by J. Bengtsson
We spent a moment wrestling on the ground before I trapped him beneath me and raised my fist in the air, ready to pummel him into the concrete.
“Uncle!” he scream-laughed, pulling the mask off his face. “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!”
My fist shook. Just one punch. He deserved it. But instead, I lifted him up and then dropped him like a weight back to the ground.
Shawn held up his hands in surrender. “Jesus H. W. Bush, RJ! I called uncle!”
“And I heard your pathetic cries; hence the reason I’m not rearranging your face. But only because you’re ugly enough as is.”
“Tell that to my body count.”
“And then credit that body count to your bank account.”
Shawn responded with a smile before flipping me off.
“Seriously, dude. Can you be any dumber? Can you, really?”
He stared up at me defiantly. “You know I can!”
Oh yes, I knew he could. Having spent five years with him in the tour bus, I knew a thing or two about this dude’s IQ, and let’s just say he wasn’t smarter than a fifth grader.
Dane had recovered enough from the stomach punch and foot shove to get up off the concrete and make his way over to us.
“You really need anger management classes, dude,” he grumbled, rubbing his gut. “We were just having fun.”
“Surely there’s another way to have fun that doesn’t require committing a felony kidnapping?”
“If there was…” Shawn shrugged. “We didn’t think of it.”
“I told them not to,” Hunter said, stepping out from behind the dumpster. What the hell? Was this an AnyDayNow reunion? All we needed was Bodhi to round out the fivesome.
“So did I,” Bodhi said, following Hunter out.
And now we were complete.
“What are you guys doing here?” I asked. “How did you find me?”
“Chad Woodcock?” Bodhi raised his brows. “Please—give us a little credit. We’re not complete idiots.”
“Well, it did take you five months, so…”
“You’re an asshole.” Dane shook his head. “Why were you hiding from us in the first place? Did our blood handshake mean nothing to you?”
“It was ketchup… so no.”
“It was the symbolism behind it, RJ!”
“Look, I’m sorry. I wanted to be alone.”
“You can be alone but still answer the phone,” Bodhi said. “If you’d just picked up, Dumb and Dumber here wouldn’t have concocted a plan to abduct you.”
“I was hiding out. By definition, that means I hide.”
“For five months?”
“For as long as I feel like.”
“Yeah, well, you might want to come up with a better hiding spot because if our stupid asses can find you, so can anyone else with half a brain.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Or maybe you pull up those big boy pants of yours and face the music.”
“Or…,” Shawn weaseled out from under me and dusted off his expensive clothes. “Maybe you can be a groomsman at my wedding.”
I whipped my head around. “Your wedding? I thought you were already married.”
“Not to that one. This is a new one.”
“Wait. Shoshanna?”
“No, ShoshannaAngel is baby one’s mamma. Not marrying her.”
“Yvette?”
“She’s the baby two’s mamma. Not marrying her either.”
“Reese?”
“Married her, but it was annulled, remember?”
“Then who?”
“Laura.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to need more than that.”
Shawn sighed. “You might remember me referring to her as Quiet Sex Girl.”
“Quiet Sex Girl?” My eyes rounded. “Dude, I thought you said she creeped you out—that you were worried she might mutilate bashful Shawn in the act.”
“With two whole inches of dick?” Bodhi smirked. “I hardly think that’s possible.”
“Exactly,” Dane agreed, chuckling. “No one is that skilled with a cleaver.”
Shawn shook his head. “Oh, right, I forgot this was dick-shaming day.”
“Actually, there’s no need for a national holiday,” I said, patting his shoulder. “Every day with that little Mini Cooper in your pants is cause for embarrassment.”
“And to think, I came all the way out here to kidnap you—and this is how you treat me?”
“I never asked to be abducted, and I never asked you to get married to Quiet Sex Girl. That was all on you.”
“Watch it. Laura is the love of my life.”
Bodhi and I exchanged knowing grins. There had been so, so many loves of his life.
“Uh-huh,” I said. “And how far along is she?”
Shawn grumbled under his breath. “Four months.”
“Dude,” Hunter gaped. “Another baby?”
“What? I might need a kidney in thirty years. This just increases my odds of a match.”
I smiled, almost forgetting how much I’d missed these guys. “Okay, so let me get this straight. It took all four of you to come down here and ask me to be the best man at Shawn’s wedding?”
“Whoa, hold up, dude. Who says you get to be best man?” Dane scoffed. “Do you really think you can hide from us for five months and then suddenly reappear only to slide into a starring role? I don’t think so.”
“Shawn.” I turned to him. “Who’s your best man this time? Because I seem to recall last time you picked Bodhi. And the time before that was Dane.”
“Right, but I never got to serve because the paternity test came back just in the nick of time,” Dane reminded.
“But you were asked,” I snapped back. “So, by the process of elimination, I’m next in line.”
“Um, hello, assholes. I’m right here.” Hunter reacted with indignation. “Am I not even in the running?”
“You don’t need to be the best man,” Shawn said, gripping Hunter’s shoulder. “You have a much more important role to play in my life. You know you’re the only one I trust to delete my browser history if something bad happens to me.”
