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Charlie laid on his floor, trying to stay as still as possible as the humid summer air stood stagnant in his bedroom. Although the sun had set hours ago, it was still well over 90º outside, and his shitty fan had finally kicked the bucket the day before. Even in his stillness, the heat was nearly unbearable.
It was quiet, aside from the grey noise of Philadelphia buzzing outside his window that he’d long learned to tune out. His mother’s soft crying had ceased hours ago, meaning she’d either fallen asleep or passed out drunk.
The silence was broken by a loud pounding on his front door which caused Charlie to nearly jump out of his skin.
“Yo, Charlie!” Mac yelled, his voice muffled by the front door. “Charlie boy, open up!”
Immediately, he jumped to his feet and bounded down the stairs with a wide smile on his face. He flung the door open and in lieu of a greeting, Mac shoved him backward.
“What the fuck, bro?!” Mac yelled, starting to step into the Kelly house.
Charlie shoved him back before he could and yelled, “You what the fuck! Don’t push me!”
Mac brushed past Charlie and strode into the living room. “Where the hell were you last night, Charlie? I waited on my stoop for like two goddamn hours!"
“Last night?” Charlie repeated, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “What was last night?”
“Fourth of July,” Mac said, sounding dejected.
“Shit,” Charlie said under his breath. “Was it really?”
“Yeah, man. We’ve never missed a Fourth of July together.”
“Sorry,” Charlie said. “I didn’t realize what day it was. My mom’s been freakin’ out. I was scared to leave her alone.”
“Shit, Charlie,” Mac replied, his voice softer than it was moments ago. “That sucks.”
“Why didn’t you call?” Charlie asked.
"I did, like, fifteen times," Mac argued. "The line was dead."
Charlie walked over to the phone mounted on their kitchen wall and found the jack unplugged. "My mom must've done that. She was acting all paranoid again."
Mac nodded and shifted uncomfortably. He never really knew what to say when Charlie talked about his mother’s issues, but his listening was enough.
“Why’d you wait so late to come over?” Charlie asked, changing the subject. He looked at the analog clock on the wall for a moment, then redirected his eyes to the digital clock on their microwave. “It’s 11:26.”
Mac shrugged. “I went to go visit my dad at the prison, then my mom needed extra hands at the Jiffy Lube. I was gonna come over earlier but I kinda fell asleep after I ate dinner.”
“Well,” Charlie said slowly. “You’re here now, right? We can still celebrate.”
With a wicked grin, Mac swung his threadbare Dickies backpack off his shoulder, yanked the zipper open and reached inside. Slowly, he pulled out a fistful of at least fifty bottle rockets.
“Holy shit, dude.”
“I know right?!” Mac said. “I had to give Jamie Nelson fifty bucks, but I way overcharged some idiot kids who just moved in next to me for shitty weed the other day, so it worked out."
“You got any beer in there?” Charlie asked, craning his neck to see into Mac’s bag.
“Nah,” Mac said. “My mom was out. I figured we could just steal some from the Wawa over on 2nd.”
“Good plan,” Charlie agreed.
Mac zipped up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”
“Lemme just go check on my mom,” Charlie said, and Mac nodded.
Charlie crept up the stairs, carefully avoiding the creaky one even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. He gently pushed open his mother’s bedroom door and poked his head in. She was splayed out across the bed like a cockeyed starfish, snoring softly. An empty bottle of whiskey laid next to her, the bedspread darkened around its neck from where the last drops slid out. Charlie frowned. At least that meant she wouldn’t be up for a while. And, if she did get up, it was the neighbors’ problem now.
He ran back down the stairs, grabbed his house key off the hook and shoved it in his pocket. "Ready!"
The two boys set out into the night, and Charlie rolled his eyes as Mac made a show of gripping his pocket knife. Mac was as unskilled with a blade as he was at karate, but it did make Charlie feel marginally safer on the dark streets of South Philly. They walked in comfortable silence for a few blocks, Mac staring straight ahead and Charlie gazing up at stars he couldn’t see.
“Hey, how’s your dad doing?” Charlie asked after a long while.
Mac shrugged. “Same as ever. I talked for like fifteen straight minutes and he just grunted and it was super awkward. Then he just did that thing where he stands up and says goodbye and that’s it.”
