Running Through the Words, 11

Eleven.

Although the pool has been open since Memorial Day Weekend, Sebastian waits a good two weeks before claiming one of the lap lanes and propelling himself through the cool, chlorinated water. It was Lucy who’d encouraged him to start swimming again—“In addition to taking care of everyone else, you need to take care of yourself,” she’d said. “Make time for something you enjoy.”—and so here he was, taking advantage of the sunny June morning and wondering if he should pick up food on his way to Bert’s.

Having been one of Lake Caywood High School’s star swimmers back in the day, Bas’s brain keeps an automatic tally of how many laps he’s swum. There’s no goal in mind, no distance he’s determined to reach, but when he hits a mile, he pauses in the shallow end and comes up for air, lifting his goggles and gasping for breath. When he’d jumped into the water half an hour ago, the pool had been primarily empty, but now teenagers on bikes and young mothers with toddlers occupy many of the available umbrellas. His eyes scan the vicinity, noticing a girl on the slide, a man cannonballing off the diving board, a little boy eating an ice cream cone… and then he hoists himself out of the pool, dries himself off, and heads back to his Jeep.

🍁

His shorts are still damp when he reaches Bert’s apartment, his skin tacky with sunscreen. He waves to Matilda, watering plants on her porch, and takes the back stairs two at a time. Then he raps twice on the glass door and slides it open, letting himself in. “It’s just me, B. Where are you? I brought lunch.” He sets the bag that he’s carrying on the coffee table and walks back the hallway, ears tuned for the sound of retching but hearing nothing out of the ordinary.

Bert is curled on his bed, dressed in loose sweatpants, a baggy hoodie, and thick socks. A navy beanie covers his bald head. “Hey,” he says, offering a weak smile. “I was just resting.”

“Are you cold?” Bas asks, instinctively reaching for a fleecy throw and tucking it around Bert even before he can offer a response. “You look cold. I brought ice cream, but maybe that’s not what you want right now. I can make you some tea or something…”

Bert snuggles further into his pillow and tucks the blanket under his chin. “Ice cream sounds good, actually. Did you get it from Scoops?”

“I sure did.”

“What flavors?”

“Raspberry, pistachio, coconut, coffee, and chocolate,” he answers, rattling off the assortment and noting each selection by way of a finger on his right hand.

“Five different flavors?” There’s excitement hidden in the quiet question.

He shrugs. “I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for. Wanna try some of each?”

“Yeah. But don’t give me too much. I’m not that hungry.”

“Did you have a rough night?”

“Not really. Just kind of nauseous. I didn’t throw up or anything.”

“And Russo stayed with you?”

“Yeah. He only left about half an hour ago.”

“I can stay over tonight if you want. We can make prank calls and paint each other’s nails.”

Bas grins and Bert rolls his eyes. “You’re a dork,” he says. “Get the ice cream and bring it back here. I’ll try to find something for us to watch.” His hand snakes out from under the blanket and reaches for the television remote. Sebastian ducks out of the room and retrieves the ice cream from where he’d left it in the living room. It takes only a few minutes to fill two bowls with five colorful scoops, each slightly melted and deliciously creamy. He then grabs two spoons from the drawer and heads back to the bedroom, delivering a dish to his friend and flopping down beside him on the mattress.

“You smell like chlorine,” Bert notes, taking a whiff of Sebastian and following it up with a bite of pistachio. Through a mouthful of frozen cream, he asks, “Were you swimming?”

“Yep.”

“Indoor pool or outdoor pool?”

“Outdoor.”

“How far’d you go?”

“A mile. My arms’ll be sore tomorrow. It’s been a minute since I’ve swum that hard.”

“Fuck. That’s impressive. Lucy didn’t go with you?”

“Nah. She’s throwing pots today. She is the one who told me I oughta start exercising again, though. I guess she thinks I’m getting fat.” He glances down at his flat stomach before flashing a sheepish smile at his friend.

“I think,” Bert says, “she probably just wants you to work off some of your nervous energy.”

“What d’you mean?”

Bert guides another bite of ice cream into his mouth—this one coffee flavored—and goes on to explain, “Maybe ‘nervous energy’ is the wrong term. I don’t know. You’re just… doing a lot. For me, for Rex… even for Nol. I don’t wanna see you burn yourself out.”

Sebastian swirls his scoops of chocolate and coffee together, combining the flavors. “For Nol?” he confirms, obviously confused. “I’m not doing anything for Nol.”

“You’re letting her stay at the house again this weekend, aren’t you? That’s something.”

“It’s her house too, B. She used to live there.”

“That was over fifteen years ago!”

“Is there a statute of limitation that I don’t know about?”

“Yes!” Bert laughs. “There is!” And then, more seriously, he adds, “I mean, I totally get that she’s, like, the easiest houseguest ever… but you’re still going above and beyond for her. You’re definitely going above and beyond for me. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to, you know? I’m not your responsibility.”

“But you are my best friend.” He reaches over and rests a hand on Bert’s beanie-clad head, petting it affectionately. Although the boys never talk about it, his mind goes to the memory of that night on Lake Caywood University’s campus, right after The Bedsheet Ninjas stormed the stage and right before Flannel Lobster was offered the opportunity of a lifetime. He has no doubt that his actions that night resulted in what Bert truly believes to be Sebastian’s greatest friend move, but for some reason the instance has never been revisited. And it bothers him. Bas has often wished it was something Bert felt comfortable talking about because there are questions—Bas has so many questions—but he hasn’t any idea how to go about broaching the subject. The last thing he wants is to be unintentionally offensive.

“Best friend or not,” Bert says through a yawn, “just know that I don’t expect you to keep sacrificing things for me. Like tonight. You don’t need to stay with me; I will be fine. And if the band wants to tour, you should tour. I can find other people to stay over on nights when—”

“We don’t wanna go on tour again, B. Not without you. Finn doesn’t want to. Russo doesn’t want to. I don’t want to. But you know what I do want? I wanna crash here tonight. I wanna order a big greasy pizza and make milkshakes and maybe even split a beer while we watch some old stupid movie that we used to laugh at when we were in high school. But if you don’t want that…”

“I do,” Bert assures him. “I do want that. But I only want it if you want it too.”

“I want it too,” Bas says simply. He slips the empty bowl from his friend’s hand and eases himself off the bed, smiling down at Bert before disappearing to clean the dirty dishes and heading home to pack a few things for tonight. “Get some sleep, alright? I don’t want you napping later while we’re trying to watch Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”

“I’ll try my best,” Bert promises.

“Which is all I can ask,” Bas concedes.