You know I like football

“Dude, like I don’t think his balls ever dropped. I mean, listen. I can’t tell if it’s a dude.”

Scott sat in the bean-bag looking at my Air Supply album. It was summer-hot outside so his socks and shirt were off but the room was cool with the curtains closed. Two Less Lonely People played.

“My dad says it’s not natural, two guys singing like that. Said they look like fruitcakes.” Scott pointed at the cover. “Kinda looks like Apocalypse Now, right? ‘Napalm in the morning.’” Scott mimicked a soldier, stiff and excited.

“Dude, it’s a sunset, okay?” I turned the page of my book, then stopped reading. “You mind when your dad says stuff like that?”

“Nah, not even. He’s just jealous.” Scott flexed his toes. Some part of him was always moving. He set the cover on the carpet and put his arms behind his head. “Not everybody earns these guns.” His biceps rolled to life.

I sniffed the air for pit-effect and went back to my book, then put it down again. I had a question.

“Just can’t keep your mind off this, can ya?” He crunched his abs. “Don’t worry, dude, just say the word.”

I shook my head. “You think Mary would like Air Supply? I’m gonna buy her the cassette.”

Scott shook his head. “Nah. She already thinks you’re a little on the girl-side. Give her Speedwagon. Gave it to Houser. He said it was awesome.”

“You got Houser?” I smiled. Scott got everybody.

His head fell back over the end of the bean bag. His Adam’s apple jumped as he talked. “You know how much I like football.” He lifted his head up. “Yeah, give her Speedwagon. Says you’re a man. Save Air Supply for when we’re old.”