Take your time, hurry up
Choice is yours, don't be late
Take a rest as a friend, as an old memoria.
-Nirvana, "Come As You Are"
***
Fulton
Man, I'm having trouble with this today. I used to bench press 250 easily, but now it's really hard and I don't know why. I'm probably not totally awake yet, especially after that beer binge I had for myself last night.
"Bro, help me here." I go, and Dean pulls the barbell up. We're buff guys, so Portman and I work out
every morning at this nearby gym before we go to practice. I have to admit there are a lot of buff guys there, with their big arms and huge pecs and whatever, but my eye never really pays much attention to them, because they were totally out of reach and because Portman's the buffest of them all... at least in my book! Plus, his package really bulges out of those sweatpants of his, so that's always a treat. I'm wearing these extra tight sweats to see if I can get his attention on mine, too.
Then, as we work out, our scrawny agent Mr. Kemp walks through the chiseled men of the gym with that troubled look in his eyes to talk to the two of us. We sit down on one of the benches and he looks away from me, speaking in his funny New York accent.
"They want to put you into free agency."
Instantly, we wake up and turn our heads toward him in total shock. "What?" Portman yelps with disgust.
"Ms. Graham has been touting around the idea between some of the owners, and you know, I think it'll be good for you. Some are already offering some really good things, like, you know, money. There's no sum of it as of yet, but now that everyone knows, it won't take very long to see a few trading scenarios, and all of them look very positive."
Then I go, "What about Portman?"
He takes off his glasses to clean them off. "Well, I asked Miss Graham that and she thinks that he should stay and you need a change of scenery."
"She wants to split the Bash Brothers up!?" Now Portman was really pissed. "I guess she can get a lot of money trading a Bash Brother."
"Well, our franchise isn't doing so well with attendance down and licensing deals not doing, well, uhm, well."
"What do you mean? We sell out our games, don't we?" Portman raises his voice in anger, but I motion to him that a bunch of other gym guys were paying attention, so he quickly calms down.
"Don't be angry with me!" Mr. Kemp defends himself, "We haven't been selling out at all, and little Miss Graham thinks it's because of your lagging performances. Have you read the papers lately? There's talk about the fall of the Bash Brothers now. Ms. Graham is telling me to get your acts together or else, your bashing days will come to an end!"
"And split me and Portman up?" For me, Hockey and Portman were the only things that make me happy and gives me a reason to wake up every morning. Portman betrayed me with that girl of his, and now hockey, too? Finally, I go "Mr. Kemp, didn't you promise to Portman and me when we chose you as our agent that nothing would separate the Bash Brothers and that we put all our faith in you to keep us together? That was because without each other, we're nothing! Nobody wants a has-been half-of-a-Bash-Brother and you know it, much less one with a lagging performance."
I looked down, moping at the fact that I didn't know anything more to say.
"Are you okay?" Mr. Kemp noticed, and he's really good at that. "You look depressed. What's up?"
I didn't want to say. I could tell that Portman was curious, too. Once he realized that he wouldn't get an answer, Mr. Kemp goes,
"If Portman asked you that, would you tell him?"
Weakly, I go, "I guess."
"You guess? You've known Portman for half your life and you guess you'd tell him? I need to know what is going on in that head of yours or else Little Miss Graham will crack it open with a hammer! Maybe you should go to a psychiatrist."
"I don't want to go to one!" I grunt stubbornly as Portman nods in agreement.
Then he stops and the silence gives way to the clinking of gym equipment.
Mr. Kemp turns to Portman and says, "Have you talked to him?"
Portman shakes his head. Now I know I'm embarrassing him in front of all these people. Yeah, I had problems communicating with people, even with my best friend. I hated the thought of having some doctor screwing with my mind even more than it already is. I wanted to say something to Mr. Kemp so that he can go home feeling sure that whatever it was that was going in my head would be fixed before the next game.
"I...." I didn't want to make this up. Mr. Kemp cared a lot for his guys. Just then, Portman puts his warm arm around me and massages my shoulder, asking me softly, "C'mon, Fulton, whatever it is, you gotta tell him."
"I don't know." I did know, and so did Portman, but the answer would make Mr. Kemp nuts, so I tell him weakly, "I guess I'm just scared that my best friend is moving on with his life and I'm not. I'm almost 30. I'm old and no one is going to want a dumb goon who's only good at hockey and nothing else."
"C'mon, bro, don't say that!" Portman gives me this big hug that says everything will be okay. But then he goes, "Fulton, you will always be my best bud no matter what. You're not old, you're not dumb, and you're good at a lot of other things than hockey. You have a big heart, and you will find that special someone who wants you."
"What are you talking about?" Mr. Kemp interrupts, "Everyone will want you! You know the waiting list for girls wanting to marry Fulton Reed? You couldn't put it on toilet paper!
"And when hockey's done with me, then what? Live off my oil wells in Texas?" I turn to him with that serious stare of mine.
Mr. Kemp scratches the back of his neck and goes, "Well, uh, you like cocks, don't you?"
What? Now Portman and I were even more awake than before!
"Yeah, you two are into cocks. Don't think I don't know about what you guys do in the alleyways of Minneapolis!"
Portman and I look at each other! Oh no, how did he know!? Sweat is running down our foreheads, and it's not because of the work-out! This can't be happening!
Mr. Kemp continues, "Word has it, Fulton, that you're really good in picking winning roosters at the cockfights. Maybe you should go to bookkeeping. It's not my cup of tea, but there you go."
