then I tell him about Chubby meetings us a little later for lunch, and we talk about what the three of us might do tonight. That makes me think about tomorrow night and I sigh with resignation because Robby's promised the girls we'd go to an off campus frat party with them. So whatever we do tonight I'm hoping it's a guys only affair.
For the hell of it we stop in the Abercrombie & Fitch store to look at their overpriced merchandize. I read online that there's been major changes in all the Abercrombie & Fitch stores; a change in philosophy. After looking around in here I can't say I care all that much for the changes. They used to hire only sexily attractive young men and women; ones who dress stylish, as well as being good looking and sexy. In other words, their sales staff looked and dressed like most of us secretly wish we could look and dress.
I guess mostly I hate that they did away with the shirtless guys, heh heh.
Everything about the store is less sexy now. The big sexy posters of guys are gone and the sales staff are more diverse-looking and they're all dressing-down from before, all the way down to drab in some cases. The store overall is a lot less cool now if you ask me. Huh, they haven't dropped their prices though. That's the change they should have made and left everything else the way it was. Dumb asses! Leaving the store without buying anything, we head toward the gigantic food court. When we're almost at there, Robby's saying, "I'm thinking cheese steak at D'Angelo Sandwich Shop." Looking at me when he said that, he walks right into and just about creams an old lady. She would have ended up on her ass if I hadn't grabbed hold of her coat. She's wearing a coat that almost reaches the floor, which isn't surprising since she couldn't be more than four-feet, six-inches tall. She's waving her cane, sputtering, "You need to look where the hell you're going young man." She must be able to see where she's going just fine if I can go by the size of her eyeglasses. Big horn-rimmed eyeglasses that she pushes up her over-powered tiny nose.
Seriously, she could easily be eighty years old, but she's still frisky, telling me, "No need to grab my coat like that, boy! Or were you going for an old lady's purse? Is that what you were up too?" Jesus, I saved her ass and she's giving me shit. Robby's apologizing profusely and she's nodding her head now, apparently taken-in by Robby's sincerity and handsomeness. Over Robby's shoulder I see Chubby walking towards us, and a big smile breaks out on my face. He's so cool! Robby's pacified the old lady by now; convincing her this wasn't a mugging. She's smiling, patting Robby's cheek while flashing me a dirty look, then she walks away. Chubby come up and gives me a hug; then, nodding his head at the old lady, he asks, "Who's the coffin dodger?"
Robby and I burst out laughing, then tell Chub about the old lady as the three of us walk into the busy food court.
There's a wide variety of foods offered at the Rockingham Mall's food court, like all mall food courts I suppose. As always the Chinese food station is passing out samples. We accept the offered samples of bourbon chicken on toothpicks by the Chinese sample guy. The poor man looks as though he wishes he were doing anything but this. I kind of feel bad for him. He knows from experience that most of the people who grab a sample from his tray have no intention of buying from the Chinese booth. They eat the sample of chicken while heading for McDonalds. Then there's the uncouth food shoppers who go for a second sample, a major faux pas in the food court world, although the Chinese guy nods his head with a forced smile; probably thinking bad thoughts. We at least stop near the sample guy as we eat the chicken pretending we're giving serious consideration to having Chinese for lunch. Then we continue on to the D'Angelo Sandwich Shop booth. They feature grilled sandwiches that I've never been a fan of, and the same for their wraps. I do, however, like D'Angelo's cold Italian sub, and their cheesesteak with fried
onions. They have good rolls for their sub sandwiches. Robby and I order cheesesteaks with Cokes, and Chubby gets the Italian sub with a root beer.
You need to pay in advance and then wait for your order to be prepared.
