Blessed be the boys time can't capture.
Double D stood at his living room window, stooped to watch the traffic. He rested his head against the glass. "Returning to Peach Creek as proof of having sufficient funds to house another person is—is—incongruous. To say the least. One has barely anything to do with the other."
"But… not really." Eddy curled up on the couch just as Double D got up. "You know I hate to say it, but Sara has a point. We spent too much making the trip to that fucking hospital in B.F.E., and getting hotel reservations, and con tickets that we didn't end up needing… and now we find out we didn't even need to do any of that. Now it turns out all we need is one more round trip's worth and we can't throw down for it. Talk about shit planning." He curled so tightly, he looked like a throw pillow. "I wouldn't trust us with my brother either. If I gave a shit about him, I mean."
"I'm wondering when Sara made the switch to caring so deeply."
"I don't know but I kind of appreciate it. I'm getting soft."
"So you don't have an idea for a scam?" Double D crouched to move the garbage can away from the kitchen wall.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny."
"I have some money in this wall."
"Even funnier."
Double D walked to his bedroom, brought out his toolbox, and took out a hammer. Without putting the hammer down, he walked over to a wall just outside of the tiled section of the kitchen. He took down a framed poster of a drag show, signed with metallic sharpie by stars, listed as winners of something called Drag Race All Stars Season Three. Without hesitation, he slammed the hammer into the wall.
"Are you out of your fucking mind?!" Eddy was going to yell something about police being called, but he didn't think he'd be heard. Because Double D kept going and did not stop.
The banging echoed across the apartment. Overcome with not knowing what to do, Eddy jumped up, hid behind the couch, and covered his head. He heard another banging, possibly from annoyed neighbors, possibly from his own heart beating against his ribs. He was too scared to look at Double D. But then he became too scared not to. He figured defying the same fear had worked before; he looked over.
Double D had begun sweating, but did not look crazed, just focused. He looked so plainly concentrated with his wide eyes that Eddy began to wonder if perhaps Double D had moved on from weed. What kind of drug would cause someone to act this way? Double D stuck his arm all the way down into the dusty pit.
He began pulling out thick socks, zip-tied at the top.
Every time Eddy thought, Well, he couldn't possibly have any more left!, he reached further in (soon his whole faded peach-colored t-shirt sleeve was caked and pasteled in dust, turning the shirt a blush color) and pulled out more.
Every time Eddy thought, Well, maybe he has gotten so far from the original Double D that he is not like himself at all anymore!, he looked closer and realized that the socks were clean and white, just a little dusty, and each was labeled with a month in black Sharpie.
And just when Eddy thought, Well, still, he has gotten so far from himself anyway, at least he couldn't possibly get ANY FARTHER!, Double D began slicing them open with a pair of wire cutters from the toolbox. Each sock –one for every month of the previous year- contained huge wads of cash. Some contained multiple hundreds. Double D threw the bills into a central pile, an anthill of profit right out of Eddy's childhood dreams.
Double D finally looked up at Eddy after dismantling the pile. The kitchen tile was covered with drywall, but Double D was busy throwing the socks into his laundry pile. "I couldn't bring myself to ever count exactly how much. I had lost track of my monthly counts since October. I would estimate about five thousand. And that's holding back."
"How the-"
"I didn't just sell marijuana."
"Oh fuck."
"Turns out drag queens around here enjoy experimenting. And of course, they have friends. And parties. I was very popular for a while. And Ariel had an ex-girlfriend with a connection."
"Oh double fuck."
"I was so popular that I was able to expand my business into a couple types of pills that had not been approved for anything in this country yet. And probably will never be."
"Oh triple fuck."
"Then a black van stayed parked in front of my apartment one night and followed me to the theatre the next morning. It would have followed longer, I presume, but I wouldn't know, I left the business by the following night. A drag queen named Peaches bought the rest of it for a discount and I paid my way out of… the other end. So December might be a little less than the rest."
"…Quadruple- Is that correct? Quadruple fuck. Who the hell is Peaches? Did I meet her?"
"She's dead now."
"I forgot what comes after quadruple. What is this even for? Why did you save so much? Why did you START?"
"I don't know. An obligation?"
"Why didn't you say something back when we didn't know how to afford the hotel and convention and stuff?"
"I had a feeling we had yet to see the rainiest of days."
Eddy snorted. "Summer rains."
Then Double D snickered. In as much time as it took from toolbox retrieval to Double D's arm in the wall, they were crying on the floor with laughter, hardly caring when they ended up with their butts in pulverized drywall.
Finally, Eddy wiped his eyes and said, between gasps, "We really do have to go back to Peach Creek. Now we don't even have an excuse!"
Double D's laughter faded but his tears did not. The laughter and drywall were likely not the causes anymore. "Oh, Eddy. It makes every dollar in these socks seem so easy."
"Hiding it in a wall was a cool trick. I'll have to try it if I ever have any money."
"That's as creative as I could get. I knew I could make this kind of money myself. I knew I had the skill. But I didn't know what to use it for. I didn't know where to start or how to explain it. It just ran away from me." The look he gave Eddy was dusty and bittersweet. "I think I needed someone calling the shots."
"I'm pretty sure I know what our first investment is."
"Eddy, I can't go back there."
"Me neither."
They said these words, but the two boys made eye contact over a pile of dry wall and drug money and knew the ultimate contradiction: it was true that they could not possibly go back, but they were going to.
