Justin

Little Rock

1987

Brian and I are still sitting in the tree, but now, I'm leaning against Brian. He has his arms around me. The carving is SO fucking sweet I feel like I could die now and regret nothing. For the first time since my inexplicable jump to the past, I miss the 'future' – more specifically older Brian's fancy cell phone (his has a camera). And I'm kicking myself for not thinking to grab young Brian's Polaroid. Not that I could be sure it would survive the 12 year jump. Who knows what, if anything, Brian will keep? He never really struck me as someone who is sentimental enough to hold onto 'love tokens.'

Suddenly, I can't breathe. And I'm paralyzed by fear. Maybe he forgets all about me two days after I'm gone.

Another first now. I'm starting to wonder how it is Brian acts like he doesn't recognize me in the 'future' when he and I 'meet' under the lamppost. Does he forget me so completely by then that he doesn't even remember what I look like?

Oh GOD! Maybe he starts to hate me.

No, that can't be right. Then at least he would remember what I look like. Maybe none of this is real. Maybe it's just a beautiful dream.

Once these possibilities enter my mind … I can't banish them. They color everything. If this is just a dream, that would explain how it is that young Brian is so much more expressive and loving. Maybe he's exactly what I always wanted him to be because he's a figment of my overactive subconscious. Maybe I'm projecting onto him every wish I ever had.

I honestly don't know what's worse. That this is a dream (and this incarnation of Brian never existed) or that it's real and he forgets me.

My face and eyes must be showing all the things I'm feeling because Brian looks over me, concern in his eyes and voice. "Hey, what's wrong?"

I never get the chance to answer, which is good. What the hell would I say?

I never get the chance to answer because the rest of the bunch have located us. We know this because Raf and Nevan starting singing, loudly and off key, "Brian and Taylor sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes sucking, then comes fucking, then comes a vicious case of HER-PES!" Thoroughly pleased with their clever reworking of the song, they pat each other on the back and laugh. Dan and even Gabe join in. Then Raf says, "We're starting to smell. And we're all crusty and sticky. We need to find a place to clean up."

Brian and I climb down and we all start pondering. Without a hotel to stay in (and their bathroom facilities) or a nearby lake to bathe in, and as we are all a bit ripe at this point (the heat is ridiculous in Arkansas), we decide to innovate. We implement a strategy I saw Madonna use in Desperately Seeking Susan. We find a restaurant with a lockable bathroom door, get a booth (and order three orders of gravy fries and coffees all around), go to the bathroom one at a time, and wash up in the sink. Or at least that's the plan.

Dan and then Nevan goes to the bathroom. We drew straws and they drew the two longest. For them, the plan works fairly well. One of the waitresses, a short red head with a bad perm and thick red rimmed glasses raises an eye brow after Dan returns with wet hair, and then, she and the two other waitresses start shooting us seriously scary glares after Nevan does.

We don't have money to waste at another restaurant, so Brian, me, Raf, and Gabe decide our turn must come now or never. We wait until all the waitresses are busy taking orders and then make a mad dash for the bathroom and squeeze in together (and lock the door). Truth be told, we barely fit. Everyone is getting hit in the ribs, face, or shin as we undress. Doesn't help that we're stripping like our clothes are on fire. We pile them in the farthest corner to try to keep them relatively dry. Water flies everywhere, especially when Raf throws his head back after thrusting it under the faucet. We're all following the same strategy: Wedge head under faucet, toss head back, let water drip down from hair onto body and splash more under armpits and on groin, pump hand soap (the nasty disinfectant-smelling kind schools usually offer) into hand, rub all over, rewedge head back under faucet to rinse, let water drip down from hair and splash more under armpits and groin, and redress (the clothes help soak up the water). It's awkward as hell and we don't get as clean as we'd like, but we manage to get most of the stink (and dried cum off).

So we're all washed (well, done washing anyway) and mostly dressed when the pounding starts. Dun. Dun. Dun. I had the misfortune to be last at the sink, so I only have underwear on at this point. I start scrambling into my jeans, but I'm all wet, so they don't want to go on.

After a few poundings on the door, we hear a key in the lock. Someone's coming in. I start cursing, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" The door flies open just as I finally yank my jeans all the way up. It's the red haired waitress and a cook. The waitress hisses, "I'm calling the cops" and scurries away. The cook, a big burly guy, who resembles Bluto from the Popeye movie (even bigger and scarier looking than the bears back in Boystown), steps in front of us to keep us there.

