Swagger Like Us
Chapter Eight: I'll Bring The Fire
By: Jondy Macmillan
A/N: Ahem- unrelated note. I took Japanese for two and a half years in college, and ended up stopping because of a…falling out…with my professor. A falling out that centered around the fact that she was a total bitch hag and lived to see me in misery, mind, but one all the same. (This was not the same professor I'd started learning with; I don't think I could have stood five classes with her.) Now, it seems a waste to put all that dedication to the language away, so I've been considering taking the JLPT come December. I've been using my old books to brush up- it's been about a year and a half since I've done ANYTHING with it, and I obviously suck now. My question is- does anyone know some good online teaching tools? I can't remember any of the old sites I used to use, and livemocha, which I'm currently using to teach myself Hindi, requires waaaaay too much interaction and critique that I'm not comfortable with quite yet, what with the rusty level I'm on. If you all have any suggestions, I'd appreciate it. Now- in reference to the story- I'm LOVING my fantabulous reviews! Keep them coming! Wow…apparently spell check recognizes fantabulous as a word.
I see your dirty face hide behind your collar. What is done in vain; truth is hard to swallow. So you pray to God to justify the way you live a lie, live a lie, live a lie. And you take your time, and you do your crime. Well you made your bed. I'm in mine. Because when I arrive, I, I'll bring the fire. Make you come alive, I can take you higher. What this is, forgot? I must now you remind you let it rock, let it rock, let it rock.
-Let It Rock by Kevin Rudolf ft. Lil Wayne-
It's a small mercy Wednesday afternoon when my mom asks me to call out of work early so I can drive her to an optometry appointment. I don't think I can stand any more of Stan. I guess that's not the prime feeling you want to have for your best friend, but I don't know how else to think. He told me he wants to quit partying, and then I find him at a rave?
Dude. It gives me a headache just thinking about it.
Stan, for his part, actually tries to talk to me. The stonewalling of yesterweek has given way to full on begging for my attention. I can't lie and say it doesn't feel good to be the center of his attention, but hey, no one holds a grudge like angry Jew. That is to say me, 'cause I'm for sure angry as all get out.
How could he give me all that 'let's-not-party-let's-be-grownups-now-kthxbye' crap and then go to a rave? Am I not enough of an emo pussy for him? I can go to raves. Okay, I'm not entirely sure what going to a rave entails, other than craptastic music and dropping E, but hey, I can learn. I doubt it takes a PhD.
Today was the worst, too. Stan cornered me when I tried to go to the bathroom, my hand toying with the zipper on my pants and my dick throbbing with how hard I fucking needed to pee. And he's all, "Kye, I swear, man, it was just this one last time before I'm a part of the real world."
He'd said it once before, of course, that night. Even though he claimed he'd only been a couple times, they're times that I wasn't a part of. I know I'm harping, but Stan's had this whole other life and he's been excluding me from it. That just burns. Super best friends don't do that shit, man.
Maybe I'm being a pussy.
Probably.
Doesn't mean I'm going to forgive him. Forgiving him would be like losing. Losing my pride. Losing the fight. Losing Stan to the world of adults. No, forgiveness is not in the cards.
At least, that's what I think until the next day, when my super best friend ambushes me from the bushes. He's lucky he didn't have to stay there all day; I was this close to calling in sick.
"Kyle!" he yelps, all wild eyed, even though he's the one who jumped out at me when I was fumbling for my keys to the Center.
"Uh," I say, because I'm startled and can't keep my mouth shut when my friend's acting like such a freak. I guess I broke the silence vow, but really, do you blame me?
Stan takes that 'uh' as a sign that I'm speaking to him and throws his arms around my neck.
"Dude," he breathes into the skin of my throat, and okay, this is a little too close for comfort when I'm still angry and we're acting like fags in public, "I've missed you."
"Uh," I say again, because really, how can I respond to that? No way am I telling him I missed him too. That's just the epitome of fagdom. Plus, I totally didn't. Miss him.
Maybe a little. When I was watching MTV and had no one to make fun of the dumb reality shows over the phone with.
And when I went bar hopping with Kenny two nights ago.
And when I was snorting in hysterical laughter over Randy's replacing the entire database with a 'fart sound board' in Microsoft Excel yesterday, but couldn't share the idiocy with my best friend.
Damnit, I missed him.
I'm halfway to returning the hug when Stan pulls away, my neck still warm from his breath. He stares at me, drinking me in, and it's more uncomfortable than just having his mouth against my neck. No one's ever looked at me quite like this, like maybe I'm important enough to fear losing. Not even Stan, and we've been friends forever and a day.
"Dude," I say carefully, weeks of not talking to each other making my voice sound raw, "Are you okay?"
He snaps out of it and hurries to explain, "I just…this thing where we both next to each other, but not…it's not cool."
Yeah. That I get.
"I know."
"The rave was a onetime thing, Kyle. What I said to you at Token's party…it's true. I'm sick of acting like a kid. But I wanted a chance to have a…a…"
"A last stand, Custer?"
He smiles wryly, "Yeah."
"Right. So…this not partying thing…this growing up thing…is the not talking to me thing permanent?"
"What?"
"You know what. You've been avoiding me and putting me off and 'acting distant'," I paraphrase him, glaring all the while, "Ignoring my calls."
He rakes a hand through his thick, raven's wing hair, "I told you, it's not like that. I've got stuff going on-"
"Yeah. Apartment hunting without me. Acting like a douche. Going to raves. I can see how your social life is taxing."
"Kyle."
I step back, "No. I don't want to hear it."
"Wait-" sheer panic fills his cobalt eyes, and I'm amazed I have that effect on him, "-just wait. What if I promise to make time for you?"
