“You just run into her?” asks Travis, sadistically, enjoying his friend’s discomfort.

“About thirty minutes ago. Blah blah blah! She never shuts up.”

“Are you guys goin’ out?” Ian asks.

“Not really…” Nick says, knowing that Vicky thinks differently.

“You just slept with her?”

Nick sips his beer. “We got really wasted last night, and it was cool.” After a quick sigh, Nick continues, “She was in a really good mood or somethin’. I took her home—totally was just gonna’ drop her off…” The rest of the story seems too obvious to explain to three men in their twenties.

“You accidentally fell into her vagina,” John finishes for him.

Everyone laughs and Nick shrugs exaggeratedly.

Laughing, Travis adds, “Don’t worry, I’ve had that happen.” Leaning over, he pats Nick on the shoulder sympathetically.

“That happens to you about every two weeks!” Nick retorts.

Travis shakes his head and mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, “Lately.”

“Speaking of—I meant to ask you if you ever called what’s-her-face. Weren’t you suppose to be out with her last night?”

Travis doesn’t care to have to focus suddenly turned to him. He looks across the street to where the meter maid is working now.

Looking back to Nick, he just stares complacently.

“Did you call her?”

Rolling his eyes, Travis waits for a subject change.

“Dude,” Ian adds, “what? The red-head? What’s the matter with her?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Nick asks.

“‘Bout a week ago.”

“Dude, that’s not cool,” remarks Ian.

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t feel like calling somebody up to tell them I don’t like them. So sue me.”

“That’s no reason to blow ’em off,” says Nick.

“They do it to us all the time,” Travis said, trying to defend himself—an impossible task in his own mind.

Nick rolls his eyes. “That’s true.”

“And you’re no saint either, Fatty.”

“You are soooo fat…” Nick starts.

Ian put his hands up to his face and declares in a high-pitched, feminine voice, “Oh! Dinner? I—uh—I have to wash my fish.”

Pointing, Nick laughs and adds, “I have to air out my terrarium.”

In his perverted uncle’s voice, John just says, “Dames.”

“Can’t live with ’em, can’t kill ’em,” Travis laments.

“Where’s Lisa been,?” Nick asks Ian.

“She went home for a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been nice though.” Ian flaps his elbows a bit. “Got some space.”

“You weren’t too happy a couple of weeks ago.” Travis says leaning heavily on the table.

“No, she was grating on my nerves pretty bad.”

“You too busy?” Travis asks.

“Well, that, and she always gets kind of pissy around exam time. But we’re fine now.”

“Fine until she tells you about me and her gettin’ it on the other night,” Nick jokes.

Ian looks to Nick, a dead-pan expression on his face, as though he wouldn’t care even if the story were true.

Still sitting in deep concentration with his lips tightened, John says, “I would hurt that girl too.”

“What’s up with you?” Nick asks, playfully hitting John’s shoulder.

“I’m a very angry man,” John says with a spooky, calm—too calm—tone.

Turning to Travis, Nick says, “You shoulda’ heard him last night while we were watching TV. It was hilarious.”

John smiles.

“What did you say—about that one chick? The Noxema girl?”

Putting on his angry face again, John closes one eye and repeats, “I’d put my dick in her eye.”

There is a chorus of moans and laughs around the table. Travis sits back, “I swear to God, if women knew what we were joking about, they would never stop hitting us.”

“I tell Rachel what I really think,” John argues.

“I don’t see how she puts up with you,” Ian says.

“If she doesn’t, I beat her.”

This time Nick intones the perverted uncle voice. “Get me my bottle, Bitch.”

Sitting around, they all laugh as the sun falls out of the sky shedding the weight of colors for night. The banal frustrations of relationships (or lack thereof) escape freely through the jokes and beer until it is time to move on; until the calm before the storm dissipates. Travis looks out across Clayton Street while the others talk and sees a vacant field in its place. There is a chance for contentment there in the calm; before everything was different soon, slightly heavier after another night of debauchery and poor drunken judgment. He quietly wishes to himself that the world might again be a surprise or seem a dream.

Read the whole thread: Carousel Cowboy, Unthreaded