“Sorry, man,” Charlie said, then put a gentle hand on Mac’s shoulder. Mac, surprisingly, didn’t shrug it off, like he’d been one to do lately.
“Whatever,” Mac said. “He’ll be out again soon.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Well, probably.” Charlie raised an eyebrow, and Mac continued. “He’s got a few years, but I’m sure he’ll be out early on good behavior.”
Charlie almost laughed but managed to catch himself. He’d only met Mac's dad a handful of times, and the man was fucking terrifying. There was no way anyone would ever reward him for good behavior.
“I hope so, dude,” Charlie said, humoring Mac. He let his hand fall away as they approached the Wawa.
“Stay behind me,” Mac said under his breath as they walked in, as if stealing a few beers was some sort of top secret mission. In Mac’s mind, it probably was. Charlie loved that about him.
He watched as Mac gave the cashier an ocular pat-down and tried to do the same. She seemed to be about their age and was flipping through a tabloid, popping her gum and ignoring the two of them. Mac nodded once and they continued back toward the beer. They hid behind one of the endcaps, out of view of the cashier and a couple standing near the condoms arguing very loudly over which size to buy. Charlie kept watch while Mac carefully maneuvered a six pack of PBR into his backpack. The cashier didn’t seem to notice the clinking over the couple's yelled insults, and if she did, she didn’t give a shit.
“Okay,” Mac whispered, carefully zipping his bag back up. “You need to create a diversion.”
“Diversion?”
“A distraction, dude. So she doesn’t stop us on the way out.”
“Why would she stop us?”
“Because we can’t just leave without buying anything.”
“Why not?”
“God, this is why I don’t bring you with me when I steal shit,” Mac said to himself, then continued, "Let me walk you through it, Charlie. We come in here, looking like we do, with a backpack, walk to the back of the store, stay here for a few minutes, then leave. We're obviously stealing! But, if you distract the bitch behind the counter, I can sneak out of here with the beer and then you can bolt. Got it?”
Charlie nodded slowly, still not really understanding why they couldn’t just leave.
“Good. Now, see that display of grilling stuff? Go knock all those jars of pickles off the shelf.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, man. They’re an off brand, so that’s cheap ass glass. They’ll shatter, and when she’s freaking out because there’s fucking pickles everywhere, I’ll leave, then when she goes to grab a mop, you leave. Okay?”
Charlie nodded again, more confident in the plan. Mac definitely wasn’t the smartest guy around, but he was a better criminal than anyone Charlie knew. There was a thrill to watching him concoct a scheme, especially when Charlie got to help carry it out.
Mac nodded in return and peeked around the corner at the cashier. The arguing couple were now standing in front of her, violently making out while she rung up their purchases. Mac and Charlie both audibly gagged at the sight.
“Go time,” Mac whispered, then pushed Charlie forward.
He stumbled down the aisle toward the display Mac had pointed out and glanced over his shoulder. Mac gave him a reassuring nod, so he reached out and swept his arm across the shelf, sending at least twenty jars crashing to the linoleum below. Mac had been right, all but one shattered and the floor was covered with pickled refuse.
“Oh are you fucking kidding me?!” the cashier yelled, rushing out from her place behind the counter. “What the hell, dude?!”
“I tripped,” Charlie said sheepishly.
“No you didn’t!” she argued. “I saw you just knock these over!”
“I tripped,” Charlie repeated as Mac slipped out of the store, unnoticed.
The woman let out a frustrated grunt and jabbed a finger in Charlie’s face. “You’re gonna have to pay for all of these.”
Charlie said nothing and she stormed off to grab a mop, just like Mac said she would. The second she was out of sight, Charlie leaped over the puddle he’d caused and ran for the door. He barely heard her scream “you motherfucker!” before the door closed behind him.
“Run!” Mac yelled as soon as Charlie burst out of the store, and they did.
The two boys ran as hard as they could for nearly a block before the heat overwhelmed them. They stopped at a street corner, their shirts already starting to soak through, breathing hard.
"It's too fucking hot," Mac groaned, using the neck of his shirt to fan himself.
"Gimme a beer," Charlie said once he'd caught his breath.
Mac swung his backpack around and pulled out two cans then tossed one to Charlie. He leaned far forward and caught it, just barely.
Mac laughed as Charlie steadied himself. "Nice catch."
"Bad throw," Charlie countered.
"My throw was perfect, bitch."
