September 15, 2008

When I began this story, I envisioned a four part short, visiting Ethan Holmes and Barry Sanders four times during their thirty-year (so far) romance. This is 1978, the year it all begins, when Barry, who is fed up with being Ethan’s back up plan, issues an ultimatum, unfortunately, in the men’s room at prom…

Through The Years
Z.A. Maxfield
www.zamaxfield.com
1978

Barry found it hot in the crush, packed in with the other dancers like sardines. Lisa’s hair had some sort of sparkles in it, and when he got close she smelled sweet, like strawberries. She looked up at him with eyes that said she was as sweaty, tired, and stressed out as he was feeling.

“Can you believe this?” she hissed. She jerked her head over toward Ethan Holmes and Sarah Emerson, dancing to her right. “Are they kidding?”

Barry rolled his eyes. Ethan and Sarah were acting as if they were the last two people on earth and intent on repopulating it. It was making Barry gag, and on top of everything else, he’d had a few sips from Ethan’s flask, and now, as he warmed up and started to feel dizzy, he regretted it.

Stupid Ethan. Barry didn’t even know how he’d gotten talked into going to the prom, much less taking Lisa and playing Fred and Ethel to Sarah and Ethan’s Lucy and Ricky. He ought to have his head examined.

Once about every three months since the eighth grade, when his and Ethan’s perfect friendship crashed and burned in a fiery collision of values and principles and good common sense, Ethan came to him and begged him to remember the golden days. The family barbecues where they ran wild after dark catching fireflies. The late night monster movie festivals where they ate s’mores and drank root beer floats. The time at sixth grade camp where Barry had felt so homesick that he’d crawled into Ethan’s bunk and cried himself to sleep in Ethan’s arms.

It had always been Ethan and Barry, until that day in eighth grade when Ethan slammed Barry into a locker for no other reason than to amuse the boys on his soccer team. And now, looking at Ethan, being part of the questionable legend that was Ethan Holmes and Sarah Emerson, Barry felt something like anger and not a little shame. Because every three months or so, Ethan could call him, tell him a good story, and manipulate him into doing anything Ethan wanted him to do for old time’s sake. And that was how he found himself here, at prom, dancing with Lisa.

The week before, Ethan had pissed his parents off in a spectacular vocal and physical display of rebellion that culminated in his driving his small pickup truck away from the house too fast. By accident it sailed through Archer Flanders wooden fence and across his rose bushes until Ethan finally parked it at the bottom of the man’s swimming pool. After that, the only way that Ethan’s parents would allow him to attend prom was if he could go with, and presumably be watched over by, good old Barry Sanders. Good old Barry.

Barry gritted his teeth. He knew he was headed away to school in the fall, to Southern Oregon State University, as far away from Long Beach, and Ethan’s manipulation as possible. Until fall, Barry knew he could suck it up.

Lisa tapped his shoulder. “You’re grinding your teeth again.”

“Sorry,” said Barry, putting his forehead to hers. He gave up and began leading her off the dance floor.

“Cheer up. They’re playing ‘Just the Way You Are’. It’s only a matter of about fifteen minutes and they’ll be playing ‘Last Dance,’ and then we can get the hell out of here.”

“If His Majesty Prom King Ethan can be torn away from his adoring court.” They walked to a quiet corner away from the speakers.

“Why’d you say you’d come if you hate it so much?” Lisa asked him, for about the twentieth time. “I’m not knocking it. You know I’d never have gotten to come to prom if you hadn’t asked me and I’m grateful.”

“You shouldn’t be grateful,” Barry said to avoid answering her question. “You’re the only bright spot in this mess.”

“Well, for me?” She dimpled. “It was coming with a guy who could disco dance.”

“I live to serve,” he grinned at her. He had another dizzy moment and shook his head to clear it. “I should never have drunk Ethan’s booze. How sick is that? I know better.”

“You don’t seem to have any common sense when Ethan’s around,” Lisa agreed.

“Look, I’m heading to the bathroom. I hope I’m not going to throw up; I need to splash my face with cold water. You going to be okay here?”

Lisa looked around. “I’ll be fine. Other than bad taste and worse music I can’t see anything here I should be afraid of.” Barry gave her a tight nod and started making his way to the men’s room. He was amazed at the pretense and couldn’t believe the kids in his school had been stressing about this for weeks. The whole thing was giving him a massive headache. Other than a memorable night to get laid, he didn’t see that much was going for the whole prom thing. And his night, with Lisa, while fun, would not be memorable. Neither of them played for the Hets.

