Dylans Senior Year at College

DYLAN'S SENIOR YEAR AT COLLEGE

Chapter 60 The Final Days

Part 2

by Donny Mumford

Chubby drives the Kia right up on the sidewalk next to where I'm standing while giving me his special smile, and then he jumps out so we can hug. He says, "Happy 'Brothers Day', Dylan!" This morning, as I've often noticed, there's something like electricity sparking off Chubby and I wonder if anyone else is able to see the sparks.

I'm like, "Hi, Chub! I'm wicked excited about today," He goes, "Me too, bro, but I need a smoke before we take off. I've been dying for a cigarette all morning but the places where it's okay to smoke have dwindled down to a precious few." As he takes his pack of Marlboro Lights out of his pocket he grins, saying, "Yeah, I've been getting hollered at for smoking in all the wrong places. What in the fuck is this hysteria against the tobacco industry?"

I'm like, "Um, you mean other than smoking causes cancer and exhaled cigarette smoke is offensive to nonsmokers 'cause it stinks and it gets in the clothes and lungs of innocent bystanders as second-hand smoke?" He nods, "Yeah, but I mean other than that..." and he smirks at me and chuckles as he takes a cigarette from his pack and offers one to me. I just finished one, but I take the cigarette anyway and then, nodding my head at the Kia, I mumble, "Ah, Chub, should you leave the car there idling on the sidewalk?" He goes, "Huh?" and looks over at the car, "Oh, sure, it's okay. It's not a large car."

We fire up our cigarettes and then he holds his up, saying, "They advertise these as 'light' but these fuckers aren't much lighter than regular Marlboro. Only a tiny bit less tar and nicotine because the paper is more porous than regular Marlboros which lets a minuscule amount of the bad shit drift out before we inhale it." I'm like, "Uh huh. Are you giving up cigarettes on graduation day like we always said we would?" He shakes his head, "Not on graduation day, noooo! The day after though, yep." I go, "Oh, haha, yeah. Rob and I are doing the same thing. I'm going to miss it." He shrugs, "Me too 'cause smoking looks cool," I'm like, "Well, yeah, there's that certainly, but it's also a stress relief at times." Chubby goes, "Well, I'm never stressed but, what the hell, we said we'd quit so it's probably a good idea."

We're not quitting right this second though, so we smoke our cigarettes and as we're doing that Chub tries to talk me into driving the Kia today. He wants me to drive because I hardly ever get a chance to, but I insist he drives because he's more experienced with Boston traffic and knows his way around the city pretty well, whereas I don't. The trip from North Andover to Boston is very direct though. Yeah, Route 125 to Route 93 E and then straight into Boston, which is where the super-serious traffic troubles begin.

We get going and as he's driving along Chubby tells me that a few nights ago he was at a bar in Lawrence with some guys and a complete stranger started talking to him about music. That's nothing unusual for Chubby, he often has conversations with complete strangers but unlike Danny, the complete stranger usually needs to be the one starting the conversation. Danny often initiates his conversation with strangers. I try avoiding strangers...

Passing a car full of youngish girls, Chub smiles at them and then goes, "Anyway, at the bar, I'm listening to this old dude while I'm waiting for the bartender to pour the draft beers I ordered. The old guy, Gus Trible was his name, was trying to sell me on the merits of country music. I finally told him I don't care for that kind of music myself, but that I don't denigrate people who do. Heh heh, and then to break his balls a little, I told him, 'denigrate' means 'put down'." I chuckle and say, "You can get away with insulting people like that Chubby because no one expects a smiling good looking choir boy like you to say that kind of insulting shit." Chub goes, "This old dude didn't even know it was insulting though and, obviously, it was a grossly unfair assumption that just because he was a country music fan he wouldn't know the meaning of 'denigrate'. I was just having a little fun with the guy trying to get a rise out of him. Hell, I expected him to laugh and call me an asshole or something, but he didn't 'get it' at all. So I bought him a beer and let it go at that."

Chubby doesn't actually look like a choir boy. He looks like a tough pretty-boy. Sure, I know I'm good looking too but as I've always said, I had nothing to do with that and, anyway, I think Chubby's better looking. I don't know, he has an indescribable 'toughness' to go along with his pretty-boy face. As I said, I can't describe exactly why Chubby looks 'tough'... ya need to see for yourself. And he's even cooler-looking when he doesn't shave for a couple of days. Well, he can't grow any more of a beard than I can but what beard he can grow looks cooler on him than me.

I think it helps that he has a pale tannish skin coloring too. Yeah, guys with Chub's complexion, in my opinion, have the most attractive of all the skin tones in the world. Chub got his skin tone from his dad who was half Hispanic. He was my dad too, of course, but I have pale pinkish/white skin from my mom's genes. Dad's genes ruled with Chub though, but then darker skin coloring usually does, and then Tris has a slightly swarthy complexion herself being of Italian descent whereas my mom is mostly pale-skinned from her Irish genes. Genes usually rule ya see.

Chubby has the same dark brown hair and shiny brown eyes our dad had too, whereas I got the blond hair and blue eyes from my mom's side of the family. It's a rare thing that dark eyes are overruled by blue ones, but that's what happened. Chub and I are both just as slim as our dad was as I guess that's a gene thing too, and Dad was a beanpole. My mom is taller, almost as tall as I am while Tris is short, so Chub got the short end of that. He's almost three inches shorter than me. At first glance, you wouldn't immediately think we were brothers because of our different coloring, but there are resemblances in our facial features.

Anyway, once you enter the city of Boston you better know where the fuck you're going because it gets confusing and it's often bumper to bumper traffic. God forbid you're in the wrong lane for your turn 'cause then you're fucked! Chubby knows where he's going as he drives us across the Zakim Bridge and then expertly gets over four lanes of heavy traffic to get off Route 93 at the Government Center exit on the right. I'd be okay driving this far, but from here on I'm lost. Not Chubby, he drives us to the Government Center parking garage, takes a ticket and then finds a parking spot. It's a third of a mile walk to Quincy Market from here, which is where we're having lunch and a few beers.

A third of a mile is like a casual ten-minute walk and that's what we're doing now and then when we get to Quincy Market it's bustling with tourists as well as locals. It's a popular spot, a historic landmark right here in the heart of downtown Boston combining the glories of the past with the vitality of the present. Yeah, I read that somewhere.

There are fourteen restaurants and a number of food carts, as well as forty shops in the historic Quincy Market/ Faneuil Hall area which borders the financial district and isn't far from what Bostonians call the North End, and obviously Government Center where we just walked from. It's supposed to be a five-minute walk to the New England Aquarium, the Old State House, and Paul Revere's house although you'd need to be a very fast walker to get to any of those places in five minutes.

It took us less than forty minutes driving to get here so, yeah, Merrimack College is only like twenty-five miles from downtown Boston. It's not the distance but the horrendous traffic in the city that's prevented me from coming into town more than a few times over the four years I've been at Merrimack. I read where Boston has the worst traffic situation in America. I imagine some of that is because the streets date back three hundred years when the streets were made for horse and buggies.

Inside Quincy Market, there are many food stations. We chose a one called 'Boston Chowda' and order New England clam chowder, what else? It comes in a large hollowed-out round loaf of crusty bread and after eating the chowder and dumping the bread in a trash barrel, we get lobster rolls which are sort of hot dog rolls stuffed with lobster meat. We need a beer by now too so we get Sam Adam drafts in plastic cups and then find another place to sit. People took our original seats when we were getting the lobster rolls and beers... they'll do that here.

As we eat, I'm like, "There isn't really a brothers day, is there?" Chubby wipes his mouth with a napkin and says, "Of course there is. It's May 24th, not to be confused with brother and sister day on the 29th. In India brothers day is a well known holiday of the Hindu religion. There it's called RAKHI. The brothers tie a band on each other's wrists and that's called ''tie me RAKHI'." I'm like, "No shit?" and Chub goes, "Yeah, but there's no tradition for America's brothers day except it's not supposed to be a monetary thing which blows, so I adopted India's idea of bands," and he pulls a slim box from his lightweight jacket's pocket and gives it to me.

Grinning at him, I go, "A present? I love presents!" It's not wrapped so I open the box and take out a men's twisted-leather bracelet with a metal clasp that's probably stainless steel. This type of men's bracelet can be priced anywhere from $25 to an absurd $3500, ya know when silver replaces the stainless steel, the leather is special somehow and the brand name is famous, and so forth. I can't tell the difference but if this was a present from Willie I'd think it cost at the higher end of the scale while from Chubby I'm guessing it probably cost fifty bucks at Macy's. I like this one better than a thousand dollar one from Willie although I'd like that one too.

I'm grinning putting it on my wrist as Chubby holds his wrist up showing me he has the identical bracelet. He says, "Next year you tie me RAKHI, okay?" I go, "Absolutely! Thanks, Chubby!" He grins that mischievous grin so now I'm not sure if there actually is a brothers day and the RAKHI stuff is real, or if it's all bullshit. Chub can make stuff up on the spur of the moment but, on the other hand, his factoids are almost always correct, so...

