Edd Interrupted
Chapter 3 - Summer After Freshman Year II
The next time they met was when Double D was walking home from the
grocery store, wobbling unsteadily with two paper grocery bags, one in
each arm. Kevin was just climbing into his car when he noticed the
loser and passed briefly to watch him. His skinny arms were trembling.
He had a line of sweat soaking through the back of his gray T-shirt and
the guy was loony wearing blue jeans and his dorky hat when it was this
hot out. He was still staring when the bottom of one of the brown bags
ripped and oranges, laundry detergent, and bars of soap fell to the
paved drive way.
“Oh, dear . . . oh, dear, oh, dear . . .”
Kevin chuckled, debating a second or two, before heading across the
street to take the unbroken bag from Double D, holding it easily in one
arm. “You walk to the store?”
When Double D returned from chasing fruit down the driveway, he
answered. “I don’t drive.”
“Don’t or don’t know how?”
Double D stiffened his spine, arms full of fallen groceries. “I never
cared to learn.”
“Damn weird. Where are your house keys?”
“My what?”
“Keys.”
“Oh!” His arms were too full to fish it out from under the potted plant
in the entryway, so Kevin did.
As to be expected, Double D’s house was immaculate. It wasn’t just
tidy, wasn’t just organized, it was sterile. There wasn’t a speck of
dust on any surface. The baseboards were white and spotless. Books on
shelves were in order, tallest to shortest. The entire place smelled
just like Double D, clean, fresh, with a touch of soap and fabric
softener. He was about to step through the living room and into the
kitchen with the groceries when he noticed Double D slip out of his
shoes and tuck them into the coat closet. Figuring he’d indulge the
loser, he kicked off his flip flops.
“Why the hell is everything labeled?” Kevin grunted as he shoved cans of
soup and boxes of brown rice into the pantry.
“Organizational paradigms can help one live a more satisfying--”
“What? Life? You think labeling stuff will make you happier?” He
snorted. “Get real, dork.”
“It’s not that,” Double D insisted and moved to stand in front of the
pantry with Kevin, twisting each can and box so the label was visible,
so everything was uniformly facing forward.
Strangely, Kevin thought it was endearing.
“I like seeing words on things.”
“What, like, you forget a bed’s a bed and a chair’s a chair?”
Double D blushed and shut the pantry door. Kevin thought that was
endearing, too. He blushed like a girl, all dainty and sweet. The
sweetest, most indulgent cherry just begging to be plucked.
“All right, I’ll buy all this crap. So, if I’m gonna label Rolf, he’d
be, what . . . ‘Foreigner?’”
“That depends entirely on what he is to you. Labeling things is
relative. You may label Rolf ‘Friend’ while I might label him
‘Neighbor.’”
Kevin slumped at the kitchen table, letting Double D finish unpacking.
“Dork.”
“I might call you a dork for attending a prestigious college just to
play baseball,” he huffed in return.
“I’m there because I used to play baseball,” he corrected, not at all
phased by being called a “dork” by Double D. It was like a puppy
squeaking at you: harmless. “I’m on scholarship. I’m majoring in
political science.”
Stunned, Double D turned around, holding two cans of tomato sauce.
“Really?”
“Thought I was a dumb jock, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes. I mean . . . I . . . assumed that . . . not to say . . .”
Kevin took pity on him and chuckled. “What’re you majoring in?”
Surprisingly, Double D didn’t know. He hadn’t thought about it. He had
so many interests, was so good at so many things, it was hard to
pinpoint what he did well with something he supremely enjoyed. His
freshman year had been consumed with the mundane, general studies every
student needed to graduate in anything. Now it was time to dabble in
his major classes. He still hadn’t registered.
He ultimately said, “I’m not sure.”
“You’ll figure it out eventually.”
It was the best response Double D had ever gotten. His parents and
advisors and teachers all pushed him to choose something. Choose now,
you’re already behind, you should know this, choose now, now, now. He
found he greatly appreciate this laid-back view of his education, even
if it was just Kevin, someone who had nothing to do with it.
Just as he opened his mouth to thank him, Kevin was heading to the door.
“Catch you later, dork.”
“You’re . . . you’re leaving now?” He couldn’t stop himself from
following Kevin to the front door.
“I’ve got stuff to do.”
“What kind of stuff?”
Kevin snorted as he slipped into his flip flops. “What’re you, my
girlfriend?” Before Double D could stutter out a reply, Kevin opened
the front door and slipped out. “Later, babe.”
XXX
The week before Double D was scheduled to leave for school, Kevin let
himself into his house and remembered to slip out of his flip flops at
the entryway. Double D noticed and was touched.
“Can I get you something, Kevin? A cold beverage?”
As though he’d been doing it for years, Kevin slumped in one of the
kitchen chairs and scratched his taught abdomen. “A Coke would be
good.”
He’d expected Double D to hand him the can. When he didn’t get it, he
watched Double D bustle about the kitchen like a housewife. He took a
sparkling glass from the cupboard and filled it with crushed ice from
the freezer. He studied the amount, took a little ice out, put more in,
took some out until he was satisfied. Then he opened the can and
poured it. As though the chore was entirely jolly, he put the glass on a
coaster in front of Kevin and then smiled broadly.
Kevin cocked an eyebrow and looked up at him. “You’re such a girl.”
The smile disappeared. “That is a terrible stereotype, Kevin. An
ignorant observation as young men may be hosts just as well as--”
“Yeah, how about you eat something.”
“Lunch isn’t until an hour from now, and I would be remiss to ruin my--”
“Then how about you just stop talking all together?”
“Need I remind you this is my home?”
“I’ll remind you I can still kick your ass across the street. How’s
that?”
Double D sighed heavily and went to the refrigerator, defeated. “Can I
make you some lunch, Kevin?”
“Good idea, dork.”