Matthew Wayne Selznick

Previously: Alex Kent rode his bike across town to see his best friend and met with a surprise when he arrived. Carson Meunetti’s parents made him an offer he can’t refuse. Lina Porter went on a clandestine date with a boy she’s forbidden to see.

“Stand Up, Back Down”
Alex looked across the porch. Mike Dante wore an open smile with cold warning in his eyes.

Alex reacted to such things by pushing back. He went for it. “You,” he said to Angel. “We were talking about you.”

“Really?” Angel set the tray on the porch. She bent down and handed Alex a glass of iced tea. “Should I be flattered?”

Alex found it difficult to meet her big, dark brown eyes. “Yeah. Probably, I guess.” He took the glass and saw her smirk.

“Probably?” She pivoted and bent at the knees to get Mike’s glass and her own. Alex caught himself checking out her narrow hips. He focused on his drink.

Angel turned to Mike. “What about it, Mike?”

Mike took his iced tea. “Thank you, Angel.” He shot his flat smile at Alex. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you.”

“You don’t say.” Angel turned and looked at Alex, one eyebrow raised and a hand on her waist.
“That’s not what I –”

“Uh huh.” Angel’s expression didn’t change. She nodded slightly.

“I said we look out for each other.” Alex shrugged. “Like friends do.”

Angel sat down on the swing next to Mike and said to him, “Alex is my best friend.” Alex felt a rush of validation and an out-of-nowhere, stomach-clenching rush of alien hope that was as surprising as it was embarrassing. “He does look out for me.”

Alex raised his glass in a little salute. He quickly moved the glass to his mouth to cover the fact that his lips were quivering. It was a nervous reaction that had plagued him since childhood. He hated it.

“I guess you can’t knock a guy for that,” Mike said.

Mouth tight and under control, Alex lowered his glass and took in the two of them.

As expected, Mike managed to get his arm on the back of the swing, not touching Angel but claiming her just the same. Angel’s body twisted just slightly toward him. Her right knee touched his left leg. She didn’t pull away.

That about did it. Alex took another quick sip of his tea, sat the glass back on the tray, and stood up.

“Well, I guess I should get going,” he said in a rush. “Long ride back.”

Angel’s “Oh, you have to?” was automatic.

Before Alex could answer, Mike casually raised his hand behind Angel. “Later, ‘gator.”

“Yeah, I have to,” Alex said to Angel. “You’ve got company.” He was already off the porch and getting on his bike. “Call me later if you want, if you feel like it.”

“Totally,” she said.

“Later.”

Alex got off that yard and down that street and out of Angel’s neighborhood.

Stupid waste of time. Stupid. Stupid.

Alex was the guy the girls confided in. He was not the one they wanted to do anything with, not unless they were so damn needy and screwed up that being with him was a by-product of his taking care of their problems.

That had sure as hell been the story with Eve, his girlfriend from his sophomore year right up to the beginning of this year. His role had been to keep her comforted and confident and as close to sane as she could be. The many times they briefly broke up, she quickly found someone hotter than him to throw in his face until she came back around… and he always, always took her back. If her parents hadn’t moved across the country, Alex was sure he’d still be running that maze.

Angel had been his shoulder through that whole mess, and he had been there for her own various soap operas. To think they were supposed to be anything else… could be anything else…

Stupid.

Alex got home, gave his mother a quick hello nod where she puttered in the front yard, and retreated to his bedroom. He paced in the small space between the foot of his bed and his closet. The long ride had not drained his irritated, frustrated energy. He felt like his nerves were pushing along the underside of his skin: hard, stiff coils of aimless rage.

Back and forth. On the left, a half-finished oil painting waited for him on its wooden easel. On the right, his Fender acoustic-electric guitar sat propped against a small bookcase.

He snatched up the guitar, fell back to sit on the edge of his bed, and swung the instrument onto his lap. His left hand, restless and nomadic, formed quick chords against the neck. He tapped the strings above the soundhole with his right hand, rhythmic and tense.

Alex sighed quickly. The guitar went back against the bookcase. He was in a real rut with that thing. Everything he pulled out of the instrument felt boring and simplistic and dead. He couldn’t pick it up without over-thinking. Right now he didn’t want to think.

