More meme writings
Oct. 13th, 2005 06:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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rulinian
Bisexual emo boys.
"What's in Omaha," Joe asks.
Mike rolls over in his couch bed and blinks. "My sister lives there with her fiancé. She's got a spare room, works mornings. They might need construction, maybe office work. Maybe I can save for college."
Where Mike and Joe are now, it's now safe to just lie in bed and talk. It might not stay that way. Mike's dad was laid off and spending his time watching TV or sleeping. Mike's dad never was a drinking man, but Mike wonders if Dad is taking his pain medication more times than recommended. Sooner or later though, he's going to get sick of it, get up to look for work, and see Mike and Joe fucking. Mike's mom, well, she might come around and pick up more of her knick-knacks. However, since she moved in with the plant manager, they were as good as divorced.
Joe couldn't go home. When his parents found his journal and all his poems addressed to Mike and Jen and Josh and Jessica, they threw him out. Mike's dad tolerates him because Joe vacuums and does dishes. Mike sometimes jokes about Joe marrying his dad. Joe often scowls and punches him in the arm.
Mike rolls back and wraps his spindly arms around Joe. He can't see anything without his glasses, but he can see Joe's mussed up dark hair and thin arms with old bruises. He knows that Joe is bare-chested, all soft and damp skin with no hair. He can smell Joe's soap and cigarettes scent. Joe ought to stop smoking, but Mike isn't sure if he’d take one more pleasure away. Joe burrows closer to Mike and sighs.
"Why stay in the state?" Joe listens to himself and winces. He sounds too high and too sad.
"Yeah, but y'know, college may be the only way I can get a job." A job to get my own place, to get my own car, to not worry about explaining Joe, and place where he didn't have to hide how Joe was more than a friend. Was there such a place in Nebraska? How about anywhere?
Dad was smart, smart about what machines and people needed, had the respect of the refinery. However, no college degree meant he was let go, even with his old aches from car accident and impending divorce. If something that shitty can happen to a married middle-aged man, what chance does he have, a 'queer boy' with mediocre grades and more mix tapes than cash?
"I ought to get a job too," Joe says. "Can't think of what I'd be good at."
"Cleaning lady?"
Joe looks up. "Fuck you, I only do it because you and your dad don't clean up your own shit, and I'm only a guest as is."
"Take it easy, Joe, I'm kidding." Mike pets Joe's nape as an attempt at reconciliation. He runs his fingers back and forth over the dark fuzz. "You're right, we'll have to get jobs."
"You're the one going to college, though. I am shit at math."
"We'll see."
The rest of the day, they put on their old tapes, filled with Juliana Theory, Jawbreaker, Death Cab for Cutie, and some local bands that should be easily forgotten if not for the memories. Mike wears his glasses so he can see well. Joe puts on a shirt, old and button-down from a Goodwill that he bought because of poverty and not fashion. They pack Mike's things into cardboard boxes with cereal logos and plastic bags.
Mike and Joe wait until afternoon to leave. When Mike goes downstairs to say goodbye to his dad, his dad nods and murmurs something about writing. He looked like a tranquilized bear, all sandy shaggy hair and half-open eyes. He's gotten to the point that everyone disappoints him, and he isn't surprised. Mike wonders if he will get to that point.
They pack their things in the car, grab a map with Mike's sister's apartment marked, and go. Inside they put another mix tape in the car, keeping quiet. Joe cries at one song, and Mike pulls over to kiss him. They keep the tape on.
rulinianBisexual emo boys.
"What's in Omaha," Joe asks.
Mike rolls over in his couch bed and blinks. "My sister lives there with her fiancé. She's got a spare room, works mornings. They might need construction, maybe office work. Maybe I can save for college."
Where Mike and Joe are now, it's now safe to just lie in bed and talk. It might not stay that way. Mike's dad was laid off and spending his time watching TV or sleeping. Mike's dad never was a drinking man, but Mike wonders if Dad is taking his pain medication more times than recommended. Sooner or later though, he's going to get sick of it, get up to look for work, and see Mike and Joe fucking. Mike's mom, well, she might come around and pick up more of her knick-knacks. However, since she moved in with the plant manager, they were as good as divorced.
Joe couldn't go home. When his parents found his journal and all his poems addressed to Mike and Jen and Josh and Jessica, they threw him out. Mike's dad tolerates him because Joe vacuums and does dishes. Mike sometimes jokes about Joe marrying his dad. Joe often scowls and punches him in the arm.
Mike rolls back and wraps his spindly arms around Joe. He can't see anything without his glasses, but he can see Joe's mussed up dark hair and thin arms with old bruises. He knows that Joe is bare-chested, all soft and damp skin with no hair. He can smell Joe's soap and cigarettes scent. Joe ought to stop smoking, but Mike isn't sure if he’d take one more pleasure away. Joe burrows closer to Mike and sighs.
"Why stay in the state?" Joe listens to himself and winces. He sounds too high and too sad.
"Yeah, but y'know, college may be the only way I can get a job." A job to get my own place, to get my own car, to not worry about explaining Joe, and place where he didn't have to hide how Joe was more than a friend. Was there such a place in Nebraska? How about anywhere?
Dad was smart, smart about what machines and people needed, had the respect of the refinery. However, no college degree meant he was let go, even with his old aches from car accident and impending divorce. If something that shitty can happen to a married middle-aged man, what chance does he have, a 'queer boy' with mediocre grades and more mix tapes than cash?
"I ought to get a job too," Joe says. "Can't think of what I'd be good at."
"Cleaning lady?"
Joe looks up. "Fuck you, I only do it because you and your dad don't clean up your own shit, and I'm only a guest as is."
"Take it easy, Joe, I'm kidding." Mike pets Joe's nape as an attempt at reconciliation. He runs his fingers back and forth over the dark fuzz. "You're right, we'll have to get jobs."
"You're the one going to college, though. I am shit at math."
"We'll see."
The rest of the day, they put on their old tapes, filled with Juliana Theory, Jawbreaker, Death Cab for Cutie, and some local bands that should be easily forgotten if not for the memories. Mike wears his glasses so he can see well. Joe puts on a shirt, old and button-down from a Goodwill that he bought because of poverty and not fashion. They pack Mike's things into cardboard boxes with cereal logos and plastic bags.
Mike and Joe wait until afternoon to leave. When Mike goes downstairs to say goodbye to his dad, his dad nods and murmurs something about writing. He looked like a tranquilized bear, all sandy shaggy hair and half-open eyes. He's gotten to the point that everyone disappoints him, and he isn't surprised. Mike wonders if he will get to that point.
They pack their things in the car, grab a map with Mike's sister's apartment marked, and go. Inside they put another mix tape in the car, keeping quiet. Joe cries at one song, and Mike pulls over to kiss him. They keep the tape on.
