DYLAN'S JUNIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE
Chapter 56
by Donny Mumford
It's been a good Saturday so far and then tomorrow afternoon Rob will be back from Georgia. He'll be in a good mood now that Merrimack's baseball team won its first two games of the season. Before that though I'm having dinner with Chubby and as much as I hate putting a damper on our evening I may do just that before the night's over. I'm referring to my raising concerns about these random unsettling feelings I've been experiencing lately. I don't think it's depression exactly, but it's like, oh I don't know... it's hard to describe. It's just that something seems wrong although I don't know what. I won't make a big deal out of it but mostly I wanna know if Chub's
ever experiences anything similar. It's like all of a sudden I get this weird sense that something's not right. Nothing horrible I don't think, but something I need to fix. Actually it's kind of embarrassing admitting this to Chubby because it's like a weakness in me.
My problem aside, Chub and I simply haven't been spending enough time together junior year. That's partly because he's not in the apartment this year
and then there's the on-going situation where our sexual appetites take us in different directions. Sure, there have been many occasions when we're both part of the same activity like card games, dinners at the apartment, going to frat parties, or boys nights out shooting pool and drinking beer, and other times too, but I'm referring specifically to just him and me doing something together.
Oh well, at least I've got plenty of time to get ready for tonight. I take a long leisurely shower after which I'm looking closely at my face in the mirror over the sink. Hmmm, there's definitely a blond downy mustache on my upper lip. Yeah well, where the hell else would a mustache be? Plus there are finally other signs of impending beard growth as well. I see pale short hairs on my chin and cheeks that I'll shave before going out. It'd be just my luck that when my beard is fully developed it'll be like Mark what's-his-name's beard. Pony's friend who needs to shave twice a day and still never looks clean-shaven. Nah, not really. I don't need to worry about that.
I lather up and shave without disturbing my upper lip's baby-mustache.
Chubby will get a laugh out of it, not that his beard is a great deal more advanced than mine. After shaving I put on a mild-scented aftershave, not sure if I like having a mustache or not. As for my hair, it lays over to the right with a part on the left. Rob's propensity for over-using thinning scissors for the hair on top of my head leaves me no options except to comb the hair over. The only decision I have is whether to comb a small pompadour in front or just comb the bangs over more or less flat. I go for 'nerdy' and comb a pompadour while grinning at my reflection in the mirror as I'm doing it.
Chubby wouldn't care if I went to dinner in pajamas but I care, so what should I wear tonight? Yeah, something that's cool but not too dressy. After popping the cap off a bottle of Bud, I get the ironing board out and while doing some minor front-loading with the beer, I iron the black jeans Willie gave me for Christmas. I've worn the sweater he gave me too often so I need something else for tonight. Hmmm, looking through my shirts in the closet I decide to iron a light-tan button-up-the-front shirt that has epaulets on the shoulder and button-down pockets on either side of the chest. I have a white shirt exactly like this tan one, but black and tan look good together. Ha, I'm not bragging but I have a good body for wearing clothes. Good pecs from weightlifting and a flat stomach compliments of the genes handed down from my parents.
My lightweight pale-gray jacket with a hood will work okay too. It's not too dressy and yet it's a step-up from a sweatshirt. A lightweight jacket is all I'll need in the fifty-degree weather outside. Man, I can't wait for this month to be over. March weather blows in New England. For shoes I put on my tan Dockers with the thick sole that make me an inch taller and then realize that's a bad idea. I decide on black retro Converse sneakers instead because Chubby's shorter than me and I don't want to draw additional attention to that. Not that I can ever recall Chubby mentioning his height to me. He's such a confident individual he probably doesn't even think about it. I'm not as sure of myself as he is so I do think about how tall I am and wish I were taller. I'm two-inches short of six-feet while Chub's about five-feet-seven-inches tall. It's not like he's a midget or anything. His mom's only five feet-two-inches-tall, while my mom is my height. Our dad was my height too so It's Chubby's mom's genes that let him down in the height department.
Naturally I've got my cross necklace on and my leather bracelet along with both small hoop earrings. I always wear my sports watch plus a ring on both ring-fingers; one from Rob and one from Chub. The rings are birthday presents from years gone by. Maybe it's the gay in me that I wear more jewelry than most guys. People I know are used to seeing me with it though, plus the jewelry isn't remotely gaudy so it doesn't get noticed much. Then of course my nip ring, ha ha. Few people ever get a chance to see that unless I'm on the beach... or naked for one reason or another.
Finishing my second beer I'm now bathed, dressed, and anxious to go. While looking out the balcony's sliding glass doors I'm watching for Chub to pull into the parking lot when my cellphone beeps. It's a text from Chubby: 'Dylan, can you meet me at the back door? I'm just around the corner.' That naughty boy is texting while driving! Checking the time I see it's six-thirty-five! Huh, Chub's only thirty-five-minutes late or ten-minutes early, depending how you look at it.
After grabbing my jacket I go down to the parking lot and watch Chub drive the Jeep right up next to me. Opening the passenger door I see his hundred-watt smile; the special one he only uses for me and it makes me feel warm all over. He gets my smile right back at him and we do a quick hug with him saying, "You look so fucking cool tonight, Dylan! And, bro, is that a mustache? Omigod that's so cool!" Smirking, I'm like, "You look great too, Chub. Um, did you come directly from playing a pick-up game of basketball?" He laughs, "Hey, I dressed-up for tonight, bro." We both chuckle and then I go, "I'm kidding. You're looking good wearing that cool sweatshirt that my mom gave me for Christmas. I thought I lost it." Chub drives us out of the alley still chuckling. He goes, "Yeah, it is your sweatshirt, Dylan, which is why I like it so much." Weirdly, that makes me feel good, as I ask, "So, where we going for dinner?" Chub says, "I was thinking we should probably stay close to home in case we drink too much, so how about Burton's Grille?" I nod, "Yes, that's always a good idea." He says, "On the other hand we could shoot down route 93 and eat in style at some fancy restaurant in Boston and then do a little bar-hopping around the city afterward." I go, "That sounds enticing too but I vote for Burton's," and that's where we go.
Burton's restaurant is literally a five-minute ride from the apartment. It's a quality suburban restaurant, albeit a bit pricey.
