Chapter Text
Gerald always loved his walk home from school. The setting sun cast a soft golden glow over his college town, and as summer hung on the horizon, the streets of New Orleans were vibrant and full of life. He couldn’t begin to get enough of it. He belonged there, in the city, surrounded by the symphony of the streetlife.
He'd just reached the corner of Audubon park when he heard a familiar tune cut through the sticky summer air.
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretendin' that he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind-
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
At home, he could hardly play a second of his records without his mama breathing down his neck, insisting that he shut off that “devil worshiper music”. But when he could manage it, Gerald loved going for a drive in his daddy’s Pontiac and tuning in to the local rock station. He supposed this was where he recognized the bittersweet melody from.
How many times must a man look up
Before he sees the sky?
Yes, an’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
The voice was strikingly familiar, beckoning him around the corner like magic. As he caught a glimpse of the singer’s long auburn ponytail, Gerald immediately recognized him as Floyd Pepper- the guitarist he’d met over at Jerry’s on Broadway. Once he was within the performer’s eyeshot, he offered a timid wave. He wondered if Floyd remembered him at all.
To Gerald’s relief, Floyd caught himself mid-chord and grinned.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Doctor Man," Floyd exclaimed. “Sure is nice to see a familiar face. Feels like I’ve been out here playin’ for days. Guess a break wouldn’t hurt.” Floyd slumped to the ground and slapped the curb next to him, urging Gerald to join him. Gerald awkwardly lowered himself to the sidewalk, taking a criss-crossed seat next to the guitarist.
“You want a smoke?” Floyd asked, drawing two cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He lit his own cigarette before extending the other one to Gerald.
“Oh, I don’t- no thanks,” he quickly said.
“Your mama done raised you well, doc!” Floyd laughed a heavy laugh before taking a deep inhale. “Nevermind it, then. How’ve ya been?”
“Well, I graduate in May, and I start full-time at the practice in August,” Gerald responded, digging his feet into the gravel.
“Exciting stuff, ain’t it?” Floyd asked.
“Um, I guess,” Gerald responded, sounding unconvinced at his own answer.
“Nice, nice.” The two sat in silence for a bit as Floyd breathed in the last few drags of his cigarette.
Gerald abruptly broke the silence. "That song- it’s Bob Dylan, isn't it?"
"Sure is. It rings awful true these days, don't it?" Floyd asked.
Gerald thought about responding but Floyd continued on. "I mean, we're sendin' our men across the world to fight and to kill and- I mean, what is it for, man? How is any of it okay?"
"I dunno," Gerald responded quietly, checking the surroundings. “We’re defendin’ democracy, I s’pose. Seems like a noble enough cause.”
Floyd looked dissatisfied with this answer, and responded by wordlessly lighting the second cigarette. Gerald sat patiently as he smoked it.
"Hey, you wanna take that song for one more spin? I think I missed the first part." Gerald suggested.
That broke Floyd’s stern demeanor. "Only if you'll be my duet, Teeth," responded Floyd, cracking a gentle smile as he shuffled through his messenger bag.
And there it was. Gerald’s ax- the harmonica he’d played the first time he met Floyd,
"Good thing my mama's not around," Gerald said, taking the instrument with a grin.
Floyd strummed at his guitar as he started the song over. Gerald watched him carefully pick out his chords. His hands were so small that they could barely reach the top string. He sang so tenderly, treating each word with care, holding them in his mouth and exhaling them like smoke.
And Gerald was entranced by him, consumed by a cosmic admiration for which no words existed. This is it, he thought. Floyd, Floyd, Floyd, he thought, until the name was etched into his brain and his heart and deep in his stomach and all over, everywhere. This is it. Floyd is the one.
“Teeth, ain’t that your line?” Floyd whispered over his own strumming. Gerald snapped out of his trance, starstruck beyond words, and shyly responded with a few mellow harmonica chords.
A few students stopped to listen for a moment before dropping a few coins in Floyd’s guitar case. Gerald smiled as Floyd continued singing.
