American Dreamer

by Shawn Wesley Ballenger

  “Your dream of being a teenager again!” Corbin said and stood back to look Brandon up and down. “Mr. Daniels!” He screamed. “You’re my age!”

  “I was supposed to be seventeen.” He looked down at himself. “I overdosed.”

  “I don’t believe this!” Corbin suddenly grabbed him in a bear hug, causing Brandon to gasp. “I’m so glad you’re not dead, Mr. Daniels.” He said as he pulled away a moment later.

  “Me too, Corbin.” He laughed, touched by Corbin’s caring gesture. “How did you know being a teenager was my dream?” Brandon looked at him, questioningly.

  “Oh, come on, Mr. Daniels. All the times I’ve been around you? You acted like a teenager when we watched Doctor Who together…I mean how excited you’d get and all. I’ve seen the way you look at me almost with envy when I talk about buying a car. I mean, come on. I’m not blind.” Corbin laughed.

  “Was I that obvious?” Brandon asked, hoping that his son didn’t pick up on it, but then again, his son wasn’t around enough to see that side of him.

  “Duuude!” Corbin leaned back as if it were plain as day. “So, how is it?”

  Brandon broke into a huge grin. “It’s just like I imagined, only I was hoping to be a little bit further along in puberty.” He lifted his arm and pointed beneath it at the tiny patch of hair.

  “Well, I shaved for the first time last week.” Corbin boastfully rubbed his chin. “You’ll get there in a few years.”

  “Fuck you!” Brandon shoved him away.

  Corbin shook his head and studied Brandon. “I can’t get over this. So, what are your plans now that you’re a minor?” Corbin laughed.

  “I plan on becoming my son’s best friend,” Brandon said, realizing now that his secret was out to Corbin, he might as well be open with him.

  “Oh shit, Mr. Daniels.” Corbin gasped as he realized what he had said the day before. “I’m sorry about what I called your son yesterday. I just thought he didn’t care about you. It just made me mad is all.”

  “It’s okay, Corbin. I understand. I’m actually glad you cared enough.”

  “Of course, I care. You’re a cool guy. I mean… “He shrugged. “You're a lot cooler than my dad.”

  Brandon tilted his head slightly. “Thanks, Corbin. At least it makes me feel better that maybe I wasn’t a complete failure as a father.”

  “I think the problem is that you couldn’t relate to Cam, just like I can’t relate to my dad. You know I like nerdy stuff, and my dad likes hunting and fishing and shit.”

  “Yeah, I see what you mean.” Brandon thought about his Dungeons and Dragons campaigns versus Cam’s fantasy football games.

  “Now I understand why you tried out for football,” Corbin said. “You couldn’t pay me enough to play football. I hate sports.”

  “Well, I’m not bad at it, but it definitely wasn’t my first choice for extracurricular activities.” Brandon laughed. “But I had to do something to get in with Cam, and if playing football is what it takes, I have to do it.”

  “I understand.” Corbin moved to his lawnmower as Brandon followed suit. “Are you going to tell him who you are?”

  “Oh, hell, no!” They began walking, the familiar clanking of their mowers echoing down the street. “I don’t want him to ever know that I’m his dad.”

  “Why not?” Corbin glanced at him.

  “Because I didn’t like the person I was before, Corbin. I don’t want to be that person ever again. As far as the world’s concerned, Brandon Daniels drowned in the Gila River.” Brandon stopped, turning to Corbin. “Corbin, you can’t tell anyone who I am. It would be chaos.”

  “Come on, Mr. Daniels. Why would I tell anyone? Who would believe me anyway? You’d have every scientist in the world poking and prodding you. You can trust me, sir.”

  Brandon sighed, a warm smiling coming to his face. “Glad you see it that way. Thanks, Corbin. But you can’t call me ‘Mr. Daniels’ or ‘sir’ or any of that shit. You have to call me Channing. I’m just another kid like you. Okay?”

  “Sure, Mr.…” Corbin corrected himself, “…Channing.”

  Brandon started walking again.

  “So, tell me about the potion. How did you get it?” Corbin stepped alongside him.

  “So…it’s a long story going back over one-hundred and fifty years…” Brandon began.