We have four beers inside this ridiculously crowded Quincy Market talking about our years at Merrimack and then take a walk around the area smoking a cigarette and making snide comments about our fellow humans walking in our vicinity. For the hell of it we decide to visit Paul's house. Paul Revere, that is.

By the time we decide to do that we've wandered a lot further away than five minutes and, as we're walking, I'm telling Chub a few of the things I forgot to tell him about my lunch with the Rider twins, like how their business sounded slightly, um, untidy to me. He says, "Yes, I see what you mean but Tim and I talked about the position they offered you, Dylan, and trust me they sincerely wanted you for that spot. I see your point though and I agree with you telling them 'no thanks'." Then he nods his head at a bar up ahead and goes, "This walking is gonna get me overheated if I'm not careful, bro... let's cool off and get a beer in that place." We go inside an Italian bar and restaurant called Mare Oyster Bar. It's on Mechanic Street off Hanover.

Sitting at the bar we order beers and with our second beer Chubby orders a dozen littleneck clams on the half shell. Today they're at a special price... only $1.99 each. That's absurd obviously but money isn't gonna be a major concern today, not when I'm with Chubby. I'll try to pay my share but it ain't gonna be easy because he's quick on the draw and so generous with me it's embarrassing.

By the way, I'm only making myself eat a raw clam because Chubby ordered them. No need to remind him we're eating clams with all their body parts, including feces in the intestines and who knows what other organs... liver, lungs, or fins, or whatever clams have. Chubby already knows that, of course, but he doesn't care. He eats eight littleneck clams as I'm having trouble gagging down two, which I'm just barely able to do without puking. Chub gives me a pat on the back, mumbling, "Nice going, bro. Would you like another?" I'm like, "No, no... you go ahead, um, I'm still kinda full from the lobster roll." Ya might wonder why Chubby orders things I don't like... it's because I never tell him I don't like something he likes. I'd rather see him enjoying himself. I don't want to deprive him of anything.

We discuss my work situation some more and he again tells me I made the right choice working for Dickers & Son because I'm perfect for human resources... the HR position is perfect. If I told Chub I'm starting out in the janitorial department he would find something good to say about that too. Then he tells me he's not exactly thrilled about two more years of formal education but he sees it as ultimately beneficial, and, "Obviously, bro, college is more fun than working."

He says that but Chub's never shied away from working. He likes working and for the obvious reason... money. Mostly though, he tells me he wants his mom to be proud of him and, additionally, he wouldn't mind showing the twins they're not the only ones who are smart. I tell him, "Chub, I couldn't even pretend to consider more education. I thanked Timmy and Tom profusely for offering to pay for two more years of college but in actuality, I couldn't conceive of looking another textbook in the face. And, get this... I find out I'm going to need a three-week training session about the building industry for my job, so I am going to be studying again, which blows."

I talk about my interview with the head HR honcho and Chubby says, "Dylan, it doesn't surprise me they want you involved with hiring new personnel. You'll be a perfect HR representative 'cause you're so fucking likable, good looking, and, um, non-threatening. For those same reasons, I don't blame the Riders for envisioning you being the face of their company." I'm like, "Non-threatening? Whaddaya mean by that?" He shrugs, saying, "I know you're a terror when you need to be, but no one would think that. It's not an insult, bro, I meant it as a compliment. Fuck, I know you've always been fearless whenever we needed to fight the assholes who in our youth required a change in their way of, um, interacting with us."

Yeah, well, those fights were mostly in grade school and middle school. And that's not to say we won all those fights either, 'cause we didn't. It's just that we'd never stop... we'd mostly wear our enemies down, and we'd hit them with whatever thing we could get our hands on until they came to the conclusion it simply wasn't worth the trouble. Our most spectacular lost fight wasn't much of a fight on our part. We were seventeen and the fight was with that fucking Freddy Chavez and his brother Chico. They kicked our asses for no reason and Chubby ended up in the hospital. It's been quite a while since I've been in a fight though, and the same for Chubby.

I go, "I'm not intending to do much fighting with job applicants, Chub." He goes, "What I'm talking about is how freakin' likable you are, that's all I meant... that and you're very capable." I mumble, "Not everybody thinks I'm likable." He says, "Well sure, there will always be dick-heads who are jealous that you're so good looking and personable." I'm actually not all that personable, certainly not with strangers, but...

Dropping that topic, I go, "That, um, job. The one Tom and Tim described for me, ah, it sounded to me like I'd need to be a con artist." Chubby puts a squeeze of lemon and a dash of hot sauce on the last iced-cold littleneck clam and then sucks it down as I look away. Then, after he drinks some beer, he goes, "Yeah, well... con man isn't exactly accurate. The twins aren't crooks, bro, but it's a hard business... acquisitions and mergers are not for the faint of heart, not that you're faint of heart. I'm not saying that, but you're right, it's not 'you', Dylan. I think you're in the right spot there with Rob's company, I really do. And, hell, I'm not gonna be on the A & M front lines either. I'll be traveling and dealing with the analytics of recognizing companies in need of some serious, um, intervention."

I'm glad to hear that and then... oh man, it always annoys me when people feel it's okay to butt into our conversation, but it seems to happen frequently. Maybe it's the bar-atmosphere or something about Chubby that makes people think nothing of joining our conversations... and it happens here. I start to ask Chubby about his Master's Degree when a man wearing a sports coat and a tie sitting two stools down reaches over and taps Chubby's arm, and then in an off-putting manner, talking 'down' to us, the guy says, "You're misrepresenting the A & M business and, by the way, the two procedures are quite different. With mergers..." Chubby interrupts the man and I know Chub is irritated because I saw a quick look in his eyes, but no one else would notice.

Chub goes, "Thank you so much, Captain Obvious. We know the differences." The guy says, "Let's get something out in the open, smartass..." and Chubby interrupts again, saying, "Yes... candor! Yep, complete candor is the way to go!" The pompous man gives Chubby a hard stare for like five seconds. These kinds of confrontations make me uncomfortable. The man finally says, "Candor?" Chubby goes, "Yes, Sir! Anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm deeply into candor only, um, don't give me that stare anymore, okay? It makes it hard for me to swallow my beer." I snort out a laugh and the man makes a rude sound and then waves his fingers dismissively at Chubby, muttering, "Young smartasses like you..." and Chub goes, "What about us?" and he stares at the man for another two seconds. The man won't look back now, so Chub asks me, "Should we get more clams on the half shell?" I do a fake cough muttering, "No thanks," and Chubby orders us two more beers.

I'm relieved when the pompous man finishes his drink and leaves. Only then do I say, "Candor? Really, Chub?" He shrugs, asking, "What's that mean, anyway?" I go, "Open and forthright... something like that." Chubby's a genius at math but not great at English. In school, I wasn't a genius at anything but I was better at English than Chub so we had clever ways of cheating off one another for tests. It was a complicated but ingenious way of cheating without getting caught that Chubby came up with during fourth grade.

This latest beer is our sixth today but over a two hour period so that's not too bad. We leave after finishing our beers and walk around a bit smoking and then a little later we make it to Paul Revere's house. After paying $3.50 each for the tour we joined eight tourists from Minnesota, trying not to breathe on them with our beer breath.

Even though we've lived relatively close to Boston our entire lives, this is the first time either of us has taken this tour. The tour begins and we learn this house was built in 1680 and Paul lived in it thirty years. I'm not sure who lived in it before him because the tour guide mumbles, plus she has an exaggerated New England accent that some people call a Boston accent, and I couldn't make out portions of the lecture, never mind the folks from Minnesota who are looking at each other like... 'what the fuck did she say?'. I did understand the part about Paul marrying twice and him having sixteen children between the two wives. Quite the horny stud was Paul, but then there wasn't a hell of a lot to do back then at nights I suppose. No TV and poor lighting, ya know?

It was only a ten-minute tour for our $3.50 admission, so they're not losing any money at the Revere house, that's for sure. Outside, Chubby says, "Let's have some Guinness at an Irish pub, Dylan. Whaddaya say?" I always go along with Chubby and I do now as well although I don't like Guinness beer any more than I like clams on the half shell. I can drink Guinness if I need to though, so I'm like, "Sure, Chub. Um, as you know there are twenty Irish pubs in the city so one shouldn't be hard to find." We walk back toward Faneuil Hall and see... The Black Rose Irish Pub.

So, we're sitting in another bar or, er, pub at four o'clock. Hmm, I'm beginning to wonder how I'm going to keep up with Chubby's beer intake, and God forbid he should start ordering shots of bourbon. He orders two Guinness Stout and the bartender says, "Would ya happen to have some ID on ya, lads?" His accent is either authentic and he's from County Cork, Ireland, or this guy is doing a great impression of someone who is. He checks our driver's licenses quickly and then pours two pints of creamy, almost black beer with light brown foam on top. Chubby and I tap our glasses, saying, "To you, brother," and we take a swallow.