Portman and I were relieved. I didn't like the fact that Mr. Kemp knows about the cockfights as well as my no-longer-secret successes at picking the winners beforehand, but it was much better than him knowing what really happened in the alleyways of Minneapolis! The whole gym was filled with our laughter. The laughter caught on to Mr. Kemp and he started laughing, too, saying, "See, doesn't that feel great? It's too bad you two couldn't tell me yourselves."
Finally, after calming ourselves down, Mr. Kemp tells the two of us, "I don't know what's up with you two, but talk to each other like best friends should! I'm not Western Union, you know; I won't do the talking for you!"
Portman pats me on the back and tells Mr. Kemp, "I'll put that on my list of things-to-do!"
With that, Mr. Kemp pats both of us on our backs and leaves, but not before saying, "I'll see if I can talk Graham out of the idea, but please get better, 'cause if you don't, you're not helping me, okay?"
We both give this funny "Yes, sir!" salute, and he leaves the gym.
Portman
The shower rooms are always a great place to cool down after a long workout. Actually, when no one was around, Fulton and I would share the same shower head and make sweet love, making slurping sounds while we kissed! Now it's just us two again, but there's so much tension right now. We get completely naked and turn on the shower heads to feel the hot water glistening off our bodies. This time, when Fulton goes to one shower head, I go to another one, and Fulton already looks down in disappointment. Then, Fulton speaks with a soft and shaky voice.
"Dean Portman, you don't know how important you are for me. Every time you put your chest against mine, our hearts matched pace. Every time you touched me, you touch a piece of me that even I never knew existed. Every time you clothed me with your kisses of silk running up and down my body, you were shielding me with an armor that made me safe. When we were together, we went to a fantasy world, where everything was safety, passion, and beauty, and there was nothing that could come in and take that away. I miss that place, Dean. When you offered me your bed because I had none, I took it. When my coaches put me down because I didn't know what I was doing, you helped me out, and when I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but I was too scared, all you had to do was look at my eyes, take my hand into the air, and scream like crazy. You saved me so many times and made me feel good about myself. I owe you for so much, I don't even know how I will ever repay you, but I beg you: Please take me to that special place again, because I'm so afraid of what's going to happen and I want to feel safe again, because I will never stop loving you."
I didn't know what to say. He puts his hand against my chest and over my racing heart.
"You're scared, too."
But I couldn't say yes. I wanted to, but I couldn't.
"Fulton, don't make this harder than it should be."
"Dean, I want to get back together." Fulton heads towards me and says, "Your fight is my fight, your fear is my fear, and your dreams are mine, and we will never have to be just Fulton or Portman, but us. I want to save us."
It was that us that struck a chord in my memory. I wanted to save us, too, and I knew where to start.
"What does your dad do to you with that bucket?"
And Fulton's face turns pale and white.
"Please don't bring that up, bro." Fulton is panicking and he walks away from the shower head, but I catch up and hold his arms with mine.
I tell him, "You know a lot about me, but I know next to nothing about you except through those dreams of yours about your dad and some bucket, and I don't have a clue what that means!"
"They're just dreams!" Fulton's getting really defensive now.
"The hell they are! When we sleep together, I wake up in the middle of the night to hear you mumble about your dad and that bucket in your dreams and how you don't want your dad doing something to you with it!"
"It's none of your business!"
"They're splitting us up, so it is my business! They'll trade you off because you're not doing okay, and you're not doing okay because of these dreams of yours!"
"I'm not doing okay because I love you but you love some whore who thinks of you as a trophy!"
For that, I give Fulton a hard slap on his face. Fulton falls to the tile floor and looks confused as to whether he should fight or stay down. Then, I think, oh shit, did I do that? I can't believe I just did that. Stupid, stupid Dean! I get so worked up sometimes, and now I hurt my friend even more, the guy I think I still had feelings for. My anger immediately turns to sorrow and I hug him again. Then, I do something I thought was completely stupid in my situation.
I crouch down and kiss him on the cheek. I hold him in my arms and he relaxes his wet scalp on my shoulders. We hold our wet bodies tightly, closely.
"I'm sorry, bro. I didn't mean to say that." Fulton goes.
"I'm sorry, too." I really was.
Then, after just sitting on the floor for a while doing nothing other than calming ourselves down, he looks to me in those beautiful, soft eyes of his and whispers, "What do you think you'll get if I showed you everything?"
"I don't know, maybe nothing at all! But I need to know. I want your fight to be my fight now, your fear to be mine, and your dreams to be mine. If it's something bad, my hand will grip yours to the tightest, and I'll never let go."
Then he raises his head and goes, "If I showed you, will that do it? Will we get back together?"
I wasn't sure of an answer, but to make him happy, I said "Maybe." I know Fulton like the back of my hand. He may look like a tough guy on the ice, but he can be such a softie. As we got up again, I ask, "When do you want to start?"
"I guess when you want to." Fulton whispers.
"We'll go today. It's our free day, so we can visit all of your old places."
"But don't you have plans with Amber, hunting for dresses?"
"I'll cancel." I said it with a deadpan assurance that he has wanted to see in me for a long time. The hug we gave to each other under the showering water would've broken our bones. That's how much I still cared for him. The important thing is that now I had something to work with. Finally, after years and years and years of guessing, I'm going to see what he sees. His fantasies will become mine. He'll show me everything.