Sydney/Taree Australia
Part 29

"Would you like lettuce with your ham and tomato?"

"Thanks, B. But don't change the sub. You shouldn't be smoking. Have you told Cody?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he'd be disappointed in me. Mustard?"

I read the label on the jar. Hot English. "Got any American mustard?"

"American mustard is for wusses, Daniel. Hot English is the way to go."

"How hot?"

"On a scale of ten?" he smiled. "Ten. Anyway, try a bit. I'm sure you'll like it." And with that, he smeared a thin film of the yellow stuff over the ham.

"So you're worried about Cody being disappointed in you? He tells you everything, so it's only fair that you should tell him everything. He's your soul buddy."

"He thinks I'm an awesome old dude," B explained as he topped the ham with sliced tomato and shredded lettuce. Then he ground some black pepper over before adding the top slices of bread, and cutting the sandwiches into neat triangles. "If he knew I hadn't quite conquered my smoking habit, he would accuse me of being a hypocrite. 'Do as I say, not as I do'." B placed the sandwiches on a plate, and suggested eating lunch outside on the lawn. "Grab two beers from the fridge."

I did as B asked, then followed him outside. Once seated cross-legged on the grass, I took a bite. "Mmmm! This English mustard is..." Oops! I spoke too soon. I felt the heat of the mustard kinda sneaking up on me; tingling the hell outa my tongue and sending hot fumes up my nasal passages. "Whoa! Is this some kinda fucking torture? Jeez, B! My damn eyes are watering!"

"Take a sip of beer, then another bite. You'll get used to it. Mmmm! Delicious! Ham just ain't ham without a smear of Hot English."

"Would Cody be right? I mean, if he accused you of being a hypocrite?"

"I just don't think he needs to know. Why risk spoiling his image of me?"

"I don't think it's fair."

"We all have our weaknesses, Daniel. Cody isn't exactly a saint either, y'know. He's admitted certain things to me in the past, and I haven't been judgemental."

"At least he admitted them."

"So what are you accusing me of, Daniel? Being a fake? An imposter? Of leading Cody up the garden path?"

"Chill, B. I'm just disappointed, that's all. What's the point of being soul buddies if you're not gonna share everything?"

"There's a lot that I don't share with Cody, or with you for that matter. Cody often thanks me for being there for him. There's a lotta stuff he tells me 'cause there's no one else he can tell. It's a bit like going to a shrink. You don't want the shrink telling you all about his problems. It's his job to listen to yours."

"Job?"

"OK, so maybe the shrink analogy was not a good one. I've never considered my relationship with you guys as a job. But I do consider it to be a responsibility, and one that I'm grateful to have. It makes me feel useful. When I was your age, dealing with various problems such as sexual orientation, I had no one to turn to, so I now appreciate the value of you guys having a soul mate or mentor whose motives are honorable."

I totally cracked up when I heard that, and almost choked on a mouthful of sandwich. "Honorable!" I spluttered. Then I cracked up again before saying, "If gawking was a crime, you'd get fucking life!"

"Gawking is not a crime, Daniel. Besides, who pisses in whose pencil jar?"

"I don't have a pencil jar."

"But even if you did, I certainly wouldn't piss in it. You're the scallywag, not me. And so is Cody. That's what I mean by my motives being honorable. I want nothing more from you guys than your friendship. Anyway, getting back to the point of this convo, Cody doesn't want me telling him every single detail about my life. He's interested in telling me about his life. He's the teen. He's the one who has a million questions buzzing around in his head like a swarm of locusts. He's the one who needs to bounce stuff off me to see what kinda reaction he gets. That's my job. OK, job's not the right word. Role. So if I smoke the occasional ciggie it's no biggie."

"You should be a poet."

"Are you disappointed in me, Daniel?"

"You're our teacher, B. You set an example. So it's OK if I smoke? Or Cody smokes?"

"No, it's not OK. Smoking is dumb. It's a slow form of suicide."

"So why don't you quit? I mean like quit totally?"