Chubby takes another big swallow and says, "It's the creaminess and the full-bodied feel in the mouth that I like." Imitating a perfect Irish accent, I say, "I don't know that I can agree with ya there, laddy. I get knackered when I drink it and it has a bit of a gammy look to it too." Chubby laughs out loud, and then asks, "Was that a Hungarian accent, and what's it mean anyway?" I go, "Whaddaya talking about? That was a perfect Irish accent although I'm not exactly sure what it means. I knew this kid from Great Britain during freshman year... 'knackered' and 'gammy' are some of the words he'd say. Nice guy but I don't know what happened to him. His father gets transferred a lot so that's probably what happened."

Over the next hour and a half, we drink three Guinness Stout pints while talking about our relationships, mine being gay ones and Chub's straight... me with the boys and Chub with the girls. Chubby tells me he doubts he'll ever fall in love 'cause he feels, rightly or wrongly, that by now he should have been in love at least once. After all, he's been dating since high school and during that time he's gone out with like twenty-five different girls. He goes on, saying, "And most of the girls I've liked too, but the thing is I didn't like any of them enough to put up with their shit, not for long anyway. That's my goal, Dylan, to find a girl I like enough to put up with her shit, and then maybe I eventually could fall in love with her."

I go, "Hmm, that a good way to put it Chub. I've never heard it expressed that way before, but yeah, ya gotta put up with some shit being in love. Love hurts too." He nods and says, "I wouldn't know about that, bro, but people love who they love whether they should or not, and that's true even though there are more suitable people to love." I'm like, "Um..?"

Chubby has had a lot of straight sex and just a smidgen of gay sex with me, and then a little bit forced on him by the guys he worked with one summer. When I was finally sexually active with Willie, I think it was Willie, Chub and I experimented with gay sexual activities together exactly twice. And I'm pretty sure he did it for me. Here's the ironic part... I wondered if Chubby was gay when we were much younger but never wondered about myself... and I turned out to be the one who's gay. Yeah, once fat-fuck Carl did his dominant sex act on me I was hooked! Chubby though, if he ever had any inclinations for gay sex it was totally driven out of him when he had that horrible experience with a group of window washer boys who were into some sort of BDSM.

Yeah, well, because of that mistreatment of Chubby, I arranged revenge through a man my mom was dating at the time. There's an entire story behind that but I'd rather not think about it. Things got out of control and the leading window washer boy, Ricky, it was his father who was behind their horrendous behavior and for that crime, his house was burned to the ground and for good measure he and his son got the living shit kicked out of them. I wasn't anywhere in the vicinity when that was going on and didn't know any details prior to the revenge. Everything was carried out by a motorcycle gang my mom's boyfriend was somehow affiliated with at the time... probably drug-related. There's a lot more to that incident, but it's not something I want to go into. The main point is... I'm wondering if Chubby might be looking for love in all the wrong places for all the wrong reasons.

While I'm forcing down my third Guinness and having a helluva difficult time doing it, Chubby orders us each a fourth pint. Jesus! I go, "This Guinness is getting me bloated." He says, "That's surprising, bro. Guinness uses nitro for its carbonization as opposed to the use of CO2 in most American beers, so you actually should feel more bloated drinking Bud." I go, "Number one, how the fuck do you know about that 'nitro' thing, and number two, Bud is nowhere near as thick as this stuff." Chub goes, "The thick feel in your mouth with Guinness is because of the nitro." I mutter, "I love you, but I've decided this beer blows." He laughs and squeezes my hand as I put down my glass.

That's what Chubby always used to do to show me affection. He'd squeeze my hand. I always squeezed the back of his neck showing him affection. There simply is no way to adequately describe how much Chubby meant to me growing up. I couldn't begin to do it justice. He was like oxygen, an absolute necessity for my life. That was true from our toddler years and continued into our preteen years and far into our teenage years as well.

There wasn't anything I wanted to try doing that he wouldn't enthusiastically endorse no matter how bizarre it was and I wouldn't hesitate to go along with Chubby's crazy ideas either, like at puberty when he got the idea of shaving our legs because he didn't want us having hairy legs. The ironic thing was... when we stopped doing that after like a year, neither of us had hairy legs, or arms, or chests. We did the shaving for nothing. For our hairy heads, we'd do buzz cuts for each other. Way back then is when I bought the first barber clippers I ever owned. They were second-hand, used clippers, and I bought them on eBay for like fifteen bucks using my mom's credit card.

I can't handle my fourth Guinness so Chubby drinks it and then we stagger out of the Black Rose Pub at a little after six o'clock. It's still sunny and bright as we smoke cigarettes walking around the city pointing out things to each other while trying not to bump into people. In Boston, the sidewalks are always filled with people coming and going, um, God only knows where. Many Nationalities are represented and it's common to hear languages other than English being spoken.

We find we've walked to the financial district and the thing that catches my eye is all the different architectural styles mixed together. Shimmering glass and slabs of granite towering over four-story bursts of Ruskinian Gothic and Florentine pseudo-palaces, modernism meets German Renaissance meets postmodernism meets pop French cornices and Corinthian pilasters and good old England granite and limestone. I wouldn't know any of that shit except for an elective course I had last year about architectures. Chubby's take on the different architectures is, "Holy shit, look at all the different buildings! It looks like nobody could agree on anything."

We sort of walk in a gigantic circle and at seven o'clock we're back to the Samuel Adam's statue in front of Faneuil Hall next to Quincy Market. Samuel has a stern expression on his face, his right foot touching the ground, his arms crossed with a newspaper rolled up in his left hand. Leaving Samuel we go over and read the sign for Faneuil Hall which says that Peter Faneuil built this structure in 1742 and donated it to Boston so that the city would have a central marketplace. People did shit like that back then. This is by far the most sightseeing I've done in the city even though, as I said, I've lived fairly close to Boston all my life.

Usually, during an outing with Chubby we're laughing our balls off at crazy things, but there hasn't been too much of that today. We've had a few good laugh-out-loud experiences but this time, for the most part, we've been more solemn than I can ever remember us being and I think that's because we both know this is the end of something... the end of a part of our lives together. We'll be seeing a lot less of one another from now on. Maybe Chub feels like I do that I've lived the best part of my life already. That's not putting down what my life is now, or will be going forward so much as an acknowledgment at how spectacular I thought my first twenty-two years have been, and especially the first seventeen spent almost exclusively in Chubby's company. I sense that neither he nor I want to get maudlin about this end of an era, an epic era for me, and that's because considering our alcohol intake, there's a strong possibility we'd get weepy and overdo it.

The walking is doing us good though and we continue on until we see The Omni Parker House. Chub asks, "How about we try that hotel's restaurant for dinner?" I nod and we go into the front door that leads to a classy-looking lobby. Chub asks a very old man wearing a porter's uniform where the restaurant is. The man points to a wide dramatic staircase as he says, "You can't eat there dressed like that! Jackets are preferred whenever you're planning on having dinner in the main dining room. Try the coffee shop." Chub holds out one side of his Calvin Klein bomber jacket, asking, "Whaddaya call this?" The man raises his head, nose in the air as he goes, 'Really!" and walks away.

As we start up the stairs, I go, "Chubby, why'd you diss that old guy?" Chub says, "I have this thing about bellhops snubbing me... just a little thing I have." Then, at the top of the stairs, there a bar and further down is a Maître d' standing behind a podium. He's watching us walk toward him and he's also looking down his nose at us. It's almost eight o'clock now and the tables are full of diners. Most of the men aren't wearing suits but, yeah, they are a lot better dressed than we are.

We walk up to the Maître d', who asks, "Do you have reservations, gentlemen?" Chubby does one of his big smiles and says, "No, we don't! If I slip you two bucks though, I'll bet you could squeeze us in?" The man burst out laughing and then says, "Let's see the two bucks." Smirking, Chubby slides two one-dollars-bills across the podium. The hot-shit Maître d' puts the two dollars in his pocket, saying, "There's always a table at the Parker House for big spenders like you two, and we'll overlook your unfortunate outfits for tonight." Chub goes, "That's cool but, um, are you really gonna keep my two bucks?" The guy says, "Yes, I am."

He's very handsome and uber dignified-looking. He picks up two leather-bound menus, and says, "If you gentleman will follow me," and we follow him to a table for two in a corner. Obviously, he's keeping us out of sight as much as possible. He puts the menus on the table and motions at an old 'busboy' who hustles over to fill our water glasses. The Maître d' says, "Enjoy your dinner, gentleman." Chubby goes, "We hope to, my good man." Two minutes later our waiter, an older man too, one who lacks the panache of the Maître d', asks, "You guys want something to drink?" I go, "Um, yes, I think I do. I'd like a VO Manhattan on the rocks," and Chubby goes, "Make that two." The waiter hesitates and then asks, "Are you both twenty-one?" They hate carding people in classy joints. Chubby goes, "No, we're twenty-two," and, after hesitating, the waiter says, "I'll pretend I believe you," and off he goes to do his job.

