Rust and Frost

Three

The winter of 2006 died as spring began to bloom, and Brandon decided his inaction was cowardice. Life only came around once. It didn't make sense to waste it.

Moments that made his cheeks burn and his heart soar occurred in abundance, but he kept those feelings to himself. The heat of summer made this more easily said than done. As time passed without the coziness of wintertime, he got used to it.

If nothing else, it made things more exciting. Exciting was the wrong word. Try nerve-wracking.

And then the fall of 2007 rolled around, like a tricky hand of cards in a game of poker. Suddenly, the mental barrier Brandon managed to build up came crashing down. Again came the stream of intense, heavy feelings. He tried to shove his thoughts back in a box, but it was like a dam that'd given in. The water was out, and there was no putting it back.

He really did give it effort. He paid extra attention whenever his parents took him to church (which wasn't every Sunday) and he put half his allowance in the donation box they'd pass around.

The outcome was this: Brandon had a stockpile of jokes and song lyrics to keep on loop in his head when he got bored, and he couldn't afford this snazzy jacket he wanted when it went on sale. Despite his best efforts, this was an animal that couldn't be tamed. At least, not like this. There was no way it'd be getting back in its cage.

So on to the next best thing. Plan B. Except he originally had no Plan B. But it was becoming more and more obvious that there was only one way this could go: Brandon had to play the cards he'd been dealt. He couldn't restrain a lion altogether, but he could keep 'em on a short leash. Yeah, a short leash. Give the lion an inch and they'll take a mile.

The ball started rolling right under Brandon's nose. It was innocent enough. Brandon's mom offhandedly invited Ronnie to the Flowers' Thanksgiving dinner.

"Say, what are all you kids doing for your break?" She'd asked a week prior while Brandon and his three friends sat in the kitchen. Brandon wondered if she knew how demeaning it was to call a bunch of teenagers, young men, 'kids'.

"My parents and I are going to Reno for some concert," Dave sighed.

"Reno's nice, jackass. Long drive though," Mark said. "My parents are gonna be off work, so we'll make dinner, I guess. I don't really care, as long as we watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. It's only right."

"My mom's gonna be working, so I'll be home alone. I'll try not to set the place on fire," Ronnie said.

This did not sit well with Mrs. Flowers. "How about you have dinner with us? If your mom's alright with it."

Brandon smiled. He'd have to thank her later.

"That'd be great." Ronnie beamed.

And so it was set in stone. Ronnie felt like the luckiest guy on the block, and Mrs. Flowers was happy to have him around.

All of Brandon's siblings said they might stop by, but they were doing some weird thing called 'Friendsgiving'. In other words, they weren't coming.

A couple of miscellaneous neighbors came as well. It became a small, casual party of sorts.

The tablecloth was the color of tangerines, cluttered with tiny pumpkins, fake candles, and plates. Glasses were filled with red wine (Brandon and Ronnie had cranberry juice instead, which was just fine with them). The indulgent smell spanned from the kitchen to the living room to the dining table. The adults, of which there were five in total, talked about things Brandon couldn't care less about, like politics and traveling and whose boss was cheating on his wife.