Benny Treadway and Frank Stone were long time pals. Grew up together in the northern countryside of Georgia, both born in 1974, a point of mutuality that latched them together after it landed them a seat in the same high school class. A brief introduction after the first day of senior year was enough to flush the pair into a lifelong routine. Quick to ramble about his youthful history of sailing experience, it only took Frank a second to spark Benny's interest. Benny, the broad young jock with thick black curly hair, had forged an undying love for the outdoors. The two agreed on that very day to take their friendship to the Georgia mountains. And they did.
The two became inseparable after their first camping trip. The crisp natural air had a way of breaking the silence and it seemed as though the Georgia pines themselves spilled the confession from Frank's lips that glued the boys together. Red haired Frank, stoic and stern, but never quiet, unfurled the deep-rooted tragedy that he hadn't once let touch anyone else's ears.
"Mom liked to drink. Always on the booze. Caught Dad with another woman and shot them both dead. I heard it from the back room, but never went in there. Maybe I coulda' done something. Don't know what. But I've been living like a scared puppy in the same home with her since then. Got off on a mental illness charge. She had a lot of diagnoses under her hat. Enough to get away with murder, it seems."
Law was loose out there in the boondocks. Benny was quick to comfort his new friend, and it wasn't a surprise to either of the boys that such a controversial catastrophe would go unnoticed in the redneck paradise. A bitter-sweet divide arose after that, between society and the mountains. It seemed nothing else could compare to the time the boys spent parading in the wilderness. Sharing their hopelessness, their youth, talking about their women, but also about their souls. They never took anyone else into the mountains.
Voted best friends in the yearbook by the end of that introductory year, it was no surprise that the boys kept in contact after high school. Years passed after the boys graduated, and they found the time to at least make a phone call to one another day to day. Frank got married to a pretty, petite blonde woman by the name of Sarah at the ripe age of 23. Benny spent his time playing the field, but managed to make a strong commitment to his career. Found himself a job hauling coal. He never liked to stay in one place, and though the trips into the mountains became fewer, the men still found the time to go once every few months for quick fishing and much-needed conversation.
The day did come, however, when the camping trips had become so infrequent that they nearly ceased. Frank's marriage was strained after he took a liking to alcohol- something Benny had feared. It wasn't uncommon that Benny would make the weekly call to the couple to find a sobbing Sarah on the other line, with an ugly story of another passed-out Frank. He aged well, despite the liquor in his system. Thick red hair had found its way from the top of his head to cover his face in a bushy auburn beard. He retained his stocky frame but accented it with a beer gut and thicker arms. He took on the look of a worn man far before Benny, but he wasn't far behind.
After a two year hiatus from one another, Benny found himself returning to his hometown from a spur-of-the-moment expedition to Mississippi with a younger woman. The lust was over before it began and he craved the familiarity of the Georgian mountains once again. He'd lost his football body that he prized in high school, but never lost the strength or the masculinity that went with it. He kept his curly hair cut close to his head, but he, too, let his beard run wild, and it painted his gruff face with a shaggy brown mess. Always the tiniest bit shorter than Frank, Benny had a smaller belly, still round, but nonetheless apparent. It was a surprise for both men when they saw one another again after that two year break. For the first time, they felt like "old friends".
They were both 37 years old when they finally met back up. A sudden phonecall from Frank pulled Benny away from his second life in Mississippi and he packed his everything up and drove down to Georgia that day. Sarah had had all she could take of Frank's depression and taken off. Not surprising, Benny though. Who could blame her? But he knew a Frank that she didn't. He'd gotten attached too early to let booze and sadness get in the way of their friendship.
5 AM on a Friday morning, Frank received a musical knock on his door and saw a burly Benny smirking back at him. The men embraced for a while and exchanged quick but casual information about driving a pickup truck across the countryside. They grabbed up their fishing poles and retreated to the mountains.
When they finally got to their favorite spot- a beautiful, foggy hillside facing the mountains next to a small section of the lake, they unpacked their gear, pulled out the whisky, tore off their boots and went to talking.
"She left last week. I don't blame her a bit. But I fell out of love a long time ago. I'll be just fine." Frank tugged at his gingery beard, pulled his worn baseball cap down over his thick eyebrows peaking out from under his sunglasses.
"Gonna be weird. The two of us shacking up again like old times. Good, though. I've missed these parts. Had a nice separation. Got a good lot of introspection. But not the same kind of happy that this place gives me." Benny chimed in. Frank felt warmth feel his body. It was going to be nice. To have someone who understood back again.
The men chattered till midday and a mild buzz had possessed them. They decided to reenact their younger years and take a dive into the cool lake. They stripped down to their underwear, and the men couldn't help but laugh at how their bodies had changed over the years. The once built Benny had certainly filled out. His body now covered in brown fur, a belly hanging a bit over his green boxers, he'd only kept his thickness. Frank still had his excessive red body hair, but was missing a bit from his head. Both men were still healthy, still strong, but worn and a bit chubby. Benny noticed Frank had traded in boxer shorts for tight white briefs stretching over his substantial backside. Frank tossed his sunglasses and hat aside and dove quickly into the lake. Benny didn't hesitate.
The men floated aimlessly through the water, splashing one another on occasion, lying on their backs and talking in rhythm to the clouds dancing. For the first time in years, Frank was content with his light buzz, and wanted the consciousness required to siphon nature and Benny into his mind.
After they dragged themselves out of the water, they grabbed up their fishing poles and pulled their foldout chairs to the side of the lake. Frank's briefs were soaked and sheer from the water. It was the closest to naked Benny had ever seen of Frank. He could make out the outline of Frank's bulge between his legs, following the trail of thick red hair down his belly. There was something beautiful about this natural Frank. Something he'd only somewhat noticed before.