I start sliding my T-shirt over my head. When I push my head through I see Brian and Raf exchange knowing looks (Gabe has entered deer-in-headlights mode)… then as if on cue, they both rush Bluto and bellow, "GO!" I grab my socks and shoes (don't have time to put them on) and push Gabe through the gap Raf and Brian made for us. Gabe glances back nervously, but I keep pushing him forward and prod him, "Go, go, go!" Dan and Nevan see us sprinting by, grab all of our bags, and follow at top speed. Nevan actually jumps over the back of the booth. He's always such a show-off.

We get outside and to the street but we don't slow down at the intersection, even though the light isn't red. In fact, we speed up and start dodging cars, leaving a wake of angry, complaining horns. We're quite a ways from the park, and when I take a second to look back (to check on Brian and Raf – who fortunately are not only behind us, but RIGHT behind us), I see the red head talking to a cop and pointing in our direction. I yell, "Uh Nevan, did you and Dan pay the bill?"

Nevan giggles. "Nope."

Brian curses, "Mother fucker." Then we all run faster. So we're barreling down the street (me without shoes). The cop has gotten into his car and is now giving chase, which I know, not because I see him, but because he turned the siren on. Suddenly Raf yells, "Through here!" I look back and see that he's stopped at the mouth of a narrow alley. We backtrack and follow. Unfortunately, as we soon discover, the alley dead ends 50 feet in. There's a fence. A tall one. And the cop … he initially passed the alley, but he must have made a u-turn because we hear the sirens. He can't fit the patrol car into the alley, so he climbs out (we hear the door slam shut). FUCK. I need to climb a ten-foot-high fence.

Dan, Nevan, Raf, and Gabe all start climbing right away and do so with great agility. I can guess why. I imagine they've had to escape cops and violent johns fairly frequently. And Brian … he's much more athletic than I am so I know he'll manage it. I shove my socks into my pockets and slide my sneakers on. Then I start climbing. When the cop shouts, "STOP" and pulls out his billy club, which, by the way, is much longer and thicker than I imagined, I start scrambling upward. Brian waits for me to get halfway up before he starts. He climbs fast, but not fast enough.

The cop issues another warning, "STOP!" and then nails Brian in the ankle. Brian stops, and the cop grabs Brian with both hands, trying to pull him off the fence. I don't know where I get the balls – I guess I'm just terrified to lose Brian – but I kick the cop in the face (it's about level with my foot). The cop lets go of Brian and reaches for his gun. Unfortunately, he'd managed to pry Brian's hands off the fence at that point, so he starts falling. Again, no idea where all this action hero crap comes from (maybe adrenaline), but I manage to catch one of Brian's hands, straddle the fence, and start pulling him up FAST. He grabs the top of the fence, pulls himself up the last few inches so that his right foot is on the top and then vaults to the ground on the other side. "STOP or I'll shoot!" I hold onto the top with both and hands and start lowering myself down, but when I hear the cop cock his gun, I drop. A couple seconds after that Brian's grabbing me, pulling me away, as he sprints. The cop does actually get off a shot but he hits a building on the other side of us. The last thing we hear (before navigating through two other alleys and reaching a road two streets away from where the cop left his patrol car) is the ringing (echoes like a spring) of the fence (I imagine he hit it a couple of times in frustration).

We don't stop running. Or hiding. We dash across the main road and head down a series of side streets. I don't know how Nevan is doing it, I lose my sense of direction pretty quickly, but after five solid minutes of this, we end up back in the park. We find the nearest secluded spot – a copse of trees surrounded by flowering bushes – and throw ourselves down on the ground. Our chests are heaving, as we gasp for air, and even coughing.

I roll into Brian. He lifts his arm so I can snuggle into him. In the process I get a whiff of him. I yell, "Fuck!"

Everyone looks at me in surprise. I lift my free arm and sniff. I yell again, "Fuck!" I whine, "We washed ten minutes ago, and we already stink again…"

Nevan shrugs. "But we're cum free!"

We all burst out laughing. But … as I look at Brian – fuck he's beautiful when he's all sweaty and smiling – I remember what I was thinking about before this whole episode. I sigh a little sadly and touch Brian's face gently with my hand, tracing his jaw and even running my fingers slowly over his cheek. If this is a dream … I SO hope that at the very least I remember it.