Parking at Burtons is usually a problem because it's a very popular spot.
It's also a very large restaurant without enough parking spaces. Chubby brazenly drives right up to the front door and pulls into an open parking spot and I'm like, "What the fuck?" Chub goes, "Yeah, no one ever thinks there'll be an open parking spot this close to the front door, but there are five o'clock diners who park here and finish early leaving an open parking spot or two." See, I learned something already tonight. I mutter, "I knew that," and Chubby grins at me and squeezes my hand.
We get out and walk inside where there are people waiting to be seated, but it's only a two minutes wait before an attractive woman at the front desk
looks at us and smiles, saying, "Table for two?" Chub nods smiling back at her. We follow her past the crowded bar into the restaurant and get seated at a table on the far side of the room where there are large windows across the wall overlooking the strip-mall below. The view isn't much to look at but there are no diners on one side of us and that's a very good thing.
It's about as private a table as there is in Burtons.
We settle in and Chub says, "Awesome table, huh bro?" I nod at him as a good-looking young guy, maybe a Merrimack student, shows up with menus, saying, "Welcome to Burtons. How are you guys doing tonight?" I say, "Awesome," and he hands each of us a menu while telling us, "I'm Karl, and I'll be your server tonight," and then he tells us the specials. Chubby and I pretend we're interested, nodding our heads occasionally. When that's over with, Karl asks, "Can I get you guys something to drink?" Chub looks at me and I shrug, "Ahhh, yeah of course. Um, how about a vodka and tonic." Chubby says, "The same for me," and after we show our ID Karl goes off to do his job.
Actually this is the fastest service I've ever gotten here, but then the busy time begins a little later and gets busier from then on.
Chub doesn't bother to look at the menu because he'll get whatever I order. He always does, it's just his restaurant thing. I look at the menu for a minute and then Chub asks, "What are we having for dinner tonight, Dylan?" I shrug, "Burton's is known for it's steaks so I'll probably order that," and that makes Chub think of Ken's Steak House back home in Framingham. We talk about the dinners and lunches we've had there and the times Chub's conned the waitress into serving us cocktails even though we had no ID, plus we looked about sixteen-years-old at the time. So we get some yucks out of those stories and then our drinks arrive. As Karl sets a drink in front of each of us, he asks, "Have you decided what you're having tonight?" Chub says, "Karl, we're gonna have a couple of drinks before dinner, so..." and Karl goes, "No problem. I'll check back a little later. No rush." When Karl walks away, I say, "So how'd that party work out for you last night?" Chub and John Beverly went to an all black birthday party for Jasmine's best friend. Jasmine being Chub's date and her sister, whose name I don't know, was John Beverly's date. Chub grins and says, "Well I learned that in any group there are always gonna be an asshole or two no matter if the group is black or brown or white or tan. In other words last night's party was mostly like any party I've ever been to. Jasmine, her sister, Latvia, who was John's date, and the birthday girl, D'lynne, are all extremely nice girls. D'lynne's boyfriend was a funny dude named, Dwayne. D'lynne and Dwayne; say that five times fast." I mutter, "I don't want to," and he laughs, then says, "Most of the night it was just the six of us hanging out together. Later when the booze had been flowing for a while this one black guy tried baiting me by talking about what a great job Obama's doing. I listened and finally told the dude, 'Whatever, man, I don't know jack-shit about politics'. So then he baits me by criticizing what he termed 'white peoples' potato salad. Whatever that means. Finally Dwayne told the guy to go fuck himself with that crazy bullshit. The guy just laughed and drifted away. That was about the only slightly racial thing that happened." I go, "What's wrong with our potato salad?" Chub chuckles, muttering, "Not a thing, bro." I nod, "Huh, was it just a talk-and-laugh party or was there dancing?" I'm naturally thinking about what a terrible dancer Chubby is. He goes, "Yeah, there was some dancing but there were only like ten couples there. Jasmine never mentioned dancing so, ya know, I didn't get to show off my moves." I'm like, "And that's it? I mean wasn't it odd for you and John being the only white guys out of twenty people?" Chubby goes, "Not to me it wasn't. I was mostly interested in Jasmine. Oh, I did hear John Beverly talking trash with a couple of the black dudes but they were laughing and joking with each other. So, no problems, and I didn't expect any." Drinking my vodka and tonic it's immediately obvious that this is not a pleasant-tasting drink. As if tonic's not bitter enough they added a lime wedge to the drink. I should have ordered vodka and grapefruit juice.
Grapefruit juice is very tart but it doesn't eat away at my stomach lining like the tonic is doing. I ask, "Do you like this drink, Chub?" He shrugs, "Not particularly, but it's better than an all booze cocktail like a martini." I swallow some more of this terrible drink, and says, "Well goddammit there must have been something funny or unusual that happened during the party." Chub goes, "Not really. The party girl, D'lynne, told John and me that just because we're dating black girls we shouldn't expect them to be an authority on black culture. Don't be asking why black people like a certain thing, watermelon for example, because each person is different no matter their skin color. Oh, plus we learned some black slang: if you say, FOMO, it means a 'fear of missing out ' on something, I guess. 'Tea' is gossip and, when you say this is good tea, it's really good gossip. Hmm, what else? I forget the rest." I go, "I expected some good laughs," and Chub's like, "Dylan, bro, it was just a good time and mostly not about black or white at all. John and I were ourselves, the same as if we'd be at an all white party." I'm wishing I was there as a fly on the wall watching Chubby. I know damn well he was more of a factor than he's saying. I go, "Didn't you get them laughing?" He says, "Well yeah, I did and I'll tell you something, those girls and their boyfriends all have a great sense of humor. They were an excellent audience for some of my more outrageous observations but it was spontaneous stuff that I don't remember now. Like I said, it was a normal fun night." I don't ask about any possible sex he may have had later with Jasmine. If Chub wants to tell me about it he will.
