Page 86 of Rough and Rugged
TONY:But I’m sure he did get up. Or off.
LAW:You know I did. {emoji wink}
TONY:Bostonia.
ROBBIE:Happy Birthday Dax. Baseball season’s way longer than hockey. Your dumbass sport makes a fucking spectacle out of spring training games.
LAW:I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you over your annoying coach voice and my ring.
ROBBIE:Get to the fucking restaurant and celebrate Dax.
COLT:Why hasn’t Dax texted?
DAX:Cool surprise, dudes. Next time check if I’m in town. Have a good dinner.
TONY:You suck. Happy Birthday, big bro.
DAX:Dude - rented a cabin in the woods to get my head on straight and finish my book.
COLT:The Monica book?
DAX:Going through all my handwritten notes and try to get her off my mind. Nothing else has worked so I’m Thoreauing it up.
COLT:Be safe. Happy Birthday.
HAYDEN:Tell me you’re not with Sophie.
COLT:He’s not with Sophie.
ROBBIE:How does Colt know where he is? And why are you at a surprise party you knew he wouldn’t be attending?
COLT:He told me privately. I give him less shit.
LAW:Bullshit, Colt. You’re just more respectable at it. I got 500 on Dax is off getting laid.
HAYDEN:500 for laid. But not Sophie.
COLT:He hasn’t hit that in almost 2 years. 500 against. What’s he going to fuck an opossum?
ROBBIE:Where the hell is he? What is this bet? I hope he gets a birthday blowie.
DAX:Wrong text chain again, assholes. 500 NOT GETTING laid.
DAX:And Robbie. I’m in the woods.
ROBBIE:$250 he gets a blowie from an opossum.
There’s not a moment of my life that doesn’t involve my Boston Brothers, but this one needs to be just mine.
I can’t turn thirty-four, be unemployed, unpublished, and still thinking about one magical weekend over a year ago. Monica didn’t trust I was done with my ex, Sophie, and bailed. I can’t be around their not-so surprise party pretending I’m happy. My actual brother, Tony, loves surprises. I’m the one who usually hangs back from his jackass schemes and makes sure everyone has a ride home along with a b12 shot.
Tired of solving everyone’s issues, except mine. It’s time to make sense of my life’s scribbles. The guy at the sports store said to bring essentials and this paper draft is essential. I’m going to write, chop wood and build a fire.
Colt’s the only one who knows I slept with and am fucked up over my former assistant and close friend Monica. Being friends functioned as six years of foreplay, and when we finally fucked, we weren’t working together. When we lifted the thin veil of our friendship, we devoured each other for three days. I highly recommend fucking your best friend as long as she sticks around after. Time to write and hopefully dust off my dick and get back in the game. Or pine for someone alone, among the pines.
The village I’m in has the dumbest name, Rugged, Maine. Really? Isn’t that a bit on the nose? I trip on a stick as if the universe wants to remind me I come from money and rarely have rough and rugged adventures. Fuck you, universe, I’m trying to be this guy. A pile of snow drops on my head from a tree.
“I GET IT. I’m not cut out for rustic. But I could be, ok?” Something hoots in response. “Fuck yeah, owl. You get me.”