~`~

"I need more than Don Equis and your bad nachos to get over this day," Russ dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and stared at his roommate slash best friend.

Nash Henry was a lifer when it came to spending time in their southern suburban kingdom. He went to all the top schools in the local area, stayed in state for college, and married the first girl who ever gave him a blow job in high school. The marriage ended before he reached twenty - three and the only thing he had left to show as his son Clark; which depending on the day of the week was either an astronomical feat or an epic disappointment. He was a carbon copy of his father Nash, sarcastic class clown, talented athlete, and supreme rebel against authority.

Russ drained his waiting beer and shoved a few chips in his mouth, "My father will and always will be the world's most talented prick."

"What's new?" Nash pulled a chair from the table and took a seat, "Was the first day that bad spoiled little rich boy?"

Rich boy, if that were the case, why was he living in a three bedroom townhome with the sloppiest man in the southeastern United States and his Linkin Park loving son. He struggled to determine where to start. Did he tell his best friend about his ineptitude when it came to use of a desktop computer? Or should he start with the verbal smack down he received from the voluptuous woman with milk chocolate skin who should have had his job? He took the easy way out, "Mediocre at best."

His friend shook his head, stole what was left of his beer, took a breath, and began his tale of woe, "Well let me tell you about my day." The lanky bastard who knew every embarrassing detail about his life sat back and propped his feet up on the table. He still lived like the college bachelor he was for one year and Russ wondered if his lack of home training was the straw that finally broke the camel's back with the ex Mrs. Henry, "My son started a fire in my drama class with his little girl toy of the week."

Clark Henry picked that exact moment to make an appearance. He stole a sip of one of the open beers on the table, "Her name is Deja," Displaying table etiquette only rivaled by his father's the boy shoved a handful of cheesy nachos in his open mouth and continued to speak, "She's not a little girl," The kid reached for the bottle again only to have both his father and surrogate father deliver simultaneous punches to his arm causing him to rethink the action. He mouthed an expletive in response to the momentary infliction of pain, before finishing his statement, "She might be the one."

Russ watched Nash's eyes stretch and the color drain from his face. A similar conversation had transpired years before between the friends and history was possibly repeating, "Don't start that shit Clark, you and your little Lolita almost got my scrawny ass fired today." He was up and pacing, stirring the spicy ground turkey mixture, and slicing more unneeded onions and jalapenos. By the end of it all he was teary, exasperated, and stuttering from frustration, "Skipping classes, smoking - WEED- Clark weed, you roll a better joint than I ever did," Russ wanted to smack him back into sanity but he tempered his response and let his friend fail terribly at being father, "Kissing backstage...what's next... what the hell are you thinking?"

Clark groaned, "One time I smoked weed dad," The teen held up a solitary finger, "One time," The boy took a breath and whispered his question, "Is this because she's black dad?"

With the new revelation of knowledge, Russ expelled the fresh swig of beer that had just filled his mouth. Yes Clark Henry was more like his father than Nash cared to admit. He watched the father and son continue their mini debate.

"No it's not because she's black," The man was grappling for words, "I have black friends."

Even Russ had to cringe with the admission. Nash should just stamp racist on his forehead if he was going to continue making flippant comments like, I have black friends.

Clark rolled his eyes, "I can't believe you just...you're a tool." The boy polished off a few more chips, "I like Deja a lot and even if we're not actually together...right now...I could see us being more," He paused, "More than friends."

"You're barely fourteen," His voice escalated, "She's thirteen, what the hell do you know about the one, I'm thirty five and can't even get laid by the easiest chick in the office." Nash slammed his hand down on the counter, "Love...you would have better luck with war." He exited the room after his emotional outburst.

Russ was left alone with the pubescent boy in a role he was not used to filling, wise, older guardian. It had been twenty two years since he had found himself experiencing anything like Clark was enduring at the moment. Yes he had battled with his father constantly, partly because he was the stoner who refused to join the Young Republicans or participate in the Future Business Leaders of America chapter meetings. He wanted to travel, follow his favorite band on the road, and settle down when he reached forty. Hard partying led to encounters with the law and finally brought him home to the city of his birth. Now he was forced to grow up. He stared at the child across the table. He had so much of his parents in him; his mother's shady brown curly hair, Nash's smarmy grin, and both of their enormous hearts rolled into one.

"Your dad just wants the best for you." Russ stood and started to clear the mess from the table, "We did some stupid shit when we were your age, remind him to tell you about Shareaka Nix when he's not acting like a little bitch," He could only laugh when the memories flooded his consciousness, "You know it took him eight years to get his undergrad and he can't blame that all on being a husband and a dad, dude never studied."

He had the kid's attention, it was obvious when his brows lifted and disappeared behind his bangs, "Doofus."

He couldn't agree more, "Definitely," His next words forced an unwelcomed realization upon Russ about his own, "But that doofus, only wants the best for you."

Russ was frozen to the spot where he was standing when Clark lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him, "Thanks Uncle Russ."

He took a look around the kitchen; it was utterly and completely destroyed. He mumbled a few words about cleaning it later, but at the moment he had an overwhelming urge to call his dad and say thank you.