Our waiter is back, asking, "Another round guys?" Chubby says, "Ya know what I'd like, Karl, and I know this is gonna sounds crazy but I've always wanted to try it. I'd like a Shirley Temple with two shots of vodka in it." Karl chuckles and Chub goes, "No, I'm serious. I remember as a kid being given Shirley Temple drinks when the adults were having cocktails and it was a good super-sweet drink." I say, "Yeah, I'll have one too." Karl mumbles, "This is definitely a first, but I'll see what I can do." Chub goes, "Don't forget the vodka." Karl goes off and Chub says, "I just remembered something about last night. This guy, Dwayne, told us what was almost a life changing experience for him. It was during his freshman year when he and this girl were at a mixer sitting at a table with friends. They'd all been pounding down shots and beers so he slipped a piece of gum in his mouth to sweeten his breath a little 'cause he was gonna make a move on the girl. Anyway he turns his head to give her a kiss but remembers the gum so he turns his head back to slip the gum out. When he turns back one-second later this girl is hurling her guts out all over herself and the table. If he hadn't hesitated that one seconds to take the gum out of his mouth she would have thrown-up in his mouth.
The one-second delay saved this dude's ass from a life-changing experience.
Ya know, forever he'd be thinking about someone throwing up in his mouth while kissing." I go, "Gross." Chub snickers, "Dwayne had some funny shit to tell but I was getting hammered myself and can't remember most of it. We were a laughing crew last night though. I remember that much." Huh, a disappointing account of the party, but then Chub has been known to get carried away doing shots, which impairs his memory. Our Shirley Temple drinks arrive and I'm ready to order dinner now. When out drinks are on the table I tell Karl, "Caesar salad for starters and then a medium rare filet mignon with béarnaise sauce, potatoes gratin, and the green beans." Karl jots it down on a small tablet. I may or may not eat the green beans but Rob and I have been getting into some vegetables lately so I'll at least taste a bean. Chub, of course, says to Karl, "Hmmm, I think I'll have exactly the same thing my brother just ordered." Karl goes, "Very good, guys.
I'll have rolls brought over." We smile and nod. What else are you gonna do? After tasting our vodka Shirley Temples we look at each other. I go, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He goes, "They were better without the vodka?" I snicker, "Yeah, they were." Waiting for our dinners we're talking about dating. Chubby says, "You're relationship with Rob allows you to luckily avoid the dating ritual. Most of the guys on my team are almost always trying to hook-up with someone and it's a more complicated matter than the guys on your team encounter.
Obviously that's because we're dealing with the opposite sex." I go, "Try telling that to gay guys in the closet." Chub goes, "Well I do admit you guys are severely handicapped by the limited pool of possible sex partners, but you're at least dealing with the same sex. So that's basically a head-start for you guys right there." I go, "What?" He shrugs, "Guys are guys, gay or straight, but I need to be prepared for the vast variety of the opposite sex's weirdness and temperaments. Girls are different than guys in so many ways you wouldn't believe. There are all kinds of things to consider." I go, "But they all have what you're primarily interested in, right?" He asks, "You mean the vagina?" I chuckle, "That's a funny-sounding word... vagina, but yeah that's what I meant." He says, "The vagina is quite important, yes...
but not exclusively so. Girls have many attractive parts to their bodies as well as other attributes to go along with their temperaments and vaginas." I mutter, "I'll take your word for that. No need to list them." Chubby goes, "Heh heh, you don't want to hear about tits I'm assuming." I go, "That's one of the things I don't want to hear about, yes." He nods, grinning, and saying, "Well the dating thing is full of pitfalls so I find having good opening lines to be vital when meeting a girl of interest. The thing is I need different types of opening lines, or pick-up lines, for the different types of girls I meet. It requires a quick study of the girl on my part, you know, to gage how she rolls. Take for example the snooty twats.
The ones carrying a paperback copy of Khalil Gibran's 'The Prophet' around with them pretending they're reading it. For that circumstance I've memorized a line or two from the book; for instance, 'Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup'. I'm like, "What in the fuck does that mean?" Chub shrugs, "Who the hell knows, bro? It doesn't matter that I don't know what it means. It only matters I know a line from the book. This impresses the hell out of the phony-intellectual girl who I hope to have sex with. It's an opener that hopefully leads to further conversation that eventually culminates with, 'Hey, do ya wanna fuck?' It goes like that." I'm like, "Jeez, memorizing lines from different boring books sounds like a lot of trouble." Chubby goes, "You don't know the half of it. I've also memorized some famous quotes from the online site, Brainy Quote. Ya know so I can impress girls who go for that type of pseudo-intellectual shit. It smooths the way for eventually getting into their pants. Hopefully that happens sooner rather than later. The outspoken girls who pretend to have an opinion often will blindly believe any bullshit they hear and then they regurgitate the misinformation to anyone who will listen. Ya know, it's their asinine attempt to appear intellectual. Not all girls are like that though, not by a long shot, but I've gotta be prepared for when one pops up in my vicinity. That's all I'm saying. " Grinning, I ask, "Well how about telling me some brainy quotes." He goes, "Here's one: 'Keep love in your heart. A life without love is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead'. That's a quote from Oscar Wilde." I go, "Jesus, that's a gloomy one, wouldn't ya say?" He goes, "Well yeah, but it's the way you say it that can make it sound smart." I snort out a laugh, "Tell me another," and he nods his head, aware he's entertaining me, and goes, "Okay, here's another one: 'You can't blame gravity for falling in love'. That was said by Albert Einstein. See, the quote doesn't need to make any fucking sense whatsoever; it's who said the dumb thing that's meant to impress." I go, "These brainy quotes are the same idea as you memorizing all those factoids." Chub goes, "Exactly! How 'bout this bullshit quote: 'What we think, we become'. Buddha said that and it's total malarkey. Try thinking you're a sports car and see what happens." Interrupting Chubby's monologue a girl sets glasses of water and a basket of rolls on the table, and then Karl comes with our salads. Chub and I drain the sweet vodka drinks and begin eating. In between bites of salad Chubby asks if I've heard from Rob and if I know who won the first two baseball games, so I fill him in on that. Then we talk about how it's getting to be the time in a college year where studying stuff, stuff we'll never need or use, is becoming unbearably tedious, boring and monotonous. And yes, we're well aware those three words are synonyms of each other, but that's to emphasize the point. Chub's like me; at this time of year we start thinking about summer break.