Waiting for our number to be called a girl comes over, saying, "Hello, Jeff. Funny meeting you here." Without introducing her, he goes, "Why do you think it's funny, Candy?" She's standing there sort of wiggling, mumbling, "I don't know," as another girl joins us and hands Candy a red slushy, asking Chubby, "You going to the frat party tomorrow night?" Chubby shrugs, "Maybe," and Candy, after taking a big slurp of her icy drink, says, "Brain freeze!" Chubby deadpans, "I'm pretty sure you don't have the necessary equipment for a brain freeze, Candy," The other girl hits Chubby's arm, saying, "Oh, you!" as Candy ask, "Whaddaya mean?" Our number is called so Robby and I drift over to the pick-up counter while Chubby continues entertaining himself with the girls. After picking-up what we ordered, plus Chubby's, we find an empty table where we unwrap our cheesesteaks. We're still chuckling at Chubby's brain freeze put-down, then he joins us with his awesome grin, asking, "What's in your shopping bags, Dylan?" I show him and he's like, "Oh my God! I need a pair of those fuckin' sneakers!" I'm like, "Yes, you do."
As we eat our lunch Chubby's telling us about John Beverly buying a pack of condoms yesterday. It was at the RiteAid drugstore a quarter mile up route 114 from the college. At the front register, the clerk's wearing a name tag that spells, Alice. She's in her fifties with elaborately gold-frosted hair and electric-red lipstick. As she puts the condoms in a bag, Chubby said to her, "Um, excuse me, Alice, where's the fitting room. My bud should probably try one of these things on; make sure he's got the right size."
Hahaha, we all get a good laugh as Chubby chuckles, muttering, "Fuckin' Alice bit her tongue going, "Huh? What...?" Robby goes, "You'd think she'd be use to pranks like that with five thousand college students a quarter mile away." Chubby's got another story about John Beverly. Last Sunday he went with John Beverly, who needed to buy a hairdryer to replace one that he dropped and broke. John buys one, then the two of them sat in the idling Jeep at the
side of the road, both wearing sunglasses. Chubby would point the hairdryer out the driver's window as each car sped by on route 114. Chubby goes, "Oh shit, all the taillights were flashing as the drivers hit their breaks going past us." I go, "Jesus! What grade are you two in again?" He smirks at me, "Just some innocent college pranks, bro. Here's another one: whenever John Beverly withdrawals money at a ATM machine he holds both arms up, yelling, "I won again!" Robby mumbles, "Barrel of monkeys, you two," but we're all grinning. I love seeing Chubby so full of laughs and life, but then, when do I ever see him when he's any other way? He's always 'up'! After lunch we go with Chubby to Dick's Sporting Goods where he buys the same pair of black, high-top Converse sneakers I bought. Walking out of the store he puts his arm across my shoulders, saying excitedly, "I feel so much better now that I've got these sneakers." I just grin shaking my head slowly. Chubby can turn the smallest thing into an event. Outside the Mall Robby goes, "Um, it's one-thirty already so I guess I'll go right to the ballpark. Do you wanna come with me, Dylan?" Chubby says, "No, he's staying with me. I'm taking Dylan for a few beers, but we'll stop in at the ballpark later on." Robby goes, "Yeah, okay, I'll see you then," and Chubby asks, "What are you guys doing tonight?" We shrug and Chubby goes, "John Beverly's got a date, so as past roommates, the three of us need to do something together." Robby goes, "That'd be awesome, Jeff. We'll figure out something after practice." Then Robby messes-up my hair, grinning, and saying, "See ya later, babe." Chubby smirks as Robby heads for the pickup. I ask Chubby, "You're serious about a couple of beers in the afternoon? Really?" He says, "Yep, we have the right to do that now that we're twenty-one, and there's something I want to talk to you about. Oh, and thanks for your note this morning, Dylan. It made my heart go pitter-patter knowing my brother still loves me and wants to hang-out with me." We start walking to the Jeep, as I say, "I miss you not being in the apartment with us." He goes, "Yeah, me too, but I thought it'd be nice for you two to have an early honeymoon." I don't feel comfortable talking about Robby's and my sex life, even with Chubby, so I go, "Oh."
