*As I mentioned at the end of the last chapter, this entry is written in a
different format than the others. Instead of using the first person, I
wrote in something I like to call OmniDuck, which uses the third person,
yet provides us with insight into all the characters' thoughts. I wanted it
to be a more heady experience than it turned out to be; personally, I'm not
sure it works all that well, and this chapter certainly doesn't live up to
the expectations I had when I came up with the idea, but such is life. Here
goes, hope you enjoy:
It was half past ten on the last full day of their winter vacation, and most of the Ducks were already up. Four of them were gathered in the kitchen; Adam and Guy were at the table, engaged in an arm wrestling match, while Connie and Kenny looked on in amusement. Charlie was in the shower, Julie was drying her hair, and Fulton and Portman slept on.
As the team's official cook and his boyfriend were such late risers, the morning ritual included the other six all getting showered and dressed before breakfast. Then, as soon as Fulton and Portman were up, they set about preparing the group's repast, still dressed only in boxers (boxer briefs for Portman, at Fulton's behest) and often with their eyes still half glued shut with sleep. Any guilt their friends had about putting them to work when they would clearly rather be in bed was quashed by the sleep deprivation they suffered as a result of the Bashes' choice of bedtime music, which included the likes of Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, L7, Cradle of Filth and other quality artists whose work all contained excessive noise, seemingly designed exclusively to impede their slumber.
There was a heavy thump from the floor above, causing Adam to look up in surprise. This gave Guy the chance he was looking for, and he promptly slammed Adam's arm down onto the table. Shortly thereafter, Fulton and Portman appeared at the top of the stairs. Muttering incoherencies and rubbing their eyes, they both held tight to the banister for support as they descended; though they were both barely awake, Fulton was snickering and Portman was scowling and rubbing his shoulder.
While they'd been staying at the lodge, the pair had had a bit of a contest going: whoever awoke first did all they could to roll their still sleeping significant other off the bed, causing the aforementioned thump; Fulton had obviously come out on top this morning.
"So, what's it gonna be?" Portman asked, still rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Fulton, who kept flashing victory signs in the air, much to Portman's aggravation.
"How about scrambled eggs?" Guy asked.
"With bacon and French toast?" Fulton added hopefully, flashing Portman what he hoped was a charming smile.
While Portman beat the eggs and Fulton sliced up some peppers and green onions, Connie marveled, not for the first time, at the size of the pair. Since the Ducks' freshman year at Eton, the Bash Brothers had really grown. She remembered so clearly the day Fulton joined D5; up until then, she had been the tallest player on the team, and then Portman had come along and stripped Fulton of the title as well. Now, years later, Portman, though only a sophomore, was at 6'4,"the tallest kid, in school, and Fulton followed closely at 6'2".
Connie knew that she herself had no future in professional hockey, but the Bashes were another thing altogether; they both looked as if they'd already be at home in the NHL. She supposed the weight training Orien was having them do played a part; Portman's chest and arms were more sculpted than ever, if that was possible, and Fulton had grown so broad-shouldered and had amassed such bulk that he appeared at least 3 or 4 years older than he actually was.
"Hate to tell you hon, but I think they're a little gay," Guy's voice interrupted Connie's thoughts. She supposed she had been staring a bit.
"I was just thinking how huge they've got."
"Yeah. You know what it is, don't you? It's all the damn milk."
Put eight friends together in a secluded cabin for two weeks, and they're bound to find out things about each other that they hadn't known before. One example of this was that Kenny, despite his size, snored to wake the dead. Another was that Adam listened to classical music. Fulton and Portman? They drank milk.
Now, the Ducks were more than aware of the huge quantities of food their enforcers consumed; Orien kept them on a high-carb diet for the entire hockey season, but no one had been prepared for this. In two weeks, Fulton and Portman had imbided no less than five four-litre jugs of milk; this was not counting what was consumed by the rest of the team. They drank milk at breakfast, lunch, dinner and right before bed, not to mention snacks in between. It was truly an amazing sight.
After breakfast, Fulton and Portman went upstairs to shower while the others did the dishes. It was approaching noon before they headed down to the lake for a little hockey; they had dumped water on the ice the previous evening to smooth it out for today. On their way down, they came across a bloody snowman lying prostrate on the ground, impaled through the chest with a hockey stick, a surprisingly effective look of anguish on his face.
