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Non-drinkers always have the craziest ideas.
Josh doesn’t have many non-drinker friends, or many friends at all, so his statistics might not be accurate — but his statistics is always accurate when it comes to Tyler. And when it comes to Josh’s own ideas, inspired by Tyler’s non-drinker mind.
“I will quit my job to join your band.”
“I can’t sing but I will do backing vocals for our new song.”
This or that, they’re best friends, after all.
They’re best friends who went camping with some other friends who happened to not be non-drinkers, currently sleeping in their tents after their little wildlife party. The bonfire barely keeps them warm anymore as the weather in Columbus’ forest begins to show its temper. Josh shivers, wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and shorts and feeling stupid. He felt hot all day while carrying a rolled-up tent he and Tyler were supposed to spend the night in. He tries to not scratch insect bites bothering him in the most embarrassing places.
Tyler scratches his neck until his raw bitten nails leave long red trails behind his ear.
Sleep doesn’t come. Thoughts come instead.
“Would you?” Tyler asks. He holds a stick in his right hand as his left won’t stop irritating the back of his neck.
“I don’t know.”
Maybe it’s Red Bull, maybe it’s something that’s always been in his mind.
Tyler’s wearing black jeans and a hoodie, all covered from annoying bugs. They ran out of mosquito spray hours ago, losing one of the fights. Maybe Nate has some more in his backpack, but Josh doesn’t want to bother anyone. Even Michael and Mark gave up and had some beer after an exhausting day.
Tyler refused. Josh wanted to support him.
And then Tyler came up with the idea.
“I want to keep this moment in my mind. I want to burn it into my mind,” he says, fiddling with the stick. “I usually don’t think when I do it, but… What if someone had control over it?”
Tyler has scars on his stomach already. Old ones only, Josh keeps checking on that. And now,
“You literally ask me to burn you.”
“Because you know when to stop.”
Something was coming, of course, something like this was coming. Josh sighs. Tyler’s been so shaky recently, and him being open and honest about his intentions creeps Josh out. He can prevent it. He can leave Tyler alone to it. Alone with his thoughts, and then — then with yet another razorblade. It might still happen, Tyler wrote songs about it.
Josh stares at the stick in Tyler’s hands.
“It’s gonna hurt.”
Tyler rustles out along with the trees,
“It always hurts.”
Josh might start hating all Ohio forests altogether, with their sticks and leaves and stupid insects trying to crawl up his ass —
“I’ll do it,” Josh’s eyesight wavers along with the fire. “If you do it to me too.”
Tyler chokes on the air. Sways a little, tensing up like a scared rabbit. They sit on their unzipped sleeping bags, but it feels like they have no gravity there. Maybe it’s one of Mother Nature’s mysteries, maybe it’s Josh’s anxiety.
Tyler stops scratching his neck, grabbing a can of Red Bull to finish it in one gulp.
“Why?” he finally asks.
“So you can feel some control?”
“But it’s you.”
Yeah, Josh is aware, thank you very much. Josh has a pain tolerance level he’s ashamed of. But the thought of harming Tyler makes him feel sick.
“It’s me. And I’m your friend and… we can do this as a promise that it’s the last time you hurt yourself? The only time we cause pain to each other?”
Tyler can’t promise anything. Josh can only promise that he’ll be there for him, no matter what. If Tyler keeps going through this repeatedly, Josh might as well go with him — through the darkest places of Tyler’s mind with a broken compass, only holding this burning stick like a torch. It takes one unsaid “I love you” to be a good friend. It takes one unsaid “don’t leave me alone” to make the nightmares step away.
Josh didn’t know his thoughts could be so poetic when he’s stressed. Their band doesn’t need another lyricist.
“Deal?” he outstretches his hand when Tyler’s frozen state begins to concern him.
Tyler’s eyes are full of reflected flame. He squeezes Josh’s palm.
“Deal.”
They have sanitizing wipes but the fire does its job too. Tyler dips the stick into their private inferno, catching some of it on its tip. He looks at the gleaming dot for a while, dry lips moving soundlessly as if he’s praying. Well, maybe he is praying, putting a new meaning into it.
Tyler blows at the stick and hands it to Josh.
“Let’s go,” he pulls up his hoodie along with the t-shirt underneath.
“Where should I…” Josh waves around Tyler’s bare stomach. Tyler blindly points somewhere at his navel. The fire dancing on Josh’s left emphasizes the white lines on Tyler’s skin. There are too many, like a ruled paper waiting for a signature. Now he’s dotting the i’s. Literally.