He stood in front of the painting. It was a collection of loose, open swirls of red and blue. It didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t supposed to.

That would do. Get lost in doing nothing for a while. Put the day’s misguided expectations into the canvas and turn everything else right the fuck off.

This worked to relax him for a while. He barely registered the activity in the rest of the house as his mother moved around and his father came home from work. He just moved paint from tube to palette to canvas.

Then his dad opened the bedroom door — he never, ever, ever knocked — and said, “Hey. How many job interviews did you go on today?”

Car looked at his mother and father in turn. His mother’s face was tight with irritation. His father’s grin was freeze-dried by the ultimatum.

Car felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Friday morning? You’re cutting my time with Tess from three months to three days?

His father shrugged. “Look, I’m not telling you to break up with her before you leave. That’s up to you.”

Car jabbed his index finger, raw and stained from bass practice, at his father. “But you are telling me I’ve got less time with my girlfriend just because you decided I have to go with you.”

His mother’s voice was cold. “This trip is meant to be a gift to you, Carson. Show some gratitude.”

Car jerked to his feet. “Gratitude? Are you…” Frustration threatened to overwhelm him. He retreated to his room with quick, stiff steps. His limbs felt like they were made of steel rods.

His father’s hand slapped against the bedroom door and pushed it open.

“Carson.”

Car backed away from the door to let his father in. Ted Meunetti stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Car retreated another step and the back of his legs met the edge of his bed. He crossed his arms on his chest and glared at the floor.

“Carson.” His dad placed slight emphasis on the first syllable.

“What.”

“This isn’t how we thought you’d take this. I’m confused.”

“Yeah?” Car kept his gaze on the carpet. He willed himself to force a shutdown on the cycle of anger and frustration that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. He would not cry like a fucking kid. He would not.

“Yeah,” his father mimicked without cruelty. “If I’d had an opportunity like this when I was you age, I’d be packing my bags right now. Counting down the hours.”

That was it. That was motherfucking it, right there. Car’s jaw clenched. He pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth until mouth opened. He took a deep breath. Then, he could speak.

“You are not me, dad.” He looked at his father.

“Of course not. But I — your mother and I both — we’re trying to give you every possible opportunity, every leg up we can, so you have everything you need to succeed. This trip is part of that!” His father spread his arms. “Just the people you could meet — my God, Car, these are the type of people you could work for after college. Think of that.”

Car snorted. “Beach babes?”

His father pursed his lips and tilted his head. “You know it won’t all be that — you’ll want to meet some people, folks who can help you later on. It’s called networking, Carson.”

“Help me with what? My career? I’ve been out of high school for, what, seventy two hours, and you’re writing my resume for me?”

The words pushed out from his heart, flowed up his throat and filled his mouth. He let them out. “I don’t want help with everything, dad. I don’t want it all planned out. I don’t want the push. I don’t want…”

He turned away; bit his lip.

He felt his father behind him, silent for a half a minute. Car focused on the dust on the corners of the blinds hanging from his bedroom window.

Finally, his father said softly, “What don’t you want, Car?”

Car closed his eyes briefly, let out a long breath, turned back to his dad and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Look,” he said. His father sat down on the bed next to him. “I — I am grateful. I know you guys have expectations. I mean, I want to go to school, I want to study law…” He looked at his hands; felt the hard-earned ache in his fingers from practicing the bass all day.

“Right…” His father prompted gently.

“I’m gonna do all that,” Car said. “It’s a given. I’m going to do everything you guys expect of me.”

Which meant going to his parents’ school, following his parents’ career path… none of which was entirely against his will. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to change the world, and he believed he would.

“I hear a ‘but’ coming,” his father said.

Carson smiled slightly. “Yeah. ‘But’ you guys make me feel like… I dunno… like you have everything mapped out so well, there’s nothing left for me to find on my own.”

Saying it all brought Car great release and great dread.

His father nodded. “Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re so damn smart, kiddo. You’re like an arrow, and the bow’s been pulled back as far as it can go.”