As the waiter walks away, Chubby grins, saying, "I like this place!" Well, what's not to like, but I mumble, "Let's see the prices before we give it our stamp of approval," and we open the heavy menu folders. Huh, the prices aren't that bad. Burton's Restaurant in North Andover charges similar prices and it's a suburban restaurant.

Our Manhattans arrive and we tell the waiter what we'll have for dinner. I order Foie Gras for an appetizer, although I don't know what it is and I mispronounced it. The waiter said it correctly as he scratched on his pad. It cost $18, and then the New York Sirloin medium rare with sauce Béarnaise... $37. Chubby orders Lump Crab Cake... $18, and Seared Rainbow Trout... $31 and then says, "And we'll split the Classic Caesar Salad... cost $12. The waiter is delighted with our choices. He leaves and I'm like, "Rainbow trout? Since when do you eat fish?" Chubby goes, "This will be my first time. I'll let you try some." I'm like, "Um, that's okay..."

Chub lifts his Manhattan glass and we touch glasses as I go, "A toast to our childhood, Chub. You made it the best childhood anyone could have." He goes, "It was the two of us, bro," and we take a sip. Not the best Manhattan I've ever had but that's because I'll bet anything it was made with bourbon, or maybe Crown Royal, but it's definitely not VO. The bar probably doesn't even have VO because it's not classy enough. Crown Royal is like the rich cousin of VO, both made by Seagram. The poor Seagram relative is Seagram 7 which is used to make what's called a seven and seven... Seagram 7 and 7-Up. A ghastly drink that I had recently with Travis Hunter.

Two things have gotten my attention. One, the prices aren't that bad, especially for an upscale restaurant like this and the second thing is... this is the first time ever that Chubby didn't just tell the waiter he'll have exactly what I ordered for dinner. The first time in our lives! I wonder what that means? Chubby smiles at me and kind of rolls his eyes around this fancy dining room, saying, "We gotta stop eating in dumps like this, bro!" I snicker, muttering, "Ain't that the truth."

Ya know, Chub doesn't seem drunk at all and I'm feeling okay too but we've gotta be more than a little drunk after at least twelve beers, right? Alcohol fools you into thinking you're soberer than you actually are. Yeah, that's true, but we consumed those beers over a seven-hour period and put food in our stomachs along the way, so there's that...

We finish our Manhattan along with our appetizers while talking about what comes next for us in life. Oh, and in case you don't know, Foie Gras is very expensive liverwurst, and I didn't know that either, not until I just ate it.

Chubby's telling me that two weekends ago he drove to the University of Massachusetts Amherst by himself. He wanted to wander around the University on his own. It's ninety miles to Amherst and while Chub experienced some traffic delays it still took less than two hours to drive there. So he won't be 'that far'' from home after all. He had an appointment with a Master's Degree counselor and after that, he visited the apartment he'll be living in for two years. The rental was arranged and prepaid by the Rider Group's woman who handles travel and stuff like that for the company. Chub is now all set for the next twenty-four months, away from everyone he knows... on his own.

And, ya know, it's hard to think of all that! I'll miss him something awful. Looking at him now I'm remembering all the times, hundreds of times as kids we watched TV together on that old sofa in the basement of mom's condo and Chubby would always put his arm around me. It's the safest times I've ever felt. The safest and most contented I've ever been as well. Why I needed to feel safe I haven't a clue, but I still think about feeling safe... and I still don't know why. Safe from what?

Chub interrupts my thoughts, saying, "I'll be working as an intern with the Rider Group this summer, mostly just getting to know the people there and then I'll be traveling with the twins abroad just for the experience of it, and that should be cool." I nod my head and he adds, "And, except for our vacation in Wildwood, that pretty much will be my summer and then I'll be back at college."

Our entrées are served by two waiters and the presentations look beautiful, but as I'm eating it I gotta say it tastes, um, good. Not 'delicious' like I expected in this classy restaurant, but it's good enough. While eating we talk about Wildwood. We'll be joining our moms and stepdads for one last summer vacation together and I'm seriously looking forward to that. Today though is still Chub's and my official last day of the first part of our lives because it won't be exclusively us two in Wildwood. Rob's invited to spend the two weeks with us, so yeah, today is Chub's and my last day of being exclusively together. We won't have another day like this in the foreseeable future, if ever again.

We have dessert after dinner along with two cups of coffee each and then split the bill. I'm feeling very full and, after sitting here for an hour and a half I get dizzy and need to grab the back of the chair for a second when I get up, then I'm fine. On the way out the Maître d' says, "We hope you gentlemen will dine with us again." Chubby goes, "How good of you to say," and the guy smiles and sort of bows his head a little. He looks like a stiff pompous ass but he's actually a really good guy... a hot shit Maître' d' and you just don't run across one like that very often.

Before we get to the wide winding stairs leading to the lobby, there's that killer-cool bar we noticed coming in. Mahogany with cushioned stools and behind the bar are bartenders with sharp-looking uniforms. Chubby looks at me and asks, "How about one drink here?"

We both have Grand Marnier on the rocks... $19 each. I tell Chub, "This place is so ritzy I wish I'd wore my new hoodie." The bartender closest to us overheard that and gives us a grin. I expected snooty waiters and bartenders in here, and they look as though they would be, but they aren't. For our nineteen dollars each, we don't get much Grand Marnier, barely more than an ounce and a half and I kinda miss the beer chaser.

While taking out time drinking what amounts to straight brandy Chub slips into a sincere mode telling me how it'll be painful not knowing I'm close by. He says, "You're always saying how important I've been to you growing up but what you don't realize, Dylan, is you were even more important to me. You formed the basis of who I am today... seriously! I mean the way you always let me be the leader and pretended you needed me so much it made me think I'm special. You wanting me to lead and then your love gave me the confidence to deal with whatever life threw at us. I didn't want to let you down and that's served me well to this very day. Looking out for the two of us made me think I could do anything and the way you'd laugh at shit I said, um, I can't tell you how awesome it made me feel. You never stopped telling me how great I was and I guess I started believing it. Heh heh, that builds confidence in a person, bro! Years of confidence and thanks to you I'm still feeling like I can do anything! It sure worked for me."

I'd like to hug and kiss him, but instead, I say, "Well, that's why I did it... you desperately needed to build up your self-esteem." Me trying to be funny was actually to prevent me from bursting out in tears. Chubby's the most wonderful person I know and how he could twist things around making me the reason he's so wonderful is another reason he's so wonderful. He pats my shoulder, saying, "We're really something, huh? Together I mean, Jesus, did we create some havoc in our wild times as children?" I nod, my eyes stinging, as I'm realizing AGAIN that it's all over... plus, I'm still too emotional.

We leave the Parker House satisfied it was an okay choice and, after paying way too much to park, Chubby drives, saying, "We'll get closer to Merrimack before having a few more beers, Dylan." When we're out of the city I guide him to the bar in Methuen that I've been to a few times and liked okay mostly because I never ran into any trouble there with local guys. At times locals can be resentful of Merrimack students taking over their bars. This bar is on Route 114 so that's another reason we're going there... when we're done drinking it'll be a straight run down Route 114 to the college.

When we go inside we see it's crowded which is just the way I like it, meaning lots of talking and laughing with music playing. It's a 'local crowd' of older people, men and women in their thirties and forties with a smattering of younger guys who tonight are playing the computerized pinball machines.

Chub and I sit at a table for two near the ladies room. There are about fifteen tables-for-two along the outside wall with curtained windows next to each table. The bar is too narrow for bigger tables as most of this joint is taken up by the long U-shaped bar where I'm guessing at least forty people are sitting. Popular spot and many of the tables are occupied as well.

There's no waitress so we need to get our own drinks at the bar and, fortunately, there's an area at the end of the bar conveniently near us where we can do that. We're drinking beers but Chubby insist on one shot of bourbon to go along with our first beer. He goes to the bar and buys the drinks and then, as we click the shot glasses, Chubby squeezes my free hand, saying, "To us, one more time, Dylan... no two brothers could have done it better than you and me." We flash down the shots and I handle the bourbon okay. I've had enough shots the past four years that now I don't get the watery-mouth like I'm going to heave, and I don't have teary eyes. What Chubby meant by his toast was, considering our circumstance of basically raising ourselves we were able to do that about as well as it can be done, and I can't argue with that.

Considering all the drinks we've had it's inevitable Chub and I would eventually forget our concerns about getting overly maudlin and begin reminiscing the many low-and-highlights we experienced together, and as we do that we're mostly laughing at ourselves, especially about our earlier escapades even prior to our teen years when we were a terror in grade school, and then middle school too. Chub had a chip on his shoulders and, with me being terminally shy, the contrast must have seemed to some that we were an odd couple. I guess we thought everyone was against us and we weren't interested in making friends so there was a communication gap. As in every class in every school in the world, there were bullies and they were the ones who learned quickly that if you fucked with one of us you've effectively fucked with both of us and that's when the fights began.

