Hidden Gems part two (Doug fanfiction)

Author note: This is switched to Roger’s POV. Thank you so much for reading and enjoy!

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Why did it have to be Doug Funnie?

Why did he have to see me? Help me? Be so kind and warm and sweet…

And why oh why did I have to give him that poem??!

He touched me deeply, and I have to admit it, it was so nice to not have to pretend anymore.

I had some money from my job, and that night after I left Doug’s house, I stayed at a hotel for the night. I hadn’t exactly lied to Doug about being able to stay with my friends—I just really needed some alone time.

I looked through my stupid poems, and realized that I gave Doug the biggest clue when I told him I started writing around eleven years old—-around the same time he moved here to Bluffington. But, that wasn’t all the reason either, he knew that the poem he handed over to him was really the icing on the cake. If Doug didn’t get it by now, he never would.

Losing my virginity to Connie Benge was a mistake. I was seventeen and she kept saying how much she needed me, how much she loved me. But, that was a lie.

That didn’t last.

Then, of course, I fooled around with all the sleazy, cute girls around high school, the ones with low self esteem. And every time they kissed me, I would think of…

Him.

Doug.

God damn. Sometimes at school when he’d have those dumb little impassioned speeches, when he’d defend others, defend me—-when he’d do something for someone and never expect anything back, all I ever wanted was his attention back when I taunted and bullied him. I had the lowest self esteem of anyone in that entire school. I failed sixth grade twice, and I felt like the biggest idiot ever. He didn’t make me feel stupid, on the occasion we actually sat down and had a real conversation.

Sometimes, I just wanted to slam our bodies together against the lockers, and kiss him. Kiss him so good and so long and so sweetly, he would just forget all about Patti and realize she was never going to be what he needed.

God, I need help, don’t I??

And hearing him so upset—-telling me everything about Patti and their failed relationship, it made me sad. Yet, it gave me hope.

He didn’t judge me when I told him I liked a guy.

He didn’t hate me.

He didn’t push me away.

In his eyes, I saw something that reminded me of myself.

But, I know this will be something that never comes to pass.

What do I want? What can I expect?

Since I’m free from my father's wrath, I’ll write it down.

I want to kiss him, hold him tight, make him feel better, warm and happy. I want to make him feel the most intense pleasure he has never felt before. I want to hear him cry out and moan and hold on to me for dear life—as we kiss over and over again until I can’t breathe.

But, I don’t think Doug even thinks about this stuff. He’s so quiet and naive and shit.

Once I check in, I texted him, cause I want to make sure it’s still his current number.

Hey Doug is this still your number?

I’m still getting used to cell phones. I like texting, but usually I just text chicks.

I waited a moment and he texted me back.

Yeah. How are you? Are you okay?

I tried not to roll my eyes. God, he really is a mom. But, he’s endearing as hell. I text him back.

Yeah. I’m good. How are you?

I smiled as he responded with this:

I’m so glad! I was worried you’d faint or something. But, I didn’t want to ‘mom’ you or something. I’m doing okay.

Okay, Roger, I think, now go in for the kill. But, what should I do? Say? Could I just openly ask him out?

No. Not yet. Just because we are in the 2000’s doesn’t mean it’s completely normal now!

I texted him this:

Np, You wanna chill out this Saturday, I’m off work

I nodded at my handiwork. It’s subtle. It’s cool. It’s not weird. He texted me back.

Sure! I am off then too.

That’s when I realized I don’t even know where he works. Damn, I’m dumb.

Where do you work now, Funnie?

He texted back immediately:

The local environmental agency. They focus on public educational information on natural disasters, resources for the community and other cool stuff. I am head administrator there. I also write content for the website.

This literally floored me, but I played it cool. God, he’s literally perfect. How could that bitch not fall in love with him? Why did I even like her? (She was hot.)

Cool. That’s real neat. Well, let’s meet up at Honker Burger at 11. Sound good?