Done our salads Chubby's back to the dating scene telling me some of his pick-up lines. He goes, "Here's my favorite for breaking the ice with a laugh... I say to a girl, 'Hey, does this rag smell like chloroform to you?" and he chuckles at that himself. I laugh out loud, then go, "And all you hear are her heels hitting the sidewalk as she runs away screaming." He goes, "No bro, they laugh. Here's another one, and I say this one real serious as if I'm concerned and want to be helpful, 'Hey babe, you look flustered, you should lay down with me.' or how about this one, 'Would it be all right if I read your T-shirt in brail?' I go, "You're nuts, Chubby." He chuckles,
"It all in how you say this shit and always with a bright-eyed smile so they know you're kidding around. Chicks like to laugh. A sense of humor is always high on the wish-list of what girls want in a guy." Karl arrives with our dinners and we cut the chatter and eat silently for a bit while exchanging nods of approval because the food is very good. The filet is cooked perfectly and with the béarnaise sauce it's almost buttery.
Very good potatoes too and the green beans are in some kind of sauce and not over-cooked so there's still a little bit of a snap when you bite them.
After dinner we're too full for dessert but order coffees and then with the coffees Chub orders expensive brandies. Chubby said he's always wanted to have coffee and brandy after a meal. I say, "With our brandy snifters we should be in front of a fireplace wearing smoking jackets and smoking cigars." Chub goes, "Yes, in a snooty expensive private mens only club surrounded by mahogany and leather." I go, "It sounds suffocating." By the way, brandy is even worse than doing shots because you need to sip it instead of getting rid of it in one horrid swallow. With brandy it's one horrid tiny swallow after horrid tiny swallow. A slow gagging torture. Chub goes, "This is delicious brandy, huh Dylan?" I go, "It's awesome. Should we order another?" He goes, "Um, nah, it's too expensive." He hates it too of course.
Still, it'll be fun mentioning the awesome brandy we had after dinner.
After splitting the check we go to the bar and order a couple of draft beers.
We guzzle some beer immediately to kill the straight liquor taste of brandy and then Chubby says, "Maybe we should do our beer drinking at a local bar where we'll pay half what Burton's is charging." I go, "Brilliant idea, Chub! Not only half the cost but here," and I lower my voice, "There are too many middle-aged suburbanites talking loudly." Chub goes, "Yeah, I'd rather listen to college students talking loudly." We finish the beer and drive a few miles to Rolf's Bar getting there a little before nine o'clock. The dinner took almost two hours. Leisurely dining, ya know. It's still a little early for college guys to stop their pre-loading and head out on a Saturday night to start really getting loaded at parties and bars. And, obviously, the underage children will be crowding the Speakeasy learning how to drink.
That's a four-year course.
Inside Rolf's it's relatively quiet compared to the packed bar at Burtons where everyone needed to talk louder and louder in order to be heard. We slide onto bar stools and right away I can tell Chubby's resisting the urge to use his pick-up lines on the three college-age girls yucking it up at the other end of the bar. They're doing shots and beers which is another example of girls acting like guys. These are fairly big girls too, and I don't mean fat. I mean tall with wide shoulders and they're just big, so maybe Chubby isn't restraining himself after all. We get a beer after both of us show ID. I needed to show ID this time because the night bartender, the one who remembers me, is working the other half of the bar.
Taking a sip of beer I'm glancing around and see there are maybe twenty-five people in here; a mixture of college students, twenty-something-year-old townie guys, and a scattering of older men either alone or commiserating with a friend. In addition to the three big college girls there are four other woman here, all middle-aged. Maybe they're on a girls night out. They're sitting around a table with dark drinks in low cocktail glasses looking glum. Oh fuck, the word 'glum' reminds me I want to talk to Chubby about the random 'down' feelings I've been experiencing lately. Yeah, but should I even bring it up tonight? Before I get a chance to decide the bartender pours
us shots, saying, "These shots are compliments of your admirers at the other end of the bar." Chub and I both look down the bar and see the three girls holding up shot glasses. Balls! Chub says, "We gotta flash it down, Dylan. I mutter, "Oh fuck..." and pick up the shot. Chub says, "Smile and nod at the girls." I do that and we flash down the weird tasting whiskey.
Sputtering, I'm like, "What the hell was that, Chub?" He goes, "Scotch.
Look, I'm going over there and thank the girls and then buy them a round. You
finish your beer, leave a tip for the bartender, and saunter on out of here. You'll be my excuse why I can't stay and yuck it up with the Amazons at the end of the bar." I go, "Good plan, Chub." He takes his beer and swaggers the length of the bar. I can't see his face but I know he's grinning at the girls. I chug-a-lug my beer, leave a couple of dollar bills on the bar, and then slink out of there. The chilly air feels good. Chubby doesn't want to diss the girls, not after they bought us unwanted shots of scotch, so he'll charm them for a bit, buy them a round of drinks and then make-up some
lie about why he needs to leave with me. Better him than me... for sure! Lighting a cigarette I put my hood up and shiver a little leaning against the Jeep as a car pulls into the parking lot. The rap music coming from the car is playing so loudly on the radio I can hear it even though they have the windows up. Five guys pile-out of the car and a tall guy immediately pulls out his dick and starts pissing. One of his friends says, "You dumb shit, Birdie, the bar has a lavatory." Birdie says, "I couldn't hold it in any
longer... and what's it to you anyway, Miller?" Oh jeez. I slide along the
Jeep to get it between me and them. Not soon enough apparently as a guy with a full beard yells over at me, "Ya got a smoke you can spare?" I ignore him so he yells, " You, hiding behind the car, I'm talking to you!" Fuck him! I go, "No, I don't have a smoke I can spare, dip shit, and I'm not fucking hiding behind the car. I just don't want to get piss-spray on me." There's some muttering that I can't make out, and then drunken laughter.
The tall Birdie guy is done pissing and as he's pulling up his zipper, he says, "Leave the kid alone, Shawn," and then he walks over to ask me, "Are you waiting for someone to come along and buy a six-pack for you? I used to do that when I was in high school." He seems nice enough so I'm pleasant too. I chuckle, "No, I'm waiting for my brother to come out. He's talking to
some girls in there. He'll be out any minute now." The bearded guy who wants a cigarette comes over, saying, "You too fucking cheap to give a guy a cigarette? What an asshole." This is a no-win situation for me, so I go, "Well, since you put it nicely like that," and I take my box of Marlboros out and hold it out to him. He mutters, "You're no fun..." so I guess he wanted to hassle me. A fat guy says, "C'mon, let's get inside," and they all drift toward the door except Birdie, who says over his shoulder to the guy who bummed a smoke off me, "You're the asshole, Shawn, and you've always been an asshole." Someone, I assume Shawn, says, "Fuck you, Birdy. I'd rather be an asshole than a pussy like you." Shawn's the guy with the beard and he's at the bar's front door. He only had the time to take a couple of drags off the cigarette before flicking it towards me, saying, "You can have the rest." It lands ten feet in front of me.
