oh man

you wouldn't think i'd be such an internet nerd while without normal internet, but here i am anyway.

cough http://buttfacemakani.livejournal.com/174597.html#cutid1 cough

giggle.

look at the icon, too.

July: Belated post #2

Summer was about relaxing or, more specifically, about having the time to relax. What people generally failed to mention was that the presence of time could also mean many other things. His family bothered him with the way they behaved—almost as if they were trying to make up for the time not spent with him during the school year by being constantly around and underfoot during the summer. Nick sighed. He wished they would stop and just act as they normally would, but as always, he lacked the words to say so. His family’s flurry of activities during the summer with him, always him, at the center annoyed and pained him. There was no way for him to let his parents know that he was fine without them during the school year, that they had nothing to make up for, without hurting their feelings. But it was true, they had nothing to make up for. There was no need to make up for anything. He was taken care of for eighteen years and now he was going to college in America, all of which was made possible because of his family.

True, he missed his childhood—after all, who didn’t? But even so he had to admit (the optimist in him wouldn’t rest until he did), that there were certain appeals to being an adult.

Most of all, over the summer he also missed his friends.

It was not a question of how long they’d known each other, but how long it felt like they’d known each other. It was not a matter of who could come to visit him during the summer, but the fact that after being around each other for so long during the school year, they were used to each other’s presence. It became something as natural as breathing and required about as much thought. So much so that when he passed by a new-ish motorcycle in the street one day Nick almost paused, expecting Mike’s instant obsession, Gary’s laugh, and Zach’s useless admonishments.

Summer had never felt so long, and school, even with the inevitable workload, was beginning to look inviting because with the homework and the tests also came jokes, laughter, and the cause of both—friends.

Summer was generally boring when one was not traveling, and Gary had opted to take a week out of traveling, though he could’ve easily gone along with his father to Chicago. After all, there was only so much sight-seeing one could take, and even the experience of being somewhere new got old after a while.

He flipped through the calendar and caught himself counting the days until school started again, wondering how Nick was doing in France since he’d last seen him, how Mike was handling himself in Minnesota, and how sun-burnt Zach must be by the end of summer (Mike had insisted he would get skin cancer. Would he?). Oliver rubbed against his leg, purring. Gary picked him up. He would bring two pets with him next year, so why not Oliver, along with his water dragon? Both Nick and Zach seemed to like cats, and if Mike ever got the issue with his dog sorted out…well….

Gary chuckled to himself. At least it would be anything but boring. Mrs. Jameson had been equally horrified and amused by the idea of four adolescent boys living together, even without the pets. She had a few good points but if everything went according to her plans, it would go far too smoothly—and be bor-ing.

He would have to work out the furnishing soon—or in other words, let Mrs. Jameson know that he intended to work out the furnishing and have her sort it out. There was—the beauty of summer and college—no homework, and as far as he could tell, no other tasks or sources of potential stress. It would be long stretches of days, of late mornings and even later nights until he would have to push himself to fit back into the schedule that school demanded come August. And then they would figure out whether or not Nick could be trusted in the kitchen or if Zach’s early-rising habits would be detrimental for their late-night plans.

Entering the living room, Gary threw himself down on the sofa and flipped on the TV, Oliver escaping from him with an indignant hiss.

Almost in spite of himself, he was looking forward to August.

Summer, depending on where one was, could be as taxing as the school year, if not more, just in a different way. In the recent years it had become an annual reminder to himself, a motivation to push himself just a little harder towards his goals during the next school year.

In the summer was when Zach usually realized how much his friends acted as his anchors into the normal teen life, and how much they’d done to keep him from disappearing into his thoughts and goals and reflections that far too often turned into nightmares. He laughed more when he was with his friends. They were the good sort of distractions and a constant reminder that he was still young, with a life ahead of him that could hold hopes and dreams, if he allowed it to.

Zach sighed and let himself out of the house, wandering into his grandmother’s increasingly neglected garden.