At the Jeep I insist on driving, mumbling, "See if I remember how to start this thing." He says, "Honest to God, Dylan, this Jeep is at your disposal
twenty-four-seven, bro." This past summer Chubby insisted that he's paying the total auto insurance bill for the Jeep, instead of us splitting the cost. Being very serious, he told me he has a guilty conscience monopolizing the use of our car, but the fact is whenever I've needed the Jeep Chubby's always made it available to me. Anyway, Robby drives him and I places we need to go, and then I have the use of the pickup at other times, like when Robby's at baseball practice. Ya know. Mostly it makes me feel good in my heart knowing how much Chubby appreciates the use of our Jeep. We basically only shared it equally during our senior year of high school, which was the reason we bought the Jeep in the first place.
Behind the wheel of the Jeep, I'm like, "Where to, Chub? Where we gonna have these afternoon beers?" He says, "How 'bout Rolf's?" I nod and pull out of the parking spot on my way to route 93. Rolf's is an old bar in downtown North Andover where they have open mic nights every Wednesday, not that we've ever been there on a Wednesday night. Robby and I were in Rolf's earlier this week for two beers. That's when I saw the sign, 'Open Mic Night...
Wednesdays from 7 to 11 with $2 shots and beers'. I'm not sure if that's $2.00 each, or $2.00 for both. In either case, if you feel like tying on a load some Wednesday night, it's almost worth listening to amateur singers considering the $2 shots and beers. From the Mall in New Hampshire to downtown North Andover is a mere fifteen minute drive, that's how close North Andover is to the New Hampshire state line.
During the fifteen minute drive Chubby gets me laughing with tales of an elaborate prank played on unsuspecting students right outside his dormitory.
A guy from the second floor bought two inexpensive megaphones. Outside their dormitory this guy and his roommate would ask passersby to help them test the megaphone, asking the unsuspecting victim to say, 'one, two, three... testing' into the megaphone so they could determine how far the sound reaches. Unbeknownst to the victim, the megaphone he's given doesn't have batteries. One of the roommates has the other megaphone, the one with batteries, and he's out of sight. When the guy who's nice enough to help them says, "One, two, three... testing" into his megaphone no one hears that. They hear the live megaphone saying things like: "I have the smallest penis of any of my friends." It looks like the victim is saying that through his megaphone. There are always groups of students in the area who erupt with startled laughter, and most of the red-faced victims laugh too. There are variations of the smallest penis prank, mostly involving bodily organs. Another one goes: "I'm letting out a huge fart as I'm talking into this megaphone".
Obviously it's as fucking sophomoric as you can get, but I've got tears running down my face laughing at some of the words put into the mouths of the victims. Chubby's laughing as he's telling me this, and I don't know, but we may never outgrow fart humor.
There are four cars parked in Rolf's lot as I pull in and park. Inside there's a couple of working stiffs dressed in mechanics overalls sitting together at the bar, and two other guys drinking alone; one in a suit and one a sullen-looking long-haired hippy type who's bitching to the bartender about the soccer game playing on the TV that's bolted to the wall over the cash register. I feel oddly out of place, still not used to being served in a bar. I'm feeling young and conspicuous, but we're here now so whaddaya gonna do? The other time I was in here it was dark outside and the lights in here were low so I didn't notice how seedy the place is with sunlight streaming through the windows. We sit at the end of the bar, as far away from the other customers as possible. The woman bartender looks over at us and then does an audible sigh before slowly walking down to us, asking, "Really, boys?" She assumes we're underage of course. Chubby has his big smile shining, as he says, "Nice place!" She says a bored, not amused, "ID," and then looks surprised when she reads our driver's licenses. A man comes in from the back carrying a case of twelve ounce bottles of Bud. The bored lady says, "Take a look at these, Hank." Hank is a barrel chested guy in his thirties, who was probably a cute guy in his twenties but he's let himself go since then. He's squinting as he stares at our licenses.
