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It's that time of the year again -- no, they aren't tearing the Endicott building down. That's next week. It's late May, and it's hot! Hot and humid. Dobie prefers girls like that, but not Mother Nature!
While the city is no desert, it gets about as muggy as a swamp during the warmer months. Every year around this time the teachers will inform the students about how to recognize the symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke. Good things to know before summer break. Today was one of those days. This time, Mr. Pomfritt was to teach it.
Even with the doors and windows fully open, it was still hotter than H. E. Double Hockey Sticks in the classroom. But the show must go on!
"Welcome back, my young barbarians. I take it none of you melted away during lunch?" Mr. Pomfritt queried. Sadly, the head count was still accurate. "My apologies for the lack of box fan. It's on the fritz again, but it should be fixed by tomorrow."
A few audible groans respond.
"And now for the lesson you're required to learn -- there is a test tomorrow. Because we do not live in Siberia, we must learn the signs and symptoms of heat-related illnesses, most importantly those of a heat stroke."
Pomfritt then goes on to explain just that. The nausea, the dizziness, even the rhabomyolosis. He hoped that through the haze of the heat wave, and least someone understood it.
"Now, class, can anyone tell me the importance of identifying the signs of a heat stroke?"
Maynard's hand quickly shoots up. Before Pomfritt could call on him, he answers.
"Ooh, ooh! Um, like, if you don't then, like, your buddy's brain melts and gets all mushy, then it leaks out their ears and, like, um... you pee syrup!"
"Err, sure Maynard". Before he could conjure up any response to that, the bell rings signaling the end of the school day. Pomfritt dismisses the class and faster than you could yell "free ice cream" everyone bolted out of the room.
Dobie went where Dobie knew best. It was too hot to be cuddled up with some chick, and Wong's was packed to the gills. He would go home, but dad got mad last time he used the meat locker. How would anyone know he sweated on the meats?!
No, Dobie went right down to the park. It was too hot for thinking, rather he went to a different bench under a nice, large oak tree. It wasn't five seconds after he parked his rear on the seat before a familiar voice greets him.
"Like hi, good buddy!" Maynard arrives seemly from nowhere, two glass bottles of cola in his hands. "Here, wanna Coke?"
"Sure, Maynard. Thank you. Say, I thought you didn't have any money?"
Maynard put his finger to his lips. "Shh- don't tell no one!"
Normally Dobie would object, but an ice cold soda did sound good. Maynard sat on the grass next to the bench. Since Dobie was in the middle, there wasn't much room. Maynard wanted to drink his ill-gotten gain more than asking Dobie to move.
Dobie always wondered why Maynard was so attached to him. Sure, they've been friends since kindergarten, but wouldn't they have grown apart? They're each other's best friend (well, only friend). As much as he hated to admit it, Dobie was equally as attached to Maynard. Perhaps it was the heat, maybe it was hormones or good ol' fashioned overthinking, but Dobie always felt that there was something about Maynard... no! That's crazy!
I'm Dobie Gillis. I'm THE girl-lover. You open the dictionary to "heterosexual", I'm front and center! Why of ALL PEOPLE would I like Maynard?! Why would I like that raggedy dope with the soft black hair, gentle soul-searching blue eyes with the long, fluttering eyelashes and the way he gets that cute grin on his face when he talks about that movie or his music. And the way his hands fidget and flap during it. And the whiskers. And his hands... what am I doing?! There's absolutely, positively nothing about him I like. Nothing!
... But I feel bad about him sitting on the ground. I don't want the ants to take off with him again.
"Hey, Maynard. Uh, do you wanna sit on the bench with me?" By now Maynard was halfway done with his bottle. Dobie never even opened his. Maynard turned back to look at Dobie. Looked at him with those big puppy dog eyes.
"Like, sure!" As quickly as he answered, he had already gotten up and plopped right onto the bench before Dobie could even think about scooting over. There was room, but it was cramped. One of Maynard's legs was off the bench, the other was pressed up against Dobie's. Both of them wearing shorts made it worse. To Maynard, this was a normal and casual thing to do. No amount of denial prior to this helped Dobie cope with the situation. The direct skin-to-skin contact was too much for his brain to handle. He tried to tell Maynard to move so he could scooch over. But all that came out was a nervous stammer. Maynard noticed, but he was oblivious to the situation. Seeing his friend sweaty, stammering, and red in the face, it could only mean one thing...
"O-oh my gosh, Dobe! You're havin' a heat stroke!! Your brain's gonna melt!"
"W... what?"
"Don't worry, Dobe I remember what to do! Stay there, I'm gonna find some water!"
"Maynard, I'm not having a heat stroke."
"See, you're, like, confused! You could have that Rabbi... micro... whatever it was called!! Uh, uh..." Maynard frantically grabbed his glass bottle and poured out whatever remained onto the ground. "Here, quick, pee in this!"
"Maynard! I am not doing that! I am not having a heat stroke, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" The fear and worry in Maynard's voice was extremely noticeable. Even more so in his eyes. The level of concern shown was far beyond anything Dobie had ever seen, even from his own mother. Maynard was nearly in tears over this event. Why did Maynard care so much about me? He's not my parent, why should he be this concerned?
By now, Dobie's brain had caught up. He began to realize the situation he was in. Maynard was standing in front of him, crouched slightly to where they were both at eye level. Maynard's pitiful periwinkle pupils gazed through his eyes, not merely just looking at them. Both of their noses were just inches from touching. Maynard was panting slightly from the heat and the anxiety of the event. Dobie became hyper aware of each breath, each bead of sweat. He wanted to pass out. He wanted to yell at Maynard to back off. He wanted to get up and run as fast as he could to his room and lock the door and take the phone of its hinges. But all he could do was muster a weak "Yes, I'm okay".
Relief washed over Maynard. All the grief and worry turned into elation.
"Yay, good! You had me worried there!" There he goes with that stupid grin on his face. "Hey, wanna go with me to get some ice cream? Boy, I'm vanished!"
Dobie didn't even have the mental energy to correct his "vanished" into "famished".
"Sure, but didn't you see Wong's? I think he'll be outta ice cream until next year."
"Nah, I know an even gooder place to get some. C'mon!" Before Dobie could react, Maynard immediately grabs Dobie's hand and pulls him off the bench. His nice, warm, slightly calloused hand with the beginnings of a tan. The sparse patches of hair mixed with his slightly bulging dorsal veins... oh this'll be a lo-o-ong walk.