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He lights a smoke with a shaky hand, you pull one of yours out to mimic his actions and put him at ease.
"Could you light me up?" You ask.
He says oh sure, and calls you by your name.
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In five minutes, Walid himself is on the ground, with you consoling him and asking if he'll be okay, if he needs to talk to someone.
A tale of two tyrants. "Scrawny" Ronny Higgins and Rick Rippler. Two of the top scorers on the team and the roughest bullies in the water.
You didn't go to school with these guys, so you don't know anything about them. Other than they like to chew tobacco, shotgun beers, and haze their teammates and rivals alike. Walid speaks more than you intended to learn. Ronny and Ricky have pulled that wig and lipstick move on a few people, not just Lon. It started with getting a "dorky" kid from another state drunk and suggestible after a water polo meet one night, he was the first "Mermaid" as they call them. Once they had a crowd thinking they were hot shit, they had their fans hold their victims down so they could do horrible things like singing their victims' scrotums with lighters or shoving a snorkel up their ass, while blowing the game whistle in their ears, so every time they hear that whistle, they remember the snorkel in their ass. Sounds super homoerotic but, y'know, not worse than some of the frats on campus at P.U.
Walidazar is squatting on his knees, hunched over, smoking the filter of his cigarette.
You level yourself with him and put your hands on his shoulders. His thousand yard stare is more like a thousand-and-one yard stare.
"Were..." You don't even want to ask. "Were you a Mermaid?"
"WHAT?!" He stands up straight and lets the fag butt fall out of his hand. "I'M NO FUCKIN' FAG, MAN!!!!" he pushes you in the chest and you get shifted a few feet back but easily stabilize. His jet black monobrow is a straightedge 135 degree angle "V".
