Rust and Frost

Seven

It was 2008. Senior year, in the grand scheme of things, didn't change much for the four boys. They all had college to freak out over, among other equally unimportant items of bullshit on the itinerary. Mark believed every day was the end of the world. Dave did not. In a way, they were both right and both wrong. Perspective slanted the bigger picture. Made things askew. If you burned their individual truths together, you might get something resembling reality.

Get down to it and, really, days were mostly the same. They looked and even felt different, but that was a matter of appearances. A critical eye would reveal it was all patterns. Dig beyond surface-level and the nitty-gritty was always more familiar than it appeared.

The most sickeningly obvious item on the list of things that remained the same? Brandon still adored Ronnie. Quite luckily, Ronnie still adored him back.

Though it was late at night, Mark was cutting into a pancake when he made a cringe-worthy change of subject.

"Winter ball's coming up," he said.

The casually careless expression on his face was ungracefully illuminated by the diner's dingy lights.

"So?" Dave asked. Playing dumb was a loser's game. He was a glutton for punishment.

"Oh, no," Brandon said.

"Prom at our school will absolutely suck. Leave room for Jesus and all that," Dave said, all matter-of-fact. And in a whisper, "what about Brandon and Ronnie?"

"Ronnie, you and Brandon can come to the dance at our school," Mark said.

"Sure, okay, but it's cowboy-themed, which is plain weird. It'll bring out all the country kids," Ronnie said.

Dave smiled. He'd decided to humor Mark. "You ever seen Brokeback Mountain?"

"Classy as always, Dave," Ronnie said.

Mark, this time: "it's a good movie."

"It might be fun," Brandon said. He hadn't warmed up to the idea. He just didn't care to fight it. When Mark wanted to do something, he could pull at all the right heartstrings. Never intentionally cruel, no, but he could accidentally guilt-trip as if he were walking with tied shoelaces.

"Oh, it'll be so much fun," Dave said. Dances were miserable, but he was past that now. He'd pay real money to see Ronnie make a fool of himself in a cowboy hat.

Ronnie was now outnumbered. He fought the urge to ask, 'are you all out of your fucking minds?' He took a sip of his watered-down coke. "What happened to personal agency and autonomy?"

"You're using words I don't understand again," Dave huffed sarcastically.

"If you don't come, I'll be sad," Brandon pouted. "It's our last year of high school—thank God. Let's just have some fun, make a couple of memories. Why not?"

Try as he might, Ronnie couldn't say no to that face. "Okay then, fine. But we are not wearing cowboy hats."

"Shit. That was gonna be the best part." It goes without saying, but that was Dave.

It was late November when the blue school held their prom. Still, they called it the winter ball. The fact this event took place during autumn bothered no one, except Mark. He was a stickler for technicalities.

In his borderline decent car, Dave picked Mark and Ronnie up. Then they all headed to Brandon's house.

Ronnie's mom made Ronnie promise he'd get photos of him and Brandon. Ronnie tried to explain that asking Mrs. Flowers for this would be incredibly suspicious. Ms. Vannucci was uninterested in excuses. She was going to get a nice picture of her son and his boyfriend. End of story. If that required moving heaven and earth or a sacrifice to a pagan god, so be it. Maybe it wasn't that serious, but Ronnie had a plan.