Brendan Dude

“Dude! Wait up! I got a text from my sister -”

My backpack was pulled backward, making me lurch behind into a familiar face. Familiar, yeah, but nobody I interacted with every day. Kevin Something-Or-Other – a kid in half my classes. I wouldn’t have cried if he died, even if he did give Plaster Caster our first decent gig.

He had this face on that looked like panic. Why the hell would he wanna talk to me about a text message?

“Hurry up man, I gotta catch my bus,” I urged, pointing farther up the bus loop.

Kevin flailed. “Earlier today when the high school was letting out your brothers got in a fight on their bus!”

My heart stopped. “What?!”

“Yeah! David slammed Joey against the side – they were inside the bus – and Joey kicked a kid in the head and David ended up crackin’ a window!” he gasped. “They both got suspended!”

“Oh! Yeah! Fuckin’ great idea! Keep ‘em together at my house!” I growled, losing it. Look, when you live with two all-brawn-no-brain brothers (Joey wasn’t exactly built, though), there’s only so much you can take. “Fuckin’ morons…”

“Who, your bros or the principal?”

“Both!”

Kevin flinched. I didn’t blame him. I was making like my Italian grandma and flailing all over the place. Any more anger and I’d have had a freakin’ stroke.

“Chill, man,” he ushered.

I could’a smacked the shit out of him right there, but I didn’t wanna be a demon just like my brothers.

“Alright, get to your buses!” a teacher urged, coming along the bus loop to get us moving.

I stomped my way to my bus, thankful that no windows were cracked.

- - -

Just like I suspected.

David was passed out in his bed in our room, in nothing but gym shorts and a tanktop. He was snoring. I thought he was pretty knocked out, anyway.

As soon as I slammed my backpack on the ground so I could ignore my homework once more, David jolted awake with a cut-off snort that sounded like a dying animal.

“The fuh?” he had slurred, blinking awake. Bloodshot eyes and a thin trail of drool running down his chin. Of course….

“Hey,” I said as casually as I could. Honestly, I was still pissed off and embarrassed. Christ, I did not wanna enter high school with their reputations passed down onto me.

“Oh. S’you.” He rubbed his eyes and moaned, sitting up. Yawning, he added, “Ya’ll guys get out late.”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I stood at his bedside, folding my arms. “D’you, uh…did anything interesting happen today?”

David shrugged. “Nah really.”

“No…fights?”

He smirked shyly and licked his lips. “Well, uh…heh.”

“’Heh.’ Brilliant.”

David furrowed his brow. “Yeah?”

I just came right out and said, “Why’d you get in another fight with Joey?”

He paused, his face wiped of all emotion. He leaned back on his arms and asked, “Why d’you wanna know?”

“’Cause.”

“’Cause why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Because!”

“Why the fuck do you wanna know why we fought?!”

I flailed my arms out. “Because I’m fucking sick of it!”

He looked at me funny, standing up. Damn. That was some height difference. “Tell me why you’re sick of it. And what the fuck are you sick of, anyway?”

It was scary standing face-to-face with him, really. Seriously! When this kid had those bloodshot eyes and no smile on, he was either in an emo phase, or really, really, pissed.

David asked me again the same questions. My throat was too dry to answer now that I was aware what I was doing.

“Tell me!”

And it came out: - wait, you know how when you’re waiting to present a class project and you wanna go and get it over with but you’re like, “Aw shit, I’m not ready for this” and then you’re fighting inside over what to do and suddenly your hand’s in the air and the teacher calls on you and you’re all “Oh shit, what’d I do?!” and then you’re presenting?

Well…

“I’m fucking sick of you guys being dipshits, I mean, Christ! Why can’t you two just get it together and quit fighting?!”

Awkward silence.

Oh, shit…

David’s pupils flickered for a split second like a cat’s in nighttime. I knew that stare – anger. So fucking scary.

He paused. He hesitated. He tried to piece together what he wanted to say. But something was fucking with his brain – something more than a drug.

“Brendan, you better…you better take that shit back,” he growled in a low voice.

No answer. My mouth was bone dry. I can’t remember what I was thinking, but I know it wasn’t anything logical, because:

“No.”

David leaned closer. In a low growl, he asked me, “What?”

“I said, ‘No.’ I fucking meant what I said.”

He was so close that if he nodded, our heads would bump.

“Why not?!”

“I just told you – I meant what I fucking said!”

And all I felt next was just the wind being knocked out of me. David grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back so fast all I could process was some mighty whiplash. I ended up flat on my bed from losing my balance to my big brother.

