Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap. 9)

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ID: 1727540   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else  A man hides a secret from his family and has no clue that his son has the same secret. by KAT26/Adrian--Published!

Part One

Chapter Nine

April-1972

Avoy, Georgia

"I think I'm in love with my best friend! Wait, he loves me as well?"

         Peter pulled his light cashmere coat tightly around him. It was cool out on the veranda. The crisp mountain air still hung in the trees. Sitting on the balcony outside of Robert's bedroom, the two of them ate oranges, while listening to the Braves game on the radio.

         The school year had drawn to an end, with only a few weeks to go, and they couldn't have been happier. The past months were quite an adventure for Peter, ever since Robert came into his life, shattering the once dull routine. Together the two of them had skipped school, played pranks, and last month Robert taught his friend to smoke both cigarettes, and marijuana.

         It started when his friend returned from a weekend shopping trip to Atlanta, with several things for Peter.

         "Here, try it on," Robert laughed, as he pulled a long, grey cashmere coat from his suitcase.

         Removing his old coat, Peter slipped the new one on, as his friend reclined on the bed, a freshly lit cigarette between his fingers.

         Laughing, Robert twirled his hand in a circle, the grey smoke swirling in the air. "Spin, I want to see!"

         Sticking his arms out, Peter obeyed, enjoying the way the soft fur felt on his body.

         "You look amazing!" He could hear Robert call out.

         Jumping up on the bed, Peter grabbed the cigarette from his friend, and looked down at it. He had seen him smoke these things a million times. With the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Peter was eager to finally try one.

         Robert smirked, "Put your lips together."

         Laughing, Peter knew that line was from an old movie, but something in the way his friend said it made him believe that he had meant it in another way.

         Pressing the end of the cigarette to his mouth, Peter inhaled deeply. Searing, hot smoke filled his lungs and throat. He started coughing violently.

         "Easy Peter, not so fast," Robert called out. "Take it slow. Don't kill yourself."

         Brushing the smoke from his vision, Peter returned the cigarette back to his friend, who took an expert puff, finished it, and stabbed it out on the bedside ashtray.

         "So, I also brought something else back for you, but you can't tell anyone." Robert said with a smile, turning back to his suitcase at the end of the mammoth bed.

         "H mm, what is it?" Peter slipped lazily back into the pillows. He suddenly felt tired.

         His friend pulled a small plastic bag from inside the suitcase. "Ta-DA!" he announced quite cheerfully.

         Peter stared blankly back at his friend. Why was he so giddy over what looked like a bunch of spices?

         Robert smiled a Cheshire grin. “You have no idea what this is?”

         Peter shook his head, as his friend settled down beside him on the bed. Robert laughed, and tore open the bag, “You sure lead a sheltered life.” Smirking a bit, he reached over, and pulled open the bedside table drawer.

         Peter gazed at Robert in amusement. His friend never ceased to surprise him. Whenever they were out together, Robert always wanted to “have fun.” Looking back on the short time they have known each other, Peter realized that their bad behavior would have got any other kid in trouble. For instance, his father somehow found out that he and Robert were involved in ruining Mr. Harris’ produce stand.

         As Peter sat down to dinner a few days after the “incident,” his father made a smart remark about the vandals. He seemed to be praising them! Raising his eyes to meet Peter’s, he winked, and then slightly chuckled. His mother instantly jumped into the conversation, saying how exciting she felt knowing that her son had become best friends with Robert.

         “Now, all you need is a rich girlfriend,” his father continued. “This family is important to me! I worked hard all my life to have the word, “white trash,” permanently removed from my family’s reputation, and I will be damned if my only son fucks it up!”

         Shuddering at the bizarre flashback, Peter snuggled into the pillows as he watched Robert roll what looked like a funny shaped cigarette. Every night his father made a speech about how, "Peter must only associate with the right people! He must marry a wealthy girl. He must only make friends with rich kids. Since Robert happened to be the only "privileged" kid in school, this part of his dad's rant always confused him.

         Once Robert had the cigarette rolled, he lit it, pressed it to his lips, and inhaled. A musky odor filled the room.