Neat? What the hell? I was turning a bit too boring trying to impress him.

But, he seemed to not mind.

Great. I’ll see you then. You need me to pick you up?

I frowned. No, I’m not a girl! But, again, I really wanted to make this work.

Nah. I got a truck.

I didn’t mention how I had to walk back to Honker Burger and get my truck back, because that wasn’t his fault.

Okay. You need anything?

Yeah, I think. I need a lot of things. A stable family. A real home. You.

No. I’m good. Thanks. See you later.

I put my phone down and take a shower, and fall asleep right after.

It had been a hell of a day.

I dreamed the whole night of him.

I dreamed of something I usually don’t.

Domestic bliss.

Waking up everyday to him next to me. Making breakfast together. Coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice. Dancing together, kissing and laughing.

But that’s impossible.

I sometimes wish I was just normal. Why can’t I just be normal? It’s not like I wanted to be like this. It’s not like I woke up one morning and thought, “Hey, won’t it be so fun to have my whole family disown and hate me so I can fall in love with one guy?!”

But alas, I suffer alone in this tormenting pain.

Fuck.

I’m so stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!

I sometimes wish I was just… never even born.

Like that Freddy Mercury song. When he says, “I don’t wanna die. I sometimes wish I had never been born at all!”

I feel that shit so hard.

The rest of the week I stayed at various friend’s places. But, I realized that it wasn’t going to last. I needed my own place. Soon.

Saturday came and I drove to Honker Burger.

I saw Doug, there early like always.

His hair had grown longer over the years. Black hair, his hair covering his eyes a little. I liked it.

It was cute.

But, I wasn’t going to say that out loud.

I started to think that maybe I was gay. I really didn’t enjoy women that much.

But—-whenever I’d be with a woman, I’d think of him.

Soooo… ergo, I’m gay?

I don’t know.

I also don’t want to ruin the prospect of having a real friendship with Doug; so I’ma chill out a bit.

“Hey! Hey, Roger!” Doug says as I walk in the restaurant. I smile, but feel a tad embarrassed.

I wave and walk over to him.

“Hey what would you like? I’ll pay.”

Damn. He’s good. I shake my head. “That’s okay, I got it. For helping me the other day.”

Doug smiles. “That’s awful nice of you.”

Bullshit, I think. I’m not nice.

We go up and order some burgers and shakes. I pay.

I pay, but I realize at this point, I’m almost broke until my next paycheck.

And my extended stay with my friend Willy is becoming already a bit shaky, so I don’t know.

Once we get our food, he asks me how my head is.

“Fine. I’ll survive.”

Doug nods. “I’m so sorry. Again. Just… really terrible, what happened to you. Have you been able to talk to your mom?”

I frown. “No. She won’t talk to me.”

Doug looks at me with those dumb, doe-eyes, and I wanna punch him for looking so cute.

“Rog, that is just the pits. Do you still need a place to stay? You could stay in Judy’s old room. My parent’s won’t care.”

I sigh. Damnit—-I can’t stay in his house. In Judy’s room. That invites trouble.

“Well, I think I’ll manage. Don’t worry.”

He nods, but looks unconvinced. “Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know. Okay?”

I nod. We eat in silence for a few minutes and then he starts talking again.

“Hey, some pumpkin patches have just opened up, fall is here, after-all. So… after this, wanna go?”

I look at him like he’s an alien and Doug catches on.

“Um. Rog? You’ve never been to one, have you?”

I nod. “No. Never. Is it painful? Like the dentist?”

Doug laughs. “No, I swear! It’s fun.”

“You’re trying to corner me into becoming one of those run of the mill, boring, legal-binding denizens of society, aren’t you? Coffee runs, office jobs and pumpkin patches, huh?”

Doug sniggered, almost spitting out his drink.

I smiled, and rolled my eyes.

“Am I boring to you?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. But, I need boring. I have had too much excitement in my life.”

