Lesson: never compliment anyone.
Not unless you want to start a fic-off. Here’s the link to Drew’s response to my prompt involving divorce court and a cloud couch and maybe something sinister:
Luckily, when Mr. Valdez assigned me the following “challenge,” I knew he was fic’d:
Genre: Romance
Place: A Nickelback concert in 2002
Action: Taking LSD
Let’s just say, I’m now a Nickelback superfan. Prepare to rock.
I have one question.
ARE WE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD FUCKING TIME?
The park full of fans roared in rapturous assent. Chris, less than a fan, stuck a finger in his ear.
Dave turned, wet-eyed and open-mouthed like a panting dog, sending his own assaulting sound waves. So loud it was silent.
Dave must’ve said something too because he was still looking at Chris, so Chris pretended to laugh with closed lips. He prayed for a breeze. The air reeked and he was afraid it would get in his mouth and he’d have to taste ambient body odor. It reminded Chris of when he played football in middle school, which was a disaster. Just because you’re big doesn’t mean you can play.
Dave looked the same as he did then. He’d kept his dense, black waves of hair, the fucker. And large eyes uncannily resembling Chris’s deceased Labrador. And soft features like his mom who would make pane fritto when Chris slept over.
Dave got married and had a son, David Danger D'Abruzzo “Junior.” Chris tried to explain that “Junior” could only be tacked on if his son shared Dave’s name in its entirety, but Dave wanted his son’s middle name to be “Danger” and he didn’t give a damn about rules or redundancy. He called his son “DJ,” and right now, DJ was with Dave’s ex-wife because Dave had said (shouted) all the wrong things during the custody battle and his visitation was over.
Chris pulled a blunt from his pocket and bit it, lighting it with a grimace. When in Rome. He had to get through this concert somehow, and he’d quit drinking after running his car through the garage and almost hitting Ruilin’s grandmother. He’d spent a couple nights in Orange County Jail and lost his job and his partner and now he was back in Ohio sharing an apartment that smelled like gym shoes with Dave.
This is how you remind me…
The blunt twirled between his fingers. He didn’t exactly know what was in it because he had found it abandoned, or at least abandoned enough, on a lawn chair of one of the concert’s tailgaters.
And I've been wrong, I've been down
Been to the bottom of every bottle
Chris sucked on it and coughed. It tasted like mold. Nothing like what he’d had in California.
Dave patted his back, cheeks pinching his eyes from glee. Chris offered the joint and watched Dave’s jaw clench as he smoked hungrily.
“SUCKS!” Dave returned it.
Chris agreed and took another hit.
“CHECK THIS OUT!”
Chris shrank into himself as two greasy blondes squeezed in front of him to edge closer to the stage. Peeking above the taller one’s low-rise, bootcut jeans was “NICKELBACK” bedazzled on her thong. He squinted his eyes at the band on the stage and considered that he never saw Nirvana live and should’ve.
These five words in my head
Scream, ‘Are we havin' fun yet?’
Dave hunched beside him, full of conspiracy. He whipped out his worn leather wallet and revealed a thin, rainbow sheet of paper from the fold. “Spent my birthday cash on this,” Dave roared in his ear. “Like old times, ‘member?”
Chris’s pink face flushed red. “When I said I’ll do whatever you want on your–”
“WHAT?”
“I KNOW IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY BUT I ALREADY HAVE A FUCKING DUI.”
“YOU THINK THESE PEEPS AREN’T HIGH RIGHT NOW? THEY’RE NOT GONNA GO AFTER THE BALD WHITE GUY IN THE COLLARED TEE ANYWAY. NO OFFENSE. YOU LOOK LIKE DUBYA BUSH’S OLDER BROTHER.”
“DOUBLE-YEW BUSH IS THE ELDEST.”
“EXACTLY, DUDE.” Dave rubbed his nose. “I’D VOTE FOR YOU, THOUGH.”
Chris looked down at himself, his striped polo. He took an angry drag of the blunt and coughed, handing it off to an unseen passerby (“THANKS DAD!”).
Chris crossed his arms and cracked a grin. Dave was laughing.
Got a criminal record, I can't cross state lines
First on the bad list, and you're last on mine
Dave tore off a paper tab and put it on his tongue, raising his brows as it disintegrated and turned his spittle purple. He finally swallowed and tore off another tab. It stuck to his damp finger, which jived to the rock music. The finger with the paper hat headbanged closer to Chris’s mouth. “COME ON, OLD MAN.”