"If your throw was perfect, I wouldn't have had to almost dive to catch it, bitch."
"You should've anticipated where it was going to end up, Charlie. It's all about trajectory."
"Dude, I'm not out fielding. You should've thrown it to where I was standing!"
"If that had been a baseball, it would've gone right to you," Mac insisted, sticking out his chest. "Beer cans aren't regulation."
"Regulation?" Charlie said with a laugh. "Man, what the hell are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about my form, bro! If we were in the MLB, I would've thrown a ball to you perfectly."
"You could never be in the MLB."
"Yes, I could!" Mac yelled. "I could totally play for the Phillies!"
"You absolutely could not, dumbass," Charlie insisted.
Mac scoffed. "I could go out there tomorrow and pitch the shit out of Curt goddamn Schilling."
"That is crazy talk, dude!" Charlie said, laughing. "You are a real life crazy person."
"Whatever, asshole," Mac said. "You're just jealous because I'm gonna be the youngest and most awesome Phillie in history."
"Oh my God," Charlie said, then cracked open the beer. "Can we just go back to your place?"
"Yeah," Mac said with a smile, then cracked his can open as well.
They clinked their cans together and each took a swig as they started the trek to Mac's house. They were mostly quiet as they walked through the streets, aside from Mac wolf whistling at a group of girls in high heels and short dresses, then Charlie laughing as all of them told him to fuck off.
"Women are the worst," he said as they walked away.
"It's not that they're the worst,” Charlie argued. “It's that you're sixteen and they were, like, actual women."
Mac raised an eyebrow as he took another swig of his beer. "Whose side are you on, dude?"
"Yours," Charlie insisted. "I'm just saying."
"Whatever. Fuck them."
"You couldn't even if you tried, man," Charlie teased.
Mac grinned and elbowed Charlie lightly in the ribs. "Dick."
Charlie smiled and finished off his beer. He kept the can in his hand, knowing they'd need something to set the bottle rockets in. They were almost to Mac’s house when something stuck in the sewer grate caught Charlie’s eye.
“Charlie, don’t pull trash out of the gutter!” Mac said with a groan as Charlie leaned down to grab it.
“It’s not trash, man,” Charlie argued as he straightened back up and held his findings out to Mac. “It’s a fiver.”
“Oh, shit!” Mac laughed. “Let’s get pretzels!”
Charlie nodded excitedly as he used the hem of his shirt to wipe off the five dollar bill. The corner was ripped, but not enough to render it useless.
They took a detour to the weird food cart that always seemed to be parked a block away from Mac’s house. The boys knew, logically, that the man who ran it must leave at some point, but neither of them could recall a time they hadn’t seen him there. They’d tried all the food he had to offer, and the only thing worth eating were the enormous hot pretzels. They ordered two, and Mac let the man keep the change.
“I wanna eat it now,” Charlie said as they walked away.
“Not yet, bitch,” Mac replied. “We gotta wait ’til we get the mustard.”
Charlie frowned. He knew the drill, but he hadn’t eaten all day. Thankfully, they turned the corner to Mac’s street before he could complain again.
“Wait here,” Mac said, hopping up onto his stoop. “I’ll be right back out.”
Charlie nodded as Mac set his backpack on the ground then bounded into his house. He was grateful that Mac had told him not to come in. Mrs. Mac kind of scared him and the place always smelled like cigarettes and dog piss. Charlie sat down on the steps and dug two more beers out of Mac’s backpack. He popped one open and took a sip while he waited.
Finally, Mac came back out of the house balancing a small bowl of yellow mustard, two cassettes and his enormous boombox. Charlie knew the radio weighed a ton, so he jumped up and grabbed it just as it began to slip out of Mac’s grip.
“Thanks, bro,” Mac said as they both sat back down. He held out two cassettes. “Danzig or Dio?”
Charlie looked back and forth between Mac’s well-worn copies of Danzig and Lock Up the Wolves then up at Mac.
"Danzig," they said in unison, and Mac happily popped it in the tape deck.
Mac sat down next to Charlie, their thighs pressed together and their knees knocking, as the opening riff of Twist of Cain ripped out of the speakers. Charlie handed Mac a beer and they clinked their cans again.
“Happy Fifth of July,” Charlie said.
“Sixth,” Mac corrected. “It’s past midnight now. So we’re two days late, thanks to you.”