  During practice the next day, the coach put Brandon with the main starters, including Cam. Brandon found it took every ounce of strength in him to keep up with them, but he did it. Almost all of the starters were juniors or seniors, and they had at least four inches in height and sixty pounds in weight on him. The coach put him in the running back position. To his amazement, Brandon discovered he was actually pretty fast. His athletic body and lighter weight contributed to his speed. The coach even gave him props for a couple of his catches. He walked into the locker room with his head held high. As soon as he was through the door, Logan grabbed him in a headlock and gave him a couple of noogies.

  “Look at this guy! He’s a natural!” Logan laughed. “Never played, my ass.”

  “Hey!” Brandon laughed. “Let go!”

  Brandon shoved him away playfully.

  Cam leaned against the lockers as he pulled off one of his shoes and chuckled. “I knew I was right about him.”

  “Thanks, guys!” Brandon walked to his locker, grabbed his gym bag, and sat down on the bench.

  “You’re fast,” Cam remarked as he pulled off his shorts.

  “Honestly, I never realized I ran any faster than anyone else.” Brandon pulled off his shirt.

  “You do.” Logan began undressing.

  “Yeah.” Cam agreed. “I actually think Coach might put you in a real game.”

  “You think?” Brandon pulled off his shoes.

  “I do,” Logan said.

  Logan had already completely undressed and was standing nude a few feet in front of Brandon, reaching into his locker for his shower supplies. Brandon took the opportunity to check out Logan’s perfect body and felt himself getting excited. Dead kittens, wrinkled old women with saggy breasts, vaginas, Brandon’s mind raced with his biggest turn-offs again as he turned his eyes away from the feast.

  Brandon pulled on his clean t-shirt, deciding he wasn’t about to shower with the other guys and risk being seen with a hard-on. He didn’t do it the first time he was in high school, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now. Of course, back then, he was embarrassed by his out-of-shape body as well.

  Cam looked down at him. “You’re not riding in my car smelling like ass.”

  “Huh?” Brandon turned his head around and looked up.

  “You. If you’re coming to my house to hang out, you’re not gonna stink up my car.”

  Brandon sniffed his pits. Cam was right, he was rank. He glanced in the opposite direction to Logan, who was half-way to the shower. Oh, God, I’m gonna have to do this. A scene of the guys pointing and laughing as he popped a boner played in his head.

  He glanced back at Cam, who was now completely undressed and grabbing his shower supplies before heading into the showers. Brandon sat alone on the bench, resigned to his fate. He could tell Cam he would walk to his house, but that would definitely not be cool, and the last thing he needed was Cam to think he was uncool. That could jeopardize his plans to become his son’s best friend.

  Brandon let out a sigh and slowly rose to undress. As he finished pulling off his underwear, he looked down at himself. His smoothness was something that he was still getting used to. He looked just below his waist. At least one part of his body, he did not feel embarrassed about. He turned, grabbed his shower supplies, and plodded towards the shower.

  As he entered, he glanced around at the two huge guys near the wall. Close by, Cam and Logan were standing under separate showerheads.

  “I’ve got to go help my dad with some shit after school,” Logan said as he casually rubbed soap on his chest. “So, I can’t come over today.” He glanced at Cam

&
nbsp; “No Problem!” Cam scrubbed his legs. “Guess I’ll have to teach Channing to play?”

  Brandon stepped under an empty shower head, quickly wet his hair, applied shampoo, and feverishly scrubbed his scalp. Getting the hell out of the shower as soon as possible was the best plan. He rinsed his hair quickly before soaping up his arms. He tried to keep his eyes on the floor, but it was if his body had a mind of its own, and his eyes kept darting towards Logan.

  Why does he have to be so hot? He thought to himself as the warm soapy water flowed over Logan’s cut abs like mini-river rapids. He feasted on the sight of Logan throwing his head back and running his hands through his long, wet hair as the water hit him in the face. Immediately Brandon felt a full boner. Dead kittens, wrinkled old women with saggy breasts, vaginas, Marcia! He repeated in his head, to no avail.