"No wonder you two are always getting sent to see Mr. McNally," Guy mused, eyeing the sculpture bemusedly.
"Hey, you just don't understand out art," Portman protested with a grin.
"Yeah, because I'm not a serial killer."
The Ducks had been playing hockey almost every day since they arrived. They hadn't planned it this way, but the backyard lake had proved too tempting to resist, and Adam had an abundance of sticks, pucks and gear in a tool shed beside the cabin; obviously, he practiced a lot when he came up with his family.
After a little warm-up, they spent an hour or so taking shots on Julie. Kenny and Guy had been working on some combination attacks that utilized the former's speed and agility and the latter's swift, accurate passes, and sure hands in front of the net. Though the plays were still in the development stages, the Ducks were certain they would prove practically unstoppable for most of the league's goalies; even Julie's save average was lowered because of them.
Though they were sad to see their vacation come to an end, the Ducks were also looking forward to showing Orien what they had accomplished over the break. He had been complaining that when they got back to school, they'd have gotten soft. It was pretty much the only thing he'd had to complain about lately, which was really saying something. He certainly couldn't find fault with their record; they were still undefeated, and the season was more than half over. The Ducks had been a shoe-in for the state championship last year, and no one expected any different for this season. Adam led the scoring race, and several other Ducks topped the list as well, while Julie was far and away the best goalie in the league. Fulton had been working on the accuracy of his slapshot all year and it was finally paying off, making him more dangerous than ever, now that he could aim the puck at the goalie's weak side.
After shooting practice, they split into teams for a game, replacing Julie and her net with small plastic tubs at either end of the lake, both of which were now severely dented thanks to the force of Fulton's shots. Adam, Portman, Kenny and Connie went up against Fulton, Guy, Charlie and Julie; this had been the norm for the entire trip. After the first game, it became clear that the Bash Brothers belonged on separate teams (there were some mild injuries involved), and when they protested being split up, it was decided that each couple do the same, and the result had been two surprisingly well matched teams.
Like all Ducks on Ducks matches, the game was fun and light-hearted, but the whole time Adam couldn't help worrying that he'd fallen behind over the break. While the rest of the Ducks felt quite the opposite (they rarely practiced at all when school was out) Adam was used to using winter break for lots of intensive training, and instead they'd only scrimmaged and fooled around. When I get back to Eton, I'll start getting to the rink at five instead of six, get an extra hour in before the others show up, he thought to himself. I'll have to be careful not to wake Charlie though, I don't want him to-
"Hey Adam, are you okay?" Charlie's had come up to Adam from behind and put his hand on his shoulder, making the smaller boy jump.
"Huh?"
"I just skated right past you with the puck, and you didn't even try to stop me. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, just spacing, I guess," Adam said vaguely, then skated off, leaving Charlie alone and slightly hurt.
***
"I can't believe we go back to Eton tomorrow," Connie groaned as she stuck another marshmallow on her roasting stick.
"I know, I keep trying to forget about it, but I can't," said Kenny mournfully.
"I keep trying to forget about it too. Know why I can't? Cause none of you will shut up about it!" Portman cried.
"Okay, point taken," Charlie said amicably. "Alright Fulton, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
Everyone groaned. It was almost three in the morning, and after a long day of hockey, snowmobiling and other winter fun, as well as a lovely dinner of steak, baked potatoes and corn on the cob, the Ducks had spent the last few hours gathered around the living room fire. They passed the time chatting, cuddling, playing poker and Monopoly--strip versions, of course-and getting drunk off the two forties of vodka Adam had retrieved from the cellar. They belonged to his grandfather, who was both a bit of a lush and a bit senile; he'd never miss them.
For the last little while, they had been playing Truth or Dare, and most of the Ducks stuck to truths, being either too lazy or too inebriated for anything else. Portman and Fulton, however, had chosen dare every time, and the others were having a hard time coming up with new challenges. They had already made Fulton French kiss Connie, put on a fashion show with Mrs. Banks' evening wear, and prank call Mr. Benson at his house. This last one involved Fulton leaving a message on his answering machine, claiming to be an employee of Adults Only video, and that a certain Bernard Benson had several films overdue, including The Dirty Debutants Do Dallas, Vicious Vixens: Women in Prison part VI, and Whips, Chains, and the People Who Love Them. Let him try and explain that to his wife.