Chub and I knew we were different from most of the other kids in that we were poorer than many and we had no parental oversight for the most part so we needed to do many things the others didn't need to do. In retrospect, I suppose we were perceived as arrogant without us trying to be or realizing we were, although a boy as shy as I was being arrogant doesn't compute. It's impossible to remember everything from childhood but being on our own so much of the time we felt we needed to be defensive and took every slight whether intentional or not personally. We spent a great deal of time planning revenge for no good reason, although we thought we had reason in our immature brains at the time. Our moms did get called in by the guidance counselor to defend us once or twice. Chubby was so clever planning what we'd do, however, that it wasn't easy to prove it was us who did the nefarious things we did. Childish things in retrospect, but then we were children after all.

For our fifth beers in this bar, it's Chubby's turn to buy the round again and he comes back to the table with another shot of bourbon, saying, "I forgot and ordered the shots without thinking." I shrug and this time before flashing down the shots we do our oldest 'toast' to each other... "to the best friends and brothers the world has ever known", and then Chubby asks, "Did you ever look up and see the night expanding into endless space, the space expanding into infinity with stars hurling across the black sky like diamonds on black felt and it's all so cold and endless that less seems more and you realize you're like less than a mote in it all. Not even a mote, maybe just the thought of a mote, the thought of maybe a mote that has passed totally unnoticed. Just the memory of something not even worth remembering." I go, "Um, no." Chub laughs out loud and then says, "No, neither have I," and we both laugh. Chub says, "When I'm with some babe and we're drinking, I drop some similar deep shit like that on her. You know, whatever pops into my head, and she's like... wow, that's so introspective! You're so intelligent. Haha, and when I try asking you, you simply say 'No'. See, you're one hundred percent honest and not impressed with double-talk bullshit."

The truth is I was wicked impressed, fascinated that Chubby could string together all those words that sounded intellectual. I won't admit it though 'cause I liked the compliment Chubby gave me, although it wasn't actually warranted.

Then, it happens again... someone butts into our conversation. This time a gruff-looking guy from the table next to us says, "Excuse me, fellows. I couldn't help overhearing your concern about being an insignificant mote. Are you inferring," and he waves his arm at everything around us, saying, "That none of this means anything? We're just a bunch of meat and brains and when we think a thought it's just chemicals, and when we love something, just more chemicals. Then we die and all the chemicals go back in the ground." Chub has to turn partially around to look at this older guy, plus a woman is just now sitting down at the man's table with two drinks in her hands. She looks disgusted at her table companion, but she doesn't say anything. Chubby asks the man, "Is that what you think?" The guy says, "Oh yeah, it's what you'll probably think by the time you two boys are my age."

Chubby glances back at me with a smirk on his face then turns partially around again, saying, "Well, that's just, um, grim. That's philosophical nihilists thinking, but then you probably already knew that, right? The man mutters, "Huh? Neal-who?" and Chubby adds, "People who think like that, well, they can't take it anymore and they usually 'off' themselves." The lady points at Chubby and says, "From your lips to God's ears, Butch should 'off' himself... I should be so lucky." The man goes, "Gert, you shut your trap!" The woman, Gert, tells Chub, "Butch gets morbid when he drinks." This guy actually looks like a 'Butch'. He's maybe forty-five years old, balding with a very red face and a bulbous nose and, when he talks he's all motions, his arms, head, and legs are moving with everything he says.

After giving Gert a 'look', Butch moves all around, saying, "That thing you just said about philosophy or something. You sound smart so let me ask you. I know this sounds a little 'off the wall' but is it possible to breathe through your eyes and ears? In an emergency I mean, not every day." Chub moves his chair so his back is against the windowsill now enabling the four of us to have a conversation. I almost never interject anything when Chubby's having fun putting someone on. I like to watch him and listen to the stuff he makes up on the spot. He goes, "Oh, well, breathing through your eye sockets is one thing, sure. Not easy, but I'm guessing you're concerned about being asphyxiated by Gert." Gert's a big woman, not fat so much as she's just big and she says in her too-loud voice, "Yeah, he thinks I'm gonna smother him when he's sleeping," and she does a phlegmy-sounding laugh, adding, "He might be right too." Butch waves his hand at her as his feet shuffle while he's muttering, "Shh, Gert, shut up! I wanna hear this." I'm covering my mouth trying not to laugh as Chubby drinks some beer. I see him grinning as he does it. Okay, yeah, he's making fun of the guy a little, but the guy butted into our conversation, right?

Chub goes, "You wanna know if you'd survive if your nose and mouth are blocked, right?" Butch nods, mumbling, "Yeah, this guy at work. I'm a counterman at UPS by the way. This guy I work with said something about breathing through his ears." I'm doing my fake coughs, pretending the beer went down wrong. Chubby looks serious, saying, "Hmm, yeah, it's wicked hard breathing through your ears. BUT, if someone would poke a hole through the tympanic membrane with... say, a screwdriver, ya might get a little air through." Butch goes, "Yeah, maybe that's what Horace meant."

Gert and Butch chugalug their fresh drinks and then he gets up and buys a round of seven and sevens for him and Gert. Jesus, seven and sevens again! He also buys us two beers and since Chub got us shots of bourbon last time, Butch gets us two more shots. While he's paying for the drinks, Gert goes, "Hey, Mr. Brains." Chub smiles and mutters, "Yeah?" and she's like, "I've been wondering about something. Um, what does it mean when I dream all the time about my pastor kissing me on the lips?" Chubby goes, "That's a spiritual communication," and she says, "I thought so."

I'm like, "Thanks, Butch," when he sets the drinks down. He goes, "Fuck, nice to meet you, I'm Butch Tellopoppie," and he holds his hand out, adding, "Hell, it's great to meet you. Gert and I weren't even talking to each other and now we're into an intellectual conversation." I shake his big hand introducing myself, and then Chub just smacks Butch's hand. Butch sits down and asks, "Hey, what kind of fake cards did you guys use to get served in here?" Chubby goes, "We don't need fake cards, Butch, we're twenty-two." He goes, "No shit? I had the best fake cards ever, plus I looked older than shit as a teenager. I was getting served when I was fourteen," and he guzzles half his latest drink.

Gert lets out a long, loud 7-Up burp and then asks, "Do you need lips in order to talk?" Chubby says, "I do, yes. Ya know, I was with eight or nine guys at a college bar and we were kicking that very question around just last week, so let me ask you... do ventriloquists need lips?" Gert goes, "Do you mean those people who pretend to go downstairs behind a sofa and keep getting shorter and shorter?" Chub goes, "Only if the mime is also a ventriloquist, Gert." Butch goes, "Yeah, I've seen ventriloquists move their lips. Mostly women ventriloquists now that I think about it." Chub goes, "You see a lot of ventriloquists, do ya, Butch?" Butch goes, "I've seen my share, yeah."

Gert asks, "What do people mean exactly saying someone has full lips? Someone said I had full lips." Gert's into lips apparently. Chubby goes, "That's one question I got no answer for ya. Sorry, Gert." She chugs a lot of her drinks while waving her free hand at Chub, and then she says, "No problem. Ya can't know everything, but there's a rhyme? Whatchamacallit, not a rhyme," and I'm like, "Do you mean limerick?" Gert points at me, telling Chubby, "Your little brother knows." To me she goes, "Yeah, the limerick about the size of a man's lips being proportionate to the size of his penis. I can't for the life of me remember how it goes... funny damn thing!" Chub says, "You sure that limerick isn't about feet?"

I'm getting weak from trying not to laugh, which I do not want to do because these two 'adults' are being dead serious and I don't want to hurt their feelings. Then they get into a discussion about extraterrestrials. They both know someone who was captured by a UFO and Butch says, "Yeah, this is no shit... the lady has the markings the creatures with big eyes put on her testicles, or as Gert referred to them... women's' private parts." Chub coughs, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer and I finally flash down that shot of bourbon Butch brought us and, while Gert's describing the 'marks' on her friend, Jeanette's, 'testicles', I get us all another round of drinks, san the shots.

It's entertaining and Chubby likes to get into this kind of thing, which is nice of him in one way... but it's kinda mean in a way too. I suppose it is nicer than just blowing off the people who butt into our conversations the way Chub did with that guy at the bar earlier today. Anyway, all good things must come to an end and this ends when three large women come over with shrill laughter as the one with very long grey hair exclaims, "Gert, don't we see enough of you at work, we gotta see each other Saturday night too?" Gert jumps up and they start hugging, giggling, and bumping into the people sitting at a table next to Gert's and Butch's.

Butch frowns hard, muttering, "Oh, fuck..." and Chub takes the opportunity to extricate ourselves from a situation he's 'milked' all the laughs from he wants. He stands and when he gets the chance offers our seats to the women. The two largest of the three large women thank us and sit in our seats as we take our beers and move to the bar. The third woman drags another chair over which effectively blocks the way to the ladies room as well as the service area of the bar.