“Shut the hell up,” Charlie said, leaning over to shove Mac’s shoulder with his own.
They both laughed, then dug into their small feast. As they ate, they hummed along to the album they’d listened to hundreds of times.
“God, I fuckin’ love this guy,” Mac said as the album’s second track came on. “We should start a punk band.”
“What, me and you?” Charlie asked.
“Hell yeah!” Mac replied. “It’d be awesome.”
“You don’t play any instruments,” Charlie pointed out, then popped a piece of pretzel in his mouth.
“So?” Mac asked. “Bob Dylan can’t sing but he’s still Bob Dylan. We’d figure it out.”
“What are we gonna call our band?”
Mac thought as he took a sip of his beer, then said, “Chemical Toilet.”
“That’s… fucking awesome,” Charlie said with a grin.
“First practice is tomorrow,” Mac said.
Charlie nodded and finished off his beer. “Sounds good, man.”
“We’ll be playing the Trocadero in no time,” Mac said.
“My cousin told me Radiohead's playing there soon,” Charlie said. “I’m sure they’ll let us open.”
“Are they really?” Mac asked. “Shit, we should get tickets.”
“Our band will be opening the show, Mac,” Charlie said. “We don’t need tickets.”
“I’m serious, dick!” Mac said. “If Dennis comes, he could just steal some cash from his dad and buy the tickets. That asshole owes me anyway.”
Charlie’s face fell a bit. “Yeah, sure. Good idea.”
“I’ll ask him,” Mac said. “That’d be so much fun.”
Charlie ate another piece of his pretzel in lieu of replying. They were quiet for a few more minutes, Mac still humming along to the music.
“Hey,” Charlie said eventually, nervously picking at his pretzel. “You didn’t, uh... invite Dennis tonight, did you?”
Mac raised an eyebrow then asked through a mouthful of food, “Why the fuck would I invite Dennis? This is our thing.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, feeling embarrassed. “I feel like we always hang out with him now.”
“I thought you liked Dennis?”
“I do,” Charlie said, not entirely sure if he was telling the truth. “He just… He acts like he’s better than us, y’know? And he never invites me to stuff, so I feel kinda weird tagging along.”
"Oh," Mac said quietly.
With a sigh, Charlie continued, "I miss when it was just us."
Mac paused as he swirled the last of his pretzel around the bowl, scooping up the remaining mustard. “Dennis is kind of a dick.”
“Right?” Charlie said. “Like what the hell is that ‘Golden God’ shit?”
Mac laughed. “Fuckin’ ridiculous, that’s what.”
“So dumb,” Charlie agreed, laughing too.
“He and Dee are down the shore with their parents this week,” Mac said, cracking open his third beer. “But when they get back, we’re not gonna talk to him for the rest of the summer, okay? It’ll just be me and you, promise.”
Charlie knew it wasn't true. The second Dennis got back to town, Mac would be all over him again, leaving Charlie to trail behind them, trying to keep up. Still, he nodded at Mac and hoped he would keep the promise.
“Now,” Mac said, pushing up off the stoop. “Let’s blow off these fuckin’ fireworks, yeah?”
“Hell yeah!” Charlie yelled, then sprang to his feet.
They turned up the music, grabbed the fireworks and walked out to the middle of the street. Charlie set his empty can down and Mac dropped five rockets into the opening, angling them away from where the two boys were standing.
“You wanna go first?” Mac asked.
Charlie nodded eagerly, and Mac pulled his dad’s lighter out of his pocket. It was an old Zippo with a mudflap girl embossed on one side and the phrase SMILE WHEN YOU HAND THIS LIGHTER BACK IF YOU WANT TO FUCK on the other. It was an absurd object, but Charlie knew Mac treasured it. He took the lighter and walked over to the can.
“Ready?”
“Ready!”
Charlie leaned down and lit the fuses, then ran back to where Mac stood about a foot away. They held their breath as the fuses crackled and both gasped as the rockets took off almost in unison, whistling through the night sky before exploding into loud pops. The two boys cheered and took celebratory sips of their beers.
“My turn!” Mac said excitedly.
He reached his hand out for the lighter and Charlie put on a dramatic frown as he handed it back, a long-running joke they shared over the lighter’s inscription. Mac laughed, then ran forward to light off five more. Even though they did them every year, fireworks always amazed Charlie. This year was special, though. They were usually only able to get their hands on some sparklers, maybe a few cracker strips or black snakes if they were lucky. They’d never had anything airborne before.
