2 Milky Bros.

"You know milk is more hydrating than water."

"Says who?"

"Me you dusty skank!” Buster slid across a warm tall glass of milk, with not a drop spilled. 

Shane made a “Not Bad,” face. "I can't even call you a skank because you don't even fuck." 

Their noses were having a standoff. Aimed like birds in a competitive mating dance. 

Shane and Buster’s hate gaslit a relationship that was never over or pleasant or honest, but always eternal and loyal. 

When their birth father got too old to beat them, it was never a fair fight again. The two of them learned how to take turns 

grappling, 

punching, 

pulling hair, 

spontaneously finding keen sharp objects,

and nasty knack for hitting balls right in the childbirth spot (this is controversial idea the “childbirth spot”- but really is an artform. Like the “death touch”- but instead a childbirth-nut-nuke that will make a man lose a whole sperm bank. Alliteration is not dead. It's pulling through like those lone fallopian tube survivors after conception). 

Buster and Shane weren’t ever friends, but strictly family. 

Buster's red cheeks were flushed because any anxiety made his skin hot. But still, his smolder was fierce like a guy who was not afraid to give Shane a black eye. 

Buster’s corker, Fred was wiping glasses across the counter. He nodded at a patron nursing an oversized glass of eggnog. 

“I’ve never seen this guy so cocky.”

“Who’s that jokester with him?” The Patron knocked back his glass, missed and spilled all over his lab.  

“Not sure.”

The Patron looked frantically for a napkin. “Um. Help please?” He raised his hands up at Fred, who was unaware. Too busy staring at Buster and Shane chopping it up. 

Shane was leaning over the bar stool, wearing a cowboy hat and a turquoise flower flannel. 

“I wish I could round me up a nice cowboy.” Fred said this to the dreamy cowboy in his head from all the gay cowboy book porn he’s ever read. 

Shane’s back was totally straight. His chest peaked high, with a taller than 6 feet stature to bolster it. 

Fred thought Shane’s crotch stuck out, too apparently confident for any other attention than danger. 

Shane looked at Buster all grown up, with facial hair and a pimpleless forehead. Maybe his shoulders were more muscular or got bigger bones whatever. Buster was all grown up. Shane thought about all the beatings he used to give Buster to toughen him up so that their Dad never got the best of them. “Training” Shane called it. He wondered why he did that or if it was the right thing to do. Survive, don't get hurt. Those were the rules. They lived. Made it out and let their Dad lay in the dirt years later. That was the best way he could close that chapter of their lives. Buried in dirt, for dirt’s sake. 

Shane knew Buster was a soft kid. He knew soft kids have big hearts, and get great jobs. Soft kids are great leaders, but poor fighters. At a young age these kids can either grow up as an overcompensating genius or easily be made small from a world that runs on busted balls and money- not the honest beat of a true heart and a brain too fast to tick without ringing. 

Buster worked at a milk bar with a petting zoo instead of a stage. Their bartenders were named Milk Maidens and 2% Bachelors. There was the Fat Free Frat Bros, 

the Skim-Thick Cow Hoes, 

and the 1% Racist Leches. They were canceled for doing exactly what racism implies, but folks needed the irony-wax to burn thin to finally realize the obvious reality of 1% of anything that is 100% bull-shit is never going to pan out. 

"Quick fax alert.” Buster said. 

“Quick fag alert.” Shane’s rib cage bobbled. “Too easy. You're handing me these punchlines like following puppies into a van.”

Buster didn’t notice or didn’t care, because his mouth kept moving. “Water's natural electrolytes further hydrate our body's urinary system to recycle the fluid while it's still more viscous than water with lactose, carbs, fat, protein and packed with..."

Cade gagged. “Viscous?” He wondered how much Buster really saw what people were doing in front of him when he talked for more than 3 seconds about his special interests. He wondered if he would stop saying words like viscous if he got laid. 

Buster’s eyes danced and they took his hands with them "... with more hydration recycling back into our bodies than water could ever..."

"If I hear you finish explaining what fake science an alpha male Youtube channel taught you, I'm going to tell mom you made someone have an abortion with your tuition money."

Buster scoffed. "You think she'll believe you."

"Mom has no idea how much abortions cost. I could rack that shit up in the thousands. In Catholicism that’s a cardinal sin. That’s red table tea talk for months. Mom's bible study will snort that drama up like Scarface. Maybe you made your baby mama go to Mexico and had to pay extra to bribe her back from the cartel. See I'm already coming up with schemes. You can't keep up with me motherfucker. I know some pretty hot up and coming actresses willing to play the part."

"I bet those escorts don't even need to take acting lessons if they're having sex with you."

"Look at you learning roasters baby bro. You still hold your liquor like a sorority girl huh?"

"I'm more of a milk guy. I just wanna hold any sorority girl really.”

“I thought you were gay?”

“Yea, but I'm just Buster dude. I serve milk. I go home. I study. I cry. I dream about failing life in my dreams. Then I take tests that I know nothing about. Then I serve milk. What do you want from me?"