Some of the songs that Floyd played were tunes Gerald never even heard before, but they all came naturally to him, as if out of instinct, to complement his guitar and his voice, now and forever. As dusk settled over their little corner of the world, Gerald felt whole. He snuck glimpses at Floyd, wondering if he could feel it too.
The sun had set, but the streetlights stayed dark. The pair could hardly see each other in the night. Gerald noticed Floyd’s guitar go quiet, and then he felt a faint touch on his shoulder. Floyd’s hand carefully felt its way down to his own, grasping it gently and tangling their fingers together. Gerald allowed Floyd to lead him into the park gates, crouching behind the wall. They sat shoulder to shoulder, close enough for their faces to touch.
Gerald ran a hand across Floyd’s jawline, gazing into the deep brown eyes he could barely see. Floyd leaned into the touch, reciprocating with a hand just underneath Gerald’s collarbone.
“How come the universe keeps bringing us together?” Gerald asked, wrapping his other hand around Floyd’s waist.
He smiled “I think you’re my destiny, Dr. Teeth,” Floyd whispered against the other man’s lips, drawing him closer for a gentle kiss.
It was electric.
As if on cue, the streetlights abruptly flickered on, illuminating the pair. They scrambled away from each other's touch and laughed. Eventually, Floyd grew quiet.
“Why’d it take me so long to get to know you, Doctor?”
“It was worth the wait,” Dr. Teeth said with a newfound spell of confidence. “And now, we’ve got the rest of our lives to make music and love together.”
Gerald grinned. Floyd did not smile back.
“You alright?” he asked Floyd, who had begun staring aimlessly at the stars above.
"They got me, did y'know that?"
"What?"
Floyd shuffled through his bag again, eventually producing a crumpled piece of paper which he promptly handed to Gerald without a word.
He straightened out the paper and began to read.
ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION.
"No," was all Gerald could say. "Floyd, you-"
"I can't- I'm not gonna go and kill nobody," Floyd whispered.
"You’re not enrolled in school? I mean, isn’t there something you can-”
"I don’t wanna die, man," Floyd interrupted, choking over his words.
“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Gerald said. In the light, he could only hesitantly wrap an arm around Floyd, who collapsed into his chest in sobs.
Floyd stared into Gerald’s eyes.
“How about we run away?” he suggested quietly.
“What?”
“You and me, Teeth, we can take your parents’ van and we can get out of the city and I can dodge this thing and-”
“Floyd, Floyd, you sound crazy, I mean- you- we can’t- they’d lock both of us up forever!”
Floyd dug deeper into Gerald’s chest. “Please,” he sobbed.
What words could he offer? Just as soon as they’d met, Floyd was getting shipped across the world to die. What cruel trick was the universe trying to play? The only explanation in Gerald’s mind was that it was a punishment. It was a punishment for staying out past curfew and playing the harmonica and secretly hating his mother and loving Floyd and feeling whole again. It was a punishment.
Gerald let go of Floyd and stood up.
“I can’t,” he said quietly.
Floyd wiped his eyes.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Floyd, I’ll be here when you get home, okay?” Gerald said, placing a hand on Floyd’s shaking shoulder. “I’ll be here, and we can start a band, and… hell, we can go see the world,” he affirmed. “And maybe, Floyd… we can have a life together. But right now, you’ve got to do what’s right. Y’know, fight for our country.”
“What’s right,” Floyd scoffed. “Unbelievable.”
He stood up and gathered his things. He stared at Gerald, as if begging him to change his mind, but the other man was unmoving.
“Goodbye, fortunate son,” Floyd muttered.
As Floyd turned to walk the other direction, Gerald felt the warmth of two bright yellow headlights just behind them. His mother’s heavy southern drawl pierced the silence.
“Gerald Teeth Junior, what on earth are you doing out on the streets at this hour?” she yelled out the window of her stupid van.
“I’m sorry, mama,” he sighed, defeated. “I was just… catching up with a friend.”
“Well, that’s enough. Let’s go home.”
Gerald stared at the silhouette of Floyd, trying to convince himself to change his own mind and run after him and away from all the pressure of the world.
But he couldn’t.
“Yes, mama,” Gerald said.
He got into the van and they drove home in silence.