Georgia Boys

04. in which we play beekeeper

For years, our motley group have maintained one of many traditions, and helping the De Leons run their bee farm on early Saturday mornings has remained relatively unchanged.

We get up early, which is hell, and one by one we make our way to the De Leons. The trick is that I leave my house alone, but somewhere along the path, I end up running into Micah or perhaps Oliver. Typically, Quincy. 

And today is one of those typical Saturdays, so sure as can be I find myself running into Quincy who is trotting down the pathway for lack of a better word. I don't run into him nor do I call his name, but with that wicked sixth sense of his, he whips around, eyes finding mine.

He pauses. "Pal!" He exclaims. Often, I cannot tell whether Quincy Denton is being sarcastic or not. He slows down, waits for me to catch up, falls into step with me.

At the same time, I clarify. "I'm not your pal." Which is useless, because it's the same thing I've said for years yet if someone asked me why I walk side by side with him knowing when he takes off for the De Leons, knowing I could avoid him if I put in the effort to— I wouldn't have a single answer for them.

"How's it going?" he asks. 

"It's going," I reply. My hands find my pockets. 

"I feel that," Quincy says, because Quincy's the type of boy to say 'I feel that' to anything one might say, just to make it clear that he's listening. 

"How so?" I ask. I'm doing a poor job being unconcerned about whatever Quincy has to say, but to be fair, the trek is semi-long and we haven't run into Micah yet, so I may as well engage him in conversation. 

He hums. "I'm only heartbroken over the fact that you ceaselessly told me to shut up yesterday, seemingly without reason."

Which is true, not that I'm about to admit that to him. And in my defense, he has a way of speaking without so much as opening his mouth. 

"I mean, that's a lame thing to be heartbroken over. There are far more heartbreaking things." And I realize only after the words leave my lips that I could've thought it over more before saying so. When I'd said that, the intention was that there was not much heartbreaking about me being a jackass to him, seeing as I typically am (whether intentional or not). But it'd come off, I see now, as some careless reference to his ex. 

"Oh, I know." Quincy pushes stray locs out of his eyes when he looks at me. 

"I didn't mean it in that way," I reply.

"I know," Quincy kicks at a rock with his foot. "It' s just the elephant in the room, huh? Since I'm being all cagey about him." And he is. He is being cagey. But also, it's really none of my damn business to know about the ways in which his relationship with Emerson was fucked up. Besides, it's not like I've let him in on all the intricacies of relationships I've experienced. 

"Frankly, it's none of my business," I say, and Quincy makes a move to speak before his eyes zero in on a figure in the distance. Whatever reply he had for me drains down the sink as we both catch sight of Micah Hill. 

The conversation is lost, which is perfectly fine by me and I'm sure more than fine by Quincy, and we spend the rest of the trek slowly increasing in numbers as we talk about nearly everything, with the exception of exes and Emerson, of course. 

***

We slip into beekeeping suits not even an hour after arriving at the De Leons. 

Our group wanders out onto the field, and we must appear to be some sort of alien-like creatures with the knockoff hazmat suits we possess. By the time we're outside, there's one fact I can emphasize for sure: it's frankly hell out here.