"I want a brother who understands how lame it is to serve milk to married couples and old people instead of slinging shots at some..."

"Sorority girls right."

"No. Women bruv. Real women. Classy dicks. Like the ones who don't drink real milk. The ones that pour some of that cashew-extra-creamy-shit into a delicate flower floating on a steaming mug. The scent of fresh Colombian brew like a wish from a genie or something like that. Get you a nice boo. Sorority girls will spit you back out with a herpes cold sore at best. At worst? Aids. Like Forrest Gump."

"Your ex is not coming back dude. You have to stop talking about fancy coffee and hating on Forest Gump. Mom says you still get your morning coffee at the same place, same time, only on her shifts. Just to see her say…”

(In a nasal mocking voice) "Thank you for coming to the Beany Bikini! Where the beans aren’t the hottest thing brewing." Shane sighed. "Yes. I know I’m miserable.”

“Does she really have to shimmy when she says the slogan?”

“Every time yea.”

“God your sick.”

“She has to follow the script. That’s all she ever says to me. That sexy slogan. Her coconuts shimmy-shaking while she looks at me zombie-eyed like I killed her cat. I drive off. Chug my mocha latte and cry in the car till I have to pee and go home.”

“Damn I don’t think I’m sad anymore.”

“You’re surrounded by weirdos and you only have weirdo online friends. You think your better than me? What do you got?” Shane postured at Buster. 

Buster smirked. “Milk.” 

“HA! Joke?” Shane mocked.

Buster frowned. 

Fred and the Patron laughed. When Buster noticed they quickly muted and looked around aimlessly. 

Buster turned his head back and saw Shane’s jaw was still glued on smug. “Your virginity is not getting any younger." Shane smiled. 

"I'm this close to telling Virgil you molested me. He loves me. He'll kick your ass, straight outta this bar. He’s as loyal as a teddy bear.” 

"I bet you're the perfect button for his bow-tie."

"Thanks?"

"If a gay bouncer wearing a cow shirt throws me out of this bar. Record it."

"You really are an idiot."

"I'm your older brother juicy fruit. You may be 21 but you still act like the middle school dweeb I grew up with."

"I wish dad didn’t take you with him.”

“Me too.” Shane reached over the bar to hug Buster, who quickly saved the milk and pushed it to the side. 

“I missed you brother." Buster said, patting Shane’s back. 

"I missed you too, kid. Let's graduate you a bit shall we." Shane blinked with watery eyes. 

The brothers released each other and stared at the ground awkwardly overtaken by the weight of the moment. 

"I just started my senior year. I won't even graduate until..."

"This is a different kind of graduation. A rite of passage. Some hair on your balls. Some skin on your dick."

"Are you not circumcised?"

"Nah bro. Got synthetic foreskin sewed back on. It's basically a pig in a blanket clit. But hey, ain't nobody gonna cut off my clit, unless it's me you know?

"Sure? How exactly do you plan on leading this night of passage?"

"As the God’s intended. We rage."

"Oh boy I'm going to throw up."

"Not if you don't drink that milk and get some of those electrolytes in your stomach first."

"I knew it! You just need to know the science. That’s what I always tell people! Science!"

"You're an idiot. Step 1 to partying: only drink milk if it comes from a boob. Step 2: don't tell anyone I said that shit. Step 3: Get as drunk as I am right now. Let's get out of here."

"And step 4 is?"

"Suck my dick."

"Oh! Oh No! Stepbrother no! I'm stuck!"

"You risk my chances at getting laid tonight with these weird comments and I'll punch through your esophagus so hard- you will wish I would've fucked you."

"We were just having a moment. How did we grow up with the parents? You got muy macho."

“Mom was guessing at best with me and caring enough to bubble wrap you into a decent, sheltered, humane person.” 

“Thanks?”

“You got the college golden ticket and pampered diapers. I got tough love, alcoholism and military school. ” 

“I get it. I get it.”

“Look at us all grown up and miserable."

"Right. You're the victim here."

"No, I’m just the older brother.”

Shane chugged the milk glass and wiped his face. 

Buster smiled.

Shane's phone rang. When he looked down a frantic jolt shocked his body like he saw an ugly ghost.

"What is it?" Buster asked.

"It's Dad's caller I'd?" Shane looked suddenly sober on his face. His body swayed. His hands were shaking.

"Answer it!" Buster bounded on the table.

"Hello? Dad?""

"Finish your glass of milk and come meet me outside. We have much to discuss," The muffled voice said.

"You've been alive all this whole time! You bastard!"

"Keep your voice down. Don't bring Buster," The voice said, all frantic and anxious.

"You don't have room for any favors.” Shane waived off Buster tapping his shoulder.

"Shane, it’s me Buster. Don't tell me, that I'm me, because I'll die."

"Holly shit."

"Yea," The voice said.

"I'll be right there."

"Bring the milk."