“I…” Hunter shook his head. “I’m honored.”
“Anyway, RJ,” Bodhi said. “Shawn’s wedding isn’t the only reason we’ve been trying to get in touch with you.”
“Then what?”
“We’re getting back together,” Dane jabbered.
My eyes rounded to epic proportions. What was he talking about? AnyDayNow had run its course. They all had to realize that by now.
“Dane, you can’t just blurt out shit like that,” Hunter admonished. “Gotta ease the skittish ones in.”
I looked back and forth between my former bandmates. “You guys are delusional, that’s what you are. Do none of you remember the misery of the last year in AnyDayNow? How could you want to go back to that?”
“I told you he wouldn’t go for it,” Bodhi said to Dane.
“He has to,” Dane said, shrugging. “It’s all or none.”
“What’s going on?” I demanded.
“We’re getting the band back together for a documentary series,” Hunter explained. “About our time together. They already have all the footage from that time when the crew followed us around during the ‘Listen Up’ tour. All they really need from us are interviews, both together and separate.”
“And why would we do that?” I asked.
“They are offering us bucketsful of cash, that’s why,” Shawn replied.
“I already have bucketsful of cash.”
Hunter’s face soured. “I don’t. Dane doesn’t. Shawn doesn’t.”
“Please—you get the same percentage of royalties Bodhi and I do.”
“Right, but your royalties are supplemented by the outside endorsement deals the two of you receive. The rest of us didn’t get that windfall. We’ve never had the same high profile you guys have. You do realize that Shawn, Dane, and I haven’t even landed a record deal yet,
right?”
I didn’t know. And now I felt bad. Bodhi and I had always been the favorites, but I’d never realized it was to the detriment of the others.
“Look, I know you want to hide out,” Hunter continued. “But we need you. It’s been over a year, and things are drying up for us. I got a wife and kids, man. And Shawn, he’s got a kid in every state. Dane…I have no idea what extracurriculars he’s got going on. But here’s the deal, RJ. If you really are our brother, then this is the time to show it.”
My eyes jumped from one to the next as my resistance wavered. How could I turn my back on these guys when they’d always been there for me? Five years we’d been stuck to each other like glue. We’d gone our separate ways, yes, but that didn’t change the way I felt about them. I loved these guys, and no matter how broken or lost I currently was, I was never too broken or lost for my ketchup-blood brothers.
5
Dani: Eyes On Me
The chatter crept up on me. One voice. Then two. A third from across the room. This would not do. Isolated chitchat in a classroom of twenty-five first graders could easily spiral out of control. Six- and seven-year-olds were like rolling thunder. If you gave them the chance to join forces, there’d be no stopping their explosive storm.
“One-two-three, eyes on me.”
“One-two, eyes on you,” my students responded to my chant—all except the culprits in the back, who’d been the reason for the intervention.
Stepping around my desk, I made my Cruella De Vil catwalk down the aisle, watching as the two offenders spotted me coming only to right themselves in their seats, fold their hands on their desks, and seal their mouths shut.
That was better. Now I was back in control—just where I liked to be. It was a place that Chad had callously denied me this morning, and a place I would never allow him to take from me again. Ugh. Stop thinking about Chad! I had a classroom of students to teach, and I refused to allow him to derail me from educating the youth of America. They deserved better.
“Thank you, girls.” I winked.
Their nervous faces dissolved into smiles, and a spattering of giggles filled the room. That, in a nutshell, was my ‘milk dud’ teaching style—hard on the outside but soft and gooey in the center. I had a reputation as a teacher who cared, and after only three years as a credentialed educator, I’d landed into the enviable position of being the first-grade teacher all the PTA moms fought over.
Sure, tough love had its time and place, but I was proof positive that it was not the only way. My mother had thought otherwise, almost always dishing out the tough without the love when dealing with my perceived failings. The result was I’d become sneaky, hiding things from her to keep the peace. And now, as an adult, I could clearly see that tough only worked if it was paired with its forward-thinking partner.
“Okay, friends, I can see most of you are finishing up your assignment in the math workbook. Great job. But does that mean it’s playtime?”
A high-pitched chorus of ‘noes’ erupted.
“That’s right. Playtime comes after the bell rings. Until then, we work. So, for those of you who are done with the subtraction classwork, you may get an early start on the writing assignment. Today we’ll be writing a letter to our Star of the Week. Do we all remember who this week’s star is?”
“Sophie!” My students yelled out the name of our Star Student. That was what I loved about kids. They were always genuinely happy for their classmate. Ah, if only grown-ups got such recognition. Yes, perhaps we needed an Adult Star of the Week.
I knew who wouldn’t be its first recipient—Chad. If he were in my class, he would’ve lost points for all sorts of infractions after our hallway confrontation. Lying. Not being a good friend. Unkind words. Not following directions. Heck, I might even have taken the drastic step of calling his mother.
“You’re all so smart,” I praised my students. “All right, then, let’s get back to work.”
Since I was already in the back of the classroom, I took my show on the road, moving from desk to desk to check the progress of my little charges. One such girl sat starting off into space.
