family man
by Pares

I've known Langly for 12 years now; he started out a college kid renting the upstairs apartment. He used to throw loud parties, role playing weekends featuring a steady stream of his slacker buddies and enough cheap beer to drown the senate in. Eventually I acquired a taste for the Ramones, but I think it was more an adaptive survival technique. Or maybe brainwashing. I must have heard Teenage Lobotomy about sixty-five million times.

Love it or lose it, as Langly himself would say.

Every time he threw a party, he'd invite me. But I wasn't-- I'm still not-- the social type. After a while, he stopped asking me up, and I stopped asking him to turn it down. Eventually, I soundproofed my apartment. But the kid always sent down a pizza and a six of beer my way party nights. Paid for, even. Classy.

Good natured rivalry was our next step-- I'd see him at trade shows and whatnot-- we'd nod in passing, fellow entrepreneurs, trying to coax the capitalist dime our way. He started setting up next to me-- I was usually the first one there, seeing as the kid's never gotten up before noon as long as I've known him.

I think we earned more customers with our Abbot and Costello routines than we might have liked to admit-- but eventually, we had to face fiscal reality. We were both tinkerers, outclassed in a big tech world.

After that whole warehouse thing, I think we all felt the same brand of rootless, low key anxiety. A shared paranoia, you could say.

When we met up with Byers, I could tell he completed us somehow... Kind of an Anti-Langly.

Ringo looks easily miffed, like a dog that's been kicked when it isn't being ignored. Byers-- jeez, even as skinny as he is, you half expect him to dimple like a marshmallow when you touch him. Beady brown and lipless to baby blue and babyfaced.

But sometimes I think he's the best of us-- certainly the most even tempered, maybe the bravest, too.

We're a weird little family, I guess. There's nothing like intricate and unfathomable governmental conspiracies and chicks with guns to bring guys together.

I guess we're closer than maybe is regulation... but hey, family is family.

And I think we're good for each other.

Langly had a ratty old tom, back when we lived above ground. Blind in one eye and mean as spit. Wouldn't let anyone touch him, except the kid.

But that thing used go all boneless and purr like a tank engine when Langly was around. Old Boris would drape himself around Langly's neck like a living collar and just smile. It says good things about the kid.

I say this because...

Well, I haven't let on yet. But I know.

About Langly and Byers.

I found them asleep on the couch the other night. They were still dressed, but Langly, Langly looked like his old skinny tom Boris, with his chin tucked against Byers' shoulder. It was a dead giveaway.

Well, that and the fact that Langly's hand was still in Johnny's pants.

I took a picture with the digital camera... a little tasteful editing and we can use it as our Christmas card this year, maybe.

Nah.

But you know, Langly could use a new T-shirt for his collection. And I know a guy who silk screens shirts cheap.

END