The symptoms were getting worse, each time. When he arrived in early July, his grandmother had stepped up to hug him, only to pause with a horrified expression on her face when she realized she couldn’t recall his name. He gave her a moment. She recalled it. She had gotten his age wrong and thought he was going to go away to college in the fall. He hadn’t needed his mother’s gestures to tell him what to do when Gran had inquired about which college he was going to, the expression on her face had been enough.

There were after all, as Mike had said, unfair advantages to being a psychology major.

The thoughts of his friends made him smile, as they always did. Briefly Zach wondered what Nick was doing right now, and how Gary was probably being bored out of his mind and he worried about whether Mike had been climbing things again, now that summer was here and there was no one to watch him. Or watch out for him.

Walking past an overgrown patch of marigolds, Zach wryly smiled to himself.

If it came to the worst, he could always count on Nick to side with him next year in getting Mike off of the roof of their apartment.

Summer was the sun and the sky and the empty streets at high noon where people had better things to do than go wandering around, looking at the sun and sky. Mike suspected that he had better things to do too, but could not find it in himself to care.

There was something pleasant about the blankness of everything. His father had gone off on a business trip again two days after school ended, and his father’s wife had had the sense to not try to keep him company in their house. All this, in turn, meant an empty house and a dog who was too content to lie in the shade than to follow its eccentric master into the midday heat, who looked content enough so that Mike knew he would feel eternally guilty if he disturbed that picture of doggy contentment.

So it was him and the pavement, stretching past the suburban blocks in every direction. It was scuffled shoes with canine-tooth-marked laces and sunglasses that kept his thoughts to himself, fragments that finally drifted into the blankness. There was the run-down fence six blocks away that he had passed far too many times, with an abandoned bike, rusting, still chained to one end of it. Further along someone was cooking lunch, the smell of which made Mike wonder when he had last ate before he shrugged and gave up. It was usually easier that way.

Another two blocks later, he took out his cellphone and checked the time. It was some time past twelve. Some time. Enough. He turned around and began to make his way back, the rubber soles of his converse dragging slightly on the ground, counting the cracks on the ancient cement.

He had to be home by one.

Well, he didn’t have to. He should be online by one. They had worked out all the time differences just before summer started, and he’d rechecked the math when they left and they had agreed that whenever possible at that hour each day, one PM for Mike Reynolds away in Minnesota, they would meet online. And hang out. Which, depending on the day, usually included some sort of random conversation and too much laughter about things that, in Mike’s opinion, shouldn’t be that funny in the first place. It was ridiculous. He blamed his friends.

Two blocks away. He checked the time again. It was twelve fifty.

Mike grinned and, ignoring the heat from the sun and the emptiness of the streets, sprinted the last two blocks home.

July: Belated post #1

The first time Zach visited Gary was when his friend was at his first in-between-trips week. He mostly stayed where he was left in the house because he knew he would get lost if he as much as thought about wandering. The second time was better. He almost had an idea of which direction he was going. Almost.

Zach pulled open a door that, if favored by luck and the sense that North was still somewhere to the right of him, should lead to the family room, and found himself staring into a closet. It was a very large closet.

He blushed, feeling stupid.

“It’s okay,” Gary said consolingly, steering him in the right direction. “Everyone gets lost their first few times ‘round here. Dad even considered gettin’ one of those handheld GPS watchamacallit things, as a joke, sort of. And then Mrs. Jameson reminded him that he doesn’t stay long enough here t’have guests often. And that when he does it’s usually a whole bunch of people so one of those things’ not gonna help anyways.”

Zach remembered Mrs. Jameson from the last visit. The woman was in her fifties, matronly, and rather intimidating. When she brought up a tray of snacks he received the impression that not eating would be considered nothing short of a misdemeanor in which either force-feeding or lawyers would be involved. Or both. When he tried to explain this to Gary his friend had laughed and replied well, you’re too thin anyways, here, have a cookie.