For reasons unknown the guy Birdie is still standing here so I look at him, and he mumbles, "Don't pay any attention to him." All five guys are older than college-age but not a lot older. It's pathetic that there is always an asshole like Shawn who can't have a good time unless he's fucking with someone for no reason at all. I'm frowning now, like, ''Why are you still here?' Birdie smiles and taps my shoulder and nods his head at the bar, saying, "Don't tell me you got served in there." I go, "Yeah I got served, I'm twenty-one." He smiles, "Whoa, ya coulda fooled me. You go to Merrimack?" I mutter, "Yeah, I'm a junior," and he touches my shoulder again, saying, "You're probably wondering what I'd doing standing here. It's just that you remind me so much of some guy I met from Merrimack." Birdie is maybe six-feet-six-inches tall and good looking in a handsome way; not in a cute way. I'm slightly uncomfortable but not the least bit worried because there's something gentle about this guy and anyway Chubby will be out of the bar momentarily. Curious, I ask, "Who do you know there?" He looks me in the eyes longer than he should while smiling nicely as he says, "He's a junior too. Um, I only know his first name, Robert. I met him at one of Merrimack's frat parties. Um," and he nods towards the bar again, "Me and my buddies crash those parties about four times a year." I go, "This guy, Robert, what's he look like? Maybe I know him." A guy sticks his head out the door yelling, "Birdie! Get your ass in here. You're my partner for shuffle board!" Birdie looks over, yelling, "I'm coming," and then to me, "Hope I see you in Rolf's some time. You're, um, very, um.... well, I gotta go," and he pats my shoulder for the third time before jogging to the front door and disappears inside. Robert, huh? I'm done my cigarette by the time Chubby comes through the door grinning and saying, "Omigod, those are some super-large chicks, Dylan! Nice though.
I gave them your cellphone number." I go, "What?" and he laughs, "Let's try that bar in Methuen. The Irish pub place." I go, "You didn't really..." Chubby hits a button on the Jeep's key and the doors unlock as he hugs my shoulders, saying, "Of course I didn't. Jeez, Dylan!" We get in the Jeep without me mentioning the rude bearded guy who bullied a cigarette from me.
Chub would want to make an issue out of it and nothing good could come from that.
The Irish pub is in Methuen which is a fifteen-minute drive east on route 114 east. Chubby and John Beverly have been to this joint a few times but this is a first for me. Inside we find a fairly crowded bar and a unique situation; there's no TV. We sit at the bar near a couple of other guys and Chubby says, "Bro, you've gotta try a pint of Guinness draft. It's very different." I shrug, "Okay," and an extremely friendly-smiling bartender comes down and says with an Irish lilt to his voice, "I'm assuming you boys have impeccable ID. Could I see it please?" We show him and he nods his head, "Ya don't look twenty-one but I'm used to that by now. What can I get ya?" Chub goes, "A couple of pints," and the man says, "Guinness?" Chub nods, "If you please." The bartender doesn't have a name tag. He smiles a lot though. He's using two taps at the same time to pour half-full glasses of Guinness and then he waits a while for reasons unknown before pouring the second half, and then waits another ten-seconds before topping off the pint glasses. It's a dark thickish looking substance that he sets in front of us on a coaster. He takes my twenty-dollar bill and rings it up, returning eight-dollars in change, saying a cheery, "Thank you, lads." I look at Chubby and he goes, "It's even more expensive in Boston." I take a sip and the consistency of Guinness is almost like milk with a heavy toasty taste of something... not like regular beer at all. Chub says, "You sorta need to get used to it." There's two guys sitting next to us, with a stool separation, both looking about thirty-years old. The closest one, says to us, "In Ireland drinking in pubs is like a sacred pastime, lads. I'm glad to see you aren't drinking that piss that most American beers are." I'm a bit startled as, smiling, he holds out his hand to shake, saying, "I'm Patty Cleary and this handsome brute sitting with me is me brother, Willie." We all do a quick handshake as Chub, who's sitting closest to them, introduces us. Both guys are smilie and very friendly. Everybody in here seems friendly including the loud-mouths shooting darts at an official-looking dartboard if I've ever seen one.
The Cleary brothers tell us they've been working Boston construction for six years now. One brother, Willie, who has a high squeaky voice, says, "You lads need to have some chips. They do 'em really well here." Chub says, "We just had dinner an hour ago but maybe later we'll get an order." Then he tells me, "Chips are actually French Fries; hot, thick French Fries." I nod wondering why they didn't call them French Fries in the first place.
Chubby does most of the talking giving our basic info... college students etc. etc. while they tell us about their green card status and about the girls they left in Ireland. Patty buys us our second Guinness. Oh man, I'm not sure I can drink another one of these, but here it comes along with a joke from Willie. "A man walks into a pub with a frog on his head. The barman wants to know what happened. Surprisingly the frog can talk, saying, well it started with a small wart on my ass." They both laugh hardily as I chuckle. Irish humor? Patty's got a joke too. "A man sees a sign for free Guinness all night if he can pass a test. He asks what the test is. It's three parts; first drink a gallon of peppered beer. Then there's a grizzly bear chained our back with a toothache and you need to pull the tooth. Lastly there an old lady upstairs whose never been fucked and you need to do right by her. The man says he's not doing all that shit. Forget about it and orders another double Jameson... straight whiskey. He has a number of those and then says he'll take the challenge and grabs the gallon of peppered beer and drinks it right down with tears running down his face. Out the back door he goes and everyone hears the bear growling and the man screaming but ten minutes later he staggers back in with cuts all over him, his clothes torn to shreds, blood everywhere, as he slurs, "Now where's the old lady with the toothache." Ha ha ha, I laugh out loud at that, but not as hard as Patty, and he told the joke.
