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smackenzie"Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink?"
"Soda?"
"Got it."
By the time I come back with a Coke for Kay, an iced tea for me, and the leftover thumbprint cookies, Diego has moved from a fuzzy lump on the couch cushion to a fuzzy lump on Kay's lap. It's very cute.
"I guess he likes me," Kay says, gently stroking one of Diego's ears.
"I guess he does." I hand over the soda and cookies and sit next to them. "Seriously. It's late. What are you doing out here?"
"I like your house. It's cozy. It's really loud where I'm staying - they're having a party - and I just didn't want to be with a lot of people." He shrugs and takes a drink of his Coke. "Is that ok?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I like the company."
"What are you listening to?"
"Music from when I was young and stupid." I grin. "A lot of bands I listened to in college. I was feeling nostalgic." I tilt my head to better hear the song currently playing. "This is... I think they were calling themselves Flamingo Lens when they recorded this one."
"Flamingo Lens?"
"Yeah. Stupid, huh? I knew the drummer. We went out for about a week, and then she decided she was straight after all." I have to laugh. Her name was Kitty and she was short and cute and had excellent rhythm, as you'd expect from a drummer, and she was a terrible kisser but it turned out not to matter. The last I heard of her, she had two babies, four dogs, a boyfriend, and a recording studio in her garage. She was rotating through a series of local bands when I knew her, although by the time she settled with Flamingo Lens, she'd acquired two other girls and another guy, and they just kept changing their name.
I have a few of their songs on this particular playlist, from three different incarnations of the band. I always thought "Flamingo Lens" was one of their more ridiculous names, but that's the time period that produced the songs I like the best.
"They also called themselves Public Enemy #19, Aloe Vera, Trout, and Sherlock Holmes Is Not Here to Save Your Soul. When they were Flamingo Lens they wrote most of my favorite of their songs, though."
Kay drinks his Coke and listens as the song comes to an end and the next one kicks in. It's another Flaming Lens song, but written during their Trout days. I keep it on the playlist because it reminds me of a few months during my sophomore year at art school, when I was briefly and wildly in love with a boy who not only ignored me but dropped out over the summer and, to everyone's great surprise, joined the navy. It was a socially awkward and personally melodramatic few months, but I did some really good work for my professors. The tattoo on my neck, which is a sumi-e style sparrow and a twig of cherry blossoms, was painted during that time. I did a lot of ink wash and watercolor when I was in college, and when I finally passed my apprenticeship at Jonatha's tattoo studio and could take on my own clients, that was my favorite kind of tattoo to do.
Kay and I sit in silence, drinking our drinks and finishing the cookies, while my nostalgia playlist cycles through a few more songs. I think I can hear Diego purring under the music.
"See?" Kay says after a while. "I said your house was cozy."
"Thank you. The cat helps." I brush one of Diego's ears, and he flicks the other one at me. I know he's doing it at me because he cracks open an eye and swivels it in my direction. I laugh. I'm so glad Alicia brought him over and asked me if I'd keep him. I don't think I would have ever adopted a cat on my own, but I like having one, now that I do.
"Did you have cats growing up?" Kay asks me.
"My sister did. She had a calico named Brussel Sprout who lived just long enough to see her off to college. Tristan was so distraught when she came home for Thanksgiving and the cat had died. It didn't like me at all, but I made my parents give it a decent burial anyway. My grandpa helped convince them. He was a cat person. My grandmother was mildly allergic, so of course Brussel Sprout loved her the best."
My poor Grandma Dolly, cursed to be a cat magnet for fourteen years. She would make my mother lock the cat in a bathroom if she and Grandpa Harb were going to spend any length of time at the house.
"We had neighbors with cats when I was growing up," Kay says. "I used to go next door to play with them. One of them had kittens once and I begged my mom to let me have one, but she said no, they were bad luck. They were black kittens. I think the neighbors found them all homes anyway."
"Any time you want to come over and play with Diego, you're welcome to. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm out all day, but who knows what goes on in that little fuzzy gray brain of his?" I rub the top of his head and he flicks his ears at me again. "You know you love me," I tell him cheerfully. He yawns and stretches and climbs off Kay's lap to rearrange himself on an empty spot of cushion.
"Can I stay here tonight?"
The question takes me a little by surprise. I think I know Kay well enough - and he should know me well enough - to know it's not a come-on. And it won't be the first time he's ever slept in my guest room, although the last time was because it was pouring rain out and I didn't want to drive him home, he didn't want me to call him a cab, and I didn't like the idea of him waiting for the bus or walking in that weather.
"Sure," I say. "You did tell me my house was cozy." I grin at him. He gives me a little smile. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I don't know. Everything's just... everything's weird. My friends aren't acting any different, but it's like, I don't know, it's like... you know how sometimes you know a storm is coming because you can smell it? Like the air smells heavy and wet."
