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It’s a humid summer, and their clothes stick horribly to their skin and there doesn’t seem to be much of a relief from it. Even with popsicles that start to quickly melt, and stain their fingers, or a dive in the lake, it doesn’t seem to be helping any. Yet, that doesn’t seem to matter as they spend their days together, interconnected almost as one.
Every fall felt like it was a death sentence to him, going away from his best friend and back to the daily grind of school. And it would pass slowly, even if he had friends from school he spent most of his time with, they weren’t him . They weren’t the boy who he can open up to and ramble endlessly about different things. They didn’t know the smell of cigarette smoke in the humid summer nights, laying in the porch of the house, that’s blocked off by some sort of mosquito netting or the smell of the bonfire that lingers on their skin and clothes for days.
They just didn’t have that special connection.
He’s watching fields of farmland, mountains lurched in the distance and shrouded in secrets pass by. His heart is thumping hard in his chest, excitement rising. His parents joke that this is the only time they ever see him really get excited for something. Matthew doesn’t care, Alfred is his best friend and he wants to see him.
Of course, when they get there, the sky is pink but Alfred is patiently waiting outside his house. Matthew frantically waves, and yells for his dad to stop so he can get out, and the thirteen year old is more than surprised that his father does so. He fumbles out, almost falling on his face and quickly springs towards his best friend, whose freckled face is covered in a large grin and blue eyes lit up with mirth.
Despite the peckish hunger, Matthew finds himself racing Alfred down the dirt road and towards the large lake. He strips down to his underwear, knowing full well his mother will scold him later for it, but he doesn’t care. He wants to get swimming, he wants to be with his best friend. They flail and splash around in the rapidly cooling water. His feet brush against the sand beneath, and hit a fern.
Soon, his father is yelling for him to come back, in that thick French accent of his (and it used to embarrass him so bad, that he begged his father not to talk around his friends). Matthew is reluctant, but he swims to the shore and gets out. Alfred follows, and sits next to him.
“Come over after you eat,” Alfred says, cheerily. He knows there’s no way he’ll actually be staying at his own summer house this summer. Matthew agrees to.
With tired legs, Matthew forces his way back to his home. The rocks hurt against his now bare feet (he accidentally left his sandals in the car), clothes scrunched up underneath his arm. When he gets home, he almost expects to be scolded or yelled at, but he’s not. Dinner is ready, and he’s starving . This is announced to him a pang in his stomach and loud growling.
Matthew tries not to scarf down his food too quickly but he just wants to get back to spending time with his best friend. He missed him.
“We’re having a fire tonight,” His mother says, breaking the silence as she stabs a steamed broccoli with her fork. “Will you be joining us and the neighbors?” Matthew scrunches up his nose, thinking. Their neighbors were nice , but he couldn’t really understand what they were saying most of the time. The younger of the two, Ludwig, mainly kept to himself while Gilbert was loud and obnoxious. He’s in high school. He doesn’t mind them though, but they aren’t the type of people he’s really friends with.
“I’d rather be with Al,” Matthew says, pursing his lips.
“Well, he could join us.” His mother says. “The two of you don’t have to be in that house and reading comic books the entire time.”
“We’re not!” Matthew protests. “We play video games!” He doesn’t tell her about how they also go and explore the woods, and search through old, decrepit cabins. Alfred claims some of them are haunted, and that they should go ghost hunting, like on the shows. When they attempt to, the both of them end up getting too scared. They also go for late night swims, and end up sleeping in the yard of Alfred’s home.
“I think that’s even worse.” His mother says, voice filled with something akin to venom. He knows she likes Alfred, but she doesn’t approve of his parents or their parenting style. Matthew doesn’t quite know what’s going on, and when he tries to ask, he’s always shushed. Told it’s none of his concern. “Go and invite him after you’re finished eating and done with the dishes.”
That’s what Matthew does, and by now, the stars are starting to show in the sky but it’s still warm out. The humidity pricks at his skin, but that’s okay. When he reaches Alfred’s home, he pulls open the screened porch door. It creeks as he does so. He can already smell the cigarette smoke, and he stifles a cough. It’s never goes well with his asthma, but he always tries to push through. Everything is in its usual place, two boxes on his left, stacked and collecting dust, a porch chair on his right, near the window and a refrigerator next to the door. The carpet is still an ugly green color, with a stain caused by the boys a long time ago.
It feels like a second home to him.
He knocks on the door a few times, and it swings open. Now , he’s wishing he brought his inhaler as a cloud of smoke hit his face. He’s trying not to break into a coughing fit, and struggling not to choke.
“H-Hello, Mr. Jones. Is Alfred around?”
Mr. Jones is tall, with a mop of messy blond hair and the same blue eyes as Alfred. He lacks the freckles and the sunny smile. And he reeks of alcohol.
“Hm? Oh yeah. Hey kid.” Mr. Jones turns his head, to look over his shoulder. Matthew stares at the dog tags that hang around his neck. Frederick Jones is all he can read. “Alfred!” he shouts, over the television that’s playing some show.
Matthew hears the thump thump thump of Alfred’s footsteps and there he is, in blue shorts and a white top, face red from a sunburn and glasses askew on his face.
“Hey, Mattie!” The exuberance of his friend rubs off onto him.
“Al! Hey, wanna join us for a fire?”
Alfred purses his lips a little and looks up at his father. “Can I? Please ?”