As Barry threaded his way through the crowd, he was glad he’d chosen to wear a simple black tux. The sea of powder blue, brown, and burgundy tuxes, the frilly shirts, even when they looked okay on someone just seemed wrong to him.

He was leaning over in the sink, splashing water on his face when he heard a noise behind him.

“Well, look who it is.” John Townsend, the bully’s bully, with two of his minions from the baseball team.

Barry rose to his full height and sighed. He grabbed a paper towel. “I had hoped this prom would be more Cary Grant and less Carrie White.”

“What the hell does that mean?” John said, looking to his two buddies for guidance.

Barry started to walk past them.

“Not so fast.” Townsend blocked his way. “What are even you doing here? I thought you were boycotting prom. You’ve been shooting your mouth off about it for weeks. I didn’t think we’d have to see your ugly face tonight.”

“I came because Ethan wrecked his truck. His mom told him if I didn’t come, he couldn’t either.” Barry told him.

“That’s a load of BS.” One of Townsend’s flunkies growled. “He wouldn’t be caught dead with you.”

“I suggest you ask him.” Barry dried his hands and tossed the towel. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he began to walk away. A hand caught his sleeve.

“You’re just a fucking pussy,” Townsend said.

“Then it occurs to me to wonder why you don’t like me a whole lot more than you do,” Barry leered. “Come here, baby. Wanna lick me?”

Townsend’s fist came out of nowhere, smashing into the side of Barry’s face. As he went down he regretted his decision to drink. He never could keep his mouth shut when he drank. He felt a foot connect with his ribs and another crashing into his back. He was grunting and trying to stand when he heard the door open and an authoritative voice bark out.

“Townsend! Are you out of your mind?” Ethan’s voice. “Do you want to graduate from this dump or not? Get the hell off him.”

Barry heard footsteps pounding away on the tile floor, which felt cool against the hot pain on the side of his face. He felt Ethan’s hands, gentle, lifting him up by the shoulders. Barry bit into his own lip to hide the agony and was getting up to leave when Ethan pulled him back down.

“Barry. What did you say this time?” Barry sat on the bathroom floor leaning against Ethan for a moment, and then they both stood together.

“What did I say?” Barry shook his head. He turned on Ethan. “You are a piece of work.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said wearily. “I know you didn’t want to come tonight.”

“Forget it,” Barry braced himself against the sink. “Lisa is having a nice night. She loves those Bee Gees tunes, heaven help us.” He began to walk toward the door, but once again, Ethan caught him and pulled him back.

“Barry,” Ethan said. “You’re bleeding.” Ethan pulled some paper toweling off the roll and wet it, balling it up and hooking a hand around Barry’s neck to bring him into the light under the small bathroom mirror.

Barry sighed and closed his eyes, preparing himself to undergo some sort of misguided attempt at first aid. Ethan was always useless in a real crisis, and didn’t much care for the sight of blood. “You sure you’re the right one to be doing that? I can’t lift your ass anymore if you faint.”

“I’m not going to faint.” Ethan dabbed at his wound.

“You have before,” Barry reminded him.

“Once,” Ethan said. “In the fourth grade. When are you going to stop reminding me?”

Barry thought about it for a minute. “Never.”

“Right. For your information, I’m not in the least afraid of the sight of blood.”

“Yeah, so you tell me,” Barry taunted, mostly because what Ethan was doing hurt.

“So I know,” Ethan said. The hand that was holding his neck tightened, and Barry opened his eyes. “It was never the sight of blood, Barry.”

Barry shrugged.

“It was the sight of your blood.” Ethan was looking at him, and Barry thought he looked sad. “Why can’t you just—”

“Why is this my fault?”

“Never mind,” Ethan tossed the towel and allowed Barry to step back. “Did they hurt you anywhere else?”

Without thinking, Barry put his hands to his ribs where he’d been kicked. He bit his lip and said, “Not really, no. I’d better find Lisa.”

“Come here,” Ethan caught his hand and pulled him to the bathroom stall. “Let me see.”

“Ethan, it’s nothing,” Barry said, trying to pull away. Ethan wouldn’t let him go.

“Let me see,” he reiterated, undoing the buttons of Barry’s tux jacket. Barry held his coat out while Ethan pulled his plain white dress shirt from his trousers and lifted it gently.

Ethan hissed when he saw the beginnings of a massive bruise on Barry’s chest. “Barry,” he turned Barry so he could look at the back. “Shit. You’re going to be a mess tomorrow if you don’t ice that down.” He didn’t let go of Barry’s shirt. “Your mom’s going to have me killed.”

