Young Lather

The Friends You Need

Track laughed, and I got mad. "Listen, I don't know! It's hard to remember," I yelled. "But I swear you licked my nose, so don't fucking laugh!"

He stopped laughing. "I didn't lick your nose," he said. "Not exactly. You sort of stuck your nose in my mouth," he said. "Kind of."

"...What do you mean, 'kind of'," I asked, a little fearful.

"Well, listen, you were trashed, right?"

"So were you!"

"Not as trashed as you!" he fired back. "I have never seen you that drunk," he said, strong. "Never!"

"...Well..."

"You pissed yourself, Lath."

I stared at him. "What?"

"Pissed your pants." I stared. "Yeah," Track said, "you did."

"...But... I mean..."

"Listen. I wouldn't tell anyone, but, yeah, you drained right into your jeans, man. I saw you when you came down — I was swimming. I thought you were coming in, but you could barely stand." He smiled a bit. "Yelling about your shoes, and then throwing them. And then you just lay there and mumbled shit." He shook his head. "I called your name about five times."

I felt way small, now. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. So then I cross over and get out, and you're lying there with a shitty smile, and you reeked of piss, I kid you not."

"Oh fuck," I muttered.

"Don't sweat it, man. It happens. I'm not going to tell."

"Really?"

"Why would I? Why would I tell?" He looked into my eyes, serious.

"...Well, so then—"

"So then — well, you were lying on your back right at the edge of the water. You almost were slipping in anyway. Your feet are already in the water, with your socks on! So I just... pulled you in halfway. I pulled your pants off and pulled you in halfway."

"My pants?"

"Yes. What else? I rinsed 'em good. Your boxers too. I was thinking the stream would wash your legs..." He paused, but then smiled again. "You were fucking singing shit with no song, it was..." He looked at me again. "Really, Lather, it's okay."

"And you swear you'll never tell?"

"Swear."

We went quiet for a minute, but then I had to ask.

"So tell me the rest."

Now, Track looked a little uncomfortable, but not too much. "So I don't know. I get your pants all rinsed, and wrung out as good as I could, and then... Not much really. Not really."

I looked at the floor.

"So... I kind of half picked you up to pull you back on the bank, and, I don't know, you know? I was drunk too, right?" I nodded. "Right? So I guess you kind of had your arms around me and your face is in my face for a couple seconds. Just fast, and whatever..." He skipped ahead a few seconds I think. "...so, but that was good, because it was easier to stand you up and I had to stand you up. And then I help you get your pants back on, which was not fucking easy." He laughed again, now. A true laugh. "It was not easy. You're fucking stumbling like a scarecrow or something, and I'm... I didn't bother with your boxers — they're probably still under a bush at The Logs. Your socks too, which were soaked, so..."

"Uh... Thanks," I said. What else could I say?

"...Yeah, well then it was spinnies and puke time for you, and you fucking emptied for about ten minutes."