“Now do you mean it?!” he yelled, rushing in on me. He was on his knees over me, grabbing me by the shirt, pulling me up into his face.

I’d have peed myself, but I was too scared that he’d have beaten the shit outta me for pissing on his knee.

I whimpered something incoherent, feeling tears of fear bunching up in my throat. I fought so hard to keep them down and out of my eyes, but when you’re underneath a 17-year-old dude with anger issues who actually works out, something’s gotta give.

Tears collected in my eyes. The sight of David blurred. The only things I could still see of him was his gritted teeth and bleached hair.

“Brendan…” he trailed off.

Once the first tear escaped and rolled down the side of my face, there was no turning back.

David paused. I closed my eyes out of instinct, bracing myself for a fist crashing against my face. Nothing happened. His hands on my shirt loosened. I could breathe.

I could open my eyes. The tears were gone.

David’s mouth parted a little bit and his eyes got real wide, a red lining still around his eyes. He twitched, sitting on his knees above me. Then he let go completely.

I would have sat up, but he was still sitting on my legs. A blank stare was plastered to his face. Hollow. We were quiet. Shit, the world was quiet.

And then he brushed the hair back out of my eyes, smoothing my forehead. My heart started pounding a million beats a second; I knew this kid had a heart. It was showing itself right then. But it was so weird…

“Brendan…” he whimpered, biting his lip. He took his thumb and wiped a tear away that had rolled down my cheek. I froze, unable to figure out how to react. “Man, I…I’m sorry.”

He sobbed and clenched his eyes shut, his lip quivering. A tear seeped out and landed on my shirt. He evidently tried to regain his composure, wiping his eyes, but it didn’t work. The tears kept on coming.

He paused, holding his breath, feeling my face again. My initial response was “What the fuck?” He sensed my confusion and pulled away. It was written on his face that he was sorry.

“Dude, I’m sorry…man, I mean, I dunno, I mean…I just, I’m sorry,” he stuttered, his voice shaking. “I didn’t mean to, you know, do that!”

He bent down and picked me up, pulling me into an immense hug. My face was buried in the crook of his neck as he kissed my forehead, squeezing me tightly in his hold, muttering apologies in my ear, tears streaming down his face.

David and I were bound by blood. And blood runs thicker than apathy. I could’ve shoved him away and cussed him out for acting so gay, but I didn’t. I hugged him back. And I just started crying again like he was.

“Sorry, man, I’m sorry…” he repeated, squeezing me closer to him. I couldn’t breathe, but this time, it wasn’t because of anything bad.

He was warm and apologetic; it struck me right in the heart to know how sorry he was. Nobody’s ever cared that much about me to get so obsessed about a one-time freakout. For some reason it made me wanna cry. Christ, don’t ask me why.

I was red-faced by the time he let go. He did it slowly, sliding his arms out from underneath mine, setting me free. Then he retracted back into himself, finding a seat next to me instead of on top of me. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wiped his eyes.

“Dude, I…I’m really sorry, man,” he whispered. “I mean, I, uh…uh…I’m still not…I’m still not over it.”

I wanted to ask whether he was talking about his obvious high, or his anger.

I sighed. “Man, I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have pissed you off.”

He smiled crookedly. “Bren, you never piss me off.”

I returned the favor, sniffing snot back up into my nose. “Good thing.”

David hugged me around the shoulders, ruffling my hair. “Sh’yeah.” Then he sighed and stared off into space. “Brendan…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry again or I’ll make you mad for real.”

The smile on his face slowly melted away. “Dude, I’m…I’m really fucked up, man.”

I went quiet, not quite knowing what to say to him. I took a deep breath. “How?”

He rubbed his eyes again. “I…I’m just so fucked up, I mean, I do got dreams. I wanna fall in love. I wanna be a dad. I wanna graduate. I wanna…I wanna take over the fuckin’ world.”

I smiled a little. “Take over the fuckin’ world. What a dream.”

He snickered. “Hey man, it could happen.”

Yeah, it could have. When I got the balls to look him in the red eyes, even though his pupils were twice as big as normal (crying and being stoned don’t help), I saw dreams. I don’t wanna sound like a bottle of syrup, but there were specks of love in there too.

I wondered if someone could make their eyes say something about them. Like, make people, when they look you in the eye, figure something out about you. Would it be hard to do? What if you were lying – could they tell? What did people see in my eyes? One day I’d have to ask Luke that.

David sighed and rested his head on my shoulder.