on the old stereo and all over the floor, jeans discarded wherever Ricky had happened to step out of them, and filthy t-shirts peeking out from under the bed. There was a half-eaten bologna and cheese sandwich and a spilled can of beer on the desk next to the CD player. Several cockroaches were doing their best to finish off the sandwich, another lay drowned in a puddle of the spilled beer that had long ago dried up.
Carlos closed his eyes and fought off the tears he felt for his friend. The people who had dropped him off hadn’t mentioned Ricky’s father, and since Ricky never mentioned him either, Carlos assumed there was no father. His mother was obviously a drunk who didn’t care about herself or her son. Carlos suddenly felt guilty about ever feeling sorry for himself. His mother loved him and Rosie very much, and did everything she could to make life better for them. She kept an immaculately clean house, always had a good dinner ready for them, and was always there when he needed her. His own room was spotless and he always had clean, warm clothes, not just old jeans and t-shirts.
Carlos had fallen into a light doze thinking about his home, and was jolted awake when Ricky began screaming hysterically. Carlos ran over to the bed and tried to lay Ricky back down. The screams were very loud and Ricky began to struggle against him. He was sure that Ricky’s mom would come running in any minute now, and he’d have to explain who he was and why he was here at three in the morning fighting with her son while he was screaming. But she never came in and Carlos was left to tend to Ricky alone.
“Ricky, wake up. It’s me, Carlos.”
“Don’t do that!” Ricky was yelling over and over.
Carlos slapped Ricky hard across the face three or four times, until he finally woke Ricky up. Ricky opened his eyes slowly and stopped screaming.
“God, what’s happening to me?” he asked when he could finally speak. Then he broke down and began to cry.
“Hey, it’s okay, Ricky. I’m here,” Carlos said, trying to get Ricky to focus on him. Instead, he leaned over the side of the bed and threw up all over the floor.
“There’s some hamburger in the fridge,” Ricky said as he stopped vomiting. “Go get it.”
“What?” Carlos though Ricky perhaps was delirious.
“Hamburger.”
“Ricky, I don’t know how to cook.”
“Not cooked. Raw. It’ll make me throw up some more. Gotta get this shit out of my stomach.”
Carlos ran into the kitchen and grabbed the hamburger. Halfway back to the bedroom he ran back to the kitchen to get a big pot. On his way back to Ricky’s room he was attacked again by Fido the Terrible. Carlos simply hit him over the head with the heavy pot, and walked back to the bedroom, leaving the dog dazed in the front room.
Ricky ate the raw meat and, true to his word, he nearly half filled the large pot. Then he cried and Carlos held him in his arms.
“Don’t cry, Ricky. It’ll be okay.”
“How’d we get here?”
“One of your friends brought us here.”
“Oh. Look, Carlos, thanks a lot. I’m okay now. You can go.”
“Not a chance. You need me Ricky, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“God, Carlos, I’m so fucked up.”
“It’s okay, child”—Carlos tried to make Ricky laugh by imitating him—” you’ll beat it. You’ve got what it takes. Remember, that’s what you always tell me.”
“No, Carlos, I don’t have what it takes. Look around you, sweetheart. What do you see?”
“A very dirty room, so what. Mine’s messy, too,” Carlos lied.
“I see a hell with no exit sign, Carlos, and I can’t take it anymore. I want out, baby, I just want out.” He sniffled.
Carlos cradled his friend and rocked his head gently. He wanted to cry, too, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong for Ricky. But he felt so inadequate. He wasn’t a psychologist, or even an advice columnist. He was a young boy, with problems of his own. But they didn’t seem important anymore. He had to help Ricky. Psychologist or not, he recognized the telltale signs of someone ready to give up, and he was seeing them now in his best friend.
“Ricky, you can get out, babe, you can. Start by having more respect for yourself, man. You’re a great guy, you deserve some respect. Then save some of your money and just leave. The only way out of someplace you don’t wanna be is to never look back. Look only forward, Ricky. No looking back.”
Ricky had stopped crying by now, but Carlos kept rocking him anyway, cradling his head against his shoulder.
“It’ll be worth it, Ricky, I swear it will. You just need to know that someone loves you, and I’m telling you here and now that I love you. What do you say, Ricky?”
A soft snore was his answer, and Carlos was glad that Ricky was asleep. He was exhausted himself and desperately needed to rest. He leaned back against the wall and fell asleep with Ricky’s head still against his shoulder.
Carlos woke up about four hours later with a throbbing pain in the back of his neck. He had slept in an upright position with his head against the wall. His arms were still wrapped around Ricky, who was still asleep. He had no idea what time it was; the drapes were drawn and it was dark in the room. He looked around for an alarm clock and couldn’t find one. He thought, sadly, that Ricky had nothing of importance for which he would need an alarm clock to wake up.
Carlos felt a heavy pressure in his bladder and knew if he didn’t make it to the bathroom quick he would piss his pants and all over Ricky’s bed. He tried to move Ricky without waking him, but Ricky was a light sleeper.
“Don’t go, Carlos,” he said sleepily. “Please don’t leave me.”
“Just gotta take a whiz,” Carlos said as he maneuvered from underneath his friend. “Go back to sleep.”
Carlos walked into the bathroom and stepped into a bowl of water that was set next to the toilet. It was obviously for the furball, and he thought seriously about filling the bowl with piss, courtesy of Carlos Cortez. He decided against it at the last minute, and pointed the stream into the toilet bowl instead. He flushed the toilet, which sounded similar to a derailing freight train, and went back into Ricky’s bedroom.
Ricky was sitting up in bed, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.
“Gross,” Carlos said with a nasty face, “how can you smoke so early in the morning?”
“What time is it?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find a clock. But the sun is shining through the bathroom window. It must be somewhere around eight or nine.”
“Is my mom up?”
“I don’t know. The TV is on in the front room, but I didn’t see anyone.”
“She’s up, then. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Mom. I’m sure she’ll want to cook for you. Humor her, okay?”
“That’s not necessary, Ricky, really. I should be going home. My mom will be worried silly.”
“Please, Carlos. Just stay for breakfast.”
“All right,” Carlos said.
Ricky got up and began changing his clothes. He stripped and walked around the room naked, looking through the mass of clothes strewn around the room. Carlos couldn’t help but notice Ricky’s body. He was even skinnier than Carlos had thought, and his skin was snowwhite all over. His dick was very small and he had shaven the hair from around it completely. His ass was flat and flabby, and he already showed signs of stretch marks around the hips. Carlos could hardly believe he was looking