Author's website: http://www.trickster.org/kass/

Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: In response to the Summer of '79 challenge at the livejournal community ds_flashfiction. Thanks to Sihaya Black for beta.

Story Notes:

Plans

Dad wants him to go to college. "You don't want to wind up at this godforsaken plant. You wanna know what it's like, try working one day here, one goddamned day, see how you feel about skipping school then, huh?" He hears it every time his dad has too much to drink.

He doesn't want to wind up packing meat like his old man. No question there. Come home stinking of blood: thanks but no thanks.

But college doesn't sound right either. Stell's already studying for the SATs, talking about someday even law school, but it just seems like a lot of work to Ray, and for what? He just wants to make enough to support her. They won't live like she's used to, they both know that, but if he can swing a decent job for a few months he can save up for a down payment on someplace. He can save up for a real ring.

Tommy thinks he's nuts. Not for bailing on college; none of their other friends are planning on that either. Like any of them would fit in to those pictures Ray sees on the posters outside the college counselor's door: all those rich preppy fucks sitting on gleaming lawns with their schoolbooks. Whatever.

Nah, Tommy thinks he's nuts for wanting to get married. He's never been with anybody else, he might be making a mistake. Tommy says it all the time, like he thinks Ray's missing out or something.

Today they're in Tommy's bedroom with a towel stuffed under the door, listening to the Clash and splitting an enormous joint, and Tommy brings it up again.

"Would you fucking shut up about my girlfriend?" Ray's trying to sound tough, but they're both too high to take him seriously. Tommy's stifled laugh pisses him off, and he needles back. "It's not like you've been with every girl in town, either."

"I'm not talking about chicks, man."

Ray feels his forehead scrunching with concentration. Is he that stoned already? "Then what are we talking about?"

Tommy takes a long drag of the joint before answering. "Stella goes down on you, right?"

"None of your business." Automatic.

Tommy ignores him. "You ever thought about the fact she don't have a dick?"

What the fuck is he talking about?

"She don't know what it feels like, is what I'm saying. She's sucking you off, but she doesn't know. She's gotta guess what feels good, what really gets you going."

The room is starting to seem uncomfortably warm. The windows are all closed, to keep anyone from smelling their smoke. Ray contemplates taking off his leather jacket. "What's your point?"

Tommy hands him the roach. He's just taken a hit when Tommy says, "That's why guys give the best head." Ray chokes, hard, and then he's sitting up, Tommy hitting him on the back.

"You okay?"

Ray nods, eyes still watering. He's not sure what to say, so he doesn't answer. The choking is kind of handy that way, actually.

There's a lull. Ray stubs out the end of the joint in the pop can that passes for an ashtray. The record finishes a side, but nobody moves to change it.

Ray leans back on the beanbag and closes his eyes. Maybe dozes off for a second or two. When he opens them again, Tommy's propped up on one elbow, staring at him.

Ray remembers what they were just talking about. A weird chill runs up his spine and he's glad he kept his jacket on.

He clears his throat. "Almost dinnertime. I better head out, walk this off before I hafta go home."

"Cool." Tommy sounds normal, for a guy who maybe just propositioned him. Or did he read that wrong? "Hey, you wanna skip out early again on Friday?"

Ray is lacing up his boots, which takes a lot of concentration. "Nah -- I better not. If I'm gonna apply to the police academy, I should probably stop smoking up. I think they drug-test you."

Tommy's looking right at him, through the shaggy black hair that's falling in his face a little, and for a second Ray thinks he's going to call him on it. Call him a coward, maybe. Like there's some other reason he's not going to spend his afternoons in Tommy's bedroom anymore.

But Tommy just shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Ray lets himself out, glad not to run into Mrs. Luczynski on his way out the door. Feels good to be out walking, away from the stuffy second-floor bedroom. The police thing is starting to sound like a better and better idea. Catching bad guys: that's a cool thing to do with your life, right? He doesn't want to think about where that desire started, so he doesn't.

There's a lot of desires he doesn't want to think about, actually.

He thinks about Stella instead. Betcha she'll like the police idea. It's respectable enough to have a decent paycheck, tough enough to be cool.

He tells himself he's thinking about Stella, the whole long walk home.

(842 words)

End Plans by Kass: kass@trickster.org

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