Car frowned. “No pressure, dad. Thanks.”

His father grunted, a short laugh, a small concession. “Okay. I think your mother and I worry about that arrow hitting its target once it’s in the air.”

“Does it matter where it lands?” Carson shook his head; carrying the metaphor felt silly and forced. Sometimes his father couldn’t help but talk like this. Car played along. “I’m gonna make a mark, no matter what.”

He was. Fuckin’ aye, he was. Car had no doubt about this.

His father put a hand on his shoulder. “I know it,” he said. “So… why not Costa Rica? It’s two weeks, Car. You’ll remember those two weeks the rest of you life. You will.”

“It’s not Costa Rica, dad.”

His father met his eyes. Nodded. “It’s not having a choice,” he said. “Right?”

“Kinda. I feel like a slot car.” Great. Now he was doing it. He was his father’s son, lucky him. He smiled at himself.

His father smiled, too. “Nice one.”

“Not really.”

They laughed.

“I just want this summer to just… be,” Carson said. “Y’know?”

“Yeah.” His father clapped his hand against the back of Car’s head and mussed his hair a little. He stood up.

“Okay.”

Car looked up at his dad. “Okay?”

Disappointment was still there, but his father shrugged and smiled again. “Yep. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

Car looked at the door. “What about…”

“I’ll talk to your mother.”

Carson nodded, a little dazed. “Thanks, dad.”

His father sighed. He opened the door. “Have your summer.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Car made fists despite the pain in his hands. He raised them above his head and let out a restrained, “Yes!”

He rolled across his bed to the telephone on his nightstand. He dialed Tess.

“Hello?” She had a high voice that matched her diminutive frame. It made him smile.

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

Car turned on his back and stretched. He felt tremendous. Free. “Let’s do something tonight.”

“Aw…” Regret in her tone brought Car down a notch. “I can’t, tonight. But… I’m glad you called, Car.”

“Well, that’s good! I’m glad you answered.” He laughed.

“Yeah,” she said. “Do you have some time? We need to talk.”

Lina looked at Eric carefully. She felt a distinct separation from herself, as if her awareness was a fraction of an inch removed from her body and her thoughts a split-second behind her actions. She felt compulsively precise.

She was drunk.

She laughed.

“I’m gonna help you?”

Eric smiled. He had thin lips. His dark eyes gleamed. Lina focused on the laugh lines that spread from the outside corners of his lids. “If you want,” he drawled.

“I’m confused,” she said.

“That’s understandable,” he said.

She wagged a finger at him. “I’m not done!” She picked up her Road Runner glass, swirled the ice around, put it back down. “Why should you be the one who gets to make the laws? How would I help… and… why should I, anyway?”

Eric extended an index finger from a loose fist. “First: because experience is power, and you need the experience.” His thumb unfurled. “Second: you do it just by being what you are.”

She liked that. She closed what little distance there was between them on the narrow bench. “Oh yeah? What am I?”

He pointed his finger at her and dropped his thumb: bang. “You’re new. Young. Inexperienced.”

Lina’s eyes widened with half-feigned indignation. “Inexperienced!”

Eric leaned back against the bench. “Obviously.”

“I’ll show you inexperienced, Mister Finn.”

Lina leaned forward and kissed him. His narrow goatee tickled her lower lip. His tongue slipped into her mouth. It was a pointed, crowding, welcome invasion, though the sensation was blunted somewhat by the numbing effects of the vodka.

The sensation of distance made making out a little like a wanna-be out of body experience. The idea of being her own voyeur was exciting.

Eric broke the kiss and moved his tongue along her jaw. He nipped at her neck. His tongue traced circles around the contours of her ear, sending a line of hot intensity straight into her belly and lower still.

Her throat surprised her when it released a little low groan. The spontaneity of her own body’s reactions fed her excitement. She strained to get closer to Eric, but the space between the table and the bench made everything awkward.

Lina figured Eric felt the same frustration, because he pulled away from her. They were so in sync!

He looked at her. His eyes were hooded and dark. “You want power?” His voice was husky. “You want the experience?”

She wanted a lot of things. She nodded.