  Logan suddenly lifted his head and glanced at a panicked Brandon, his eyes focusing on the body part jutting out from below his waist. Oh, God, I’m gonna die. Brandon tried to cover himself as his face turned red. He waited for Logan to call him out on it in front of the other guys or make a joke at his expense, but instead, the corners of Logan’s mouth turned up into a grin. He then turned around and returned to washing himself.

  Brandon grabbed his shower supplies and sprinted out of the steamy, hot, wet, gay male fantasy, almost busting his ass on the slick locker room floor as he ran.

  A few minutes later, Logan exited the shower as well.

  “You okay, dude?” Logan grinned as he wrapped a towel around his waist.

  “Yeah. I’m good.” A flushed Brandon answered.

  He was already dressed and sitting on the bench. Logan dried off, slipped on his jeans, and sat down shirtless next to Brandon. He glanced sideways at him and grinned slyly.

  Oh, God, I’m gonna die! Brandon’s face was as red as the shirt he was wearing. He jumped up, grabbed his gym bag from his locker, and sprinted from the room.

  “I gotta go. See you later, dude.” Brandon sputtered.

  “Later!” Logan smiled and hollered after him.

  Be cool, Brandon, be cool. He told himself as he waited outside the gym for Cam.

  He was very much relieved when Cam finally exited the gym, his bag slung over his shoulder.

  “You ready?” Cam pulled his keys from his pocket.

  “Yep,” Brandon answered quickly, wanting to get away before Logan came out.

  Cam pulled the Corvette into the driveway of Marcia’s house and parked next to a Jeep with grossly oversized tires and a suspension lift.

  Cam groaned when he saw the yellow bro truck. “Lance is here. If he says something to you, just ignore him.”

  Brandon nodded as he focused on the Jeep. Yep. Definitely overcompensating for lack of something, he smiled to himself.

  From the outside, Marcia’s home had a sort of ‘country charm’ style to it, with dark green siding decorated with yellow shutters and trim. Brandon followed Cam up the steps to the country-style porch, which was surrounded by banisters of ornately carved hearts. An old-fashioned wooden porch swing squeaked carelessly in the breeze at the end of the porch. He looked down to his feet and rolled his eyes at the welcome mat that read: ‘The Lord Dwells in This Home.”

  “Good God,” Brandon muttered to himself.

  Cam led the way through the front door and into the living room. After shutting the door behind them, Brandon took in the hideous décor of his ex-wife’s living room. He’d been in Marcia’s house a couple of times since the divorce, and it got worse each time. He loathed what his gay friend, Phillip, called “Southern Christian Mom Chic” with country hearts and “Jesus Saves” signs adorning the brightly colored yellow walls. He glanced at the green shabby chic antique sofa table that fit perfectly beneath the magnolia blossom wallpaper border that ran around the room. Why would anyone ruin a beautiful antique oak table with fucking chalk-paint? He cringed. Glancing up at the large painting hanging on the opposite wall of Jesus attending his flock, he was reminded of Marcia’s recent Facebook profile quote. “Partner of Lance, Mother of Cameron and Daughter of God.” More like spawn of Satan, he had said to Tommy as they had a good laugh at it.

  Brandon immediately recognized the smell of weed and knew the pothead smoking it. Long blonde hair, belonging to none other than his ex-wife’s house boy, hung over the side of the sofa—Lance. Brandon had met Lance once when he came to pick up Cam for a weekend. The twenty-something self-proclaimed physical trainer was all muscle and no brains.

  “For fuck’s sake, Lance, go to the fucking shed to smoke,” Cam yelled as he waved his hand in front of his face.

  A hand with the middle finger extended rose from the couch.

  “Douchebag.” Cam threw his backpack in the middle of the floor. “Come on.”

  He motioned for Brandon to follow.

  “Why does she keep him around?” Brandon asked as they walked down the hall towards Cam’s bedroom.

  “Hell, if I know. I think Mom likes to keep him as a pet to parade around in front of her friends.”

  “That’s messed up,” Brandon said, overcome with the desire to punch Lance in his face.

  “The only good thing about her having the asshole around is that he keeps me supplied with smoke. He just doesn’t know it.” Cameron turned and winked at Brandon as they approached his bedroom door.

  “You smoke pot?” Brandon’s eyes widened.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” Cam laughed.