Expecting a hassle, I'd just as soon leave, but Chubby smiles harder, asking, "Is there a problem, Hank?" The guy looks up, and Chubby goes, "We're from the badger state where twenty-one is the legal drinking age, so we assumed..." The man goes, "Badger state?" Chubby, being very friendly, goes, "Um, yeah, you know Wisconsin? America's Dairyland? University of Wisconsin-Madison. Like that..." Hank grins and says, "Oh, that badger state." And I was right; even at his advanced age; Hank's got a cute grin with dimples. He drops our licenses in front of us, chuckling, then asks, "What can I get you badger boys?" The woman bartender sighs again, then turns away, mumbling, "I'm gonna take a smoke break." Chubby asks, "What do you recommend on tap, Hank?" Hank's nodding his head, chuckling again, like he can hardly believe this shit, then he goes, "Well, the city of Milwaukee I believe is in Wisconsin, so you boys undoubtedly know your shit when it comes to beer," and Chubby goes, "Guess we can't sneak anything by you, huh Hank? Milwaukee's the beer capital of the world." Hank laughs, "Yep, and it was Schlitz beer that made Milwaukee famous, but we don't carry that rot gut brand in here."
He holds a finger up, like: but wait a second, and he says, "We've got Miller on tap. Miller beer is also headquartered in Milwaukee, right?" Chubby mutters, "Bingo," and holds up two fingers, smirking at the guy, as Hank says, "Two Miller drafts coming up. The first round is on me, badger boys."
Fuckin' Chubby! I go, "Well alright, bro," and we slap a low five.
Hank puts two coasters in front of us, then pours two glasses of Miller beer and sets them on the coasters, asking, "Merrimack students?" Chubby says, "Guilty as charged, and thanks for the beers, Hank." Hank nods and walks down the bar to the gas station guys, asking, "Two more?" I look at Chubby,
"Okay, what made you say badger state?" He goes, "Fuck if I know; it just popped out of my mouth." Chubby's brain is full of mostly useless facts, like the badger state's connection to beer. Well, he is the factoid king after all. He can have a conversation with complete strangers and they wind-up liking him the way I can tell Hank likes my bro. It's not just what Chubby says, but the way he says it, which isn't something you can teach. I'm pretty sure of that. We sip on our beers, then I mumble, "Really good and cold, huh?" Chubby smacks his lips, "Yes, and that's the way I like it, although beer connoisseurs will disagree. Beer typically comes out of the tap at a frigid 38 degrees, while beer drinking aficionados claim at that temperature beer loses all nuance in layers of flavor the brewmaster intended it to have. Ideal temperature should be mid-forties." I go, "Ya don't say?"
We finish our beers, and then each of us puts a twenty dollar beer on the bar before ordering another. In local joints like this, that's the way you usually do it. The bartender takes money for the rounds alternating the money in front of Chub and me, then he returns any change that's due. In fancier bars they run a tab which they keep open, adding to it until you're ready to leave. The grumpy lady bartender is back after her smoke break. She's setting little bowls of pretzel nubs every six feet or so up and down the bar. More beer drinkers drift in as I wait patiently for whatever it is Chubby wants to talk with me about. As usual Chubby takes his time getting to it and in the meantime, he says, "When I drink beer I get an urge for a cigarette, but it's against the law." I nod, "Yeah, drinking alcoholic beverages gives me the urge for a smoke too, and then the smoke gives me the urge for another alcoholic beverage." He goes, "An enjoyable vicious circle that Massachusetts residents were able to indulge in until July, 5, 2004." I go, "Um, are you sure of that date?" He chuckles, "Yep, before then smoking was totally allowed in bars and restaurants; other places too for that matter." I'm like, "Who the hell decided that people aren't allowed to smoke."
He goes, "Oh well, most of us humans are incapable of making good decisions.
We're too stupid, and what not, and therefore politicians, who run things, need to decide for us." I pop a pretzel nub in my mouth and chew it, muttering, "Nice pretzel nub," and Chubby says, "On the other hand, what about the non-smokers? This bar would have a haze of cigarette smoke floating in the air if smoking was allowed." I shrug, mumbling, "Whatever. There's two sides to any argument, but I suppose a nonsmoker could always frequent a bar where the bar's owner has banned smoking in his establishment."
Dropping that no-win topic, Chubby looks at me, asking, "What's bothering you, bro?" I ask, "Is that what you wanted to talk with me about?" He nods his head, "Yeah, I'm going to butt into your life now. What's bothering you and don't say nothing because I can read you like an open book." I shrug, "Okay, but nothing much is bothering me, really." He asks, "What about Wilcox?" I'm like, "Ryan? Oh yeah, he's been strange since arriving back at college. You're right, that's something I don't understand." then I ask, "Hey, was Rob talking to you about this?" Chubby shakes his head emphatically, saying, "No! I don't need Rob or anyone else telling me anything about you.