He slid out of the bench, cleared a space on the table, and leaned back against it. “Come out here.” He motioned to Lina and guided her until she stood in front of him. “Better.”

He put one hand on her ass, another behind her neck, and pulled her toward him. They kissed again. Lina loved the feel of the stiff mystery in his pants and ground against him playfully.

The hand on her ass moved up to the short hair at the back of her neck. HIs other hand found its way between them. What was he..?

He broke their kiss and pushed himself up to sit on the table, which creaked but held. “Time for experience,” he whispered.

Lina looked down. There was Eric. No more mystery.

She had only ever seen pictures. The real thing was gross and fascinating and strange and compelling all at once.

He took her hand and guided it toward him. She resisted automatically.

“Wait.”

He let go. She was almost touching it. She stared. He was… twitching, or… bobbing?

“Are you…” She almost giggled. “Are you doing that?”

“Not deliberately.” He shifted on the table. “Touch it.”

“For the experience?” The distance was back. She wanted another drink, but her glass was on the table behind Eric. It was mostly melted ice by now, anyway.

“Sure.”

She brushed, barely, against the head with the tips of her fingers. It was very smooth. Her stomach quivered.

She looked at Eric. His eyes were closed. He exhaled.

“That feels good?”

He opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on her hand. “It feels like it’s going to feel good.”

She watched his face and wrapped her hand around him. He was warm; simultaneously firm and slightly yielding. Her mind tried to relate the feeling to something else and failed.

She squeezed slightly. His hips bucked and he slid in her grip. He grunted. Surprised, Lina let go.

“Kneel down,” he said. “Kiss me.”

That didn’t make sense to her at first, but then she got it. She was both irritated at her brief confusion and suddenly scared.

She let out a nervous laugh. “Whoa, cowboy. I…”

“What?”

“I don’t know if I’m…”

Lina glanced down quickly. His dick twitched. It was purple, alien… angry? She moved her gaze to his face and kept it there.

“I mean… Ian and Tammy, they’ll be coming back…”

Eric’s face clouded. “We’d hear him coming. That’s not it.”

Lina flinched. “Why…”

“This is the way it works, Lina. You want to experience things?”

“I do, Eric, but…”

“Look.” He smiled, but she knew it was too late. He was pissed. “You wanna be a little girl, all safe and sheltered like your daddy wants?” The smile flattened. “Or, maybe you want to grow the fuck up? I don’t need to hang out with a child, Lina. Is that what you are?”

The vodka was past being fun and well on its way to upsetting her stomach, which was tight from the threat in Eric’s words. She felt dizzy.

“No, Eric… I’m just not… I didn’t want it to be…”

“To be what? It’s all experience, Lina.” He snorted. “What, you want a big bed with rose petals on the sheets? You think it’s like in some stupid video?”

Automatically, images from Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” played in her head. Comparing what she wanted to that stupid song… it made her mad enough to be strong.

“No! But…” She cast her arms around the squalor of Ian’s trailer. “This?”

He glanced down at his flagging dick and back up at her. He shook his head, shaming. “If you’re not willing to grow up, you can find your own way home.”

“Are you serious?”

His expression was a mix of challenge and contempt, ready to tip all the way in either direction.

Her fists balled at her sides. “Jesus! Fuck you, then!”

She was out of there, gone from the trailer park and halfway down the street before the mixed fuel of anger and the necessity of making a scene burned out.

How in the fuck would she get back to the mall in time for her mother to pick her up?

…to be continued!

Be sure to leave your comments on this installment!

Support “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights”

This ongoing serial fiction series is free to read, but takes a lot of time and work to create. If you enjoy “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights,” I’d like you to become my patron by compensating me for the experience.

One-Time Contribution

I think $0.99 is reasonable for a single installment of the serial, but feel free to contribute whatever amount you think is appropriate.

Recurring Contribution

New installments of “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” post twenty five times a year. If you’d like to provide regular support for my ongoing efforts to write the serial, please consider contributing on a automatically recurring monthly basis. I recommend $1.49 per month, but feel free to make your monthly contribution whatever amount you think “Hazy Days and Cloudy Nights” is worth.