Well, now everybody has a joke and the jokes never stop. Willie's next, saying, "The local pub has a drink-toasting contest and Frankie wins with this toast: 'Here's to spending the rest of me life with me head between my darling wife's legs'. He wins free drinks all night and at home he tells his wife he won this year's toasting contest. She wants to hear the toast so he changes it to this: 'Here's to spending the rest of my life sitting next to my darling wife in church'. She's so proud of him. Next morning at the bus stop a guy says, 'Ay, your husband won the toasting contest last night'.
She goes, 'and I was shocked because he's only been down there twice in his life and the last time I had to pull on his ear to get him to come'.
Boisterous laughter from the Cleary brothers. I laugh more at them than the joke. When they calm down the bartender who was laughing too, even though he must have heard these jokes fifty times, says, "A skeleton walks into a pub and says: give me a pint of Guinness and a mop." Ha ha, I even laugh at that one.
Chubby buys another round of pints for the four of us and Willie wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes and says, "Two men at the bar. One says that he saw the other guy's girlfriend and she looks sexy. The guys brags that he's not only fucking her but her twin as well. The first guy's like: well how do you tell them apart. The guy says her twin brother has a mustache." Two guys move down from stools to our right to join in and one of the guys says, "A man walks into a bar with a crocodile on a leash. The bartender says there's no dangerous animals allowed in the bar. Well the guy tells him the crock's not dangerous and to prove it he whips out his cock and sticks it in the crocodile's mouth. The crocodiles eyes move side to side for thirty seconds and then guy hits the crock on the head with a bottle and the crock opens his mouth and the guys stands up and everyone claps. As he's putting his cock back in his pants he asks if anyone else wants to try it. A drunk woman says: I'll give it a try but don't hit me on the head with the bottle so hard." Omigod, I have to laugh at that one too! There are jokes for a solid hour with everyone in the place contributing.
Some of the guys repeat an earlier joke and yet there are big laughs all around anyway. I whisper to Chubby, "I can't drink another one of these Guinness stouts." He nods his head as another guy is telling his joke.
"Mahoney's wife goes out after telling her husband not to go to the pub. As soon as she leaves he's down at the pub pounding down pints of Guinness and nips of
Jameson. He has a lot of them. He finally decides he better get home before his wife, but when he stands up he falls flat on his face. Next time he stands up he falls on his face again. This happens all the way home but he gets home before his wife. She comes in just as the phone's ringing. Picking it up she has a short conversation and then says: "You were at the pub today'. He asks how she knows that, and she tells him, 'That was the barman on the phone. You left your wheelchair at the bar again'. Big yucks but by now I'm limp from laughing along with everyone. I'm also feeling bloated from the Guinness. We get up to go but first need to shake hands or bump fist with just about everyone in the place while getting pats on the back and it's all very nice but I'm so glad to get outside! We never did order the chips.
Chubby's still chuckling. He has the stamina for that kind of extended exuberance, and it was fun, but it takes a lot of energy to laugh for a straight hour, especially when some of the jokes warranted only a groan at best.
Ya get caught-up in everyone's laughter though and can't help laughing right along. We light up cigarettes next to the Jeep with Chub saying, "Oh fuck, that was some funny shit in there. Those guys have a good time, don't they?" I mutter, "Yeah, they sure know how to entertain themselves" Chubby points at me, saying, "Ya know, it must have been you, Dylan, because no one ever opened-up to John and me like these guys did with us tonight." Blowing smoke away from us, I'm like, "I didn't do anything but listen. You were talking with them." He mutters wistfully, "Damn, I hope I remember some of those jokes." Done our smokes we get in the Jeep and Chubby says, "One more stop.
Whaddaya say, Dylan?" I go, "Yeah, sure. That Guinness was strong though." He says, "Ounce for ounce it's got less alcohol than Budweiser." I can't believe that but Chubby's factoids are pretty much right on, so knowing that I don't feel as drunk now. "There's a nice little quiet dive in Haverhill, Dylan, where you can tell me what you've had on your mind all night." I go, "What? I don't have anything on my mind. It's been a really good night with you though. That's what I'm mostly thinking about." He glances over, "Okay. My mistake, bro, but when you want to tell me about it, I'm all ears." Huh, I don't know how he does that, but he's been doing it all my life. Chub can read my mind, sort of.
Getting to Haverhill means we drive back to Merrimack and then continue down route 114 to connect with route 125 driving past McGoon's Liquor Store, past The Pizza Factory, and past the North Andover High School. The bar is just over the North Andover line into Haverhill and it's called the Townline Bar and Grille. It sits in a strip mall along with a supermarket, a Subway shop, and a bowling alley. We sit at the bar, although there are tables we could have sit at. There's a pool table through an archway that's being used at the moment by four guys with pot-bellies. Maybe it's a club. Over the bar are two flat screen TVs, one showing the news and the other a soccer
game from Europe. There's no sound coming from either TV and as far as I can see no one is watching either of them. It's eleven o'clock. Glancing to my right I see there's about a dozen guys of different ages sitting at three tables that they've pulled together. They're all yucking it up wearing bowling shirts; obviously a bowling league. There are other men and women scattered around too, but it's not a quiet place like Chubby suggested.
That's good though because I don't like quiet places.
