“I love the smell of the dirt road after a fresh spring rain.
“I love the smell of the asphalt in front of my mansion after a fresh spring rain.”
Pilar and Caspar had been friends for eighteen years. In their youth, they sat together on the bus to and from school and talked about baseball and goat milking. They pulled the hair of the girls they liked and drank chocolate milk from straws. Caspar always finished his carton first, slamming it down on the cafeteria table in a loud crush of championship, and then ran off to French kiss the girls whose names were scrawled across Pilar’s notebook.
“I love the smell of steamed asparagus,” Pilar said, giving a little grunt as he peddled his bike up a slight grade.
“I love the smell of my urine after I eat asparagus,” Caspar challenged, peddling just a few revolutions faster.
In tenth grade, Caspar convinced Pilar to steal tampons from Greta’s knapsack. When Greta bled through her white knickers later that day, Pilar collapsed under the weight of his guilt and turned himself in. He was suspended for a day and was forced to clean the sweat from Olaf’s desk seat. Olaf was the fattest boy in school. He liked to wear short denim cut offs.
“I love the smell of my puppy’s feet. It smells of buttered popcorn,” Pilar smiled as he glided his bike to a halt at the ice cream shack.
“I love the smell of the cold hard cash in my hand after my puppy wins a race. It smells of win,” Caspar said, reaching the bike rack seconds before Pilar.
Planning for college, Caspar convinced Pilar to be his roommate, making him promises of parties and girls and infinite bottles of rufies supplied by Caspar’s cousin Jake, who worked in a factory making fly strips as a front. But every time Caspar returned from class, he was greeted by a sock dangling from the door knob.
By the third week of fall semester, he ended up moving back home and commuting.
“I love the smell of my office after my desk has been Pledged,” said Pilar, squinting at the colorful ice cream menu.
“I love the smell of my office after my Swedish masseuse has rubbed me down with the finest essential oils,” said Caspar, after ordering before Pilar.
Pilar showed up at Caspar’s apartment three years ago, after finding out that his papa had been having an affair for two decades with Brenda, the bar maid from the inner city. Caspar listened to Pilar cry for a few minutes about how his entire childhood was built on a foundation of lies and infidelity. When Pilar was in the bathroom, vomiting up his heart ache, Caspar jogged to Pilar’s old childhood home to take advantage of the newly single woman’s vulnerability.
“I love the smell of pistachio ice cream,” Pilar happily divulged as he gave the dripping bulb of frozen confection a hearty lick.
“I love the smell of pistachio ice cream after I’ve fucked your wife.”
that’s true friendship… kinda like ours. awl.
i love your fictional stories!! they make me smile, because they’re so twisted in unexpected ways.
It reminds me of us because I’m always besting you. Always.
for proof… one must only look to our friends G.O.O.D.
OH MY GOD. I forgot all about G.O.O.D. I hope they didn’t bite it in a drive by.
Oh that Caspar! That’s what friends are for, right?
I was just hoping you’d write another of these stories. Thanks for reading my mind. I really enjoy them!
Thanks for catching my typos, EDITOR!
But seriously, thanks for liking these. :)
UGH. Sorry!!! Will be more vigilant in the future.
Gawd, I just love this…Especially the part about stealing tampons lol.
Thank you! I’m glad you liked it:)