Portman had had to make out with Julie, eat an entire onion, and run naked through the snow to the lake and back while the others watched from the window, except for Fulton, who went outside for a closer look.
"Come on, Fult, can't you pick truth for once?" pleaded Julie. "We're all out of ideas."
"No way, I hate truth."
"Jules is right," Charlie said, his words slurring slightly as a result of his concentrated efforts to drink away the knowledge that school began in two days. "From now on, it's just truth."
"But--"
"No buts," he said, holding out the remaining bottle of vodka. "Have a drink, it'll loosen you up."
"No thanks."
"Fult, what gives? You discovering the joys of clean living or something?" Guy asked. The others had been wondering the same thing; while every one else was well on the way to being thoroughly trashed, Fulton hadn't touched a drop, though he had smoked no small amount of weed.
"What joys?" Fulton scoffed as he reached for a special brownie.
"Don't you drink at all?" Guy asked.
"Nope."
"Not ever?" Kenny asked disbelievingly. Fulton shook his head.
"Alright then," said Charlie. "That's my truth: Why not?"
Man, I hate this game, Fulton thought to himself, then sighed and said quietly: "My dad's a bit of an alcoholic. I've always been afraid that if I drink, even just one time, I won't be able to stop."
This didn't come as much of a surprise to the Ducks, even though Portman was the only one who had ever seen Fulton's parents. He never mentioned them, and the Ducks had long speculated--though none dared to ask directly-- as to why. Still, there was a prolonged moment of silence during which everyone wondered how to proceed; they each came to the conclusion that saying nothing was the best way to go, and so the game continued.
Through further truths, it was discovered that Kenny had once walked in on his father in the act of with the San Francisco chief of police, Adam had cheated off Julie during last year's History final, Charlie had never slept with Linda, but she had gone down on him once, and that, surprise surprise, Connie and Guy had been caught with their pants down on no less than three occasions, in the back stall of a Taco Bell bathroom, inside one of those giant rubber tires that often border playgrounds, and in a service elevator at the mall, which wasn't quite as out of order as the sign had claimed.
"Okay, here's a good one for you," said Adam, looking at Portman with the red-eyed intensity of the very drunk. "When was the last time you cried?"
What the hell? Portman thought. Why do Fulton and I get stuck with these icky questions? He had to think for awhile before he remembered when it was, and when he did, he wished even more heartily that he'd got a different question. "I guess I was ten."
"Well," Adam said impatiently. "What happened?"
"You don't want to hear about it."
"Yes we do."
"Believe me, you don't"
"Oh come on man, don't leave us dancing like that, uh, I mean hanging," Kenny said.
"Fine," Portman sighed. "But don't say I didn't warn you. My mother told me she hadn't wanted a baby. She stuck me in the leg with a clothes hanger while I was in the womb. That's how I got the scar on my thigh."
"You said that was from hockey."
"I lied," Portman said simply.
It was a night of revelations, alright, and before it was over, Connie and Guy were no longer on speaking terms after Guy admitted that he sometimes feared for his girlfriend's mental health. Charlie threatened to break it off with Adam if he didn't come out to his family when it was revealed that this was Adam's greatest fear. Both Julie and Kenny drank too much and ended up locking themselves in the bathroom for an hour while they prayed to the porcelain gods. And the Bash Brothers? They managed to avoid any serious disagreements by putting off discussion of the issues that arose that night until they returned to school, though Portman did perform a complete strip tease to the theme from Indiana Jones.
It was after five before everyone got to sleep. Adam stayed alone in his room while Charlie took the living room couch. Kenny and Julie passed out together in a bathtub full of vomit and Connie and Guy passed the only sexless night of their vacation, while Fulton and Portman snuggled up in each other's arms, dreams of slapshots and cross-checks dancing in their heads.