So Zach thoughtfully munched on a biscuit and reflected that being the son of a popular anchorman must mean that one was not easily intimidated. Even by a woman whose voice sounded like the impersonation of Judgment Day when the Judge was feeling particularly martinet-y. He nearly choked when his eyes caught the sight of a security camera mounted discretely in a corner.

If he was inclined toward paranoia, now would be the time for the symptoms to start manifesting themselves.

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout that thing. It’s not even hooked up.” Gary said carelessly as he swiped a few more biscuits from the tray. “This used to be a meeting-room-place, you know.”

“Okay,” said Zach. He almost asked why the camera was left up then, if no one was to use it. Then he considered that maybe Mr. Smith, as an anchorman, liked the subconscious feel of a camera trained on him even when he was at home. That was certainly a reasonable hypothesis, even if he found it hard to relate to because personally, that camera was creeping him out.

Gary concluded that Zach might be camera-shy. Well that wasn’t too surprising. As far as he knew the only reason Zach ever sat in the front of the lecture halls was to take advantage of the hearing aid system. He did wish Zach would quit glancing at the corner. It was making him twitchy.

He cleared the tray of the rest of its load and tried to think of something to do that would take them away from this room. General Site of Twitchiness Number One.

“I know!” He said brightly. Zach looked at him warily. “Let’s call Mike and Nick! We’ve got one of those multi-way calling systems.”

“Er,” said Zach. “We just talked with both of them online. Less than an hour ago.”

“Oh com’on.” Zach gave him a look. He tried a different tactic. “I’m leaving in two more days and you might not get to play with fancy phone system-things again.” His friend raised an eyebrow. “Well, for another week ‘n half, at least,” Gary amended.

“I stand corrected,” muttered Zach, but got to his feet. He gave Gary a sideways glance. “Did I ever tell you that you’d make a really bad salesman?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He directed them down the hallway. “You ‘n everyone else.” He grinned. “Good thing I’m not becomin’ one then, huh?”

“Very,” said Zach dryly. “What time is it in France right now?”

“Dunno.” Gary cheerfully consulted the phone’s built-in address book. “Let’s call Mike first an’ he can figure it out for us.”

Zach gazed at him without much hope. “I meant—” he started to protest.

“Hey,” said Mike, from the other end of the phone.

“Is Nick still awake?” asked Zach.

There was a pause.

“Um…he should be?” Gary could almost imagine Mike regarding his phone with raised eyebrows. At least Minnesota was still in America and no one needed to be woken up at two in the morning by a mistimed phone call. “Zach…is that you?”

“Think so.” Gary grinned. “Hold on a sec.” He started to call Nick.

“Gary?” said Mike.

“This is neither the time,” said Zach, “nor the place to have an identity crises. Though it would be fitting.”

“Hello?” Inquired Gary, as soon as someone picked up the phone.

“Nicki!” screeched a little girl’s voice, and the phone was dropped, from the sound of it, onto a table. Zach cringed.

“Wow,” said Mike. After a moment he added, “Ow. My ear.”

“Oui?” said Nick.

“Bonjour,” Gary saluted him.

“ ‘Nicki?’” Mike’s voice suggested that a smirk was involved somewhere.

“Say ‘hi’ to your sister for us, afterwards,” Zach said faintly.

“Are you guys all together?” Nick asked.

“No,” said Mike. “At least I’m not.”

“It’s just me ‘n Zach,” confirmed Gary.

“Yes,” said Zach. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Gary waved at him. There was another brief pause.

“Anyways,” said Mike. “So, about those flying pigs.”

“Wait. What?”

“Huh?”

“Something about pigs that fly?”

“Like, you know.”

“What?”

“I’m so lost. So lost.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“What?”

Gary hooted with laughter. “This is why we should always have lots of people on the phone at the time.”

“Um. What?” asked Nick.

“So we can spend five minutes to every one minute of conversation, trying to figure out what everyone’s talking about?” Zach asked uncertainly.

“Exactly,” said Gary.

“ ‘course,” said Mike. “What did you think?”