5
Russell
Aboyish mix of lighthearted fun and anxiety poured out of Ryan as we packed for our trip. This wasn’t just a quick weekend getaway or even a week-long vacation. We wouldn’t be back home until after the New Year’s holiday. This would pull Ryan out of his comfort zone and take him into an environment completely out of his realm. Something of this magnitude wouldn’t be the easiest situation for him.
He had become almost a recluse during his twenties, shutting everything off and everyone out just to prevent him from having to enter uncomfortable situations. Ryan was so out of touch with himself when he finally fell into my hands in his mid-thirties. All he knew was that he didn’t want to hurt emotionally.
Since I’d brought up the trip to spend the holidays with my parents, I’d seen the tension and anxiety build a little bit more each day. He’d talk when I’d initiate conversation, but I knew there was more in him. His shoulders and back were too tense for him to not have more on his mind.
“I hope these keep my pecker warm,” Ryan blurted out, breaking the silence while we packed.
A smile forced its way onto my face as I looked up at him from my open suitcase. In his hands he held the empty package of the base layer pants. He had the waistband of the pants wrapped around his head while the legs dangled behind him. I loved his youthfulness. Somehow, the assholes he had for parents hadn’t killed the child in him. They’d scared it off and sent it into hiding, only for him to return in his thirties. I welcomed the childish soul he possessed; it was finally able to breathe.
“Those pants will be a great base layer for you in Vail when we’re outside,” I told him.
“But will they keep my dick warm? I don’t want the cold to affect … things. I can’t be snowboarding and worried about a shriveled, cold dick.”
“The pants will keep all of you warm, from your waist to your ankles.”
“You keep calling them pants, but the packaging says tights. Why do they have to call them tights?”
“Because they are.”
“That’s dumb.”
He got so worked up about labels. His forehead was wrinkled as he read the details on the package out loud.
“It says they’ll keep heat in. I wonder if I fart if it’ll retain that heat for me. I don’t like being cold,” Ryan reiterated, as though this were a new revelation.As if I’d ever let him be cold and uncomfortable.
“I promise you, Ryan, I won’t allow you to be cold.”
“Okay, good, because I hate being cold.”
“I know you do, Ryan.”
“If someone said I had to pick something terrible or being cold, I’d probably take the terrible thing. Like if it came down to me having to be cold or touch vomit or poop, I’d rather touch the vomit or poop.”
“I sincerely doubt that we’ll encounter someone who says those are our options.”
He quickly started spiraling in a way that could come across as nothing more than conversation and jokes. Only, I knew Ryan. I knew a fear of being cold from his childhood was moving around in his head. Memories of being cold were often present for him, especially now that we were in November. I’d let him talk as I calmly rounded the bed to him on the other side.
“It can get cold outside, even if we’re moving around skiing,” Ryan continued as he pretended to concentrate on the package. “Peeing on yourself is a way to stay warm, though. If we get stuck outside or something, we can always pee on ourselves. I could easily pee on myself if it came down to that or being cold.”
I wrapped my arm around him to pull him out of that dark, cold boxcar and remind him that he was with me. I splayed my hand across his chest and began to rub from side to side.
“We’re going to be in Vail and with my parents in Indiana, Ryan,” I said quietly. I paused for a moment and watched his eyes shift from the package in his hand to his empty suitcase. I patted his chest when I saw his throat move as he swallowed. Mentally, he was back here with me. “We’re not going to be in an abandoned car on the tracks in San Bernardino, Ryan.” He nodded.Good boy.
I pulled the base layer tights off his head and was by surprised how dry they were. They had only been out of the washer a little while ago. I felt the bottom of the tights, the crotch, and waistband. They were all completely dry while mine were still damp and lying flat on the counter in the laundry room.
“How did yours dry so much faster than mine?” I asked him as I folded them. He frowned when I set them in his empty suitcase.
“What do you mean?”
“Mine are still damp and most likely won’t be ready for the suitcase until before we go to bed tonight.”
“I … I put mine in the dryer.” Ryan grabbed the package he had tossed on the bed. “Fuck! Line dry! Who makes anything line dry for guys? We’re not capable of handling these specific, individualized instructions!” He looked at me while pulling the legs and waistband in opposite directions. “Well, most of us can’t. You’re the exception to every rule.”
“Ryan, calm down. The tights will be okay. Relax.”