A tired looking older man and a nice looking younger women are the bartenders. We get the tired older man at this end of the bar and he takes a deep breath, saying, "ID." We already have it out and he looks at it closely and
then says, "What'll it be, boys?" Chub orders Coors drafts and when he sets the drinks in front of us the bartender takes six-dollars from the money Chubby put on the bar. I get out a couple of ten-dollar-bills and drop them on the bar in front of me. Chub smiles and says, "On the ride here I was thinking about that time...." and we reminisce through two beers until I say, "Ya know what, Chubby? There was something I wanted to talk to you about." Pretending this is news to him, he goes, "Oh yeah, what's that?" I grin, muttering, 'You knew I had something on my mind, so don't act innocently like you didn't." He can't help but grin and, squeezing the back of my neck, he goes, "Yeah, I guess I did at that. I know you pretty well after twenty-one years of closely scrutinizing everything my favorite person in the world does or says." I nod, feeling my eyes stinging as I mutter, "Thanks, Chub." He says, "C'mon, let sit at a table. That one in the corner." We get up and bring our beers and money to the table. After sitting down I'm not sure how to begin because it seems silly now that I'm about to tell Chubby about it. I go, "Um, oh it's kinda stupid. I don't want to be that guy who runs to his brother every time he has a brain fart." Chubby murmurs, "If not me, than who?" I'm looking down mumbling, "Yeah, I know, but..." Chubby quietly asks, "Is it about you and Rob?" I go, "No, um, er, I don't know what it's about, and why would you assume it's about him anyway?" Chubby says, "Sorry. C'mon, what's been bothering you?" Taking a deep breath, I go, "It's dumb, like I said, but I've been having these periods when I get really gloomy. Ya know, when I'm not thinking about anything in particular sometimes I feel, um, depressed I guess. No, not depressed. It's a foreboding sense that there's something wrong, or there's something I need to fix except I don't know what it is." Chubby nods and doesn't say anything, so I look up at him and he lifts his eyebrows and nods his head like... go on. I shrug, "That's it. That's what it's about. I wondered if you ever felt like that?" Chub says, "I'm not sure if I have or haven't because I'm still not sure what you mean, Dylan." Frowning I go, "Oh fuck. I feel like an asshole. It's embarrassing to admit I get scared when I feel like that. Something's wrong and I'm afraid I'm becoming schizophrenic or something." He pats my arm, quietly saying, "Dylan, you're not schizophrenic. That's a chronic brain disorder that causes delusions and hallucinations among other things." I ask, "How do you always know shit like that?" He shrugs, "I don't know, I just do. Tell me a little more, like how long of a period do these, um, feelings you have last, and how long have you been getting them?" Another deep breath, "I've noticed them I'd guess for a month or six weeks, and they last maybe an hour or until something happens to take my mind off the mysterious something." Finished our beers, Chubby says, "There's no waitress so I'll get us a couple of beers and you think about a specific example of one of these down periods, okay?" I shrug, "Yeah, sure." Damn, I can't explain it any better than that. If I could I'd know myself what the problem is. Setting a beer in front of me Chub sits and I go, "I can't describe it any better." He says, "Okay. When did you last feel like you described." I go, "Hmmm, this morning I guess." He says, "You felt something was wrong, or you need to fix something?" I nod, "That's the best I can describe it, yes." He asks, "Do you think it has anything to do with Ryan leaving?" I go, "Fuck no! I feel sad for him but if anything he needs to fix himself before I'd want anything more to do with him." Chub says, "How about your college studies? You've gotten good grades last year and this one though, right?" I nod, "Yeah, I have.
Other than getting a little sick of it all, I'm in a good place as far as my grades go. Nothing to fix there." We drink some beer and he asks, "Does it have anything to do with me, do you think?" I snort out a, "No!" Then add, "Don't even think that for a second. I mean, if I had my way you and I would be together exclusively forever and barely need to interact with anyone else. I know that's impossible, but that'll give you an idea of how there is nothing about you I don't love to my soul." He nods his head, "You think too highly of me, Dylan, but thank you for saying that." We drink some beer as I blush for getting carried away with my response." A minute of silence and then he asks, "Do you have any doubts about our Moms getting married, or their twins boyfriends?" I shake my head, "Absolutely not. The twins are excellent and you can see for yourself how both our Moms seem to glow when talking about those guys. Hell, the Moms brag about the guys to their friends at work. That's what Mary Beth told me the last time Rob and I had dinner there." Chubby goes, "Okay, it's not that. Um, this is a delicate topic but how about your sex life. Anything troubling there?" I actually think about that for a second and conclude, aside from the infrequency of it, I'm happy with John Smith's and Daryl's side-sex. Hell, I have a buddy-crush on Daryl and I like John too. As friends, not just side-sex buddies. And Rob and I have never had better sex." I say, "No. No problems there. I'm good." He grins muttering, "I'll bet you are." I say, "Hey!" and he goes, "We're brothers so I know we're kinda alike in matters of the, um, bedroom." More beer gets consumed before he asks, "Hey, do you think it's our college loans that subconsciously making you feel overwhelmed?" I open my eyes wide, "Jesus, I hadn't even thought of that. We'll graduate owing a-hundred-thousand-dollars or maybe more. That's something I probably should worry about but, ha ha, I don't." Chub goes, "I don't either. I'll worry about it later." We drink some beer then he goes, "This is awkward too, but maybe it's your fetish about hair cutting that's screwing with your brain." I go, "No more than your foot fetish" and Chub says, "I'm over that. It was an adolescent affectation. I'm sorry I even brought up the topic of fucking fetishes, but I'm really concerned what's bothering my wonderfully perfect in-ever-way brother. I care about you so much I'm hurting inside knowing something is scaring you!" I drop my eyes because they're stinging again as I murmur, "Sorry," and he takes hold of my wrist, saying quietly, "No, don't be sorry. We'll keep talking, okay?" I nod but it's my turn to get us beers.
While I'm at the bar waiting for the refills I think of all the things Chub's eliminating and I'm thinking maybe it was some of those things and simply by hearing those things spoken the feeling won't reoccur. Nah, that's too easy.
Back at our table, Chub asks, "Do I use our Jeep too much. I know it's been unfair of me right from the start and...." I say, "Chub, it's nothing about you. Only positives thoughts come to mind when I think of my loving brother. You are the shining star of my life." Chubby reaches over and squeezes my wrist again, murmuring, "What would I ever do without you, Dylan? Omigod, you're so special to me." We're drunk and can easily slip into maudlin territory if we're not careful. He says, "There's no one like the gorilla stalking you now, is there?" I shake my head, "No, one every ten years is enough and Peter was a pussy cat compared to the other one." Chub mutters, "Joel, right?" I nod, "Yeah, but I'm sure he rues the day he ever laid eyes on me after what you did to him." Chub says, "Don't remind me. It's just that I get a little crazy when someone threatens you. That was extreme." Yeah, so was blowing up that photographer's van last summer but I'm not bringing that up either.