We go to the other end of the bar near the door and get seats with an empty stool next to me. Chubby doesn't care if someone is sitting next to him... hardly anything bothers Chub. At first, we're laughing at the craziness of Butch and Gert and then Chub buys another round including a shot of bourbon for himself. I'm finished with shots for the night. He flashes it down and mumbles, "Holy shit, bro, those two are, um... that's something we aren't going to forget for a while, huh?" I snicker, "I'll say," then I laugh, "A screwdriver through what part of the ear will allow a little breathing?" He shrugs, "I forget what I said. It was all in fun... I liked Butch and Gert."

Yeah, well... we're quiet for a minute and then I suppose it was inevitable we'd be unable to get through a night of too many drinks without again expressing how much we've meant to one another, how much love is in our hearts, hearts that are sort of breaking because it's basically over. Real-life is aggressively intruding into our lives now, and I mean full force. Well, hell, real-life has been creeping in beginning way back to that summer when we were seventeen and worked separate jobs. We had to do that if we wanted to get driver's licenses and a car for our high school senior year. Then, the first year at Merrimack we were in the same apartment but split up sophomore year because Chub wanted to experience dormitory life, and we've spent less time together each year since then until now that we're graduating college we'll be separated almost completely the next two years while Chubby's getting his Master's Degree.

Chubby goes, "I've said it before, Dylan, hell probably too many times but it's true that I've met and become friends with a lot of guys and girls in the past five years but not one of them have I liked being with as much as I like being with you. Yeah, it's been five years and I still can't find anyone remotely like you. The fact that bothers me so much, um, is probably abnormal. I need to get over comparing people to you." I go, "Aww, Chub, that's so sweet but I'm surprised you'd want to find another guy like me considering how much trouble I can be." He goes, "Are you serious? You've never been trouble to me. Christ, I can't believe you said that, bro. I'm pretty sure Rob doesn't think you're 'trouble' either."

I drink some beer and mumble, "Anything I can say to that will sound like I'm fishing for more flattery from you. What I will say though is you always have been and always will be my hero and I've never loved and never expect to love anyone with the intensity of the love I've felt for you. I still feel it and I'm not saying anymore... um, except you've been the best friend and brother imaginable and it's meant the world to me... so thank you." We both get choked up a little, then gulp some beer and Chubby says, "Hell, lots of brothers, sisters too, are just siblings who never really connect, but we were like conjoined identical twins in our minds, bro, ya know?" I go, "Yeah, there are a million incredible memories that we lived together. Now we need to settle for the reality of our grown-up dreams.... it doesn't seem a fair exchange, and it's happened way too fast too!"

Chubby waves at one of the two bartenders, the skinny one, and points at his shot glass. 'Skinny' pours Chub a shot, mumbling, "It's on the house, pal." Chub mutters, "Thanks," and then flashes it down and looks at me, saying, "It's kinda embarrassing that I, Jesus... that I remember this fuckin' poem from childhood." I'm pretty sure I know which one it is too.

We're both sort of grinning and feeling awkward at the same time as he recites, "I sought my soul, but my soul I could not find. I sought my God, but my God eluded me... but then, when I sought my brother I found all three." Nodding my head, I watch a tear run down his face and then I wipe my own eyes with the cocktail napkin from under my glass of beer as I mumble, "That's a good one alright... and you know I feel the same way, Chub. We'll grow old, more apart than we'd like, but we'll always have known each other as we were, known each other in ways no one else on earth ever will, so we'll always know each other's hearts like no one else can, and because of that you and I can live outside the touch of time in each other's hearts and minds." Sure, it's maudlin, but it's how we feel!

This is too hard, the realization we're basically separating for life, I mean as we've known it thus far and it's hard. There will be the two weeks in Wildwood and then the rest of this summer Chub's off to Europe with the twins and then his internship and then full time at college ninety miles away. There's no doubt about it, we're wrapping up this part of our lives and while I hate to acknowledge it, I can't ignore the fact it's over.

We read each other's minds and without saying anything, we know it's time to leave. There's a lot more we could reminisce about and a lot more to say to each other about how much we've meant to one another but we've probably said enough already, maybe too much. We get off the bar stools at the same time, then both throw some money on the bar for a tip... and leave it all behind.

The Kia is parked behind the bar. As we walk around back Chubby hands me the key-fob and I drive us the six or seven miles down Route 114 to Merrimack. It's one o'clock when we're idling close to Chub's dorm. We look at each other and shrug. Chub goes, "Great time today, brother. Nice celebration of brothers day too." Trying to avoid mushier stuff, I grin mumbling, "Let's try to get together next year... same time." He snorts, "Christ, I hope I see you before then." Holding up my hand to show my leather wrist bracelet, I go, "Thanks for my present, Chub." He nods and then we hug and do a quick kiss. Chub, choked up, says, "See you soon, Dylan," and he gets out and walks toward his dormitory.

Shaking my head, I realize I'm pissed off... but at who or what I'm not sure. It's not as though Chub and I haven't had lots of things going on in our separate lives for a few years now... we have, but at least we've been within shouting distance and been able to see each other almost every day. Yeah, we've lived separate lives but in close proximity, and now the space between us is about to expand at a dizzying pace... it's getting out of our control and there's nothing realistically we can do about it. There will be a fading of the most perfect and fondest memories I ever expect to have... fading but never completely forgotten. So, I guess I'm pissed-off about growing up.

Sunday morning I can't get out of bed. More accurately, I don't want to get out of bed and not just because of my hangover. Now I'm sober and the reality of last night's conclusions are starker, more real! Fuck!

Robby's probably hungover too from last night's baseball team's break-up dinner but he's in the bathroom taking a shower so he's obviously not as hungover as I am. Huh, yeah, that's what they called it... the baseball team's 'break-up' dinner, and in a way, that's what Chubby and I had last night too... a break-up dinner. Everybody eventually breaks up I guess, although in some cases not until death. There's a gloomy thought for you. Jesus, I need to stop thinking about this, at least for a while.

Well, what do I need to do today? Nothing seems very important, not after last night. Life keeps rolling along though and there's no sense trying to ignore it or it'll roll right the fuck over me. Let's see, things I need to do getting ready for graduating college... kind of important day I'd say. Um, okay, yeah... Rob and I are supposed to be getting haircuts. Christ, you only graduate from college once and thank God for that, but there should be more important things I need to do than getting a haircut, especially one I don't even need. Fuck, yeah, there are things I should do but first, I gotta get out of bed.

I manage to do that around noon wondering if I'm depressed. If I am, that would be so fucking immature of me! Meanwhile, Rob must already be showered because I just heard the bathroom door open. My head pounds and a wave of dizziness makes me mutter, "Whoa." It passes as Robby walks in the bedroom and pats my shoulder. Leaning over, smelling like bath gel, he kisses my cheek, saying, "Good morning, babe. We both survived the night, huh?" I mumble, "Did you have a good time last night?" Putting on a pair of boxer shorts, he goes, "Sure, but there was something definitely missing... you." I go, "Aw, thanks," and he says, "Danny asked me to remind you that you're supposed to do his haircut today... this is your reminder." I go, "Yeah, okay. It's weird that he's reminding me..."

In the bathroom, I do everything I need to including a long shower. Normally, crush or no crush, I'd be kinda excited about giving Danny a haircut and getting one myself. Instead, I cry a little because I'm too emotional, plus I'm acting like a spoiled child who's furious he can't have everything he wants. I hate that it's over for Chubby and me, any semblance of what we had together is over for sure, and it will never be the same between us again. It's only a quick cry though, and I don't stomp my feet or throw shit around having a tantrum, so that's progress. Okay, Goddammit, that's the last cry of my childhood. I got it out of my system once and for all and then, after drying and getting dressed I go in the kitchen and hug Robby from behind as he's standing at the counter watching his coffee mug filling from the Keurig machine.

He asks, "Bad hangover?" I mumble, "Yeah, but I can handle it. Just so you know Robert, it's you and me from now on, babe." He says, "It's been you and me for years, Dylan, and don't call me babe. That's my term of endearment for you." Letting go of him, I mutter, "It's more like a nickname. Um, pass me that bottle of Advil, will ya?" He slides it down the counter and I shake out three tablets and, cupping my hand under the faucet I slurp water until the three pills are swallowed. Christ, that sucked! Taking a deep breath, I mutter, "I'm too fucked up to make breakfast... let's eat out someplace."

Robby goes, "Yeah, okay... after I have my coffee," and he touches his hair, asking, "Do you think I need a haircut?" I look at him and say, "Nope, and neither do I. Danny cut my hair last Sunday but he'll probably want to do it again." Rob mutters, "Fuck it, I'm not going over there! I don't need, nor do I feel like getting a haircut." I ask, "Other than that, how do you feel?" He shrugs, "Not good. Not good at all, but I'll live." I go, "How's your leg?" Robby nods his head, mumbling, "Surprisingly good. Thanks for asking." Looking outside through the sliding glass doors to the balcony, I mumble a non sequitur, "It's sunny today," and Robby goes, "Where do you wanna eat? It's a little late for breakfast."