I know when something's not right with you." I go, "It's not like some big problem, Chub, and I'm not sure what you've seen in me that makes you think it is." He squeezes the back of my neck, saying, "I don't exactly know what it is I've noticed either, except it's something." I take a deep breath, "I don't know. Ryan and I were so close in Georgia and now it's like he's got some kind of problem with me, but he won't say what it is." Chubby crunches on a few pretzel nubs thinking about that.
I motion to the grumpy lady bartender we're ready for beer refills, then say, "To be honest, Chub, I don't have a lot of negative thoughts where Ryan's concerned because he's been so good to me. I mean I lived with him for over two months and that's a long enough time to get to know someone pretty well. We were together most of the time too." The lady bartender brings us beer in fresh glasses and takes the old ones along with Chubby's twenty dollar bill. Chubby goes, "Huh, you know I've never really liked that Wilcox character very much." I go, "Why's that?" and he says, "Hard to put my finger on, but I did get a distinctly negative vibe from him after freshman year. You know when he worked with us on the grass cutting crew for a few weeks." I'm frowning, remembering how sexually hot I was for Ryan at that time, but I'm unsure about the negative vibes Chubby's referring to. I ask him, "Do you recall specifically what your negative sense about Ryan consisted of?" He nods, "Yeah, I do. I felt he was using you, or somehow taking advantage of you." I shrug, remembering how dominant Ryan was during that period; and how much I was into it too. Avoiding that topic, I change directions a little bit, saying, "Ryan never really had a chance at normalcy because of his upbringing. Actually I think he was adopted, although I never asked him about that. Anyway my guess is his adoptive parents lost interest in parenting during Ryan's teen years and lost confidence in himself, maybe feeling he was unworthy of their attention. Then he got into some kinky sex having a low self-image. That's not something he told me, it's what I began thinking while living with him, and from reading between the lines of things he told me about his years growing-up. So maybe that's what you were sensing. Ryan acting unsure of himself." Chubby mutters, "Nope, that wasn't it at all. Quite the opposite." Well, I'm not touching that because it goes into the dom/dom roles Ryan and I were into. Anyway, that was a long time ago.
We drink some beer with Chubby mumbling, "Damn, I could go for a cigarette right about now." Ignoring that, I try defending Ryan again, "Ryan's misunderstood. He's never had a lot of friends back home, or anywhere I suppose, so he did most things by himself and I felt bad for him." Chubby says, "Yes, Dylan, you have a sweet disposition, and you always have had one, but unfortunately some individuals have taking advantage of you because of it.
Wilcox is an example of that, and so was that Worthington kid; he was another one." I'm shaking my head, "Give me one example of how I've been taken advantage of. Actually, now that I think about it, that's insulting by basically inferring I'm so naive and dumb I can't realize someone is taking advantage of me." He rubs my shoulder, "You know Goddamn well I wouldn't insult you, and I know you're not dumb. It's just that the things you've told me, specifically about Ryan the past couple of years, always has to do with you feeling bad for him, and you trying to be a good friend to him by accommodating him in different ways. And okay, that's all well and good to a degree, but the question I have is what's he ever done for you? Why do you think he's such a great friend?" I go, "I already told you, he was extremely nice to me during my stay in Georgia." Chubby shrugs, "Oh yeah? As I recall he didn't back you up on the stupid name thingie, did he? That 'Danny' horse shit." I say, "Hey!" Then realizing he's right, so I mumble, "Um, that was his mother mostly." Chubby goes, "Oh okay, what'd Ryan call you?" I'm like, "This doesn't have anything to do with anything. He didn't want to upset his mother, that's all that 'Danny' thingie was." He goes, "How'd Ryan introduce you at work, and to the people in the church activities you attended?"
