Beep You

“Tell me again exactly why we have to do this, Brett.”

“Because I'm bored,” Brett responded without hesitation.

“That's it? You want me to make the biggest mistake of my life because you're bored?” Jared inquired.

“I'm not dragging you here. If you want to go back to your house, play Need for Speed, and chug soda until your mom tells you it's bedtime then go ahead. I can do this without you,” Brett snapped.

“Why can't we do something else for fun?” Jared asked.

“Because I'm sick of the one movie theater and the one mall in this town and since you're still walking behind me I think you are, too.”

Brett was right even if he wasn't polite about it. Their town offered little to keep adolescents occupied. They couldn't hang out with the kids their age or younger because they were, as Brett was so fond of saying, “a bunch of mega-dorks”. The pair couldn't hang out with the older kids, the high school kids, because they smoked, which aggravated Jared's asthma. And it would seem as though these pugnacious friends couldn't do anything separately.

As they walked farther down the sidewalk, departing from the nearby 7-11, they came up on Hollow Tree Park and saw a man running around the park's gravel track wearing a windbreaker jogging suit.

“All right, there he is. Do you see him?” Brett whispered.

“Do I see him? Do I see that guy? The only other person around? Yeah, I see him,” Jared responded.

He's known Brett for seven years of his life, seven very long years. It's hardly a stretch of anyone's imagination that Brett could be this stupid but he somehow talked Jared into tagging along. The allure of playing video games all day didn't seem to be enough to keep Jared and Brett inside and out of trouble.

“Keep your voice down. Don't give away our position,” Brett said.

“Our position?!” Jared thought, “We're not snipers in the Congo.”

“He's our first target,” Brett continued in as somber and serious a tone as he could muster.

“You're being weirder than usual. Why are you talking like that? Why are we doing this?”

“Dude, just chill, bro. Chillllll.” his voice trailed off.

Jared hates whenever Brett aggravates him only to tell him to chill. Jared hates the word chill when Brett says it. They continued walking and eventually moved from the sidewalk to the gravel path about 200 feet in front of the jogger. The only person who looked inconspicuous in this whole affair was the unlucky man jogging towards them. They drew closer to him, yards turned to feet. Brett lunged at the man and started pushing him; Jared was just as surprised as the jogger. Brett pushed again and again. The unlucky man didn't realize he was suppose to fall down. The man started pushing Brett back and then lifted his fist into the air.

“He's about to hurt my friend,” Jared thought and panicked.

Jared kicked the man's leg. That was the first time he ever kicked anyone. He felt a sting in his foot. The man winced in pain; the strike to his leg paused his counter-attack. Jared and Brett shared a look and then lunged forward. They pushed and the man tumbled back. Jared kick the unlucky man in his side while he was down. Jared screamed at the man to stay down. He told the man to stop fighting back because it would be easier that way.

“That's the spirit, Julio! Now make with the money, fool!” Brett screamed.

“Who the hell is Julio?” Jared couldn't help but think to himself.

Brett's hands fumbled around inside the man's windbreaker jacket. Jared couldn't tell if Brett were trying to rob or tickle the poor man. It was funny in a way that made Jared nauseous.

Something cold and vice-like grabbed Jared's stomach. It was the worst pain he ever felt - like something had plunged into his chest and was trying to pull his insides out. He couldn't take it. He had to run. He had to be anywhere but right there.

“All right, let's go!” he yelled and grabbed Brett to run away. He pulled Brett behind him but there was a snag. The man grabbed Brett's shirt sleeve.

“What the hell is wrong with you kids?!” he let out in a broken scream.

Jared kicked his hand to loosen the grip and pulled Brett away. For the first few steps Brett didn't run; Jared was just pulling him. They ran through the wooded area adjacent to the track and field and emerged behind a subdivision. When his chest and legs burned, Jared thought it might be safe enough to stop.

“That was awesome!” Brett let out between pants.

“Why'd you call me 'Julio'?” Jared should have scolded his friend for what they just did. But for some reason, knowing the answer to this question seemed like more of a priority.

“Code names, duh. You don't use your real name on a heist,” Brett responded, cocky with some knowledge he'd no doubt picked up from the last movie he saw.

“A heist? You're unbelievable. Did you even get anything?” Jared asked.

“Check it out: his beeper!” Brett displayed it proudly.

“That's it?! I had to push and kick a man to the ground for that? I had to commit a felony for that?!” Jared yelled.

“You didn't have to do anything. You chose to come along. So just chill you little--” Brett began to snipe back, 

“Dammit just shut up already!” Jared screamed as he pushed his friend to the ground, a tear or two shortly falling after.

After Brett quickly bounced back up, the longest, harshest silence these friends had ever experienced was interrupted when the center of the universe repositioned itself to the contents of Brett's hand as the beeper did exactly what it was made to do.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

The pair eventually gained the presence of mind to turn around. The jogger came bounding out of the wooded area, cell phone held to his head.

“Holy shit!” Brett blurted out, poetic as ever.

The pair took flight again, Jared dragging Brett with the beeper still going off. It got louder and louder.

“Throw that stupid thing away!” Jared begged of Brett.

“No way! This is mine now!” Brett was as dense as ever.

Jared snatched the beeper away from Brett mid-stride. He spun around and hurled the device as far away as possible, hopefully far enough so that Brett wouldn't even contemplate running after it. The beeper struck the jogger on his head just above his left eye – what perverse luck. The hand was back in Jared's stomach. It wanted more.

“I can't believe it! That was the best thing I ever saw! What a great throw, Julio!”

Jared ran away from his mistake, from his friend, without responding.

He ran down a ditch behind the subdivision. He didn't bother pulling Brett this time. Brett eventually found his legs and ran once he noticed the jogger staggering to stand. The pair ran aimlessly for at least fifteen minutes before they finally found a street they could recognize. They re-situated themselves and started walking back to Jared's house, where they always go. They couldn't talk to each other.

After they reached the house, they watched reruns of Fresh Prince of Belair until Jared's mom got home. She asked Brett if he wanted her to sew the tear on his sleeve. He declined. She warned them they shouldn't play too rough anymore or they could end up hurting one another.