Blowing out my cheeks and then exhaling slowly, I mumble, "I don't care. Friendly's maybe." Rob nods, "Yeah. That'll work." Jeez, thinking about last night, I guess Chubby and I overdid it with the maudlin stuff but we said what we said and we meant it. Ya know, some of that shit is impossible to say unless you're drinking. The alcohol lessens inhibitions so basically you say what you feel in your heart with no filter, no matter how corny or maudlin... and so what if when you're sober you feel a little, um, embarrassed about being so mushy. At least I do, but I'm still glad I said what I said. We'll always remember those sentiments spoken out loud to one another. Christ, I'm surprised I didn't go overboard more than I did!

Rob and I eat at Friendly's restaurant, the one in the Market Basket mall. We both order 'breakfast' even though it's past lunchtime. As we're eating, Robby goes, "Not to beat a dead horse, babe, but do you have any, um, thoughts about the things we discussed yesterday?" To break his balls a little, I ask, "What things?" Rob gives me a 'look' and I go, "Oh, those things. I'm fine with all of it and, please, don't ask me that again, okay? I've been grooming you for this leadership role five years now... don't fuck it up!"

He chuckles and says, "You're joking, as usual, but actually you have sort of prepared me for it." I wasn't joking! He pats my arm, saying, "I'm not gonna fuck anything up, babe, and I know you won't either." Well, I probably will, but not on purpose. I give him a little grin, the best I can come up with at the moment, and he goes, "Um, did you tell your brother about our marriage plans last night? About the things we've agreed on for when we're married?" I drink some coffee and then say, "No, I didn't mention any of it. That shit is between me and my husband to be." He nods and then snorts out a laugh, saying, "That sounds funny... that husband title. I like it though." I smirk at him, "Yeah, I imagine you do," and I can't help laughing and getting a little red in the face, sort of embarrassed, as I say, "I'm ready to be your wife too."

Rob grins and says, "I love you, Dylan, and thank you for making everything simple and smooth for us. Ya know, last night at the team's break-up dinner I couldn't stop thinking about you and how proud of you I am and how lucky I am that you love me. It gave me this amazingly wonderful warm feeling about us... about you mostly." I mumble, "Yeah, well, don't get too far ahead of yourself... we're not married yet." He nods, "I know you like to joke around but seriously, Dylan, thank you." I mumble, "You're welcome."

Now I'm thinking again that I'll be Robby's wife. I say it in my head... Robby's wife, Rob's wife, I'll be Dylan Dickers, Rob's wife. Fuck, that doesn't sound too cool... although not totally horrible either. It sure connects us together and I want to be connected to Robby. Plus, it's so deliciously submissive being a guy, as I am, and yet being my lover's wife. That's enough to give me a boner. Well, normally it would but I'm still too hungover to spring a boner out of thin air like that.

I think again how years from now gays guys being husband and wives won't even raise an eyebrow because Rob's right, the more gay couples that marry, the more often you'll hear them refer to one another in that way. Well, no, probably not most couples. Most couples won't, but enough will that it won't be a novelty. Hell, I read in Rolling Stone and People magazine all the time where celebrities, same-gender gay celebrity couples, both male and female referring to their husband or wife in interviews. And the magazines' captions under pictures read, 'so-and-so and his husband or so-and-so and her wife' do this or that... and I mean in magazines nowadays, in the present, never mind years in the future.

Just for shits and giggles, let me try out another fantasy scenario in my head. Okay, let's say I need to go to the office because Rob forgot something he needs for work, so I'm bringing it to the office. At the reception desk I'd be like...... 'Um, excuse me! My husband Rob asked me to bring this folder. He forgot it at home, the big lug, haha. Um, he needs it for work so...' Then, after some strange stares from the receptionist and a few eavesdropping people whispering and snickering behind their hands, I get directed to Rob's administrative assistant and I go... 'Excuse me. Hi, there, I'm Dylan Dickers, um, Rob's wife. He asked me to drop off this report he forgot to bring blah, blah, blah... Little Robby would, of course, be hanging on me whining that he has to go pee-pee as Rob's administrative assistant, a middle-aged woman if I have anything to say about it, will go, "'I love what you've done with your hair, Mrs. Dickers.' Hahaha!

Rob's like, "What are you grinning about, babe?" I go, "Nothing, just practicing being your wife, um, in my head." Robby beams. He's so happy! Damn, he doesn't ask a lot from me so I'm glad when I can make him feel good. I'm about to tell him my silly fantasy when his cell phone rings and he smiles at me again, saying, "Practice some more, baby," and then he starts talking on his phone.

Okay, let's see... how about this. With baby-Robby inside one of those goofy baby carrying things on my chest, I'll be saying to a woman neighbor, 'Hi, I'm Dylan Dickers. Sorry to bother you but I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood. My husband, Rob, met your husband at the golf course so I thought you and I might have a cup of coffee sometime.' Heh heh, I can just imagine the startled woman's eyes opening wide as she's backing away going, 'Huh, what?' You know, someone from Alabama who isn't clued in yet on our east and west coasts' progressive ways.

Finished our brunch, we go outside and Robby says, "Let's have a smoke before driving back. It's a nice day and, what the fuck, we only have like three days left to smoke. Kicking that habit is gonna be a little rough, babe." I go, "Yeah, probably." Considering my hangover, I want a cigarette like I want a horse kicking me in the head, but I take the one Rob's offering as I tell him, "Ya know, Chubby confirmed to me last night he's giving this filthy habit up the same time we are."

We light up and Rob goes, "I'm curious. Um, you said you didn't talk about us, didn't mention you and me last night with Jeff, so what'd you guys talk about?" When I take a drag off the cigarette my head goes, BOOM BOOM BOOM! I mutter, "Balls..." and then tell Rob a couple of the funny moments that mostly happened when people butted into our conversation, and then how Chubby and I sort of reminisced, got a little maudlin and shed a tear before reluctantly putting a lid on our epic childhood. "Ya know, Robby, it's really difficult accepting the reality that Chubby and I are now seriously moving away from each other... for real! It's been happening little by little for years now, but last night it seemed more, um, definite. You've got me now, heh heh, I'm your responsibility."

He nods his head, saying, "You're mine alright... and hearing you say that makes me feel good, actually. Frankly, it's a relief as I've always felt pressure competing with your brother for your trust and love and, I know, some of it was probably just in my head but, well, now I can let out a sigh of relief and relax a little." I go, "What? I was never comparing you to my brother." He goes, "Yes, you were! It was obvious and you did it all the time, but that's okay. It kept me on my toes and now, as you said, you're all mine." I'm like, "Jeez, don't take that too literally."

Rob grins at me, muttering, "Come here you." Grinning, I step over to him and he puts his arm around my waist and squeezes me, then leaves his arm there. Smoke drifting out of my mouth I'm thinking... even after all these years, I still can't help glancing around feeling self-conscious that we're basically announcing... everyone, look at us... we're queers!

Nevertheless, I stay right next to Robby in full view of all the people in the parking lot coming and going to either the grocery store or Friendly's Restaurant. Rob gives my waist another squeeze, saying, "You look extra cute today, babe. A miracle considering how hungover you must be." Then I actually blush when he kisses my lips. We finish our smokes with Rob's arms around the back of my waist and me leaning against him. In my mind, I'm daring anyone to make a smart ass comment, imagining how Robby will go nuclear on the person's ass if they do. That's right... make me feel safe, husband. Why in the fuck do I need to feel safe?

Finishing our smokes, Rob mumbles, "I'm so friggin' happy, Dylan...." I go, "Me too," and we step on our cigarette butts and get in the pickup. Actually, Rob's right, sort of, I did tend to compare him to Chubby, but I wasn't consciously ALWAYS doing that as he said. I don't think I was.

Driving back to our apartment, he says, "In a way, Dylan, as you said it was like the end of, um, end of an era for you and Jeff but at least you two had the chance to spend yesterday together closing a chapter in your lives. I never got to have a formal, um, breakup dinner with Dodger. He basically just dumped me and joined the Army and, yes, he and I have become friends again but it's never approached the closeness we once had." I nod and say, "I know Rob, and that was selfish of Dodger but he was barely eighteen and none of us were very smart back then." Robby shrugs, "Well, Dodger and I are okay now anyway."

As much as I've always had almost a compulsion to seek Chubby's approval for anything big in my life, I made the right decision not to share with Chub the choices Rob and I agreed to yesterday about our life as husband and wife. That's an especially personal aspect of this entirely new part of my life and I do need to adjust and be sure I'm doing the right things, but I mean from Robby's viewpoint. Those were private conversations between him and me and it'd be disloyal if I analyzed or discussed our decisions with Chubby. And that right there is an example of me doing the right, um, mature thing letting go of my last threads of dependence on Chubby. There are things I'll still want to talk about with my brother but now for the first time, I feel there are a few private things I'll only talk about with Rob. And it's not like I don't realize everyone will be aware I consider myself Rob's wife, I know everyone will know that, I just don't feel the need to explain myself to any of them. It's Robby's approval I seek above anyone else's. It's what he wants that I care the most about.

