"Why are we at the park?" Baljeet asks as Buford leads him off the road and onto one of the newer parks that was built when the kids had gotten too old for parks, other than to 'hang out' around the playground.
"'Cuz my mom doesn't let me smoke in the house." Buford takes his pack of smokes out of his breast pocket and pulls out a cig.
"Oh, Buford." Baljeet sticks his hands in his pockets. "You are going to get addicted."
"Ah, I'm fine, mom." Buford sticks the cigarette in his mouth and lights it. He takes a drag and blows it into the air above his head.
"Why did you take me here?" Baljeet asks, a little frustrated. "Why did you not simply leave me at home? You have already crushed all of my pills."
"I dunno if I got them all." Buford looks away. "'Sides, if you've got it in your head, you'll find another way."
"How are you so sure?"
"I'm not stupid, 'Jeet." Buford ruffles his black curls. "You think when my ma took away my cigs I stopped smoking? Hell no! I just found some more."
"I do not think those two examples are comparable."
Buford grabs Baljeet's arm, gently but firmly, and steers the boy towards him. "Can you look me in the eye and tell me that if I had just left, just crushed those damn pills and left, that you wouldn't have tried to find something else?"
Baljeet tries to say it, he tries to tell his friend that of course he would have come to his senses and done the rest of his homework, gone to bed, and woken up the next morning chipper as ever. But he couldn't. Ashamed, he looked away and said nothing.
"That's what I thought." Buford let the small boy go, and stalks over towards the playground. "Hurry up." He threw over his shoulder.
Baljeet had to jog to keep up with Buford, and they were quickly at the equipment. Buford sits on the stairs and looks up at Baljeet. "Sit down, nerd. Let's talk."
Hesitantly, Baljeet sits down lightly next to his bully, half expecting to be pushed off the equipment. Buford takes a deep drag of his cigarette, which is now mostly gone, and throws it onto the woodchips. He turns to Baljeet. "Do you hate me?"
"I do not think so. We have been friends for far too long for me to seriously hate you." The smaller boy leans his elbows on his knees and droops forward. "But I do harbor a resentment, I believe. I have been pushed to the breaking point, and you have no doubt helped me get to that point. I am angry. Of course I am angry." Baljeet sighs. "But I do not hate you."
"Well… good." Without thinking, Buford put an arm around the boy and pulled him close. Baljeet froze, unfamiliar with such a position.
"Why did you come to see me?" Baljeet asked, slowly letting his head fall on the strong man's shoulder. "Why did you decide, tonight of all nights, to come to my home to see me?"
"I was worried." Buford said gruffly. "You skipped out on school, which was a huge red flag. An' then Isabella was gettin' under my skin, and I just needed to see you… I don't know…" He looked away.
"What was Isabella saying?"
"I don't know… some stupid shit… talkin' in riddles, you know? Asking me how I was feeling and all that shit. Jesus Christ!" He leaned back on an elbow. "Askin' me to confront my fuckin' feelings… like it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world, why I'm…" his rant pitters off.
"I am afraid I am still confused." Baljeet says. "What did Isabella say to you?"
"Ah, just sayin' how she thought it was more than just the guys calling me gay and all that shit… sayin' something about when we were kids and the boys, like, pulled the girl's hair when they liked him?" Buford rolled his eyes. "I don't know, man, she was talkin' in riddles. Chicks are crazy."
"You do not say…" Baljeet murmured, the gears in his head turning fast.
"What?" Buford looked down at the kid. "Are you gonna start talking in riddles too?"
"No, no… well…" Baljeet had figured it out, all right. At least, he was now aware of Isabella's theory. And perhaps she was correct- perhaps Buford did have feelings for him. It would certainly explain the way Buford had been acting lately. However, Baljeet was at a loss for how he would bring it up to the man. Buford was utterly terrified of anything that would make him 'lose his manhood'. And ignoring that, Baljeet didn't know how he himself felt either. He certainly wasn't straight, but the thought had never crossed his mind before, and certainly not with the boy who's hobbies included making his life miserable.