Standing there in the unbearable heat with his best friend, on his third beer and listening to their favorite album, it was easy to forget about all the terrible shit in his life. The bad feelings were obliterated with every rocket boom. All his mom’s issues, the constant worry over whether or not they’d be able to pay the bills, the ever-present lack of food in his house, an upcoming visit from Uncle Jack, the looming dread of junior year and how much harder it got to cheat off Mac as they got older, Mr. Mac being in jail again, Mrs. Mac not giving a shit about anything her son did, Poppins going missing again, all the people from school who constantly gave them shit. None of it mattered as they stood under a half-dim streetlight, watching their small explosions in the sky.
After a few more rounds of rockets, the music stopped and Charlie ran over to the McDonald stoop to flip the cassette. When Mother began pouring out of the speakers, they heard a window open above.
“Shut the fuck up, you assholes!” a woman yelled, sticking her head out of the window. “It’s almost fucking 1 AM!”
“You shut the fuck up!” Mac yelled back. “I have to listen to you bang your meth head boyfriend all the time, so fuck off!”
“We’re not fucking meth heads!” she yelled back.
Mac scoffed. “Yeah, okay. You just got jacked teeth and scabby faces for no reason, right?”
“Fuck you!” she shrieked. “What are you, like, ten years old?”
Mac picked up a bottle rocket, aimed it at her window and lit the fuse. She screamed as it started to take off and slammed the window closed, causing the rocket to ricochet off the pane and slam into a window across the street.
“Oh, shit!” Mac said, giving Charlie a concerned look.
That window slid open and a large man stuck his head out. “What the fuck you assholes think you’re doin’?”
“Mind your fucking business,” Charlie yelled, and Mac clapped him on the back.
The man’s face flushed red with rage and Charlie tried hard not to laugh as he yelled, “I’m calling the goddamn police!”
“Whatever, you tomato face bitch,” Mac yelled, giving him the finger as the man slammed the window closed.
Charlie looked nervously at Mac. “Police?”
“Nah,” Mac said, waving a dismissive hand. “He threatens to call the cops on me like every time I leave my house. That fat asshole is so paranoid.”
Charlie nodded, then grabbed the lighter and ran forward to light off more rockets. He finished off the last of his three beers as they flew upwards and blew apart. After a few moments, they heard police sirens in the distance. It wasn’t unusual sound for South Philly, but as the noise grew closer, the boys looked at each other.
“Do you think…?” Charlie asked.
Mac looked up at the man’s window, then back at Charlie. “No. There’s no way.”
A police car turned onto East Moyamensing, siren blaring as it drove right toward the boys. The car’s blue light flickered as it spun, not quite making it in a circle.
“That’s Ricky Falcone’s dad,” Charlie said, stepping backward. “He’s got that bum light.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Mac groaned. “That motherfucker hates me.”
“What are we gonna do, dude?” Charlie said frantically as the car began to come to a stop in front of them.
Mac threw his beer can, grabbed Charlie’s hand and, for the second time that night, yelled, “RUN!”
The two boys took off on foot, their hands still joined as Mac pulled Charlie through a maze of alleys and cobblestone. Officer Falcone’s flashing lights followed them on the streets as if he knew which way they would turn.
“Where are we running?” Charlie yelled, nearly falling as Mac yanked him around a corner.
“I have no idea!” Mac answered.
“How are we gonna get home?”
“I don’t know!”
Charlie laughed and allowed Mac to keep pulling him along. They were dripping sweat, their shirts sticking to their bodies and their hands nearly sliding apart. Charlie felt like he might pass out, but ran as hard as he could anyway.
“Oh shit!” Mac yelled after a few more blocks, then pointed to a gate up ahead. “That’s the diving pool!”
They stopped in front of the gate and both jumped against it, ramming it with their shoulders hard enough to bruise. As the siren grew closer, they finally managed to shove it open far enough to push through. They looked frantically around as they got inside, searching for a place to hide so they couldn’t be seen through the chain link fence.
“Back here!” Charlie called, pointing to two shipping palettes leaning against where the pool area bordered the brick wall of the lifeguard building.