Make time for me? Really? Like I'm a stray fucking dog he picked up?
He can see that doesn't go down well by the jut of my chin and the defiance in my eyes, I guess, because he murmurs, "That's not what I meant. I meant…give me a chance. To make the last few weeks up to you."
I hate that I can't deny him anything.
Later that day, Kenny drops by with lunch from the local Kwik Mart in the form of wraps. He only brings one for me because he's under the impression Stan and I are still fighting, and in this instance, he's sided with me. Kenny and I became thick as thieves around high school, but he gets on pretty well with Stan too, usually. Normally he wouldn't take sides in a fight between the two of us, but since the fight revolves around Stan being a pussy and not wanting to have a good time, Kenny's hedonistic tendencies have urged him to back me.
He feels pretty bad when he realizes we've kissed and made up, so to speak.
Not bad enough to stop being a pervert. We're sitting on the hood of Kenny's car, eating, when Wendy Testaburger approaches. Last time I saw her was a quick visit to dad's office, and I'm still sort of terrified of the chick, to be frank.
"Here puss. Here puss, puss, puss," Kenny calls after her as she approaches, making a whistling noise like he's calling out to a real live cat. He grins and hops of the car, disappearing inside my workplace; I suppose to warn Stan that the she-beast cometh.
"He is such a pig," Wendy murmurs wearily when she gets close, with the disgusted fondness that comes of having known Kenny all her life.
"We all are."
She eyes me sprawled out on top of Kenny's car, and I'm not sure if I should cover my balls in fear or try to look as innocent as possible.
Then she says out of nowhere, "Not all the time."
"What?"
"I said, you're not pigs all the time. You and Stan, I mean. I presume that's who you're talking about."
"Well, yeah," I reply, not getting where this is going or where it's even coming from. I don't mind being a pig. Seriously. It's part of the male genetic makeup. I've made my peace with it.
"Look, you guys do some fucked up shit. I'm not denying that."
"But-"
Wendy cuts me off, continuing, "I remember when Stan tried to have a threesome in my bedroom freshman year of college, and that time he busted Bebe's TV trying to play keep away with it when he was drunk, and that time he had sex with Red in my bed. And then there's you. You set up jello wrestling in my apartment over our last winter break. You made me blow you and ran off. Oh yeah, Kyle. I have a loooong memory for all the shit you guys do."
Her eyes narrow, and apologies spill out of my lips like word vomit. I'm never lounging in the parking lot again; it's like being a sitting duck for angry hookups.
She holds up a hand, maybe to pause the look of terror that must be on my face, "But you're not alone."
"What?"
"I said, you're not alone. You guys act like chauvinist dicks half the time, drunk or not, but you've got good hearts."
"I don't get it."
I really don't. Where'd all the homicidal rage go?
"Look, we all do crazy stuff. Hell, one time I ran down my street yelling 'Party Naked' while I was drunk…wearing…well, I was naked."
I smile. Yeah, I remember that.
"And I have one night stands too; men didn't invent those, you know? You act like you're victimizing us because you act like jerks after, or whatever, but have you ever really forced a girl? Have you ever taken advantage of one when she was too drunk?"
I think about it. I've had drunk sex, and maybe I've pulled out a lot of tricks to get into a girl's pants, but if a girl said no, I never forced her. That would be rape. Rape is bad. See, I listened in fourth grade.
"That's what I thought," Wendy nods her head before I can answer, "You're too good for that. Even with me; you didn't force me to go down on you. I made that choice. Sure, it was a drunk, foggy choice, but it was one. So keep that in mind while you're mulling this over- you may be an asshole; a huge one at that, but it would be hypocritical for me to say that you were entirely at fault for everything. I'm not a porcelain doll, and I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions."
"I think they call that 'slutty'."
"Yeah, well, they are weak minded pricks, whoever they are. Women like mindless fucking too, you know, and it's blasphemous for us to be put down for it."
For the first time since high school, I look at Wendy as more than a pair of legs and boobs. I forgot how good a friend she could be.
Then she adds, "That's an offer by the way," and my head goes blank. She laughs and tacks on, "I'm kidding."
Oh. Damn.
"So what you're saying is…?"
Wendy grins, "I'm saying that you could probably tone down the debauchery a bit, sure, but only because you need to grow up. Not because you have anything to regret. Wait…Do you have anything regret?"
Funny how people keep telling me to grow up.
"I've made a couple of mistakes."
"I mean real regrets. Like life altering regrets."
"Um…no. I haven't really done much with my life."
"Well there you go. Get out there and start changing things up! And maybe start keeping it in your pants, 'kay?" she slaps me on the shoulder.
While this pep talk is invigorating and all, I'm confused as hell, "Did you come all the way down here to tell me that?"
Wendy laughs, "No. But it seemed as good a time as any."
"Been storing it all up, haven't you?"
"Well. I've been thinking that maybe I was a little harsh on you before. You tend to overthink things, if I remember correctly."
Can't argue with that.
"I didn't want you to feel guilty for taking advantage of me or anything," I try to look innocent and pretend I had felt guilty. I mean, I had. Slightly. More so because of Stan, but okay, "You're Stan's friend, and I need to get along with you."
What does Stan have to do with anything?
I find out two seconds later when Stan emerges from the Center, his cheeks flushed as he murmurs, "Babe, what're you doing here? I told you I'd meet you at-"
And then his eyes meet mine.
I'm not a mind reader, but I can tell what he's thinking.
'Shit.'
Everything's suddenly starting to make sense.
A/N: I know, we've had an amazing lack of partying on Kyle's part, but it will resume next chapter. I feel like this one kind of sucks, but I can't pinpoint why; probably said lack of debauchery. Also, we're quickly approaching the style bits. Please review, so we can get to them faster!