Chris imagined he was a gecko when he shot his tongue out, but he’d licked far too much of Dave’s finger. The grown man in front of him jumped for joy. Dave’s mania kept him fit.
Lookin' for a scapegoat, long past due
Walkin' down the aisle, starin' straight at you
There was a hint of bitterness in Chris’s mouth, but mostly salt from Dave’s sweat that made his black hair curl at the ends. Dave’s locks bounced as he danced, and Chris decided he would finally fuck his idiot friend because everything in his life was already fucked so why not fuck something else. He was certain Dave had experience because he’d heard from the high school football team (that Chris didn’t make it on but periodically met with two of the players.) The smell of gym shoes can still turn him on.
Dave never talked about it but at Chris’s “domestic partnership commitment celebration” (wedding) he’d gotten really drunk and complained about the Chinese food and left early. Back then Chris silently thanked heaven that he didn’t end up with such a loser but now he was a loser too. Maybe he belonged here.
And I want to take his hands off
Just for touching you
Yes, I do
Dave was dancing, facing the wrong way, i.e., not facing the stage but Chris. He was opening and closing his eyes and bobbing his head with a euphoric expression, singing wordlessly. His arm hit the guy behind him, a tall teen wearing torn flannel who pushed Dave to the ground.
Chris watched it all in slow motion. He thought about punching the teen but he looked like the type of kid with a hunting knife in his pocket. He lay down beside Dave instead. People were stepping over them.
“Dave,” Chris began earnestly. “Dave, Dave, David. Davido.”
Dave was facedown, giggling. He rubbed his face in the grass and moaned.
“Davido?”
And now I’ve found a little friend
Chris took his glasses off so Dave could hear him better. “Davido? Earth to Davido?”
Dave’s body shivered and his hips rose and fell and rose and fell and soon he was fucking the grass fully clothed.
Chris saw the flash of a camera and thought it was a shooting star or a far-off explosion. He imagined California exploding and Ruilin and his startup flying into the stratosphere and never coming down, never dying, just going far away with business plans to the Californian heaven in the sky.
And I want to break his mind down
Yes, I do
Yes, I do
Yes, I do
Yes, I do
Chris kept repeating Dave’s name. It felt good in his mouth, the way it made vocal chords vibrate and made him nip his bottom lip. Eventually Dave gripped the sides of Chris’s bald head and kissed the top of it again and again, his stubble scratching and asking. With his hands, Chris was ripping tufts of grass from the earth. If they were going to consummate their love it needed to be in private, so he was making a hole for them. The dirt was damp and cool as he dug and dug.
“STOP!”
Chris blinked slowly at Dave, whose mouth seemed unnaturally extended in horror. When had the sky gotten so dark? Chris crawled away from him, longing to die under some piece of furniture.
“STOP! YOU’RE NOT A DOG.”
“I’m not?”
“YOU’RE NOT A DOG!”
How about if I stay and you run away?
Well, come on back and try to get some today
Well, somebody's gonna do it again
Gonna make me turn against all of my friends
So you better have something damn worthy to say
Chris returned to him. “Shhhh… turn the music down.”
“TURN THE MUSIC DOWN!”
Someone repeated their plea. Then another. Soon, a large portion of the crowd was chanting “TURN THE MUSIC DOWN, TURN THE MUSIC DOWN!” Fights broke out. The band stalled. Chad Kroeger himself stopped singing to ask: “The fuck?”
Chris and Dave held each other, covered in dirt. More than one person had poured beer on them, but it felt good.
“I can’t believe my wife took the couch, man,” Dave spoke in Chris’s ear. “DJ and the couch and the house.”
Chris patted his head, brushing the wet curls.
“Shhhh.”
“It’s my birthday.”
“Happy Birthday, Dave.”
Hours later, the noise stopped. They awoke in the park, mostly empty but littered in trash. Dave was covered in earth. Their wallets were gone. He laughed, then Chris had to.
They walked home, hand in hand.
We might be platonically in love now. This had me rolling!!!!! I love this, seriously, great flippin’ job
Well this was gross (body odor) and hilarious and also beautiful. Full of all that yearning I love so much. Way to set the scene. I felt like I was there, unfortunately.