One might expect that the next day would be an unpleasant one, but after the bathroom had been cleaned and the Excedrin had partially relieved the hangovers, it was discovered that no one remembered a thing that had been said the night before. Everyone, that was, except Fulton Reed, who merely filed the previous day's events away in the Roladex of his mind, where countless other such memories were stored, gathering dust as the years passed, but changing neither in content nor in clarity.
It was half past ten on the last full day of their winter vacation, and most of the Ducks were already up. Four of them were gathered in the kitchen; Adam and Guy were at the table, engaged in an arm wrestling match, while Connie and Kenny looked on in amusement. Charlie was in the shower, Julie was drying her hair, and Fulton and Portman slept on.
As the team's official cook and his boyfriend were such late risers, the morning ritual included the other six all getting showered and dressed before breakfast. Then, as soon as Fulton and Portman were up, they set about preparing the group's repast, still dressed only in boxers (boxer briefs for Portman, at Fulton's behest) and often with their eyes still half glued shut with sleep. Any guilt their friends had about putting them to work when they would clearly rather be in bed was quashed by the sleep deprivation they suffered as a result of the Bashes' choice of bedtime music, which included the likes of Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, L7, Cradle of Filth and other quality artists whose work all contained excessive noise, seemingly designed exclusively to impede their slumber.
There was a heavy thump from the floor above, causing Adam to look up in surprise. This gave Guy the chance he was looking for, and he promptly slammed Adam's arm down onto the table. Shortly thereafter, Fulton and Portman appeared at the top of the stairs. Muttering incoherencies and rubbing their eyes, they both held tight to the banister for support as they descended; though they were both barely awake, Fulton was snickering and Portman was scowling and rubbing his shoulder.
While they'd been staying at the lodge, the pair had had a bit of a contest going: whoever awoke first did all they could to roll their still sleeping significant other off the bed, causing the aforementioned thump; Fulton had obviously come out on top this morning.
"So, what's it gonna be?" Portman asked, still rubbing his shoulder and glaring at Fulton, who kept flashing victory signs in the air, much to Portman's aggravation.
"How about scrambled eggs?" Guy asked.
"With bacon and French toast?" Fulton added hopefully, flashing Portman what he hoped was a charming smile.
While Portman beat the eggs and Fulton sliced up some peppers and green onions, Connie marveled, not for the first time, at the size of the pair. Since the Ducks' freshman year at Eton, the Bash Brothers had really grown. She remembered so clearly the day Fulton joined D5; up until then, she had been the tallest player on the team, and then Portman had come along and stripped Fulton of the title as well. Now, years later, Portman, though only a sophomore, was at 6'4,"the tallest kid, in school, and Fulton followed closely at 6'2".
Connie knew that she herself had no future in professional hockey, but the Bashes were another thing altogether; they both looked as if they'd already be at home in the NHL. She supposed the weight training Orien was having them do played a part; Portman's chest and arms were more sculpted than ever, if that was possible, and Fulton had grown so broad-shouldered and had amassed such bulk that he appeared at least 3 or 4 years older than he actually was.
"Hate to tell you hon, but I think they're a little gay," Guy's voice interrupted Connie's thoughts. She supposed she had been staring a bit.
"I was just thinking how huge they've got."
"Yeah. You know what it is, don't you? It's all the damn milk."
Put eight friends together in a secluded cabin for two weeks, and they're bound to find out things about each other that they hadn't known before. One example of this was that Kenny, despite his size, snored to wake the dead. Another was that Adam listened to classical music. Fulton and Portman? They drank milk.
Now, the Ducks were more than aware of the huge quantities of food their enforcers consumed; Orien kept them on a high-carb diet for the entire hockey season, but no one had been prepared for this. In two weeks, Fulton and Portman had imbided no less than five four-litre jugs of milk; this was not counting what was consumed by the rest of the team. They drank milk at breakfast, lunch, dinner and right before bed, not to mention snacks in between. It was truly an amazing sight.
After breakfast, Fulton and Portman went upstairs to shower while the others did the dishes. It was approaching noon before they headed down to the lake for a little hockey; they had dumped water on the ice the previous evening to smooth it out for today. On their way down, they came across a bloody snowman lying prostrate on the ground, impaled through the chest with a hockey stick, a surprisingly effective look of anguish on his face.
"No wonder you two are always getting sent to see Mr. McNally," Guy mused, eyeing the sculpture bemusedly.
