Bumblings of a Twenty-Something Nothing
#2 of Twenty-Something Nothing
I relish the fuzzy feeling of sleep as it slides from my consciousness the next morning. There is a great show of yawning and stretching before I drag myself from the bed toward the bathroom.
I stop to check, perhaps even admire my nude form in the mirror as I pass in front of it. I'm certainly not fit to be a model; I have something of a light dusting of fat and fluff. I makes me look especially cuddly, I think, and I can't help considering that even though I'm not at all the type to go for hook-ups, that, yeah, I'd hit that.
My tail wags in amusement and I hop into the shower. The initial burst of water from the showerhead is cold, and despite my knowing that it would be, I jump nonetheless as it bites into my skin. It quickly warms, and before long I can let the liquid heat stream down my body, a sensual caress before I begin my normal routine. The reader, of course, is permitted to imagine for him/herself what exactly this entails. ...pervert.
I have my getting-ready habits down to a science, or perhaps an art--towel off, blow dry, brush. Dental care, contacts, trim face-fur. Boxer-briefs (nice and snug), slacks, polo shirt. Always in that order, and never taking much more or less time than any other day. I like it that way.
I check my calendar to verify my shift today, and it occurs to me that I'll be sharing it once again with Zach. Joy of joys. 'If he starts pulling stupid shit again, I'll just do my best to ignore it,' I think to myself, planning. 'Bullies only want that satisfaction of reaction, and once he gets burned out on never getting one, maybe he'll actually be a decent coworker. Half-way decent. Tolerable. That last one seems most likely.
It's still only about nine-thirty, and the frost still hanging in the air prickles the bare skin of my paw-pads. Each chill night takes more green from the world, while each sunrise seems to replace it with red and gold, a burning fire that must burn to dull ash to begin the cycle anew.
It should be worth mentioning that I tend to start feeling poetic or philosophical during my rides at dawn or dusk. Those times just fill me up with more sensation than any other, and I can't help but overflow a little.
Of course, the perfect thing to break me from my reverie is standing just feet from where I intend to park.
"Whoa, puppy! What're you doing riding that thing? Trying to look cool?" Zach sniggers.
'Don't call me puppy' tries to make itself heard, but I stuff it into the back of my throat, saying instead, "I just like motorcycles."
"Pfft, whatever." He points to a car, his car, a sleek, black, sexy sports car. I have to admit, I feel a twinge of jealousy. "Mine's bigger," he says, grinning, and my ears flatten a little. Unable to come up with the correct retort, I simply walk past him and into the building.
We both sign in without any exchange of words, and I notice Meghan's name just above mine on the sheet. Maybe she can help diffuse some of the tension. "Okay, Zach, today you can just kind of follow me and I'll try to explain what I'm doing and you can help out. Sound alright?"
"Sure, I guess."
Before I can really decide what to do first, "Alex!" comes from across the hall. Meghan's pushing Will toward the elevator and he waves me over.
"I'll be right back," I say to Zach, and I hurry over to say good-bye to the wolf.
"Looks like they're cutting me loose," he says with a grin. "Good thing my brother's gonna let me use his old crutches. We're almost the same height, so I don't have to buy a new pair."
"Cool!"
"Did you want to walk him out, Alex?" Meghan asks me. "That way you two can chat without wasting my time," she says, winking.
"Sure," I reply, taking her place at the back of the wheelchair. As we continue toward the elevator, I resume the conversation. "So does your brother live here in the city?"
"Yeah, he moved out of our parents' house a while before I did. Four, maybe five years? I just moved out a couple years ago, but we both still live here. He's actually gonna pick me up today and stay with me for a bit to help me out."
"That's really nice of him."
We settle into the elevator, and he continues the conversation since we're the only passengers. "Yeah, Dan's awesome. Back when I came out, and Mom and Dad were kind of freaked, he was there to help support me and smooth them out."
"O-oh," is all I manage to say for a moment. "Cool," I add, lamely, and a little too late in my opinion.
He just laughs. The doors ding open on the ground floor and I walk him up to the main doors without being able to think of anything else to say. Strolling casually up to these exact doors is a wolf who could very nearly be the twin of the one in the wheelchair, down to the same smile.