The two boys quickly squeezed into the tight space, which wasn't at all big enough for two people. Their noses were almost brushing and their feet were slotted together. The brick was rough against Charlie's back and the rotting wood behind Mac smelled terrible. They heard the siren that was pursuing them approaching and both held their breath. When the red and blue lights whizzed by without stopping, they both let out a small cheer.
"This is the best fucking night of my life," Charlie whispered, his nose bumping Mac's as he spoke.
Mac smiled wide and whispered, "Mine too."
The two boys stayed in place, hearts racing, breathing heavy, endorphins and adrenaline pumping through their teenage veins. Charlie had never felt more alive, more invincible. They hovered in each other’s space under the flickering streetlight, the summer air enveloping them as Mac leaned ever so slightly forward and kissed his best friend.
Charlie gasped. Mac’s lips pressed soft against his own and he was struck by lightning. A calloused hand settled against his cheek and the current spread. Chills ran down his spine as his eyes fluttered closed and he rested his hands on Mac’s hips. Mac hummed when Charlie’s fingertips connected with the bare skin just above his waistband, and Charlie felt the warmth in the pit of his stomach begin to grow. He tightened his grip, his fingers digging hard into Mac’s skin, reveling in the feel of the other boy’s sharp hipbones jutting against his palms. Mac made another strained noise, louder this time, then slid his hand back into Charlie’s hair as he pressed forward, molding their frames together. The moment their hips connected, they both groaned and something unspoken shifted as a frantic desperation ran through them.
If Charlie had known this was what kissing felt like, he’d have done it a lot sooner.
Mac’s hand scrambled up under Charlie’s shirt and ran over his chest, short fingernails scratching lightly at the sensitive, rarely touched skin. The brick dug hard into Charlie's back as Mac pressed closer. He barely had time to notice the pain before Mac's tongue was running across his lower lip then pushing between them and he was sure he was going to burst into flames. He used one hand to rake Mac’s shirt up so their bared torsos brushed, then pressed his palm hard into Mac’s lower back, keeping him close. Every nerve in his body could feel every molecule of Mac’s sweat-slick skin buzzing against his own as their tongues tangled around each other. Charlie’s hips jerked forward like a live wire before he could stop them. He never wanted it to end.
And then it did.
It took Charlie a few moments to realize that the kissing had stopped. When he did, he suddenly felt freezing without the heat of Mac’s body against him.
His eyes blinked open and he saw Mac as far away from him as the fenced in pool area would allow. Even from a distance, he could see the terror in Mac’s wide eyes and the rapid rising and falling of his chest as he neared hyperventilation.
“What…?” Charlie mumbled, still dazed and breathing hard.
“I’m so sorry, dude,” Mac called, his voice strained. “Charlie, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Charlie replied as he shimmied sideways out from behind the shipping pallet. “Relax, bro.”
“It’s not okay!” Mac said frantically, his eyes darting around. “That was my first– And I just– Fuck!"
Charlie held up both hands as he carefully crossed the distance between them as if he was approaching a wild animal. Mac’s breathing slowed a bit when Charlie approached him, but the panic never left his face.
“I’m sorry,” Mac said again once Charlie stopped walking and lowered his hands, the two of them now about a foot apart. “I don’t know why I did that. The… adrenaline… I’m just really drunk, I think.”
Bullshit, Charlie thought. They’d only had three beers each, and Mac hadn’t even finished his third. He nodded anyway.
“Please don’t tell Dennis," Mac said quietly.
“Dennis?” Charlie asked. “Why the hell would I tell Dennis?”
“Please,” Mac begged again. “Please don’t.”
“I won’t,” Charlie assured him. "I won’t tell anyone.”
Mac nodded and Charlie could see the tears beginning to form in the other boy's eyes. He wanted to step forward and wipe them away with the pad of his thumb like he would in their younger days when Mac leaned into Charlie’s touch rather than backing away. Instead, he kept his distance.
“I’m not mad, dude,” Charlie said after a long silence.
Mac sighed and Charlie could see some of the weight lift off his shoulders. “You’re not?"
“No. It was actually… nice,” Charlie admitted.
“Nice?” Mac repeated softly.
“Yeah.”
They stared at each other for a few charged moments, then Mac turned his head and laughed once, a guttural sound that was devoid of humor.
“What are you, some kinda faggot?” he asked, not looking at Charlie. His voice broke and his face contorted when he hurled the slur, his eyes still brimming with tears. It had none of the bravado and cruel masculinity Mac had intended.