Avoiding the question, I say, "I didn't mind the church on Sunday, or the Wednesday Bible study. Not too much anyway. If I didn't go it'd cause Ryan problems at home." Chubby asks, "Yeah, but how'd he introduce you to everyone?" I look at him, "Why are you asking me all these things?" He says, "Because you can't tell me one way that Ryan helped you with anything. It's all about you helping him. He's a taker and you're a giver."
Fuck, I told Chubby about me being known as 'Danny' for those nine weeks.
He just wants to rub it in my face. After some silence, I say, "We're not fighting, you know. You and me, I mean." Chubby goes, "If we were it'd be the first fight we've ever had. Of course we're not fighting!" He rubs my shoulder, quietly saying, "You remember MJ and all the fights she and I had, and I mean all the time?" I nod, and he says, "Well, I got addicted to her sexually because... well, never mind why exactly, the fact is I did. We didn't have fun together per se; so much was the two of us marking time until our next sex explosion. That's the situation I believe you've had with Wilcox.
You've rationalized in your head he's this great friend of yours who's misunderstood by most everyone but you, while all the time the bottom line is, the number one reason for your friendship... is sex. That's what I think." Huh! To give me time to think about that I'm smelling the back of my hand, mumbling, "What makes you say that?" He goes, "Because, like I've already said, you can't tell me anything that's fun about hanging out with him, and you can't come up with one thing he's ever done for you. You've told me about him acting moody, and I don't mean just this week. You've mentioned it to me periodically for as long as you've known him. Think of someone like, let's say, Connor Mealey. I don't know if he's gay, but if he is I'll bet sex isn't the first thing that comes to mind when you think about Connor.
You think what a great kid he's always been and how he'd do anything for you, for anyone. Always the big smile and positive outlook even though we both know about his years growing up. Before he joined the Army was a horrendously bad time for Connor, monumentally worse environment than rich kid Ryan Wilcox ever experienced. Does Wilcox possess even one of the positive characteristic that a guy like Connor has?" When Chubby doesn't like someone he calls the person by their last name. Hmmm, Ryan's been calling Robby by his last name quite a bit of late too, that's when he isn't referring to Robby as 'him' or 'he'. Chubby says, "Dylan, can you answer me?" I mumbling, "I'm thinking, okay?"
We get two more beers and, to lighten the conversation, I say, "I really like being the central theme of our little talk this afternoon, Chub." He goes, "Oh, but you're not the central topic! Wilcox is, and I'd feel better if you'd look objectively at your relationship with him. Can you try to do that?" Huh, then I remember earlier today when I decided not to call Ryan like he told me to. I decided that Ryan needs to reach out to me and not the other way around for once. So, I nod at Chubby, saying, "For your information, Chub, I've already started the process of winding-down my involvement with Ryan. And, um, what did you say the sexual addiction was that you had with Mary Jo's?" He laughs, "Nice try, bro, but I got over it when I saw how destructive that relationship had become. You need to do the same where Ryan's concerned." Balls, he got me there good, so instead of replying to that I drink some beer, then say, "It's still real cold. The beer I mean."
He chuckles and mumbles, "So is MJ's and my relationship. Sure, it was fun while it lasted, but there comes a time to move on and that time has come for you where Wilcox is concerned." I mutter, "You're not my boss," and he says, "Neither is he. And, anyway, I'm not acting like a boss now; I'm acting like your brother who loves you more than I have words to describe." I look at him feeling my eyes stinging, mumbling, "No fair, Chub. It's not fair bringing our mutual feelings into the discussion, and anyway why are you taking such a strong position on this?" Taking a deep breath, he says quietly, "Because he's not worthy of your friendship, and if I'm correct that it's some kind of sex attraction, he's using that to keeps you close to him, in which case he's doubly not worthy of your friendship." I ask, "Jesus, how do you know so much about how I feel, and what I should do? Not that I'm saying you're totally right about everything." He shrugs, "It's simple! I'm the world's leading authority on Dylan Newman; I study you every day, and you simply haven't been yourself since he returned to college. I'm comparing you these last four days to how you were during the last two months at home. You haven't been the same happy go lucky lovable person this past week as you were the previous two months, and the only difference is Wilcox's return."