"Hey, you just don't understand out art," Portman protested with a grin.
"Yeah, because I'm not a serial killer."
The Ducks had been playing hockey almost every day since they arrived. They hadn't planned it this way, but the backyard lake had proved too tempting to resist, and Adam had an abundance of sticks, pucks and gear in a tool shed beside the cabin; obviously, he practiced a lot when he came up with his family.
After a little warm-up, they spent an hour or so taking shots on Julie. Kenny and Guy had been working on some combination attacks that utilized the former's speed and agility and the latter's swift, accurate passes, and sure hands in front of the net. Though the plays were still in the development stages, the Ducks were certain they would prove practically unstoppable for most of the league's goalies; even Julie's save average was lowered because of them.
Though they were sad to see their vacation come to an end, the Ducks were also looking forward to showing Orien what they had accomplished over the break. He had been complaining that when they got back to school, they'd have gotten soft. It was pretty much the only thing he'd had to complain about lately, which was really saying something. He certainly couldn't find fault with their record; they were still undefeated, and the season was more than half over. The Ducks had been a shoe-in for the state championship last year, and no one expected any different for this season. Adam led the scoring race, and several other Ducks topped the list as well, while Julie was far and away the best goalie in the league. Fulton had been working on the accuracy of his slapshot all year and it was finally paying off, making him more dangerous than ever, now that he could aim the puck at the goalie's weak side.
After shooting practice, they split into teams for a game, replacing Julie and her net with small plastic tubs at either end of the lake, both of which were now severely dented thanks to the force of Fulton's shots. Adam, Portman, Kenny and Connie went up against Fulton, Guy, Charlie and Julie; this had been the norm for the entire trip. After the first game, it became clear that the Bash Brothers belonged on separate teams (there were some mild injuries involved), and when they protested being split up, it was decided that each couple do the same, and the result had been two surprisingly well matched teams.
Like all Ducks on Ducks matches, the game was fun and light-hearted, but the whole time Adam couldn't help worrying that he'd fallen behind over the break. While the rest of the Ducks felt quite the opposite (they rarely practiced at all when school was out) Adam was used to using winter break for lots of intensive training, and instead they'd only scrimmaged and fooled around. When I get back to Eton, I'll start getting to the rink at five instead of six, get an extra hour in before the others show up, he thought to himself. I'll have to be careful not to wake Charlie though, I don't want him to-
"Hey Adam, are you okay?" Charlie's had come up to Adam from behind and put his hand on his shoulder, making the smaller boy jump.
"Huh?"
"I just skated right past you with the puck, and you didn't even try to stop me. What's wrong?"
"Nothing, just spacing, I guess," Adam said vaguely, then skated off, leaving Charlie alone and slightly hurt.
***
"I can't believe we go back to Eton tomorrow," Connie groaned as she stuck another marshmallow on her roasting stick.
"I know, I keep trying to forget about it, but I can't," said Kenny mournfully.
"I keep trying to forget about it too. Know why I can't? Cause none of you will shut up about it!" Portman cried.
"Okay, point taken," Charlie said amicably. "Alright Fulton, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
Everyone groaned. It was almost three in the morning, and after a long day of hockey, snowmobiling and other winter fun, as well as a lovely dinner of steak, baked potatoes and corn on the cob, the Ducks had spent the last few hours gathered around the living room fire. They passed the time chatting, cuddling, playing poker and Monopoly--strip versions, of course-and getting drunk off the two forties of vodka Adam had retrieved from the cellar. They belonged to his grandfather, who was both a bit of a lush and a bit senile; he'd never miss them.
For the last little while, they had been playing Truth or Dare, and most of the Ducks stuck to truths, being either too lazy or too inebriated for anything else. Portman and Fulton, however, had chosen dare every time, and the others were having a hard time coming up with new challenges. They had already made Fulton French kiss Connie, put on a fashion show with Mrs. Banks' evening wear, and prank call Mr. Benson at his house. This last one involved Fulton leaving a message on his answering machine, claiming to be an employee of Adults Only video, and that a certain Bernard Benson had several films overdue, including The Dirty Debutants Do Dallas, Vicious Vixens: Women in Prison part VI, and Whips, Chains, and the People Who Love Them. Let him try and explain that to his wife.
