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There were two sides of Dennis Reynolds.
One, a ghost. An apparition of a young Adonis, dripping in gold. He was a self-contained, confident young man who had the sexual prowess at fourteen-years-old to seduce a woman well into her forties.
This Dennis existed in the library at Saint Joseph’s High School. Sometimes, he spilled over into the halls of the school. On occasion, he made it out the door of Saint Joe’s High and under the roof of his family’s dysfunctional dollhouse. He had the power to destroy whoever he wanted. This side of Dennis was expanding, whether he liked it or not.
The other side of Dennis liked to watch movies alone in his bedroom. He liked to eat peanut butter on graham crackers when he got home from school. He also liked to hang out with Mac, because he was one of the only people who was content with Dennis’ presence and nothing more. Mac didn’t tease a hand over Dennis’ zipper before he could even say ‘hello.’ Dennis could be quiet (or even curt) with him and he didn’t mind. He just kept hanging around.
Dennis thought that he might have a crush on Mac, thought maybe the feeling of airy lightness that occupied his chest when he was around his puppy-eyed friend was what pop singers droned on about in top-forty hits. Dennis was okay with this feeling, but it was confusing because he was also having sex with a woman. Sex he wasn’t supposed to talk about, but sex nonetheless.
He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about the way Her hands lingered too long in places they should never have seen in the first place. But sometimes, in thinly veiled questions, he pleaded with Mac to read between the lines. If anyone could decipher Dennis’ morse code, it was him. So he tried, and he hoped good-old-reliable Mac would listen.
“Mac?” Dennis said, brushing shoulders with his friend. They were walking to the convenience store to buy Fritos and Mountain Dew. It was 11:03pm on a December Friday, just before finals week. Dennis hoped Mac would spend the night to ‘study,’ leaving way for Dennis to slip into the calm, safe feeling that washed over his body like a tidal wave when he was with his friend. Everyone else in that house was a pretender—Dee, Frank, his mother. All of them. Mac was real. Dennis could touch him.
“What’s up, man?” Mac replied.
“Have you ever had sex?”
The lights flashing from the cars on the busy street ahead made it so that Dennis could see scarlett spread across Mac’s cheeks. He wanted to touch. “Bro, come on,” Mac scoffed. “You know you would be the first person I told if I ever banged a hot chick.”
“I don’t know,” Dennis smiled softly, teasing. “Maybe you have some secret life I don’t know about.”
“Definitely not. But believe me, bro, once I do, my body count is going to be in the hundreds before I turn 20. Mark my words.”
Dennis rolled his eyes. Mac is cute. Mac is nice. Sex is about pain, and Mac wouldn’t hurt a fly. “Right, I’m sure it will be.”
It won’t be. He’ll be able to count the number of people he’s had sex with on one hand and he’ll also wonder why the people he fucks always have blue eyes and sharp tongues.
“It will be! I’m gonna be a super sexy beefcake! I have it planned out already. You’ll see!”
“Oh! Oh!” Dennis exclaimed in a high pitched voice, feigning a moan. “Fuck me, Ronnie the Rat! Impregnate me with your rat sperm!”
“Fuck off!” Mac said, shoving Dennis playfully. “This rat is going to get more pussy than you’ve ever seen in your life.”
“Noted,” Dennis affirmed, though he hoped he was wrong. He didn’t want Mac to get hurt. Sex meant pain, and Mac didn’t deserve to be cut. Dennis did.
The boys walked in comfortable silence for another block before coming up on the intersection between Bell Street and Virgil Avenue. Cars blew past them, their headlights illuminating the dark night. Across the street, Mecca: Gianni’s Pit Stop, a shitty little gas station with dirty floors and overpriced everything.
As they stood waiting for the chance to cross the street, Mac turned to Dennis.
“Have you ever had sex, Dennis?” The streetlight illuminated Mac’s undefined features. The moment felt pivotal. Like with the right response to that question, Dennis had the power to change something important.
Dennis looked down at his brand new Nike shoes and noticed a tiny smudge of dirt on one of his shoelaces. That was new. It seemed like everything pure in Dennis’ life had a little dent somewhere or another. He looked up at the street ahead of him, thinking.
He remembered how in the library, she touched his knee with an alarming sense of ease—like the pads of her fingers were meant to rest upon his skin. Like fate had brought them to that moment (only Dennis didn’t have a say in fate.) Neither did Mrs. Klinsky, of course. That’s what she told Dennis. Fate was supposed to taste like raspberries, but for Dennis, it reeked of poison.
Mac kicked the shoe with the dirty shoelace, snapping Dennis back to reality. The little smudge was lighter after the bottom of Mac’s shoe rubbed against it. “Dude. You good?” he asked, innocent enough. Dennis wished he was still innocent.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dennis replied quickly.
Mac raised an eyebrow, reiterating the question from before.
Dennis locked eyes with Mac. “No,” he said. Listen, Mac. Listen. “I haven’t had sex.”
“Hm. Thought so,” Mac smirked. The cars in front of them slowed to a stop and the gas station was clearly in their line of vision. Dennis tried not to be hurt that Mac couldn’t read his mind. Mac studied his friend’s face earnestly. “You know, I don’t know if this is weird to say, but your eyes are really blue, man.”
Before Dennis could respond, Mac grabbed him by the wrist and ran them across the street, dragging Dennis behind him.