Chubby goes, "I'm sorry, Dylan, but the only other factor in your life that's you care a lot about... is Rob. He's who I mentioned first and you said it wasn't him, but it is." I go, "You've never taken to him, Chub. It's not fair to blame Rob just because we can't think of anything else." He goes, "It's Rob! Something about Rob. Stop blocking that possibility from your mind!" I go, "Please don't yell at me, Chub!" He mumbles, "Sorry, but humor me. Tell me what plans he has for you." I go, "Any plans we have are our plans, Rob's and mine, not just his." That's a bald-faced lie right there.
Chub quietly says, "Well, what's the very next plan you two have coming up?" I go, "After this semester, you mean?" He goes, "Do you have any plans before the end of the semester?" I shrug, "Um, just that he'll be busy with baseball activities most of his free time, which mean free time for me to do whatever." Chub asks, "Is that a good thing?" I go, "What are you, my psychiatrist?" He goes, "I'm interested in finding out what's been scaring you, that's all." Thinking for a second, I go, "No, it's not ideal I guess that he's on the baseball team. What's he gonna do though, take off half the practices because his boyfriend's pouting?" Chub smiles, "I hesitate to ask, but are you pouting?" Huh, maybe a little, but I say, "No, or maybe a little. Not pouting exactly, but it's like a given; baseball comes first with Rob." Chubby drinks some beer, and I say, "It's not Robby except for that one thing; him spending so much time with baseball." And Danny, which I don't mention to Chub. Chub goes, "Okay, how about any plans for after this semester?" I tap my lips with my forefinger, thinking, and then say, "Yeah, well I'll be working for him this summer. You knew that." Chub spreads his hands, "And this is what you want to do?" I go, "Why not? It pays good and I need to work somewhere." he says, "Yeah, but maybe you'd rather work someplace else." I go, "I might. Where are you working this summer?" He chuckles, "I was invited, believe it or not, to work for Mary Jo's father full time in his air-conditioned office all summer. Ya know, not his basement, but with him and whoever else works there in his office. And at seventeen dollars an hour I might add." I go, "I'm getting twenty dollars an hour." He's like, "Are you sure?" I say, "Um, no actually, but that's what I got paid out of petty cash for special jobs a couple of times last year. I'm going to ask Rob what my pay will be this summer." Chub goes, "Who's idea is it that you work for Rob?" I start to say 'his', but stutter and say, "His... um, and mine." Chub just gives me a look.
Oh man, maybe it is Rob. Not that I don't love Rob because I do, but he does have everything planned out for me like Chub's alluding to. And Chub won't stop, he asks, "What plans have, um, you two made for next year?" Being a little drunk I start out saying, "Robby says we'll get..." and then correct myself, "Um, I mean we both agree to get the same apartment next year because Rob says it's good practice for marriage." Chub gives me another look and then asks, "What are his plans for your marriage." I go, "His plans? Oh, um, during the summer after graduating we'll get married. He's already put a down payment on our townhouse and..." tears roll down my cheeks as I realize it's all Rob's plans for us that need fixing. That's what needs fixing and I didn't want it to be Rob! That, plus I'm drunk and that means tears of frustration. Chubby has a very compassionate expression on his face as I cry silently feeling like the ass that I am. Without saying anything about my little crying jag I wipe my eyes with my forearm, muttering, "Maybe you were right from the start, Chubby, it could be me and Rob that needs fixing." He quietly says, "Hardly anyone nowadays gets married so young, Dylan, and those that do normally aren't married for long." I nod, "I know," and he goes, "You and I have spoken about this before." I ask, "What should I do?" He says, "Do what makes you feel better." What might that be....? I'm thinking, 'Is that really it? That's what's behind my feelings of something being wrong?' And then Chubby asks the same question, "Is that all of it, Dylan? Rob's future plans for you." I nod my head, mumbling, "It seems so obvious to me now, but yes, that's it. I'm too young to have my life planned out into forever and ever. I love Robby but what I thought I wanted in a relationship I no longer want." I don't want him in-charge of me! Chub's confused, "What are you saying, bro?" I wave a hand, "Oh, nothing. It was just some crazy childhood fantasy that doesn't work in real life. I need to have a heart to heart talk with Rob, but right now I'm too drunk to think what I'm going to say. I need to think about it tomorrow before he gets back." Chub asks, "Do you feel better? I can't tell." I chuckle, "Yeah, I do and I don't. I do feel better because it was driving me nuts trying to find out what was making me feel, I don't know, trapped? Or maybe that's not the right word, um, can we drink up and call it a night, Chub?" He goes, "Of course we can," and that's what we do.
During the drive to my apartment Chubby asks, "You said you do feel better and at the same time you don't. What's the don't part?" I go, "Oh, figuring out what to say to Rob. The one point is obvious; he and I are too young to be married and then there's a part that's too personal and wouldn't be fair to talk about except with him." Obviously, that's the part where we both become monogamist the first day of senior year. It's so stupid to think that'll work. The most important part is he and I need to stop mapping out our lives ahead of time. We need more, um, time to go by, more life to live before making concrete plans for a lifetime. I mumble to Chubby, "And as of this moment I don't think I want to work for him after graduation either, but there's time for that discussion later. It's too soon to decide something that's that important, something that's a-year-and-a-half away. All kinds of things can change in that time period, ya know?" Chub goes, "Absolutely. So, you're not looking forward to discussing this with Rob?" I go, "No, not really, but I will," and I do a big yawn, mumbling, "Too tired to think about it anymore now though." At my apartment I give Chub a hug, murmuring, "Thanks, Chubby. Guess I didn't want to admit what was bothering me, but you helped me break through my blocked mind. Robby will be fine with everything and I feel like some kind of breakthrough happened." He nods and grins, "What do we always say? If you're not fine, then I'm not fine. If you're not happy, I'm not happy." I open the door grinning, 'We've said a lot of things, Chub. I love you, bro, and thanks for tonight." He waves and says, "Love you too, Dylan," and he pulls away slowly.
As I go upstairs I'm not thinking about what I'm going to say to Rob, but I feel better because I see the light at the end of my gloomy tunnel. My childish fantasy of wanting someone to take care of me is just as unrealistic as Rob's plans of a life time. If we are for real and meant for each other we'll feel the same when we're twenty-four or whatever age, and we can get married then if we feel it's important to do that, but certainly not next year! I get undressed and after some quick bathroom necessities I crash in bed and fall asleep feeling I have a better grasp of my life.
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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