"Taking it up is easy. Giving it up is very difficult after 40 years."

"So why did you take it up?"

"It was normal. Accepted. Almost mandatory. Frank Sinatra smoked. Humphrey Bogart smoked. Almost everybody smoked. Even Bing Crosby smoked a pipe."

"Bing Crosby smoked a fucking bong?"

"No, no, no, no. A pipe! Tobacco! Like the one Sherlock Holmes smoked, only not so elaborate. Anyway, the point is that smoking was socially acceptable. Women smoked. People smoked in restaurants, offices, buses and trains, planes, everywhere. Now it's taboo. And I've got you sitting there on the lawn in front of me, looking like... well, looking like you look without a shirt on, accusing me of being a drug addict just 'cause I have an occasional puff. I was a victim, Daniel. I was a victim of the times."

"What about the victims of these times? It's not just fucking tobacco these days, B. It's hard stuff. So are teens gonna use that same excuse? That they're victims of the times?"

"I guess not," the old dude admitted. "It's a copout. Is that what you're saying?"

"Go figure."

"You expect too much of me, Daniel. I'm not the awesome old dude that Cody says I am. I can't live up to those kinda expectations. I'm as fragile as the next guy."

"There ya go, making fucking excuses again. Who are we gonna look up to if guys like you don't lead the fucking way?"

"It's not that simple, Daniel. I'm not here to lead you, and you're not here to lead me. Same with Cody and me. It's not about leaders and followers. We lead each other. We influence each other. We're equals. We share experiences and we become richer because of that sharing."

"So when are you gonna tell Cody that you're still smoking?"

"Daniel," he began after taking a sip of beer, "what good would that do? It's not me that matters here. It's Cody... and you. It's your lives that matter, not mine. Mine's almost over."

"Jesus! Don't talk like that, B! You scare the fuck outa me when you say things like that. You're gonna be around forever 'cause... 'cause there's only one B, that's why. What the fuck would Cody and I do if...? Anyway, that's why you shouldn't smoke."

"I appreciate your concern, Daniel. I really do. But sooner or later you're gonna have to make do without me."

"Later sounds way better than sooner. Much fucking later."

"In any event, death is something we all have to deal with, whether it's our own or someone else's. Come to think of it, I'm glad I'm the fossil. Being the first to go suits me just fine. There'd be no point to my life if you guys weren't around to drive me nuts."

"Don't fucking talk like that, B! No one's going! And stop avoiding the fucking issue. No more ciggies. OK? Not even one! And that's a fucking order! I'm serious, B! Hey, what the fuck are you smiling at?"

"You. You're so damn cute when you're mad. Even cuter than normal," he chuckled.

"Is it a deal? No more smokes?"

"I'll try."

"Don't gimme that lamo 'I'll try' crap, B. Is it a deal or not?"

"If I agreed and then broke my promise later, the situation would be worse than it is now. I can't promise, Daniel. I can go for weeks, even months, without a ciggie. But every now and then there's some sorta drama that stresses me to the point where I..." The old fucker trailed off, took a sip of beer while he gathered his thoughts, and then continued. "I'm not prepared to make a commitment, Daniel. So let's drop it."

"So what are you gonna suggest I do when I get stressed? Huh? What kinda advice do you give Cody when he's stressed? Smoke a joint or something?"

"That's a ridiculous thing to say, Daniel. You know as well as I do that Cody is anti drugs. He has his own way of handling stress. Surfing. Going to his special place on the mountain. Sparring with Mark. Even writing me. And he has lots of friends. Good friends. And so do you. You've got more friends than you can poke a stick at. Or should I rephrase that? The point is, there are many people you can turn to when you're stressed. I don't have that luxury. There's only one person I can turn to in times of trouble, and you're looking at him."

"That's bullshit, B! You've got a stack of friends!"

"You don't understand, Daniel. I've created a monster called Mr B who's supposed to be a guru. And gurus are supposed to be the dispensers of advice; the one to whom others turn in times of trouble. But to whom does the guru turn?"

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