"What? Spit it out, Baljeet." Buford grumbles, slightly annoyed.
"Well… perhaps, if you considered the situation in a more nuanced way…." Baljeet shifts uncomfortably, hyperconscious of the well-muscled arm draped across his shoulder.
"And how, per se, do you expect me to do that?" Buford said, his voice high and nasally, mocking Baljeet's accent and extended vocabulary.
"Have you perhaps considered that maybe, just maybe, they might be a little bit… right?" The small boy's voice was small and weak, and he tensed up for a possible backlash.
But that backlash, curiously, did not come. Baljeet relaxed and glanced up at Buford. His face was almost blank, his eyebrows turned down.
"When we were little…. And the boys would pick on girls they liked…" He looks down at Baljeet, his voice a little hoarse. "That's what she meant by that?"
"Well, I do not read minds, but reasoning it out, that is what I would assume she was trying to say…"
"She thinks I'm gay for you?" His voice was not angry, as Baljeet expected it to be. It was not shocked either. His voice portrayed a new emotion for Buford. Baljeet thought that maybe he sounded thoughtful.
"Well… probably…."
"Oh." Buford nods, leaning back. The two boys were silent for a while. Baljeet had begun to get colder, and scooted a little closer towards Buford, who radiated heat. Buford, rather than pushing him away, constricted his arm, squeezing Baljeet a little bit closer to him. He sighed. "So it's not just the guys on the wrestling team, huh? It's our friends too? Everyone thinks I'm gay?"
"Buford, the only person who can decide if you are a homosexual is you. All of those people on your team, and even your friends, cannot decide your sexuality. I wish you would not worry about it, because you do not need to."
"You're right." Buford holds Baljeet closer. "You're totally right. I mean, I'm a confident guy. Why would this shit make me unsure of my own damn sexuality? I know who I am." He pauses. "It don't make any sense that just the teasing is makin' me feel like this…" He looks over at Baljeet. "This is your fault."
"What?" Baljeet shrinks in on himself.
"It's you. You're makin' me feel like this. I'm so pissed off because they're all right. I do have feelings for you." Buford lets his head fall back, groaning. "Shit."
Perhaps, deep in his heart, Baljeet knew of Buford's feelings, because now he felt quite surprised that this was going down so civilly. He had expected anger, perhaps even violence, denial, and repulsion of his own identity. He had not expected such calm resolve.
"You… you seem so sure minded and calm about this…" Baljeet said quietly.
"Yeah, don't worry. I'm throwin' up on the inside." With his opposite hand, Buford reached into his jacket and pulled out the rum he had taken. He uncaps the bottle and takes an unashamed swig.
"Excuse me, but that is mine." Baljeet eyes the bottle, slightly jealous of Buford's ability to hold his liquor.
"It's in your best interest. I'll be more tolerable if I'm tipsy." He grins and squeezes Baljeet tighter.
"I do not condone such abuse of your body, you know."
"Ah, give it a rest and drink." He shoves the bottle at Baljeet. Baljeet hesitantly takes the bottle.
"Will it burn?" He peers into the bottle- the smell assaults his nose.
"Like a motherfucker if there's no chaser and you're a beginner." Buford chuckles.
"But there is none and I am one."
"Uh huh."
Baljeet considers the drink, swirling it around in the bottle. Then he brings the bottle to his lips and takes a small sip. The taste is strong, and the liquid does burn going down. Baljeet coughs heavily, and Buford takes the bottle out of his hand.
"Ya get used to it." He rubs the small boy's back. "Don't worry, it gets better- especially once you're wasted."
Baljeet glares up at the man. "I do not plan on getting 'wasted.'"
Buford only grins and takes another drink. "Sure, 'Jeet." And he offers Baljeet another sip.