Charlie felt his heart shatter in his chest. It wasn’t the word, that didn’t bother him anymore. He and Mac were called that all the time, usually by Dennis or one of his goons. It always set Mac off, but Charlie never took any real offense. He was heartbroken that Mac felt the need to hide himself behind empty insults and anger instead of letting Charlie in.
“Mac,” Charlie nearly whispered. “You don’t have to… It’s just us.”
“Sorry," Mac mumbled, then looked down at the ground. “I didn’t mean…"
“You can say it, man.”
Mac slowly lifted his head until his eyes met Charlie's.
Charlie had always known. He’d always suspected, anyway. More than once, he’d caught Mac leering at him as they undressed, never missing the blush that colored Mac’s cheeks as he quickly averted his gaze. He noticed how Mac kept his eyes trained firmly on the ground in the locker room at school and left immediately after changing. He knew the crinkled bodybuilding magazines he'd once found while searching for a dropped lighter under Mac’s bed had nothing to do with working out. Most recently, he saw the way Mac stared at Dennis, eyes alight with an eager grin on his face, and it always seemed to fill Charlie with an ire whose origin was impossible to pinpoint.
Charlie didn’t know a lot of things, but he knew Mac better than anyone. He wished that, just once, Mac would admit it. It wouldn’t have changed anything between them, Mac had to know that. What was the point of being best friends if they didn’t tell each other everything?
Mac’s mouth opened and closed and Charlie braced himself, ready to catch Mac before he could fall apart.
“Last one in is a rotten egg!” Mac yelled, then ran headlong at the pool and cannonballed in.
Charlie sighed as he watched the water splash around in Mac’s wake. One day, Charlie hoped, Mac would open up. He thought about pressing the subject when Mac resurfaced, but he knew it would only upset him. Rather than ruining the magic the night had created, Charlie strode toward the pool and jumped in head first.
When he resurfaced, Mac immediately jumped on his back and pushed him under. Once he broke free, he did the same to Mac, laughing before they both submerged. The water was still warm from the sun, but a welcome respite from the oppressive air above. They continued to tread water, pushing each other under and splashing around until their limbs were sore.
Eventually, they both pushed their bodies upwards and floated on their backs, their shirts billowing across the water's surface. Charlie felt Mac’s hand bump against his own in the water and, before he could overthink it, laced their fingers together. Rather than pulling away, Mac squeezed Charlie’s hand once. Charlie smiled and closed his eyes.
“Sorry I missed the Fourth,” he said quietly.
“No worries, dude,” Mac replied. “I know things with your mom have been tough lately.”
“Yeah. Uncle Jack is coming to stay with us tomorrow until she’s feeling better."
“Come stay at my house,” Mac said immediately. “My mom won’t give a shit.”
“Really?” Charlie asked, opening his eyes and craning his neck to look at Mac.
“Yeah, man. She probably won’t even notice, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that creepy fuck. Let him handle your mom’s shit for a while.”
“Thanks, bro,” Charlie said, then squeezed their hands again. “If you want, we can go visit your dad together next week.”
“That’d be cool,” Mac said. “Maybe he’d actually say more than two words if someone else was there.”
Charlie doubted it, but still said, “Maybe.”
“Sorry about earlier,” Mac said after a few long moments.
“You shouldn't be,” Charlie answered.
“I still am."
Charlie paused, then said, “It wouldn’t change anything, Mac. You’d still be my best friend.”
“I know,” Mac replied, his voice dropping back to a whisper.
“You can tell me,” Charlie said.
“I know.”
Charlie waited for the confession he knew wouldn’t come. When Mac stayed silent, he sighed, out of things to say.
The sky over Philly was clear and the nearly full moon shone bright. He wished they’d brought the last of the bottle rockets with them, imagining how they would look soaring over the water and comparing the memory of the rocket blasts to the ghost of how hard his heart had hammered when Mac was pressed against him.
“You could do it again,” Charlie said. “If you ever wanted to.”
For the third time, Mac whispered, “I know.”
Charlie hoped Mac heard the request behind his words, too embarrassed to actually ask. Somehow, Charlie knew that he did. It was just a matter of time.
“Happy Fourth, buddy,” Mac said.
With a smile, Charlie replied, “Happy Fourth."