Doug looks contemplative and nods. “Excitement can be done even in a modest, boring existence. It is possible.”

“Even in a benign, tedious situation such as yours?”

Doug’s brow raised. “I’d say so. How about your position of tedious, unrelieved, stagnant freedom? How is that working out for you?”

I appreciated that bite of candor and verbal fencing, so I bowed my head. “Touché!”

Doug nodded, grinning and then said, “You done? Let’s head out. There is pumpkin patch near by that also does apple picking.”

“Apple picking! Next you’re going to say something about life insurance and making sure the mortgage is refinanced.”

Doug shook his head, laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“You just sound like my grandmother, that’s all.”

He smirked, “Stop pretending you aren’t interested in picking apples, Roger. You can still be cool and all.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Oh yeah. Next I’m going to be making a pie and putting on an apron. Totally killer!”

He laughed as we both got up from our seats and he gave me the address of the place, and we met up there at the farm/pumpkin patch.

The air was chilly, but the sun was out and had a distinct freshness outside.

I felt sick to my stomach.

“So, what the hell are we doing here, again?” I ask. He frowns, not saying anything.

I feel bad and say, “Hey, you take the lead. I’m no good at this stuff.” I smile at him and he nodded.

I wanted to tell him thank you for being so understanding and kind, for always giving me chances even when I didn’t deserve it and for being so sweet. But, I was still trying to just be nice… without being a jerk.

We walk around, see all the colorful Halloween decorations and he says, “You want some apple cider?”

I shrug, “Sure.”

He runs over to the concession stand and grabs us two glasses of what looks to be apple juice. It’s better, though. It’s smooth and rich and sweet.

“Thanks, man.”

He nods. “You’re welcome.”

We keep walking, drinking our cider.

It was silent, yet peaceful. We really don’t need to talk. It doesn’t feel awkward, it feels like we were made to live in this silence. It was more interesting than anything you could drone on about.

But we went over to the pumpkin path and all of a sudden we started talking.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

I bit my tongue and feel my cheeks heat up.

“Not now. I had one. This university chick. We dated off and on a few months ago.”

“Oh. Anything serious with anyone?”

“No. I haven’t. What about you? Do you have another person in line to call?”

Doug shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll meet someone in college.”

I nodded. ‘Damn, I hope not,’ I think.

“You want to get a pumpkin or pick apples?” He asks.

I decide to stop being so hard to be friends with and say, “Let’s pick apples.”

Doug smiled so big I felt my blush growing.

As we got our bags to start picking the apples, we went into the orchard, and we picked in silence. It reminded me of a song. Being with him that way.

Malena by Morricone, well, anything by that composer made me feel like I was at home.

And Doug made me feel like this was home, too.

We started going over music we liked.

I told him about Malena. I told him how Ennio Morricone was my favorite composer ever. He was impressed, almost speechless.

“I also like that song… She’s Not There… by The Zombies,” I said.

“Oh yeah!!” Doug said. “That is such a good song.”

We filled up our bags(I helped him get some higher, redder apples as I was taller) and then Doug asked me, “What’s a song that makes you nostalgic or long for something?”

I thought about it.

I sighed, deciding to just tell him.

“I had a song I used to listen to whenever things were really bad at my mom’s old trailer. Danny's Song by Loggins and Messina was that song. It made me pretend to be in a different life. A different family. A different story.”

Doug frowned and then sighed softly, looking at me kindly. “I love that song. We’ve all had times we wished we were in a different life. Me… not so much a different family, but sometimes, I wanted to be someone else.” He smiled, but it looked sad. “You know, I always wrote myself as a hero. Like… a superhero that always saved everyone. He got the girl. He was liked by everyone. And that was me. Elevated.”

I nodded. “I get that. I think you’ve done your part in society. You don’t just stand there and say nothing when you see bullying, you fight and you stand up for the downtrodden—-something that even grown adults still don’t have the guts to react to properly sometimes.”

