Band Fags! (37 page)

Uh-oh…Guess I spoke too soon!

Brad looks up and over in my direction. Our eyes meet, gazes hold a moment. There's so much I want to say…

I'm sorry.

Please forgive me.

Can we be Best Friends again?

But I can't…The funeral's about to start.

Feeling the sting of tears, I turn away. But I don't cry—at least not yet. I wait till after the service when I'm all alone in my car…

Then I lose it.

The next day, I stay home from school. I can't bear the thought of walking into Miss Horchik's class and seeing Audrey's empty desk right next to mine. I spend the entire day going through old letters and pictures. When I come across Audrey's photo from Junior year, I lose it again. It takes all I've got to remove the picture from the album, flip it over, and read the inscription…

I don't even remember how or when she got on the whole mother/son kick. Though something tells me it originated once Audrey came to the conclusion we would only ever be Just Friends. Nothing more. With her gone now, I worry I eventually
will
forget her. The way her voice sounded on the other end of the telephone. The way she laughed at all my Stupid Jokes. The way she
really
looked. Alive and In Person.

Thank God they had a closed casket at the funeral. I heard part of the reason why they did this was because of what happened to her in the accident. Which I don't even want to think about. But even if that wasn't the case, I wouldn't want my last memory of Audrey to be seeing her lying in a box. I prefer to remember the Good Times…

Playing House in Kindergarten.

Dissecting frogs in Mr. Davidson's Freshman Biology.

Breaking into Fuck Face Fucker's locker at the end-of-the-year Carnation Dance.

Scaring the shit out of each other at the Tombs.

New Year's Eve at Luanne Kowalski's when Audrey singed her bangs on the stove.

And the list goes on!

I return the photo to its page. When I flip to the next one, I come across a bunch of pictures of Brad and I taken at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp back in the Summer of '83.

I can't even believe how small we both look, dressed in our regulation blue BLFAC shirts complete with the BLFAC insignia, standing in front of Cabin Cabaret…Try saying
that
three times real fast!

Here's one of Brad holding his nose and pointing to the building marked RESTROOMS. Which was really just a glorified outhouse, if you ask me. For starters, there wasn't
any
hot water. Well, it was tepid at best. And get this…When you stood barefoot on the cold
cement
floor and touched the faucet, you'd get a shock. I'm not even kidding! You could actually feel a current of some sort running right through your body.
And…
There weren't
any
doors on
any
of the bathroom stalls. Which meant neither Brad nor I went poop for twelve days straight. All this for the affordable price of a mere $300!

But we did it…Together we somehow managed to survive…Because we were Best Friends.

I reach for the phone and dial…3-9-8-5-8-3-6.

“Dayton Residence.” It's his Mom.

“Is Brad there?”

“Who's calling, please?”

I can't even believe Laura doesn't recognize my voice. Obviously she's been clued in as to what's been going on between me and her son on account of once again I've been an Asshole all year. “It's Jack,” I tell her. Then I add, “How have you been?”

“Fine,” she curtly replies. “Let me see if he's available.” Then I hear super loud,
“Br-a-a-dley…Telephone!”

Why do I get feeling there'll be no dragging Brad by the scruff of his neck to the telephone this time? Guess I can't blame Laura for being mad at me. After all, he is her Only Son.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I say, surprised how quickly he picked up. “It's Jack.”

To which Brad replies, “I know.” Followed by, “What do
you
want?”

Good question. Why am I calling him now when I've barely spoken to him this entire school year? What am I even going to say?

And then it
pours
out of me…
How Sorry I am for Being Such a Jerk—Book II
by John R. Paterno.

“Dah-dah, dah-dah,” says Brad, interrupting me halfway through.

So I repeat, “Dah-dah, dah-dah.” Then I quickly finish my apology.

We say nothing about Audrey. Instead, we pretend the funeral yesterday never took place. Along with the last nine months of our lives. Hopefully, we can pick up where we left off and stop wasting time.

“So what's up?” he asks, nonchalantly.

“Nothing,” I answer, employing the exact same tone. “Are you working tonight? Maybe I can drop by Big Boy's when you get off.”

“Um…”

I quickly add, “We can go for a drive.” The last thing I want happening is what happened between us before. Though I don't come right out and say so, I can tell Brad picks up on it.

“I'm not working at Big Boy's anymore,” he informs me. “I got a job at the Gas Station.”

Guess I can't expect to know everything. Still I'm a little surprised. So I say, “Gas 'n Go on 9 Mile and I-75?”

“Not the
real
gas station,” says Brad. “It's a gay bar called the Gas Station.” Then he laughs.

Dead air lies between us for a brief moment. The only thing I can think to say now is…“So who are you taking to Prom?”

“To be honest,” he answers, “I don't think I'm gonna go.”

With the big night only a few weeks away, I feel I need to remind him, “It's our Senior Prom…You can't miss it!”

“I'm not really up for it…You know what I mean?” Then Brad adds, “What about you? Have you asked anybody?”

“Well,” I say, hesitant. “That's part of the reason I called.” Then I casually mention, “Everybody knows we've been Best Friends since 7
^th
grade, right?” Assuming after all that's happened, we still are. “So it's not like they'd
think
anything if—”

“If what?”

“If
we
went to Prom…Together, I mean.”

For a moment, Brad says nothing. I figure he probably
does
hate me. He's got every right. I've been a Total Asshole this year. Our
Senior
year, and I've ruined it. “I don't think that'd be such a good idea,” he finally replies.

I ask, “Why not?” Hoping I'm not totally right about him hating me.

“Think about it,” Brad advises. “This is not a John Hughes film we're living in. I am not Molly Ringwald and you are most definitely not Andrew McCarthy.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“Seriously,” he sighs. “It's 1988…We live in Hazeltucky, and we go to Hillbilly High…We'd either be the laughing stock of the school or else we'd get our asses kicked in the parking lot.”

Brad's right. I can just see Tom Fulton and all his Jock Jerk Friends totally ganging up on us outside the Vintage House in Fraser. Why do we have to live in such a goddamn Hick Town?

“It's our fucking Senior Prom,” I spit. “We should be able to go with whomever we want.”

“Whomever?” Brad repeats, mocking me from all the way over on Wanda.

“Shut up!”

“You know just as well as I do,” he says. “Two guys can't go walking into the Prom together—even if they are Best Friends since 7
^th
grade.”

Did you notice Brad just said “
are
Best Friends”—not “
were
Best Friends?” He must still like me…Even after everything I've done. Which is why I have to apologize, yet again.

“Would you shut up already?” he insists after I've done so.

But I can't…I have to get this out…I have to tell Brad how I truly feel, once and for all.

“Listen to me,” I demand. “I'm trying to be honest with you.” Which is something I haven't been very good about. It's also the main reason Brad and I ever drifted apart in the first place. “Instead of being grateful I had a Best Friend who would accept me for who I am,” which I've known all along he would totally do, “I tried lying to myself, hoping it would all just go away.”

Can you believe I honestly thought I'd wake up one day, look in the mirror, and be somebody else? Somebody other than who I really am…Somebody who's not
like that.

Which is when Brad asks me, “And did it all just go away?”

What do
you
think?