Doug and Skeeter were sitting across from each other in the local restaurant, silently drinking their milkshakes. Skeeter watched in horror as a trail of cold milk and ice cream made its way down Doug's chin, finally dropping down to form a thick puddle in the middle of the table.
"Honk Honk!" said Skeeter, "There's something dribbling down your chin, man!"
"I know", replied Doug, morosely staring just to the left of Skeeter's head, "It was an experiment. To see if anyone would notice. To see if anyone would notice me." 'And my problems', Doug wanted to add, but he didn't. He hadn't been adding a lot of stuff, lately – his thoughts were just too dangerous, he felt.
"Is something wrong?" Skeeter asked, because he knew that Doug wouldn't tell him otherwise.
Doug didn't say anything; he just inspected the wall behind Skeeter's head, counting the light fixtures and the happy people that they reflected onto the walls. There were 5 light fixtures and 17 smiling people. The numbers didn't make any sense to Doug, so he abandoned them. He had hoped to find meaning in his counting, but he had not, so instead he picked up a napkin and solemnly wiped the milkshake from his face.
"It's Patti," he finally answered with a sigh, "I just don't think that I'll ever have a chance with her."
"Hey, whoa! That's not true, Doug - you're a great guy! I'm sure that Patti would love to go out with you! You just worry too much, that's all, Honk Honk!"
"No, no, it's more then that", he replied, and as he said this he balanced his milkshake closer and closer to the edge of the table, "Even if she did want to go out with me, I wouldn't know what to do with her. Face it, Skeeter, I'm clueless around women." On his final thought he poured what remained of his milkshake into his lap, staring at the lumpy white sludge absorbing into his trademark tan pants while Skeeter thought of a solution.
"Hey! I know! We can go visit my cousin Deeter! He gets all the ladies! I bet that he could help you with your problem! C'mon, let's go, he's probably home right now!"
"Alright, if you think that it will help", Doug said, standing up. The milky waste on his pants dripped to the floor.
They were standing on the raised porch of a single-story house from the seventies, its squat figure built up of monotone brown brick and cheap poured cement. A car that could've been as old as the house was sitting in the driveway, slowly disintegrating towards the ground. Doug couldn't tell its make, but he suspected that it hadn't really been made by anyone, that it was just a collection of car pieces placed together in simple homage to something that had once moved.
Deeter was home because he was always home, Doug reasoned, as the tall, angular body of Skeeter's cousin answered the door. He looked as if he had been wearing the same white shirt and jeans for weeks now, and he had an incredible stink that matched the sweat that stained his t-shirt. His eyes were obscured by giant sunglasses, and the rest of his facial features seemed to pull towards his sunken cheeks. Doug figured that he was a dealer, and the way that he swayed suspiciously in the doorway, staring straight over their heads while they waited for him to acknowledge their presence seemed to confirm this.
During this moment Doug wondered if what Skeeter had said about his cousin was true, if he really did get "all the ladies", and, if it was, how such a disgusting creature could manage to get any girls at all. Surely Doug was more appealing then what stood half-conscious in the doorway, and the thought that he wasn't made him want to hurl himself off the raised porch and impale his body on the little twigs of the dying bushes that lay below. He was just peering over the banister bordering the porch to see if this was possible when Skeeter spoke up, finally breaking the drug-addled silence.
"Hey, uh, Deeter? It's me, your cousin, Skeeter?"
Deeter ingested this new information slowly, taking time to snap out of whatever it was that he was in, before he finally snaked his head down towards Skeeter's, bringing his eyes in line with his.
"Oh, hey little man – when did you get here? You want to come inside? Maybe take me up on that offer I made you before?" he said, the words rolling casually off his thin tongue.
"Uh, no Deeter. I just wanted you to meet my friend Doug. I thought you might be able to give him some advice."
"What kind of advice?" said Deeter, suddenly cautious, intimidating, smoke pouring out from behind his sunglasses as he stared at the sad white kid who had invaded his front stoop. Doug slunk closer to the railing, amazed at the stoner's transformation.
"Well, Doug here, he's having troubles with the ladies, and I thought since you're always talking about how –"
"He needs help with ladies?" Deeter replied, suddenly softening, "Well, why didn't you say so? Come in, come in both of you! I have much to teach." Deeter was hurrying now, already far from view, and Doug and Skeeter followed behind, like pups, into his den.