  “I suppose.” Brandon shrugged. Although he had suspected Cam probably smoked or drank like most seventeen-year-olds, admitting it as if it were nothing bothered him a little. “What does your mom think about it?”

  “She’s clueless.” Cam entered his room.

  “How often do you smoke?” Brandon was right behind him.

  “Maybe once a day, usually.” He waited for Brandon to enter and shut the door.

  “Once a day?” Brandon asked a little too loudly.

  “Damn, Channing. Why are you freaking out over pot? Pot is nothing.” He paused. “Wait. You’ve never smoked, have you?”

  “Well, no. I actually haven’t.”

  That was the truth. Brandon had never smoked in his life for fear someone like his father would find out. Since the divorce, though, he had wanted to try it but had no idea where to find any. It wasn’t like he had a medical reason for a doctor to prescribe it.

  “Well, we will have to fix that, won’t we?” Cameron smiled.

  Brandon just nodded.

  Cam’s bedroom décor, in contrast to the rest of the house, boasted posters of half-naked girls and muscle cars along with shelves of sports trophies. Dirty laundry laid strewn on the floor, the bed, the desk, and generally every other piece of furniture in the room. Cam had a video game system hooked up to his forty-inch flat-screen TV, which sat on a TV stand near the window. Cam flopped down on the floor as Brandon cleared a spot to sit, and dropped down beside him. After throwing the clothes out of the way, Brandon picked up a game case buried beneath them and read the back.

  “Zombie Apocalypse 20. This is a cool game.” Brandon said.

  “You’ve played before?” Cameron asked as he turned on the system and grabbed a controller.

  “An earlier version.” Brandon thought back to the last time he played. It had been several years ago. He seemed to recall it was version 10.

  “This game is the shit!” Cam said. “My dad and I used to play it when I was a kid.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” Brandon said without thinking as he flipped the case over.

  Cameron stopped playing and gave him a confused look.

  Brandon, realizing he had done it again, corrected himself. “I mean, I remember playing with my dad before he skipped town.”

  “Oh yeah.” Cam paused for a moment before he focused his attention back on the game.

  Brandon grabbed a controller and joined in. It took about ten or fifteen minutes for him to get the hang of the game once again. It wasn’t that much differ
ent than the older version, other than the fact that the graphics were much more life-like. Cam talked mostly about the game and The Walking Dead. He never realized that he and Cam shared a mutual love of the show. Cam set up the game in team mode, giving them opportunities to strategize together. An hour flew by before Brandon knew it. It had been the best quality time he had spent with his son in well over three years. He started thinking about it and realized the reason it was working was that he wasn’t forcing it. He just listened to his son talk, instead of plying him with questions to try and get him to open up. He wondered why he never realized this before?

  “You want some food or something?” Cam, who had just finished plowing down a troop of zombie soldiers, asked.

  “Sure,” Brandon replied as he finished off the last zombie soldier.

  “Come on.” Cam stood up and threw the controller to the floor. It landed on a pile of jeans and bounced towards the bed.

  Brandon got up and followed Cam into the kitchen. They rounded the corner, and Brandon stopped, his eyes falling upon his ex-wife. He felt the blood rush from his face. Knowing it was just a matter of time before he ran into her, he already made the decision beforehand to play it as cool as possible. Marcia stood by the bar, pouring a copious amount of rum into her Diet Coke, her usual after-work cocktail. She wore the custom yellow business suit that Brandon had always absolutely abhorred. She had spent a fortune to have it custom made to match one Sarah Palin wore in the 2008 Presidential Election. Marcia claimed it gave her an air of authority as a real estate broker. Brandon claimed all it did was make her look more like a bitch. At least that was what he told her outside the courthouse during the divorce proceedings.

  Her eyes landed upon her son as she dropped a couple of ice cubes into her glass. “I got a pizza.”

  “Again?” Cam complained as he went to the fridge. “I’m sick of pizza.”

  “Deal with it.” She replied sharply.

  Just as she started to take a drink, her eyes landed on Brandon. She gasped, dropping her drink to the floor. The glass shattered, sending shards of glass, liquor, and ice cubes flying across the tile.