"That's Dan, obviously," Will says, and I nod in tacit agreement. I hold the doors open for him as he wheels himself out, but he stops in the doorway. "What are you doing this afternoon?" he asks, turning his head to me.
"Me? Afternoon? This afternoon?"
"Yes, that is the breakdown of my question," he laughs.
"I, uh. Nothing. Uh, I guess." I regret being too shocked to come up with a lie where I actually have a life outside of work.
"Cool. You know, you should come hand out at my place if you have time, then." He says it coolly. Like we're good friends, like there's nothing weird about having a guy over that you only just met. At the hospital. He rattles off his address, grins, and wheels off with his brother.
My life is momentarily a broken record of me saying, "uh," while he sits there grinning that damn grin. Once I regain my senses, I walk quickly and quietly back through the doors and to the elevator.
The address mixes in my head with the elevator music, and I mouth it along as a sort of song. After just a few such repetitions, the doors ding open again, and when I realize that I've been memorizing a boy's address, I blush. 'It's stupid to think I'm interested in him, I mean, or that he's interested in me,' I start thinking. 'Of course he's not interested in me. He's just thanking me for being so nice and I'm only nervous because I don't usually get along with guys, and he's actually really nice, and he's kinda cute--'
"What's up with the dopey smile?" Zach asks, which of course wipes it off my face in an instant.
"Huh?" I ask, stupidly.
"You walk back here looking high or something. Some trainer," he laughs and shoves me. There's almost a playful undertone to his voice, so I go along with it.
"You know how it is, bro," I try, though I know that the 'bro' was a bad touch.
His posture stiffens just slightly. "Yeah. So what now?"
Thankfully, the rest of the shift proves to be rather uneventful. Zach learns fairly well, once he actually tries, although when he does something wrong, he tends to lash out, no matter how gently I try to correct him. "Well I wouldn't suck at it if you'd actually tell me how to do it right?" comes to mind as a fair representation of his temper.
He lightens up around Meghan, as I expected, either because he wants to make a good impression or because he's distracted by her rack. I don't see why it can't be both though. She just laughs when I tell her, saying, "they're boy magnets, you know." I imagine that Zach would be the most obedient thing in the world if his trainer were a pair of breasts with a voice attached to them, and I join in the laugh.
During our lunch break, he glances at me eating and interrupts with, "Is that peanut butter and cheese?" His nose wrinkles in moderate distaste.
"Well, it's a little weird, I guess, but if you tried it I bet you'd like it too," I protest, a little weakly. He sticks out his tongue, which still has his last bite of food on it, and I'm surprised into a laugh. Surprisingly, he laughs with me, at least until a thought crosses his face and he sobers up. Nothing like awkward silence, oh boy.
Only one prank graces me today, and I feel fortunate in this. Somehow, despite always being in my sight, Zach manages to set up a little tripwire in the doorway of the supply room, and I of course fall for it. The supplies, in turn, fall on me when I bump the shelves. Following my plan, though, I get up and straighten things out without even letting my body betray a sign of annoyance. As I see him in my periphery, Zach looks decidedly less pleased, maybe almost sad, and I give myself a tiny mental cheer.
At last, four o' clock comes and with it, the end of my shift. I figure Zach knows enough to sign out without me having to hold his hand, and I leave to the front desk. Zach stays behind to talk to Meghan for a moment, and she throws me an I-told-you-so look.
I start to head home, ready to relax and maybe nap, when I remember Will's invitation. How I could have even put it out of mind in the first place surprises me. Abruptly, I take a right turn, from the wrong lane, and at least one driver blares his horn or gives me the finger. I wave a quick and sheepish 'sorry' over my shoulder, but continue otherwise guiltless to the address now affixed to the inside of my skull.
My first thought on arriving is that Will lives in a much nicer sort of complex than I would have guessed judging just from his age. Things seem new and in good repair, and there seem to be none of the druggies or hobos I remember seeing when at some of my friends' places. I'm not entirely sure why I really decided to come, but I nonetheless head to the main door and begin scanning over the buzzers to find the one belonging to Will. My paw hesitates for a second over the button, but I press it anyway.
A moment later, a voice squeezes out of the tiny speaker-box: "Hello?"