         For some reason, Peter wanted to slide up next to his friend, and fall asleep. These strange thoughts had swept through his brain many times during the past few months. At first they confused the hell out of him, but now he just didn't care. As long as Robert never found out, he should be fine.

         He remembered his father's rant about Peter becoming friends with Robert because of the wealth. All his dad cared for was money. With a gasp, it finally hit him. His parent's honestly believed that he had become friends with Robert because of this fact. Peter laughed hysterically.

         "What's so funny?" Robert asked.

         Peter turned to his friend, "Just something my parent's told me about marrying a rich girl someday"

         Robert snarled, a look of pure disgust on his face. "Here," he held out the cigarette. "Smoke this and I promise you things will start to feel a lot better."

         Peter took a hold of the cigarette, brought it up to his lips, and inhaled. This time he didn't convulse into a raging coughing fit. Gazing at Robert, he could see that his friend was still complaining; muttering things like, "marriage," "women," and "who needs them?"

         The room swam. Peter felt like he was being drifted out to sea. "What kind of wonderful tobacco did his friend give him?" Studying his friend he knew his parent's were wrong. Peter didn't choose to become Robert's friend because of the wealth; it happened to be something else...an attraction. "Was it his friend's care less attitude? Maybe, but whatever it happened to be, Peter loved it!"

*****

         Peter's mind wandered back to the present. Robert was staring at him; the game had ended.

         "Hey, do you want to get stoned?"

         He watched his friend reach over to snap off the radio, then raise his arms luxuriously over his head, where he yawned, and stretched. There was something about that moment; the way his friend gazed at him through half-open eyes. Robert seemed to be waiting for Peter's response.

         "I thought you would never ask!"

         Robert smiled, as he pushed back a strand of black hair. "Go put a record on."

         They stood up, and made their way back inside. "I'm going to straighten my hair, that damn wind fucked it up," Robert complained.

         Peter chose a Rolling Stone album from the library size collection. Removing the record from the sleeve, he placed it on the turntable, and then lowered the needle.

         Plopping back down on Robert's amazingly soft bed, he took the pot from it hiding place on top of the bedside table, and began rolling two joints. Robert could expertly roll a joint; Peter was learning.

         Settling in the center of the bed, he took a silver lighter, lit one joint, then turned to face his friend.

         Robert sat upright in a chair facing the bureau; gazing seriously at himself in the mirror, while slowly brushing out his long, black hair.

         Exhaling a wisp of white smoke, Peter leaned back into the enormous pile of pillows, and began studying his friend. Robert was obsessed with his hair, and always carried a brush, or comb everywhere they went. He became angry when the weather blew it into knots, or the humidity made it frizzy. Secretly, Peter thought the whole thing to be amusing; but he would never tell him this.

         "What do you think?" Robert turned around.

         Peter clapped in amusement.

         Robert leaped on the bed, took the joint that Peter held out to him, and then the two of them crawled back onto the pillows. After a moment of silence, Peter took one final hit, and then smashed out the remains in the bedside ashtray.

         Propping himself up, he turned sideways to look at Robert who still lay on his back. The air grew hazy, Peter's vision began to waver. Through his smoke filled eyes, he could see his friend sit up to crush his cigarette out, then grow annoyed when ash accidently spilled out onto the table. His perfectly brushed hair once again fell out of place. For some reason Peter started to laugh hysterically.

         Closing his eyes, he allowed the pot to quickly take over; seconds later he felt Robert slide up next to him, where he proceeded to lay his head down on Peter's arm. He could feel his friend's glossy hair on his skin. Remembering the way Robert recently freaked over it being messy, Peter burst out laughing again.

         "What's so funny?"

         Giggling at the sleepy tone, Peter murmured something unintelligible. The last thing he remembered before falling into a pot-laced dream was Robert shifting positions so he could lay his head down on Peter's chest.

*Next Chapter*

ID: 1740105   (Rated: 18+) Pretend You're Someone Else (Chap. 10)  "It's like you never left me. I love you so much!" (1992) by KAT26/Adrian--Published!