he tells me. Like it’s no big deal. “Sometimes, I don’t even know I’m having one till I wake up and I’m all wet and sticky.”
In case you haven’t figured it out, we’re talking about Nocturnal Emissions. Being a young boy, this is one of the first things they prepare you for in 6th grade Sex Ed. “Whether you like it or not, one day, you will have a Wet Dream.” Though I suspect my body didn’t get the memo because at the ripe old age of 14-going-on-15, I’ve yet to experience the pleasure.
Meanwhile, Brad’s been having them every morning for like the past year and a half. It’s getting to the point where all he has to do is close his eyes and BAM! Or should I say, “Squirt?”
“This sucks!” I declare. “I’m never gonna have one.”
“Maybe if you didn’t beat off so much…”
To which I give Brad a look. Does he really think I do that? I mean, all the guys at school say they don’t…But can you honestly believe them?
I ask, “Do you remember what you dreamed about this time?” Only because he’s my Best Friend and we tell each other everything.
Which is why I’m surprised when Brad answers, “I don’t know…I think somebody was giving me a blowjob. But I’m not sure exactly who it was.” Then he totally changes the subject. “Pass me the glitter.”
Yes, you did hear correctly. Yes, Brad did say, “Pass me the glitter.” As in that sparkly colored stuff used for writing your name on the top of your Christmas stocking. Or for decorating homemade Christmas wreaths. Which is exactly what we’re doing at the moment. Making Christmas wreaths and decorating them.
The question you’re probably asking yourself now is…Why the Hell are you guys making Christmas wreaths? To which the answer would be…Spring Break ’85.
Shortly after Brad started working at Country Boy’s, he got it into his head that we should go to Florida on Spring Break. My Grandpa Freeman lives down in Winter Haven from January till May and he says we can stay with him, no problem. The only thing is…not only do we need to save enough for the plane tickets, we also need spending money for when we’re down there. And $2.92/hour busing tables is not gonna cut it! Not even with tips. Which explains why we’re making Christmas wreaths out of cardboard, tissue paper, and glue. With a dash of glitter.
“First you take your tissue paper and cut it into squares…”
A long time ago in like 1965, when my Mom was a kid, she used to make Christmas wreaths with her Mom and sell them door-to-door. Or wherever she could get people to feel sorry for her and buy them. Which is why Brad and I spent the entire Saturday after Thanksgiving sitting around our kitchen table learning the Finer-Art-of-Christmas-Wreath-Making…
“Next,” my Mom continued, “fold the square in half, long-ways.” Which she did, demonstrating as she went along on a 4" x 6" piece of white tissue paper. “With your pinking shears,” she explained, “make four or five cuts along the fold.” This she demonstrated to perfection, taking up a pair of yellow-handled scissors with funky jagged teeth. “Then fold your square back the other way.” At which point, she used her nose to assist in turning the square/rectangle inside out, revealing five or six puffy loops where she had made the cuts.
At which point, Brad said, “I’m confused.”
At which point, I concurred. “Me, too.”
“Why’d you smell the tissue paper like that?” he asked, referring to that weird thing my Mom did with holding it up to her nose.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s just the way I’ve always done it ever since I was little.”
For a moment, I watched my Mom travel back in time. Long before little 14-year-old Dianne Freeman ever got It on with 17-year-old John Paterno in the back of his ’67 Mustang at the Galaxy Drive-In, resulting in my not-so-Immaculate Conception.
Yes, you did hear correctly…Yes, my father’s name is also John. And like me, everybody calls him Jack. Though I’m not technically a “Junior” on account of we have different middle names. He’s John William and I’m John Robert. Which does indeed make my parents “Jack and Dianne.” Like the John Cougar song. Though for some reason, my Grandma Freeman decided to spell my Mom’s name with an extra N, don’t ask me why!
For a moment, she’s no longer 29-year-old Dianne Paterno, sitting with her 14-year-old son and his Best Friend since 7th grade in their modest three bedroom home in Hazeltucky, MI. She’s a 10-year-old girl again, making Christmas wreaths with her own Mom across town in Ferndale. Too bad my Grandma Freeman died when I was 7 and my Mom was only 22. I can’t imagine losing my Mom ever, let alone at such a young age. Right then, I felt like giving her the biggest hug and telling her how much I love her. But since Brad was sitting there at the table next to me, I decided I’d better not.
Now with only seven Shopping Days left till Christmas, here Brad and I sit on my bedroom floor making homemade Christmas wreaths. Like a couple of Total Losers…
“Can I ask you a question?” Brad says to me as I fold over my bijillionth white tissue paper square the way my Mom expertly taught us. “Who on Days of our Lives do you think is cuter? Pete or Bo?” By which he means Pete Jannings or Bo Brady.
Why Brad’s developed this fascination with cute guys over the past couple months—and is always asking me if I’d think they were cute or not if I were a girl—is totally beyond me. I’m beginning to think he’s testing me or something. Trying to see if what certain people at school, like Craig Gershrowski, say about me is true or not. How many times do I have to tell him, I don’t judge other guys?
Though I probably would think Pete Jannings is cuter. If I were a girl, he’d totally be my type…Dark hair, dark eyes, and a totally smooth and perfect body. Not to mention his washboard abs, muscular arms, and beefy chest that pushes together in the middle kinda like cleavage.
Which is why I tell Brad, “I guess I’d think Pete’s cuter…If I was a girl.” Though being a guy myself, I can’t stand him!
“You’re kidding?” says Brad, making a face. “I’d definitely think Bo is cuter than Pete.”
“You would?” I can’t help but call his criteria for judging men into question. “I don’t think I’d like kissing a guy with a beard.”
“I would!” he exclaims, eyes lighting up.
“Bo’s got a hairy chest,” I remind him.
“I know!”
“You like that?”
“Well…My sister Janelle says hairy chests are sexy,” he informs me.
“Really? They kinda gross me out.” I hope to God I don’t have a hairy chest when I grow up.
Brad adds, “Jon-Erik Hexum had a hairy chest…You know what I mean?”
Which is true…JEH was totally hairy, and it totally worked for him!
“I guess maybe I’d think they both were kinda cute,” I say. “If I was a girl.”
“Me, too.”
Suddenly, I remember something I forgot to tell him…“My Mom got us a booth at the Longfellow holiday craft show this weekend.” For a mere $5, Brad and I get an entire folding table to ourselves where we can display and sell our wares to the General Public.
“Ooh, that’ll be fun,” he teases, trying to unstick white tissue paper from his thumb and index finger. “You, me, and a bunch of old ladies!”
Even though Brad’s probably right, I remind him it was his idea to spend Spring Break in Florida…Not mine!
“Do you think we’ll ever sell enough of these damn Christmas wreaths to get the money?” he asks me.
“I hope so,” I reply,