“Yeah, I don’t care.” His father says. Matthew still doesn’t understand what the other adults don’t like about Alfred’s parents. They let him do what he wants, and are usually nice to him. Sure, his father drinks a lot and his mother can be a little cranky, but that’s okay, right?
Alfred slips on his shoes, grabs Matthew’s wrist and off they go. When they get to Matthew’s home, the fire had already been started in the back and some of the neighbors were already over. There’s a pack of beer sitting next to one of the adults and a cooler with soda and other drinks.
“Hello, Alfred,” Matthew’s mother greets him. “How have you been?”
“Hey, Mrs. Williams!” Alfred cheerfully greets as he takes a seat on the ground, Matthew following the suit. They’re a bit close to the fire, and some of the ashes hit his skin and it burns a little. “I’ve been great! Towards the end of the year, we got a new classmate from a country called um, L-L…” he trails off, trying to think hard. “Well, Europe!”
She smiles. “That’s pretty cool. Do you talk to him?”
“Yes, but he’s kinda quiet. Like Mattie!” Alfred throws his arm around Matthew’s shoulders. “He doesn’t speak English very well, and some of the other students pick on him.”
“Well, that’s not nice.” Mrs. Williams says, frowning. “I hope you stick up for him.”
Alfred nods. “I do! I wouldn’t be a superhero if I didn’t!”
She laughs a little. “No, of course not.” Her eyes focus on a giant bruise on Alfred’s leg, the smile disappearing for a moment. “What happened to your leg? That looks pretty nasty.”
Alfred looks confused for a moment, and then realizes. “Oh! See, I went paintballing with a friend back home and he struck me in the leg!”
Mrs. Williams doesn’t push the conversation, and Matthew wonders what that was about.
As usual, Alfred carries on most of the conversation. He’s good at entertaining, Matthew knows. He can tell such far fetched stories, and it’s always so enticing. To him, at least. He can’t say for sure for the adults, who only seem to half listen. The older teenagers come and go, or bury themselves in their phones.
He had asked his parents if he could get a phone, but was told no. Not until he was old enough to pay for it, or there was a good reason it was needed, and even then, he would only get a lousy flip phone. As time passes, and the fire ebbs, the adults retreat home.
The two boys are left wondering what they should do, both wide away from the amount of soda they had consumed in such a short time. So, they get up and wander around for awhile. They explore every crevice of the little town and tromp through the woods until the sugar wore down. Alfred talks aimlessly, telling him about things that happened in his city and Matthew supplies his own stories.
There’s an older classmate that he kind of has a crush on. Two years older than him, from the Netherlands, and Alfred teases him for it and then tells him he should go for it. Matthew blushes and tells him that there’s no way he’d ever be noticed. Why would anyone even like him, anyways?
So, Alfred starts listing off the things he likes about Matthew, and the list continues as they make their way to Alfred’s home. That porch is their secret hideout, in a way, with the wall and netting their protection from the monsters of the outside world. Matthew’s tuned him out by now.
“And that’s why I think you’re cool and you should go for it!” Alfred announces as soon as they step foot past the creaking door and settle themselves down on the hard floor. The smell of cigarettes as dissipated, and the television is off. The house is silent as night and sleep consumes everyone.
A stray mosquito buzzes.
“You know,” Matthew says as Alfred goes to the fridge and pulls out two bottles of soda. Guess they’re not sleeping tonight. “I always look forward to seeing you.”
Alfred hands him one of them, and Matthew reads the label. Share a coke with your best friend , it says in large white print on red. He opens up the red top, and the drink fizzes a little.
“Yeah!” Alfred says, happily. “You’re my best friend.” Matthew tries to hide his smile. Back home, he doesn’t really have friends. People talk to him, but nobody is really close to him. Not that he minds, he has his dog and a stuffed bear his grandfather got for him. He’s good with that.
“Summer’s are always a dream.” It’s a late night confession, and they always have these serious talks. However serious two young boys can actually get, anyways. “Today has really felt like one.”
Alfred is quiet for a brief moment, having to yet open his own soda bottle. Instead, he’s pressing his chin against the cap. It’s uncharacteristic of him to look so solemn, so serious. In their little part of Alfred’s house, sadness wasn’t allowed. It was their happy place, protected by wall and net.
“That’s the funny thing, right?” Alfred’s voice almost cracks. “Anything’s a dream when you refuse to wake up.”
It jolts through him, a shock that sends him over the bed, and heaving. He can still feel the prick of the heat on his skin, he can clearly taste the soda touch his tongue and the sugar rush through his body. The rocks had harshly pressed against his feet. He looks around, there’s no Alfred. They’re not in the porch, protected by wall and net, he’s in his apartment with his stuffed bear and his boyfriend, sleeping soundly next to him.
Matthew lays limply on the floor. The details aren’t quite clear, they never were. That whole year after the announcement had felt like a blur, and he had blanked it out. Yet, Matthew remembers seeing his mother’s solemn face very clearly, face red and splotchy. Her words were so far away, and it didn’t settle in until they returned the following summer. The Jones weren’t there, there was no Alfred waiting by his house. The looks of sympathy were too much for Matthew, and Gilbert had even invited him to hang out with his friends (high schoolers, with a middle schooler? ).
Finally, he forces himself up and staggers a bit. He should get breakfast, and as he makes his way to the kitchen, he can still very clearly see and hear Alfred in the back of his mind.