Hell, I didn't even tell Chubby the date Rob and I are getting married, which is Saturday, July fifteenth. I didn't mention it because Rob said not to tell anyone until he was sure he could arrange a few things. It's a new time for me and I need to get used to that because, as I keep telling myself, this is real life I'm dealing with, not 'maybes' or my old fantasies... this is the beginning of my adult life now.

At the apartment's parking lot, we're getting out of the pickup as I ask Rob, "When do you think I can announce our, um, date?" He goes, "I'll let you know, babe. I need to be sure we have a marriage license, which I don't even know how to get yet, and find a place for some kind of short ceremony and, ya know, have a luncheon afterward I suppose." I nod, "Yeah, sure. Just tell me what to do. I mean, if you think of anything I can help with." He mumbles, "I will as soon as I figure out what we need to do myself. I'm almost positive it'll be it July fifteenth, but hold off until I give you the okay." I go, "Sure," and we come together and walk to the front door of the apartment building with an arm around each other's waist as Rob's telling me about his dinner last night.

I desperately want this to feel natural. This walking with our arms around each other. It's something I first encountered with Willie and it humiliated me way back then, but on and off since then I've been okay with it in short bursts, usually while drinking, and then other times I struggle at feeling comfortable with it. I'm trying wicked hard not to give a flying fuck what others, what strangers think. Why should I care if we freak-out someone by showing we're a gay couple doing something hetero couples do without giving it a thought? I'm still self-conscious about it though. Damn, I wish I could get over worrying about shit like that... caring what total strangers think has caused me stupid stress my entire life.

Inside, Rob squeezes my waist, and asks, "Are you nervous about graduating? Um, no, I don't mean nervous, but it is the end of another hugely important thing in our lives. Maybe the very last aspect of our childhood... something like that." I go, "Yeah, I guess. It's hard to put into words though. Maybe it's the end of too many things all at once." We let go of each other as Rob says, "It's the beginning of even more things for us, babe, and my heart is bursting with love thinking about you, thinking about you and me side by side facing new challenges together. There's nobody I've ever known I'd rather do that with than you."

Jeez, I feel like hugging the shit out of him because that sounded so sweetly innocent or, hell, I don't know if it was innocent... I liked it though. I ask, "What are we going to do now, Robby?" He looks at me, "The question I have for you is, do you feel recovered from your hangover enough to mess around?" I nod my head too fast and he grins at me as he reaches out his hand. I take it and we walk hand in hand down the hall to our bedroom as Rob's saying, "I wanna show you who's in charge, babe." I go, "Oh boy," and we fall on the bed and then have the most loving form of a lover's make out ever.

My cock is a steel spike as I lie here while Rob undresses me and when I'm totally naked lying on my back he lifts my legs using one hand around my ankles the way I've seen people do when changing a baby's diaper, but since I'm not wearing a diaper or anything else, Rob smacks my bare ass instead. Totally unexpected with the "SMACK SMACK SMACK!" sounds ringing out and it's a damn good spanking too as I frown at him with a questioning expression on my face. He goes, "What? You have a question?" I shake my head and he lets go of my legs. I bend them now but keep them back. Robby says, "Don't you move." My ass is hot and stinging, my cock hard as stone sticking straight up as I watch Rob undress. When he drops his pants, that fat cock of his is as hard as mine. I assume his boner is from our spectacular make out but maybe a little from spanking me too. Mine is from the make out as well but the confident way Rob spanked my ass got my cock granite-hard.

Rob's as naked as I am as he rests a hand on my belly, casually leaning over me reaching with his other hand for the Astroglide on the bedside table. As he unscrews the top, he says, "C 'mon, babe, pull your legs back further than that." I do that and then think about how I am for Danny. Rob deserves that and more, so I get my arms around my legs pulling them back as far as I can, my back arching on the bed, and then I spread my legs apart as wide as I can until I'm in a totally docile submissive position for my dominant lover, my husband to be. Rob glances at me and nods his head and then slowly wipes the Astroglide around and then inside my ass. Taking a deep breath, he climbs up on the bed and, on his knees, puts a hand lightly on my foot that's dangling there as he guides the head of his boner to my asshole. He's so sure of himself it makes me almost whimper with my submissive trance deepening.

Looking me in the eyes Rob pushes his too fat cock head against my anus. The slippery head feels cold and I go, "Oh..." He then leans forward, a hand on either side of me now and humps his boner past my sphincter and then slowly pushes his cock up my ass with pain-alarms going off in my head but I don't move or make a sound. As I said, I'm in one of my deep trances caused mostly by the deliberate and confident way Robby's doing everything. It's new. He's obviously feeling a new level of confidence.

Still looking into my eyes he steadily pushes the last two inches of that fat boner of his inside me... the pain receding slowly, but it is fading... it always does. Well, no, it actually faded out quicker than normal this time. Rob leaves his boner up my ass for a minute while he leans down to kiss me and then lightly rubs his hand over the top of my head and then kisses me on the lips again. He murmurs, "Soon you'll be all mine... and how lucky am I? I love you so much," and then he begins a slow luscious fuck that goes on for a long time, slow steady thrusting with us continuing to look at each other silently, my lips parted slightly as the most amazing pleasure vibrations from my rectum make me shudder and moan but I can't close my eyes because looking into Rob's eyes has me hypnotized as he continues providing me wave after wave of sexual pleasure, pure sexual pleasure, his scent in my head and I have the feeling Rob wants me to know this is the first sex in our new life chapter together. This starts the rest of our lives and it's fantastic and miraculous and so, of course, somehow we eventually climax together with me moaning and murmuring, "Ooooh, Robby..." Yes, instead of squealing as my orgasm seemingly takes forever to end and even then I want it to go on longer I murmur Robby's name.

The force and volume of his climax cause cum to drool out around his cock as Robby leaves it there inside me after we're both done shaking at the intensity of our climaxes. He leans down, sweat beading on his forehead, and kisses me again and I swear I'm trembling as I take my arms from around my legs and put them around the back of Rob's neck holding him against my face as tightly as I can with my legs still held back and spread wide in my obvious submissive posture for my dominant lover, my feet hanging above the bed. It's the most awesome feeling I've ever experienced.

After being tightly together like this for quite a while, then doing long quiet luscious kissing with us still joined together, Rob's ever hardening cock still up my ass the whole time, he starts fucking me again and we're both floating way up there above the clouds for seemingly forever until we have to shudder at our almost spastic second climaxes, sweating and moaning while I hold onto him for dear life I'm convinced this is the best sex I'll ever have in my life. Both times were slow and steady for a long time although who knows how long as I lost track of time and the only sound we made were the quietest moans and murmurs until we climaxed at exactly the same time, both times. I didn't squeal the second time either, just a moan of deep pleasure murmuring Robby's name as cum was gushing up and out from by petrified boner splashing on both of us, Rob's cum filling me to overflowing again.

Finally pulling his cock out slowly, Rob looks at our cum smeared bodies and then lies totally on me, my arms going around him, without either of us saying a word as I finally stretch out my legs on the bed. We lie like this for a while and when I shiver he pulls the bedspread over both of us and then, with his lips against my ear he whispers sweet loving words to me in between kisses my face and we again float above the rest of the world in each other's arms.

We both doze off and when I wake up I'm sticky with cum and sweat. When I try moving, Robby mutters, "I need to turn on the fucking air-conditioning." Yep, this day really heated up. We separate and snicker at our sweaty sticky cum smeared selves but don't comment about what I feel was our perfect sex. The subtle change I've been noticing since Rob flicked that switch two days ago was obvious starting with the spanking he gave me, and who knows what was in his mind when he did that, maybe remembering I like a little rough stuff, but whatever, I definitely noticed a new Robby in the way he initiated and followed through with our sex this afternoon.

I noticed the subtle change in both of us actually. We're into our new official roles even before the wedding and Rob probably thought... why the hell not get us off to an early start? Oooh, look at that... Robby just gave me a 'look', a little sweet smile and I know he recognizes the subtle difference in me just as I notice it in him. He doesn't think in sub/dom terms, of course, but he recognized my new level of submissiveness and I know he felt a subtle dominance himself although, as I said, he wouldn't think those words.

We obviously need a shower and Rob takes my hand pulling me up, saying, "Time to get off the bed, babe." My hangover seems to have left the building and, I don't know, but there was a little magic in the way Robby glanced at me just now doing his confident smile, and I've gotta squeeze my junk 'cause he looks so hot! I go, "What? Why'd you smile?" He shrugs one shoulder and goes, "Nothing, babe, um, just that it's finally going to be just you and me, Dylan. Are you ready for this?" As I get off the bed, I nod my head, "Yeah, I'm super ready for this, Rob... are you?"

Part 3 of the final days to follow...

Donny Mumford thinat20@yahoo.com donnymumford@outlook.com

========================================================

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

========================================================

Hey guys, how about making a small (or large, go for it!) tax deductible donation to nonprofit Nifty. They could use your help covering the expenses inherent in maintaining a free story site this size. Easy directions about how to do that on their 'home page'. Thanks!

http://donate.nifty.org