“Yeah… and I am your unsung hero, right?” Doug teases, and I laugh, remembering that I did indeed call him that when he saw me all injured the other day.

“So, Funnie, what’s the song that hits your nostalgia?”

“Still calling me Funnie, eh? I thought we were past that.”

I nodded. “You’re right. But, as you recall, you almost bit my head off when I called you, ‘Dougie,’ remember?”

He scoffs, “Well, can you blame me? That is what my Grandma calls me.”

I laugh. “Okay. Doug. Better?” I sit down on a bench and put my bag of apples near my feet. He sits down next to me.

“Yes.” He looked thoughtfully at me and then at the sky, breathing in slowly. “Roger, aren’t you twenty one already?”

I nod, “Yeah. I’m like… two years older than you. Is that a problem?”

“No. Not at all. I just… when I told you no beers, you totally didn’t argue that you were already legal to drink. You were cool.”

I shrug. “Well, it was your house. Your rules.”

“Thanks. Will you ever consider going to college?”

I shrug again. “I don’t know. What will I do there? I’m not smart. I failed the sixth grade twice. I’m very… unlucky with numbers and I am in general, an uneducated person with limited knowledge and prospects.”

“I think you would be awesome in college. You are smart. You actually have a bigger vocabulary than I do. Sometimes you say things I don’t even understand.”

I nod, lifting my brow in shock, “I know lots of four letter words… is that what you mean? And you know, I’ve tried Expletives Anonymous, it didn’t help, I just learned more curses than ever..”

“No!” Doug says in an hysterical laugh. “You say smart things. You’re not stupid.”

“I didn’t say I was, Doug.”

Doug frowned, putting his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t flinch, surprisingly. “Well, if you did, if you ever said that… it’s not true. Kay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Thanks.” I sigh, “So… you still didn’t tell me your nostalgic song.”

“There is a reason. I… I think you’ll laugh.”

I push into him gently, “No. I won’t. I told you my biggest secret, you know that… so you’re in the clear.”

He sighed loudly and said, “Okay, Rog. It’s Glenn Miller. Moonlight Serenade.”

“Cool. Why?”

Doug looks at me, shocked.

“Well… it makes me feel… hopeful for my future. It makes me think of something happy. A different relationship. Someone that really appreciates me. Is that dumb?”

I shake my head. “No. Never. It’s not dumb. It’s great.”

“I liked your poem,” Doug says suddenly. “Was it about me?”

I laugh nervously, looking away from him. “Uh…”

“It’s okay… never mind. You don’t have to answer.”

“Doug?”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“It is. It is about you.”

“Really?”

“And you know what else?”

“What, Rog?”

“I like being here with you.”

“Me too.”

“And you know what else, else?”

“Huh?”

“Doug, all my poems were about you.”

“What?” A soft gasp.

“And I can’t do this anymore. I like you. A lot. I like your dorky smile. And your writing. And your family. And I like how good you make me feel. I like how you grew out your black bangs and it hits over your left eye and it looks so good. I just like you.”

There’s a brief moment of silence that hits us like the most intense weight, and then, his faces pales. He is quiet, eyes wide—-and my heart is pounding in my ears.

“Thank you. For everything. For being you. I’m sorry. I’m so bad at hiding what I feel now. I’m getting too old to just mask it with anger. I can’t. Thank you for picking apples with me. Thanks for telling me about Glenn Miller. I’ll go.”

I get up, and leave my apples behind.

I start to run when I hear him call my name.

I cry when I hear something else, too.

“Rog, you left your apples here! Come back!”

“Keep them!”

What he didn’t say was I left my apples behind, yes, but I also left something even more important back there with him, too.

But, I won’t say what it was.

It was left in the words that I tore apart and handed to him—-a platform that I longed for him to see between the lines as my undying love.

I must be the shittiest poet ever.