“Only if she sees it. Which she won’t.” He yanked his shirt out of Ethan’s hands and started to tuck it in. “She hasn’t seen any of the others.”

“Barry.” Ethan blew out a breath. “Can’t you just tone it down?” Ethan whispered. “Can’t you just play along and avoid shit like this?”

Barry slumped against the stall wall. “Play along.”

“Yeah. You know what I mean. Just give that smartass mouth of yours a rest. Look down instead of challenging everyone to a staring contest. Be more—”

“Invisible? Sorry,” he sneered. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

Ethan ran a shaking hand through his hair. “You are such a douchebag,” he said, finally.

“Excuse me?”

“You can’t keep your mouth shut. Not even when your life depends on it. For years I’ve watched and every damn time I turn around someone’s kicking the shit out of you!” Ethan’s eyes were wide and angry.

“What?” Barry asked. “What has that got to do with you?”

Ethan was nodding his head. It was bobbing, like one of those toy dogs in the back window of a car. “What has it got to do with me? It’s scaring the crap out of me, that’s what! One of these days I’m going to come around a corner and find you dead!” He smacked the cubicle wall again for emphasis.

“Ethan, in the fall I’m going out of state, you won’t have to give me another thought. You and your friends can keep—”

“Shut up,” Ethan said, wrapping both arms around Barry. “Just shut up.”

Barry leaned in and savored the closeness. He was still shaking slightly from the attack. This was Ethan, damn him. One minute, putting the moves on Sarah Emerson and the next, so gentle and caring it made Barry’s eyes tear up. Barry pressed his lips together against the questions in his head.

“I thought,” Ethan said, “We’d never change. We promised.”

“What?”

“I thought you’d go to school at Cal State Long Beach. I thought we’d go together.”

Barry barked a laugh that sounded, in the tiny tiled room, like a whip cracking. He pushed Ethan back. “Yeah right!” He rubbed his hands together lightly. “I hear there’s all kinds of things at CSULB you and your friends can shove me into. I hear the lockers in the gym are big enough to fit me and all the rest of my pussy friends.”

“Shut up, Barry.”

“Don’t you mean Fairy?” Barry taunted. “Isn’t that what you said just yesterday when you saw me coming out of the music lab? ‘Well, if it isn’t Fairy Sanders’?”

“Look,” Ethan began.

Barry cut him off. “No. You look. You’ve had your fun. We’ve all enjoyed it. Well. Except me. Now it’s time for me to move on.”

“You’re not going to move on from me that easily, Sanders,” Ethan snapped.

Barry felt tired. “You’re right.” He smiled sadly. “I have loved you all my life.”

“Barry—”

“Well? That’s what this is leading up to isn’t it? You’re going to tell me I’m making a huge mistake leaving our friendship behind. You’re going to tell me that I will never find a better friend. Someone who knows me as well as you do. Loves me as much as you do?”

Ethan looked down.

“I know all that.” Barry’s hand reached for the door handle. “And I know that next you’re going to tell me that I need to suck it up and relax and take it like a fucking man, Ethan, and I’m going to say this just once: You want to give it to me like a fucking man? Bring it on. If not, step aside. I’m tired of being your back up plan.”

“My what?”

“You heard me,” Barry said, leaning in, getting right in Ethan’s face. “You think you’re going to do the jock thing until you’re through college with some kind of degree, and then you’re going to leave this whole bourgeois suburban ass-clenching shit behind and get me to show what you’ve been missing while you were playing it straight. No way. Bring it the fuck on, Ethan, or next time someone’s kicking the shit out of me, don’t bother stopping by.”

Ethan moved backward as though he’d been slapped, but Barry reached out and grabbed Ethan’s lapels in a preemptive strike, an insurgency, born of reckless need and fear and endless frustration. Barry pulled Ethan—dragged him—into a kiss that felt like ten years of longing and, at the same time, coming home. “Ethan,” Barry sighed against Ethan’s mouth as his lips parted and Ethan’s tongue invaded. “Oh, fuck you, Ethan.”

Ethan’s hands gripped Barry hard around the waist as he kicked Barry’s feet apart. Then there was nothing to come between them but the clothes they wore. Their boutonnieres got crushed and rained white rose petals. Before Barry could even fathom what was happening Ethan’s big hands were cradling his bare ass, his own legs were wrapped around Ethan’s waist, and nothing could ever be the same again.

***

Today's clue: Work with GS Wiley!