The perfect day off began like this- with the drop of a CD into a boombox. The disc whirred to life and the echoing notes of a lonely piano filled the subdued, poster-riddled bedroom of Gyro Gearloose. He stretched his lanky arms to the ceiling and brought them down gracefully, cracking his neck just as the lead singer of his favorite band began to tell a story.
When I was a young boy
My father drove me into the city
To see a marching band
Gyro swept his long, jet-black bangs out of his eyes.
Perfect.
Walking over to the mirror next to his dresser, he snatched a black tube from the top of it and unscrewed the cap. The brush inside emerged covered in cheap eyeliner, color “Eternal Night.” As he carefully drew the makeup around the perimeter of his eyes, making sure to keep the lines simple and clean, he contemplated what he was going to wear. The sun was at its summer peak, roasting everything outside to a fine golden brown. No matter, for he had laid out his outfit the night before, something his parents would call a proactive and studious action. What did they know? They shouldn’t get their hopes up thinking he’d ever live the life they did. He just didn’t want to spend forever deciding what to wear, not when that time was better spent browsing for the new Haythorne Heights CD, which would be out any day now.
That, and impressing his boyfriend.
Speaking of, it was time to see if he was up. He probably was. Gyro was a late sleeper, something his parents frowned upon. Whatever. Gyro closed up the eyeliner and returned it to the dresser, making a mental note that he should get more while he was out. He grabbed his phone and flipped it open, heading straight for the top of his contact list.
“Gyro!” called a voice outside the door. “Can you please turn your music down? Your father can’t hear the big game!”
Gyro rolled his eyes and turned the knob a fraction of a percent down. Parents.
+++
Oh, well, imagine
As I’m pacing the pews in a church corridor
And I can’t help but to hear
No, I can’t help but to hear an exchanging of words
Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera tried not to nod his head to the upbeat, plinky sounds of his own boombox as he applied his eyeliner. Luckily he had done this so much, he had the application down to a fine science. All of his friends were jealous, even Gyro, the emo-est emo he’d ever known.
Fenton’s phone vibrated on his desk. Speaking of…
He finished up and screwed the brush back into the vial. He flipped the phone open with his thumb and saw the new text notification.
“hey loser XD u up?”
Fenton smiled and started pressing the keypad, which he also knew inside and out for the perfect SMSs. “I woke up at 9am this morning. Are you up?”
“lol who r u, my mom?”
“I love you too. :3 When are you coming?”
“in 10 min, we got the new spiked bandS @ the HT”
“:DDDDDD”
“see u soon”
His bedroom door opened. Fenton shut the phone and looked up. M’ma Cabrera walked in, lugging a laundry basket. “You got your clothes sorted, pollito?” she asked.
“Yes, M’ma, on my bed,” said Fenton, turning the music down so he could hear her properly.
She held the basket out on the bed’s edge and scooped the pile of neon tees and striped pull-ons into it with one motion. “So who’s taking you to the mall today?” she asked.
Fenton gulped and ran his fingers through his long purple-tipped hair. He had forgotten to mention that part until now and he knew she wouldn’t be thrilled knowing who he’d grabbed a ride from. “Er, Gyro Gearloose,” he said with a nervous chuckle.
M’ma sighed and put the basket onto the bed. “You know I don’t like you hanging out with that boy.”
“M’ma, he’s not that bad-”
“He’s careless, he’s disrespectful and he smokes- bad habits very easy to pick up. And I bought you all those nice shirts for your first college semester and you are dressing like a piñata!”
“M’ma, this is what everybody’s wearing. But I’m not doing it to fit in. It’s an expression of who I am.”
M’ma sighed again and wrapped her son up in a big hug. “Your mama can’t help it. I just don’t want you getting into any trouble, that’s all.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Fenton, trying a little to squirm out of the hug. “I trust him, and you can trust me.”
M’ma nodded. “Okay, Fenton.” She smooched him on the forehead and went back to grab the laundry basket. “Just make sure you’re back by dinnertime, okay?”
“Yes, M’ma,” said Fenton, waving her out. As soon as the door shut, he exhaled in relief. He loved his M’ma, but boy, was she smothering sometimes.
A little while later, Fenton heard a car horn outside his window. His excitement spiked in his chest and he practically tumbled out the door into the living room. “I’m leaving, M’ma! Love you, see you at dinner, bye!”
It all came out as one word as he bolted out of the house, but M’ma understood it perfectly anyway. Her own motherly instinct spiking, she carefully placed the sudsy plate she was sponging back into the sink and made her way to the front window. Peeking through the blinds, she saw Fenton and Gyro leaning against the latter’s car. Gyro, dressed in a black beanie, black t-shirt whose band logo she didn’t recognize, black skinny jeans, and black boots despite the blazing temperature outside had his phone held up high, Fenton in his other arm as they posed for a picture. M’ma sighed, seeing wisps of smoke emit from the cigarette in Gyro’s mouth. She knew Fenton was at the age where she could let go some and let him live his life, but darn it if he didn’t make so hard to do so. Still, it was the price of the gig and she would love him and support him to the ends of the earth no matter what.
As the camera shutter clicked, Gyro caught sight of Mrs. Cabrera peeping at them through the front window of Fenton’s house and sent a dark sneer in her direction. She was unfazed, police women usually weren’t, and made the “I have my eyes on you” motion toward him before letting the blinds go and returning to whatever it is she was doing. Gyro rolled his eyes.
“What’s up?” said Fenton.
“Parents,” Gyro scoffed.
“She means well, I promise. She bought me this the other day.” He motioned toward his pink shirt with a kooky character on the front from that one Invader Zir show on TV.
“Well, that’s something. You’ll get tons of likes when I post this on ThisSpace later.”
“D’ya think we’ll make front page?” Fenton bounced on his toes at the thought.
Gyro blushed. Gods, he was so cute. All he could do was shrug and give him a peck on the forehead, then walked over to the driver’s seat of his all-black rustbucket. As Gyro and Fenton peeled away from suburban hell, engine sputtering all the while, he asked, “You mind if we stop at Starducks first? I feel like the undead.”
“Fine with me. Maybe I’ll try that new hibiscus refresher they have.”
“You’re so fruity, dork.”
“You’re my boyfriend so who’s really the fruity one?”
“...touche.”
Gyro pressed the play button, and the two lovebirds entered their pure nirvana set to a CD in a stereo.
