Freezie Pops

“Awww, freezie pops!” He2 exclaims. A dart spears the wall. He2 takes notice, “Woah, man.” Again a dart spears the wall. “I have a slight problem with your enthusiasm for freezie pops,” he says. He2 refuses to believe this, “You’re kidding me right. Freezie pops are awesome.” A dart spears the wall. He says nothing. He2 shakes his head, “If you can’t enjoy a freezie pop, I doubt you can enjoy anything.”

He presses a dart tip with his thumb. He assess he2’s comment. He considers its worth. “If a freezie pop is your day’s bright spot, no comment. You grown man, you.” He2 laughs at this, at its humor, trying to gasp he says “There’s an answer to that, and I think you might know it.”

He2 wonders how one year has made this difference, and at most how much is it mood. A dart spears the wall. He2 never knew him to be this cynical. To be cynical, absolutely, but not to a point of voicing badness in popsicles cynical. It had been a full day of hearing his cynicisms. Basically on how everything is stupid. How school is stupid, classmates are stupid, counselors are stupid, professors are stupid, everything is stupid, even freezie pops are stupid and especially he2’s enthusiasm for freezie pops, is stupid. A dart spears the wall. “It’s a good thing I don’t have push-up pops, or you’d be hitting the ceiling.”

He presses a dart’s tip with his thumb, “Come again?”

He2 tries to laugh, ”The proper way to throw those, you know is is not to dart them.” He2 shows him this. A dart sinks in the board. A double twenty. “The high arm stays straight, the forearm is the motion,” he2 demonstrates, “the grip is soft–” He interrupts this, “So we’re keeping score.” He2 stops, drops his form, “Sure,” and looks around, “We need something to write with.”

“Winner gets a freezie pop.” A dart spears the board. A triple ten. “Some motivation for you,” he says, brushing over the suggestion, “Winner gets a push-up pop, loser buys all.” He2 agrees, looks to his step, and rolls his shoulders, raises his arm, finds his position. “That looks natural,” he says. “It’s proper,” he2 insists. A dart sinks in the board. A triple five. He jumps on this, “Ohhh that’s close, like a millimeter away from triple twenty,” trying to gasp, “How many rounds is this,” as a dart spears the wall. He2 is relieved, “Nice,” he2 says, with a gasp, “Well done,” cheering his miss. He mutters back, “Hey man, it’s your wall.” And reluctantly, He2 nods, “It is.”

He nods, admittingly, and shrugging he says, “It would be the floor I hit by the way, not the ceiling.”

He2 wonders. “Come again?”

He clears his throat, “You said if you had push-up pops, I’d be hitting the ceiling. I’m not sure how that’s even supposed to make sense, but I’m guessing you assume I care about popsicles like you, so I’ll be so excited over push-up pops that I’ll lose my control and hit the ceiling. And I’m telling you now I would hit the floor. Because I would be throwing so hard if you could be any more happy about your fucking popsicles my arm would throw straight to the floor.”

He2 has a perfect retort to this in mind. That the real assumption is the importance of push-up pops was earnestly made. That He2 wasn’t just joking, playing on how sensitive to popsicles his friend apparently seems. He2 decides though that he was aware but refused to show it acknowledgement, because how could he have not realized something that is so obvious, so surely, his attack was made in anger, he2 figures. That is what he2 has decided. Which is why he2 instead uhs, “Like okay. But if you have that much control in your throw, why the fuck are you hitting my wall?” A very fair question. To this he grunts. “I’ll stop but your apartment is a piece of shit, why does it matter.” A dart spears the board. “Bulls-eye.”

He2 grunts. “You’re still behind, by the way. You’re fucking weird, man,” and steps close to examine the damage. The dart holes are roughly nail holes. The damage is not catastrophic but noticeable. He now feels somewhat bad about it, he steps forward, “Sorry, man, my bad,” he says. “I figured though, like you do have to spackle, right. When you move out, of course, you’ll have to spackle, you hung up so much shit in here. And this is a dart board, I’m sure you’ve missed it before right,” he offers this, reasoning. He2 affirms, “No that’s right, you are, I do, I will. When I move out, I will have to spackle. Still, I’m surprised you’d be so bold.” A dart whizzes past him and sinks in the board. He2 nods. He shrugs.



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