The Back Home Tour (BxB)

Post Po-Po Appointment | Years Ago: Dallas

As Dallas took the stairs up to the apartment, he contemplated what happened earlier. Drinking with Hyde. Hanging out at the usual spot. Getting arrested...well, almost.

To tell you the truth, if I was going to get arrested, going to jail with my best friend would be the way to go.

Dallas knew the run-in with the cops wasn't the weirdest thing that happened. He couldn't stop thinking about the kiss. Though it was one of the best kisses he has had, he can't help but wonder if Hyde was being stupid or for real.

And if it were for real...

Does that mean Hyde is gay? Wait, does that mean I am...No. I am not gay. Hyde isn't either. I am sure he was just being stupid. Best friends can do that. It doesn't mean anything.

But it was a great kiss and they both knew it.

He pushed the door open and snuck into the front bedroom. He found Austin asleep with his teddy bear clutched to his chest.

"Even wild beasts like the elusive Tasmanian devil must sleep," he whispered before kissing his baby brother on the top of his head.

When he made it to the living room, he knew his dad, Killgore, was drunk. The turntable was spinning and some old John Denver rotated silently.

Dallas tried to sneak to his room without drawing any attention to himself, but his old man was surprisingly alert for a drunk ass.

"Dal, where have you been?" his dad asked, stepping into the hallway from the kitchen.

"Hey," Dallas said, backtracking to the living room.

"Did you hear me, son? I asked you where you been."

The stench of cheap beer clung to him as he followed his son.

"Dad, you know I went out with Hyde," Dallas reminded him, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

Killgore's face went slack. He pretended to be insulted.

"I like that smart-ass mouth of yours about as much as I like you hanging out with that pansy friend of yours."

Dallas narrowed his eyes at his father.

"Why you gotta be like that, Dad? You always talk trash about Hyde when you are drunk. When you are sober you are always telling me I should be more like him. Respectful. Hard-working. More educated."

"Maybe it is when I have had some beer in me I see him for what he truly is. A little fag."

He knows his dad doesn't mean it. Killgore is a complete douchebag when he is sloppy. But this makes Dallas snap.

"You know what? Screw you, Dad. You piece of trash," he screamed in the patriarch's face. "You are so damn worried about who I hang out with, but really you are just worried I am going to leave and never come back like Mom. You are shit without me. You can't even take care of yourself!"

"Excuse me, you little punk. I am your father, and I deserve some goddamn respect!"

His big mitts found the collar of Dallas's shirt.

"Respect?!" The son scoffed. "You don't deserve my respect. You're washed up and useless."

Fury filled his glassy eyes. Through clenched teeth his dad threatened, "I should knock you right off the pedestal you think you are on. You think just because you are friends with that Devonshire kid..."

His hands moved from Dallas's shirt to his neck.

This is new.

Dallas's fight-or-flight reflex kicked in. With a swift slam, he drove both of his arms down on his dad's forearms. This got Killgore to release him, but it also projected his father into forward motion. In an attempt to get away from the grapple, Dallas grabbed his dad's shoulder as he fell, and pushed the lush back behind him while stepping to the side.

Dallas didn't even take the time to look behind him when he heard the thud on the living room floor. Instead, he made a beeline to his bedroom and locked the door behind him.

From his spot in front of the couch, his dad threatened him with what he'd do when he got up. But Dallas knew his father. Kilgore would be passed out in a few minutes.

This made Dallas laugh for some reason.

It was hard not to think about the other occasional threats of a beating his father had given. They all ended in only words and never a follow through. Though the older man blamed his inability to chase Dallas down and rough me up on his high levels of intoxication, the son knew that his father just didn't have it in him. That night was the first time Killgore ever actually put his hands on Dallas.

I know in there, somewhere, is a good man. A good heart really is buried among all the empty bottles.

Dallas pulled out his guitar from under the bed. He stared at it like a small treasure. Part of him was always waiting to find it missing. He knew if his dad thought about it, he'd pawn it for beer money.

Dallas clicked earbuds into their port and strummed a few chords. Though it just started as fiddling around, lyrics to a song started to form in his mind.

No one ever tells you life will be so hard

The things you want and need always contradict

The good days are few and far between

And when you are down all you really get is kicked

If, just once, you feel something good

You find something that feels so warm and bright

Why do others have to remind you

That no matter what, it will never be right

This is my once upon a time

Can I get a happily ever after

Why is it always tears and sorrow

When it could be love and laughter

Why can't the magic of a kiss

Be enough to make the world see

That we each have our own story

And my fairy tale is up to me

Dallas slid the guitar away and wrote down the lyrics to check back with another day. He opened the door to check on Killgore. As assumed, the drunk was snoring away on the floor near the coffee table.

Dumbass.

Slipping his shirt over his head and his pants down to his ankles, Dallas clambered into bed in only boxer briefs. Sleep took over as his mind kept playing the lyrics he just wrote to the imagery of kissing Hyde in the back of the police car.

Though he had dreams of the beach and police car all night, it was the scene with his dad replaying in my mind that Dallas came back to consciousness envisioning. The very last thing he saw was KIllgore's mouth as he said the word "fag" before his eyes popped open. Sunlight was coming through the window, and the sounds of his dad cleaning up the mess he left last night brought him fully back to the land of the living. With the clinking of glass bottles entering a trash can, Dallas noticed that it was almost ten o'clock. Usually, his dad doesn't let him sleep this long. Dallas chalked it up as feeling bad for being extra terrible last night.

Grabbing for his song journal, he turned to the page he wrote last night. Dallas reread the lyrics and shook his head. Knowing how stupid and unrealistic the words sounded, Dallas ripped the page from the book and crumbled it up.

Deciding to treat last night's kiss as though it had never happened, Dallas did the only thing he could think of. He picked up the phone and called Jamie Walker to ask her if she wanted to go get lunch.