“Nelle, is there a problem?” I asked.
“I don’t know what to write about Sophie.”
“Just write something that you like about her.”
Nelle peered down at her blank sheet of paper, like her immature brain was struggling with the fairly straightforward concept.
Ever the patient nurturer, I nudged her in the right direction. “What’s your favorite thing about Sophie?”
Nelle thought for the longest time before finally coming up with an answer. “Can I write that she has nice teeth?”
“Um… let’s try not to focus on physical traits. Instead, think of something interesting about Sophie. Is she a good friend? Is she an amazing singer?”
And as if a light bulb had flicked on in her head, Nelle perked up. “I know.”
I smiled. It was moments like this that made my job so rewarding—to be able to mold young minds and watch as ideas blossomed into something beautiful.
“I’m going to write that Sophie had lice.”
My brows shot to the ceiling as I struggled to hold back the laughter. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t think Sophie would appreciate that.”
Nor, I guessed, would her mother.
“But…” Nelle crinkled her nose. “She did have lice, remember?”
Oh yes, I remembered. The little critters had crawled out of her hair and were in the process of making their pilgrimage across the desk when Johnny, her seat partner, screamed so loud the school nearly went into lockdown mode as the office staff tried to assess if there was an imminent threat to the facility.
With the giggles already threatening to spill over, I patted Nelle on the shoulder. “Just write that she has nice teeth.”
Reigning supreme over my rapt audience, I concluded the latest installment of the ‘I hate Chad Woodcock’ saga.
“So, I said something like, ‘Have fun aggressively masturbating tonight.’ Then he said ‘I would, but you stole my lube.’”
It was only then that I looked up from my Cookie Butter latte and into the stunned silence of my siblings. A split second later, uncontrolled male laughter roared through the coffee shop. Of course, my sperm brothers would think that story was funny. Chad had become their unofficial mascot—the guy they loved to hate.
“Shut up,” I said, fighting off my own desire to giggle. Chad was quick-witted; I’d give him that. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I know Chad Woodcock is your arch enemy and all—but is it wrong that I wanna have a beer with him?” Ross replied. “Hell, I’ll even buy.”
“Dude, me too,” his identical twin brother agreed.
“Am I the only one who’s tired of hearing Chad Woodcock stories in the middle of our meetings?” my sister asked. “I mean, my god Dani, either bang him or move!”
“Ugh.” I fake vomited. “I would rather watch Thomas the Tank Engine blow snot bubbles than bed that parasitic worm.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Charlie chuckled.
“Fine,” Simone huffed. “Whatever you say. But let’s agree to hold all Woodcock chatter until after the meeting from now on.”
“It is after the meeting,” I replied. “You asked, ‘Is there any other business?’ and we all shook our heads. See? Over.”
“Actually, the meeting is never over until the president adjourns it. I’m the president, and I didn’t adjourn it. And just FYI, Dani, that whole sordid story you told is now a matter of public record.”
I glanced around at my silent brothers. They were all looking away. Cowards. She wasn’t even that scary.
“No, it’s not,” I challenged.
“Yes, it is. Your tiff with Chad is part of the minutes now, and as such, it is open for all members of the organization to read.”
“Except”— I held up a finger—“I’m the secretary, and I wasn’t taking notes.”
“Wh
ich, I might add, is a derelict of your duties,” Simone shot back.
Not ready to concede defeat, I said, “Duties that were assigned to me out of no fault of my own.”
Simone narrowed in on me, annoyed. She liked being in control even more than I did. Even more than Chad… or King Joffrey.
“My god, Simone,” Conrad grumbled, finally having had enough of her dictorial ways. He reached over, grabbed her tiny wooden gavel, and thumped it against the table. “There, it’s over. Problem solved.”
Simone’s eyes doubled in size. She ripped the gavel from Conrad’s hand. “No one, and I mean no one, touches the gavel.”
She proceeded to tap it on the table three times.
“Whew.” Conrad stretched out in his chair. “Now anything we say can’t be used against us in the court of Simone law.”
“There are rules, Conrad. If you don’t like them, you’re free to go.”
“Am I?”
“Actually, yes. I don’t recall ever asking you to join, so bon voyage.”
From the look on Conrad’s face, he wasn’t going anywhere. “I don’t know if I say this enough, but you’re the most annoying human I’ve ever met.”
“And you make me want to sanitize up to my elbows.”
I laughed, glancing around the table at the siblings I hadn’t known existed only two short years ago. Now, as irritating as some of them might be, I wouldn’t trade any of them for the world… okay, maybe Simone and Donny and Landry… but not the rest of them. Say what you would about my father’s unorthodox choices, but he’d done something very right—he’d inadvertently brought these quirky siblings into my life.
And there were more. Enough, in fact, to form our own organization, the Lucky Swimmers Club, and have an actual governing board, which the five of us at this table were a part of. The LSC was an organization committed to the cause of uniting every last one of Donor 649’s offspring. And as Simone maintained, equally as important was to keep the riffraff wannabees out—as if there were a backlog of twenty-somethings clamoring to be a part of our sticky society.