Sliding both hands down my face trying to think, then drinking some beer, mostly agreeing Chubby's right, then sighing, I say, "Thanks for looking out for me, Chub. Your analysis is scarily correct in some ways, but like I said a few minutes ago, I've already decided to give Ryan his space. He'll either get over whatever ails him or he won't. I'm done trying to make him happy. But Goddamn, I only decided that earlier today and then you pick this perfect time to have this talk. That's spooky, don't ya think?" He shrugs, "I didn't know you'd begun to see how he was dragging you down, Dylan. It is kind of a bizarre coincidence that I decided to discuss this with you the same day you reevaluated your relationship with him." I go, "And you're being honest that Robby didn't say anything to you about this, right?" He goes, "The rare times, other than work last summer, that Robby and I are alone together," I interrupt saying, "Alone together? There's an oxymoron if I ever heard one," and he waves his hand at me, adding, "When we're together we mostly talk about you because you're who and what we mostly have in common." I go, "So you did talk to him?" He shrugs, "Not specifically about me having this talk with you, no." I go, "Anyway, I guess I gotta agree with almost everything you've said, so why do I feel like I'm abandoning a friend in need?" He says, "That's a hard one right there, but you can't solve everyone's problems, Dylan. God knows you've tried, and you've been a great help to a number of the guys you've befriended. Connor, Cory and Seth come to mind immediately, but I can come up with others too if I have time to think about it. The thing is though, some people will drain you dry, bro. They might not even be thinking that's what they're doing while they continue doing it. They use you to make themselves feel better about themselves. For whatever reason some people are like that. It's just the way they think; they're narcissistic, or whatever. You need to know when to cut your losses.
That sounds cruel or hard, but when you've done all you can... ya know, what else can you do? He's not good for you. Robby's good for you. That's what I see." I go, "Okay, but can we stop talking about it now, please." He says, "One last comment, Dylan. Letting Ryan confront his own problems might be the best thing you could do for him now. He might surprise himself. You've given him a head start; so to speak, let him take it from here. In other words, you don't need to feel that you're abandoning a friend because, who knows, distancing yourself from him might be just what he needs." That sounds like a rationalized stretch, but I think I'll use it as a life-line as far as Ryan and I are concerned. Hey, it may even be true.
We finish our forth beer, and for something to say, I ask, "How much beer would you say these glasses hold?" Chubby looks at the glass, then mutters, "Ten ounces," and I say, "Okay then, we can have one more for the road?"
Chubby holds up two fingers and the grumpy woman sighs audibly again, pushes herself away from the cooler she's leaning on and draws two more beers.
Chubby and I smirk at each other as she slowly carries the beers down to us and sets them on our coasters. I nod at the money left from the twenty in front of me and, as she's picking up five one dollar bills for the beers, Chubby says to her, "Long day?" and she turns her head, saying, "No, not really. I'm lucky to have this job," and she gives us a nice smile. Huh, ya never know. We drink our beers talking about me working last summer on the lawn cutting crew and the differences between that and working in the Hewlett-Packard factory. Done our beers we both leave two bucks on the bar for the grumpy bartender, who claims she's lucky to have the job. She says to our backs as we go out the door, "Thank you, boys. Come back anytime." Chubby grins and shrugs, like 'She's a tough one to read'.
Now we're on our way to watch a little baseball practice. By the time we get there the players will only have a half hour or so of daylight left for this unofficial practice. At the Jeep, I smile, saying, "Damn good talk, Chub," and he hugs me, saying, "I love you so much, Dylan." That makes my eyes sting again, as I murmur, "Me too, Chub."
to be continued... Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com
donnymumford@outlook.com
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Hoping some readers may be interested, there are books of mine published and available on Amazon.com. Anyone who has Kindle can download them for next to nothing. The books are usually around ten dollars. They are about a 19 year old gay boy (Oliver) who has a far different life than Dylan's. And there is a new book, 'Mike, his Bike and Me'. Please at least check them out by typing my name on Amazon.com. Information about the story in the books can be found in some detail there. Thank you.
Donny Mumford
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