Portman had had to make out with Julie, eat an entire onion, and run naked through the snow to the lake and back while the others watched from the window, except for Fulton, who went outside for a closer look.
"Come on, Fult, can't you pick truth for once?" pleaded Julie. "We're all out of ideas."
"No way, I hate truth."
"Jules is right," Charlie said, his words slurring slightly as a result of his concentrated efforts to drink away the knowledge that school began in two days. "From now on, it's just truth."
"But--"
"No buts," he said, holding out the remaining bottle of vodka. "Have a drink, it'll loosen you up."
"No thanks."
"Fult, what gives? You discovering the joys of clean living or something?" Guy asked. The others had been wondering the same thing; while every one else was well on the way to being thoroughly trashed, Fulton hadn't touched a drop, though he had smoked no small amount of weed.
"What joys?" Fulton scoffed as he reached for a special brownie.
"Don't you drink at all?" Guy asked.
"Nope."
"Not ever?" Kenny asked disbelievingly. Fulton shook his head.
"Alright then," said Charlie. "That's my truth: Why not?"
Man, I hate this game, Fulton thought to himself, then sighed and said quietly: "My dad's a bit of an alcoholic. I've always been afraid that if I drink, even just one time, I won't be able to stop."
This didn't come as much of a surprise to the Ducks, even though Portman was the only one who had ever seen Fulton's parents. He never mentioned them, and the Ducks had long speculated--though none dared to ask directly-- as to why. Still, there was a prolonged moment of silence during which everyone wondered how to proceed; they each came to the conclusion that saying nothing was the best way to go, and so the game continued.
Through further truths, it was discovered that Kenny had once walked in on his father in the act of with the San Francisco chief of police, Adam had cheated off Julie during last year's History final, Charlie had never slept with Linda, but she had gone down on him once, and that, surprise surprise, Connie and Guy had been caught with their pants down on no less than three occasions, in the back stall of a Taco Bell bathroom, inside one of those giant rubber tires that often border playgrounds, and in a service elevator at the mall, which wasn't quite as out of order as the sign had claimed.
"Okay, here's a good one for you," said Adam, looking at Portman with the red-eyed intensity of the very drunk. "When was the last time you cried?"
What the hell? Portman thought. Why do Fulton and I get stuck with these icky questions? He had to think for awhile before he remembered when it was, and when he did, he wished even more heartily that he'd got a different question. "I guess I was ten."
"Well," Adam said impatiently. "What happened?"
"You don't want to hear about it."
"Yes we do."
"Believe me, you don't"
"Oh come on man, don't leave us dancing like that, uh, I mean hanging," Kenny said.
"Fine," Portman sighed. "But don't say I didn't warn you. My mother told me she hadn't wanted a baby. She stuck me in the leg with a clothes hanger while I was in the womb. That's how I got the scar on my thigh."
"You said that was from hockey."
"I lied," Portman said simply.
It was a night of revelations, alright, and before it was over, Connie and Guy were no longer on speaking terms after Guy admitted that he sometimes feared for his girlfriend's mental health. Charlie threatened to break it off with Adam if he didn't come out to his family when it was revealed that this was Adam's greatest fear. Both Julie and Kenny drank too much and ended up locking themselves in the bathroom for an hour while they prayed to the porcelain gods. And the Bash Brothers? They managed to avoid any serious disagreements by putting off discussion of the issues that arose that night until they returned to school, though Portman did perform a complete strip tease to the theme from Indiana Jones.
It was after five before everyone got to sleep. Adam stayed alone in his room while Charlie took the living room couch. Kenny and Julie passed out together in a bathtub full of vomit and Connie and Guy passed the only sexless night of their vacation, while Fulton and Portman snuggled up in each other's arms, dreams of slapshots and cross-checks dancing in their heads.
One might expect that the next day would be an unpleasant one, but after the bathroom had been cleaned and the Excedrin had partially relieved the hangovers, it was discovered that no one remembered a thing that had been said the night before. Everyone, that was, except Fulton Reed, who merely filed the previous day's events away in the Roladex of his mind, where countless other such memories were stored, gathering dust as the years passed, but changing neither in content nor in clarity.