Free Band Fags! by Frank Anthony Polito Page B

explains why I’ve let Brad talk me into coming over my house twelve days later, to conduct his so-called séance…
    Though he’s late.
    He was supposed to meet me in front of Hardee’s up on John R across from Farmer Jack’s at 8:30 PM. Which is where we always meet each other, halfway between both our houses. But looking at my watch now, it’s almost 8:40 PM.
    Ten minutes later he pulls up on his 24" lime green Schwinn 10-speed, a look of terror on his face. “You afraid Jason’s gonna get you or something?” I ask. “Or maybe Michael Meyers?” Considering tomorrow’s Halloween, it seems more fitting.
    â€œShut up, Mr. Still-Sleeps-With-a-Night-Light-On!” Brad retaliates. Like a Total Baby. Then he whines, “I totally got egged on my way over here.” He shows me the yellow splatter on the back of his green and gold Warrior Marching Band windbreaker.
    â€œYou’re the one who wanted to leave your house on Devil’s Night,” I remind him.
    â€œToday!” Brad indicates for me to hop on the back of the hand-me-down he recently got from his sister Janelle’s boyfriend, Ted. The frame’s a bit rusty and the brakes kinda squeak. The tires are also a little wobbly. But at least Brad’s got a way to get to his job at Country Boy’s and to my house whenever he wants.
    I climb on back of the torn leather seat, taking care not to get egg yolk all over my navy blue hooded sweatshirt I got at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp the Summer before last. Suddenly Brad snaps, “Watch it!” Totally scaring the crap out of me.
    â€œWhat the Hell is your problem?” I wonder.
    â€œYou wanna get stabbed?” He shows me the Ginsu steak knife he’s got tucked into his back jeans pocket. Which I can’t even believe he’s actually wearing in public.
    About a week ago, Brad had a little accident while doing his laundry. After spilling an entire cup of Clorox on the left knee of his new black jeans, instead of pitching them in the trash or giving them to Goodwill or the Salvation Army like any normal person would, he decided to get creative. By dipping the entire left pant leg in a bucket of bleach, thus turning them white! Then when he came waltzing into Old Lady McKenzie’s Civics class the next day feeling all fashionable, she took one look down her nose at him and groaned, “What is that? ”
    Which is what I ask Brad now, with regards to the Ginsu…Though I can only imagine why he’s brought it along.
    â€œFor Protection.”
    â€œOh, Brad…You are sooo dramatic,” I sigh. Then I grab hold of his waist for dear life and we begin pedaling down the block.
    Back at my house…
    We start the so-called séance by placing the cut out non-naked photos of JEH—compliments of Big Boobs Janelle and Teen Beat magazine—around a makeshift shrine of candles we’ve set up on the floor in front of my TV. Then we put a very special record on my turntable…Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding out for a Hero.” Which happens to be the theme song from the JEH/Jennifer O’Neill Cover Up TV show, in case you’re not aware.
    â€œGod, he was a Total Babe!” Brad gushes. Like a Total Girl. “Wasn’t he, Jack?”
    Looking at all the photos spread out on display in front of me, there’s no denying that Jon-Erik Hexum was an attractive man. With his dark curly hair, chiseled jaw, and sculpted muscular body…But I say nothing.
    â€œIf you were a girl, would you think he was a babe?” asks Brad.
    â€œIf I was a girl? ” I reply. “Sure, I would.”
    I watch as Brad pulls out a purple Bic lighter from his denim duffle bag—the one he made himself in Mrs. Wood’s 7 th grade Sewing. One by one, he begins lighting the candles. Making the room even more ooky-spooky as they reflect off my TV screen.
    â€œGod, I loved his voice!” Brad gushes again.