Josh takes a deep breath and quickly pokes Tyler’s stomach with a hot stick. He barely counts to one before pulling away with his entire body. Tyler hisses through his clenched teeth and screws his eyes shut.
“Thank you,” he exhales, then shakes his head, then looks at the small round mark right above his left hip bone. Josh tried his best to aim.
He winces.
“Did it hurt?”
“You could control it,” Tyler smiles instead of the answer, his jaw remains locked.
Josh didn’t have to ask. Like Tyler said, it always hurts.
He holds the hem of his t-shirt up, not letting Tyler change his mind.
“Same spot.”
Tyler nods. The end of the stick dives into the fire again.
Josh looks away, trying to not think about how badly Tyler’s hands shake. New meds, lack of meds, and change of meds all do this to him. Tyler always worries that tics and tremors one day will become a big problem as he plays the piano, or uke, or keytar.
Josh keeps telling him that one day it will get better.
Josh bites down his lip as the skin on his side burns, dozens of insects gnawing on it all at once and wiggling their tiny legs as they get inside.
“I’m sorry,” the stick flies away and Tyler crawls to Josh, nearly knocking him to the ground. “I’m sorry, I hurt you—”
His hands are shaking. They don’t have shows for the next week.
“You didn’t,” Josh whispers. “You could control it.”
Josh’s mark is bigger than Tyler’s, all reddened and with a blister already forming in the center. Like a little DIY galaxy on his stomach that will be covered with a thin crust of a scab in a day or so.
It didn’t hurt to be burnt, or labeled, or claimed as his bandmate’s friend — it hurt to feel the bones in Tyler’s fingers rattle with tremor.
They have a week. They will be fine.
Josh tries to remember what he learned in a Boy Scout camp he went to when he was eight. He hated it, so it turned out that his brain blocked out those memories. But he thinks that if they rinse the burns with cold water and cover them with band-aids, it will save them from dying of infection.
He takes care of it. He splashes some water onto the bonfire, too.
They should really go to sleep if they don’t want to die of exhaustion — oh, one more dumb way to die. The dumbest, and the most impossible way to die is only to get killed by a grizzly bear who didn’t like the sound of the ukulele. They’re going home tomorrow, and Josh would love to get there in one piece.
Josh yawns as the stress reaches its critical level and spills over the edges, leaving him drained.
“Maybe we should get into our tent?”
Tyler nods, tugging repeatedly at his hoodie where the fabric touches the burn. Maybe it wasn’t the right place. Maybe the right place would have found them far too late. Josh picks up their sleeping bags and drags them into their tent. There’s nothing strange about sharing such a tight space with Tyler. They barely fit in there together, so there’s no room for claustrophobia.
There’s Tyler’s backpack and his ukulele case in the corner. Tyler singing at the bonfire was the best thing about today, them all singing along, and not noticing how his fingers slipped through the right chords sometimes. How his vocal cords hit the wrong notes sometimes.
Josh can’t sing, but Tyler keeps saying it’s not true.
They’re friends for life, for real, lying next to each other. Tyler’s sharp knee digs into Josh’s. Josh wonders if Tyler stops thinking when he’s asleep.
“I can’t stop thinking,” Tyler says.
Maybe they’re true soulmates.
“About what?”
“About us.”
The burning in Josh’s stomach turned into a background discomfort, skin tight and wrinkled under the band-aid. It’s breathable, so the fire in him can still burn him to the bone. Tyler got his first tattoos a year ago, and he said that he liked that feeling. Tyler has a very odd perception of pain.
Getting matching tattoos one day sounds like a cool idea.
A new sensation distracts Josh from the insect-bite itch still tormenting his skin in various places. Tyler doesn’t scrape his neck anymore. He huddles closer to Josh, head resting on Josh’s outstretched arm (it’s gonna go numb by the morning, but it’s alright), and Josh kisses his temple.
“It’s gonna get better tomorrow,” he mutters, lips still pressed to clammy skin that smells of trees and sweat.
“I hope so.”
Hope is all they have. Josh looks at the shadows fighting on a tarpaulin ceiling, eating one another in the dark only to get eaten by the sunrise. On the outside, tiny night creatures keep doing their tiny night creatures activities, enjoying their invisibility. Mark snores in his tent, he’s got some funny pictures to take. Things go back to their usual route.
As a two-piece band, they share everything: pain, happiness, scars, and they can create something out of it. New music needs to be written, lyrics blooming in one’s reckless brain and drumbeat pulsing in another’s heart.
Josh wants to believe the nightmares won’t bother their sleep today.
Tyler’s hands stop shaking.