Upon Return

THWACK!

Johnson is knocked flat on his stomach. He lies face-down, a thunderous pounding in his skull, and a ringing in his ears so shrill it rattles his eyeballs.

Ughhh, who the fuck? Still dazed, Johnson squints up at his attacker. The young man's face is distorted by the sun's late -afternoon glare, but Johnson immediately recognizes the silhouette of his best friend, Weasel. He closes his eyes regretfully, resting his cheek against the scalding sand.

"How did you find me?" Johnson groans, pushing himself up to his knees. He peers at Weasel with one eye, trying to make out his expression in the blinding light.

"Alright, look Weas-" Johnson begins to stand but before he can get to his feet, the beach in front of him erupts, sending an ebullition of hot sand into his face. 

"AGHHH! My eyes!" having managed to stumble to his feet, Johnson grabs at his face in pain. "You're acting like a fucking lunatic, you know that, Weasel?!" he blinks gingerly at the man, his hands still half-covering his face. "You were never like this! You were always such a Sensitive-Sally! What the fuck has gotten into you?" Johnson squares his body forwards, preparing for Weasel's next assault. 

Weasel charges forward, slamming his shoulder and chest into Johnson's diaphragm, forcefully ejecting the air from his lungs. "UNFF!" Johnson cries. "And you were always an asshole!" Weasel growls. He has his arms wrapped around Johnsons middle, pushing him back. Johnson, gasping for air, trips backwards, but remains standing. 

The two childhood pals wrestle, but Weasel manages to move his hands to Johnsons waistline where he wraps his hands tightly around his belt. Simultaneously, and with timed precision, he pulls forward on Johnson's hips, and shoves his upper body against Johnson's chest. They topple back, crashing to the ground. Weasel clambers on top of Johnson and straddles his chest. 

Breathing heavily, Weasel glares down at Johnson. He raises his hand, an imaginary target forming over Johnson's nose. "Why'd you do it?" he brings his clenched fist down hard, smashing his knuckles into Johnson's cheekbone, who winces in pain. Weasel again pulls his arm back, "You didn't have to do it!"

This time his fist makes contact with Johnson's nose, causing it to burst like a cherry tomato, sending blood squirting down his cheeks and splattering Weasel's face. Weasel draws his elbow back for a third time, but before he can land a third blow, Johnson grabs his fist, thrusts his hips upwards, and tosses Weasel forwards onto the sand. 

Johnson quickly jumps to his feet, putting an end to the assault. Weasel gets to his own feet, preparing to lunge again.

In an act of resignation and surrender, Johnson raises his arm straight out with his hand up, palm facing forward. He looks his assailant in the eyes, and for a moment, he's brought back to their childhood. 

They're riding bikes, as they did every day in the Summer. They were laughing, and Weasel was pedaling ferociously, trying to keep up with his bigger and stronger companion.

Johnson was always the stronger one of the two. He was louder, more aggressive, and was frequently finding himself in fights. Weasel was quiet, sensitive, and would never fight back, no matter how many times Johnson tried to teach him how to stand up for himself. Knowing this, Johnson was always gentle with his friend. Weasel would playfully punch Johnson, pull on his ears, and taunt him with makeshift stick swords, and Johnson would laugh and play along, pretending to be hurt, but would never reciprocate.

As kids, they were more like brothers than friends, and Johnson felt the need to protect Weasel. In high school, bullies would taunt Weasel, tease him about his size, and Johnson was frequently pulling Weasel out of lockers and fishing him out of the school dumpsters. 

One day, Johnson had had enough and finally put an end to his friend's torture, which resulted in him facing incarceration, or enroll in an out-of-state military program. So, he was sent away.

Johnson is jolted back to the beach. Weasel's face has melted into remorse, and his chin quivers with emotion.

"Alright, Weasel. I get it! I know I left you," Johnson heaves, finally catching his breath, "But I had no choice. I had to protect you." Johnson laments. He turns away from Weasel and collapses onto the sand. Several moments later, he feels his friend sink down next to him. They sit for a moment in silence. Johnson suddenly feels tickling on the side of his neck, and looks down to see Weasel resting his head gently on his shoulder, his hair blowing against his neck and chin. 

"What do you want me to say, Weasel?" Johnson gently pleads, "I'm so sorry." Weasel looks up at Johnson, his tear-soaked face a reminder of how sensitive he has always been. 

"What do I want you to say? I don't want you to say anything," Weasel corrects. "I just want you. I want my best friend back." he sniffles, resting his head back on Johnson's tear-soaked shoulder. The overwhelming feelings of brotherly love and adoration cause his cheeks flush, and he is hurled back to their childhood. The sound of Weasel's innocent laugh echoes across the waves. They crash against the sand again, and again, whispering unpleasant reminders of what he must say next. His stomach flutters with worry and concern for his sensitive friend, his eyes burn with tears, and his throat begins to tighten.

Inhaling cautiously, Johnson prepares. "You know that I have to leave you again," he breathes, looking towards Weasel, who moves his head to meet Johnson's gaze. They stare, studying each other's faces, their breathing growing in sync. Weasel nods regretfully. He breathes in deeply and whispers, "I know," before turning back to stare towards the horizon.

"When will you be back?" Weasel gulps.

"I don't know," Johnson sighs glumly. "Six months? Maybe a year?"

Weasel nods agreeably, perking up, "I'll see you when you get back. Same time, same place?" he smirks.

"I just told you I don't know when that will be…" Johnson responds, slightly agitated.

"You didn't know this time, either," he pauses. "But that still didn't stop me from finding you," he pauses. "and kicking your ass, I might add." retorts Weasel.

"Hey! You did NOT kick my ass!" protests Johnson, "You merely caught me off guard," they both chuckle and Johnson clears his throat, "But," he hesitates, "Holy shit, where did you learn to punch like that? Still not saying you kicked my ass..." he adds quickly.

Weasel states sarcastically, "Glad to see that your ego hasn't changed."

"Glad to see your ego has changed!" Johnson exclaims, impressed by his friend's display of audacious gall. "You fighting people now?" He jokes playfully.

Weasel flinches and his face contorts with disgust. "Not people. Just you," he matter-of-factly corrects his friend. "But," he goes on, "I had no choice after you left. You abandoned me, I don't know if you remem-" Weasel exasperates.

Johnson interrupts, "I did not abandon you! I don't know if you remember, but I didn't have a choice either." Johnson's chest tenses and he inhales sharply. "AND!" he continues, growing more agitated, "I was always the one protecting-" Johnson stops abruptly, exhaling carefully. Weasel stares at him blankly, indifferent to his friend's outburst.

"Fine," Johnson sighs, avoiding eye contact, "MAYBE," he emphasizes, pausing, contemplating if he shamefully wants to continue, "you kicked my ass," he finally surrenders. Weasel smirks and Johnson glances sideways, sensing his friend's approval following his confession.

Thee pair sit in silence, observing the routine of the beach as it prepares for sleep. The waves lap at the beach softly, and the seabirds' screeches bid adieu to the sinking sun. As it collides silently with the horizon, the sky fills with a myriad of colors. Orange and red beams explode up from the horizon, melting into the purple and blue lagoons far up in outer space. Soon the sun will disappear behind the horizon, and the friends will be left in darkness.

"Hey Johnson?" Weasel asks softly.

"Weasel?" Johnson clears his throat.

"You're still an asshole." Weasel states delicately.

"Heh," chuckles Johnson, "I know, buddy. I fucking know. And you're still a Sensitive-Sally."

They both laugh, and the sun kisses the night sky one final time before sinking completely out of sight.