Underneath the bridge
The tarp has sprung a leak
And the animals I've trapped
Have all become my pets
And I'm living off of grass
And the drippings from the ceiling
It's okay to eat fish
'Cause they don't have any feelings
-Nirvana, "Something In The Way"
***
Fulton
The old house is so cold now. Winter is coming early this year, and Dean and I were feeling it. Snowflakes come down in front of our window. The fireplace warms the old and creaking living room. Dean and I keep ourselves warm by hiding under some old blankets and caressing each other, leaching off each other's body heat. It works well, but a draft of cold air still touches us by surprise every minute or so. Our eyes are glued to the fire's light dances, but our minds are seeing something else.
Dean's usual smile gave way to this deadpan depression that wasn't his custom. There's no doubt that Amber is on his mind, but how he's thinking of her, I don't know.
"Dude, what'll I do with her?" Dean finally breaks the silence with this low and sad voice.
"You could always hire a professional assassin. It's in vogue now." I said. I'm trying to be sarcastic and witty, but Dean doesn't look impressed.
"Bro, that's your solution to everything."
"But it works."
"Who said it did?"
"I do. I can call the president. He'll vouch for me."
Dean then comes over me with this weak smile. "Bro, I'm not hiring a guy."
"Then can I do it? It'll be for free, like those samples you eat at Costco. It's a good deal, bro."
"Dude, you're not killing anyone." His effort to not smile at that is failing.
I sigh with a small whimper. Then I blurt out, "What about me? Can I kill myself?"
Dean backs down again. "Anyone includes you. Sorry." But suddenly taking it seriously, he asks, "Do you think about that? I mean, suicide and all?"
I was unnerved by the question, though I didn't feel surprised that it came. It was as if I was expecting him to ask that.
"Yeah, sometimes."
"What do you mean sometimes?"
I take another big sigh as I ready myself to spill my guts out to the man I love, even though, to be honest, there really wasn't much to spill.
"I remember the first time I seriously though about it." I slowly take out my wallet and show Dean this small wallet photo of me at six years of age, hugging this pit bull. I guess Dean found it cute that I was (1) smiling in my youth and (2) hugging a naturally mean ass dog.
"His name was Duke." I go. "That's what I called him. We were a team; Duke and I were a team, and I loved him. We were always together, eating the same leftovers, playing catch, or, as I now think of it, being the school policemen. One day, Duke and I walked to school, and I saw these three mean kids beating up this little guy. I didn't think they had a reason, other than they just wanted to beat the living crap out of the poor, defenseless guy. So, I go up to them and say, 'Get your filthy hands off of him!' They turn around with this scared look in their eyes. Duke was already growling and showing off his teeth, ready to bite into their flesh. With a simple point of a finger, I order Duke to get them. The three run off, but they were too slow for Duke's speed. Duke then caught one of them by the leg. He fell, and Duke started gnawing at his face. The guy was screaming for help, but I didn't respond, because, and I'm going to be sorry for what I'm about to say but, I liked it. I liked it, because he deserved it. I was enjoying every second of Duke biting into his face. His friends kept running away, not wanting to help him. Some others tried to pull Duke away, but his jaw was locked onto his face. Then, after a minute or two, I saw a tear coming out of the guy's eye. That's when I felt his pain, too. I order Duke away, and Duke comes to me as though nothing had happened.
"Soon enough, Dad got wind of what happened, and he took me and Duke back here. He sat me down on this couch," and now I'm starting to sob, "grabbed his shotgun and BOOM!"
Dean and I both jump as we figure out the tragic conclusion of this story by ourselves.
I continue, "When he was done, he dumped Duke into the river. I was left to clean his mess. For a long time, I wanted to throw myself into the river, just to be with Duke again."
"Whoa, bro, that really sucks." Dean now hugs me tighter than before. Actually, I don't remember a time when Dean held me this tightly. He brushes my hair as I finish.
"I cried and I cried that day. Later, Dad told me something that would make me hate him for the rest of his life. You know what it was?"
Dean mulls a 'no' through my hair.
"He said, 'Boy, stop your crying, 'cause you're never gonna be a man if you cry like some girl! A man doesn't cry!'"
"If I was there, I swear I'd slit his throat and see if he thinks I'm man enough for him!"
I go on, "So I cried and I cried and I cried... until one day, I just stopped crying. I don't know how that came about. Maybe I was just tired, but I knew that was the first time I didn't feel anything. I suddenly became this cold and distant kid. I kept it to myself all the time. I didn't want to do anything or have anything. I was indifferent to how my so-called family treated me."
"But you feel something for me, don't you babe?"
"Yeah, bro. Being in the Ducks helped a lot, but when I met you, even when we first met, we clicked, and I felt something for you. At first it wasn't love, yeah, but it was at least something. I haven't had feelings for someone or something in a long time, and that's saying a lot."
Dean gives a tender kiss on my cheek, and goes, "I totally have something for you. I always did, and I always will. Together, we can make totally new memories, and we'll have fun like always. Then, you'll forget all this crap about your family. We'll make our own, have babies, but not from me! I heard about these doctors that can take your sperm and put it into a woman so that she can make the baby. Isn't that cool?"
Realizing that the mood lightened up a little, I go, "Uhm, no, I think I'll spare my awesome powers of masturbation and adopt, thank you."
Dean and I both had a good laugh at that one. Then Dean pulls our wine bottle from the side and takes a drink. I snatch it from his hands and sip as well. Dean moves the bottle to expose his juicy, tender, and noticeably red eyes. Man, I can't resist them, so I kiss his lips, and we're now locked into a little tongue war in our mouths. I finally let go of his lips with smiles on both of our faces.
"You know what my dad wanted me to be when I grew up?"
Dean shakes his head again.
"He wanted me to go to the army and be a sniper."
Dean shoots a drunken snicker and says, "I guess he trained you pretty well! You know what I always wanted to be when I was a kid? A hockey player! Hockey was in my blood, plus I loved knocking little kids off the ice! I guess it's not cool now, but when you look back," he then giggles uncontrollably. When it comes to giggles, Dean Portman was king.
Then he asks, "What did you want to be when you grew up?"
With that, I open my mouth with a smile to reveal another shocking detail about the life of Fulton Reed, the Noble Duck and Black Scoter of Hockey.
"I wanted to be a golfer."
***
Author's Note: I'm so very sorry for this injustice of a short chapter. I've been having these pains on my arms of late, and I think it's carpal tunnel syndrome. I'm trying to lay off from the computer until I do something about it. Don't worry. There's plenty more to come, and I will get to it without fail. Promise!