"I had a friend in high school who would get terrible headaches when the weather changed like that. Hurricanes gave her migraines." She'd had it her whole life, but by high school she'd developed a sense of humor about it, and she used to joke that we could use her as the most reliable barometer in existence. She'd say she was better than the weather report, because she always knew when it was going to rain. In retrospect it might have been a little weather magic, because if the weatherman said it was going to rain, and Charlene didn't have a headache, we knew the weatherman was wrong.
"Like that, I guess. I can feel something. I can't... I can't see it, but it's like this wet smell in the back of my throat, like in my sinuses. Does that make any sense?"
"It's a feeling. People get them." Especially people who already have some magic. It's as if they're attuned to it more than other folks. It's only happened to me once, and it was a feeling of anticipation that I couldn't explain, when I was trying to get a loan to open Suzume Tattoos and banks would turn me away because of the way I looked. No one wanted to offer a loan to the girl with the pastel streaks in her fluffy bleached-white hair and the neck tattoo. But I had a feeling, a week before I finally secured a loan. I had no reason to feel that way, but I did. I told Rae about it and she suggested it might be a kind of magical sixth sense. I laughed her off, but privately I thought she was right. Now I touch Kay on the arm, hoping my little magical power of soothing kicks in. "There's nothing specific that's making you worry?"
"No. But something's coming. I don't know what, but something. Or someone. I don't know. Maybe both. But it's... I feel safe here."
"Well, I do have the vicious attack cat." As if he knows we're talking about him, Diego stretches again and jumps off the couch, this time ambling off in the direction of the kitchen. "Of course you can stay. Tomorrow night too, if you want."
"Maybe."
"The bed's made in the guest room. I'll get you some towels. My first client tomorrow isn't until one, so I won't be in any hurry in the morning. But I should probably go to bed. Can I leave you to your own devices?"
"I wish you wouldn't. I don't want to sit out here by myself."
And that's how I end up sharing a bed with a strange, quiet, nineteen-year-old straight boy. He keeps himself absolutely to himself, which is helped by Diego deciding not only that he wants to sleep on the bed too, but that he wants to make himself into a kitty loaf in between us. Kay is probably the quietest, most polite person I've ever shared a bed with. He doesn't even snore.
Diego, on the other hand, ends up on my pillow, his tail flopped over my face. I wake up to a mouthful of kitty fur and a very polite "Mrrow" in my ear.
"Ok, ok," I mutter "I'll feed you."
Kay is still fast asleep, so I slide out of bed as quietly as possible, make a pit stop in the bathroom, and go into the kitchen to feed and water the cat and make myself some coffee.
words: 1674
total words: 17,416
"Soda?"
"Got it."
By the time I come back with a Coke for Kay, an iced tea for me, and the leftover thumbprint cookies, Diego has moved from a fuzzy lump on the couch cushion to a fuzzy lump on Kay's lap. It's very cute.
"I guess he likes me," Kay says, gently stroking one of Diego's ears.
"I guess he does." I hand over the soda and cookies and sit next to them. "Seriously. It's late. What are you doing out here?"
"I like your house. It's cozy. It's really loud where I'm staying - they're having a party - and I just didn't want to be with a lot of people." He shrugs and takes a drink of his Coke. "Is that ok?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I like the company."
"What are you listening to?"
"Music from when I was young and stupid." I grin. "A lot of bands I listened to in college. I was feeling nostalgic." I tilt my head to better hear the song currently playing. "This is... I think they were calling themselves Flamingo Lens when they recorded this one."
"Flamingo Lens?"
"Yeah. Stupid, huh? I knew the drummer. We went out for about a week, and then she decided she was straight after all." I have to laugh. Her name was Kitty and she was short and cute and had excellent rhythm, as you'd expect from a drummer, and she was a terrible kisser but it turned out not to matter. The last I heard of her, she had two babies, four dogs, a boyfriend, and a recording studio in her garage. She was rotating through a series of local bands when I knew her, although by the time she settled with Flamingo Lens, she'd acquired two other girls and another guy, and they just kept changing their name.
I have a few of their songs on this particular playlist, from three different incarnations of the band. I always thought "Flamingo Lens" was one of their more ridiculous names, but that's the time period that produced the songs I like the best.
"They also called themselves Public Enemy #19, Aloe Vera, Trout, and Sherlock Holmes Is Not Here to Save Your Soul. When they were Flamingo Lens they wrote most of my favorite of their songs, though."
Kay drinks his Coke and listens as the song comes to an end and the next one kicks in. It's another Flaming Lens song, but written during their Trout days. I keep it on the playlist because it reminds me of a few months during my sophomore year at art school, when I was briefly and wildly in love with a boy who not only ignored me but dropped out over the summer and, to everyone's great surprise, joined the navy. It was a socially awkward and personally melodramatic few months, but I did some really good work for my professors. The tattoo on my neck, which is a sumi-e style sparrow and a twig of cherry blossoms, was painted during that time. I did a lot of ink wash and watercolor when I was in college, and when I finally passed my apprenticeship at Jonatha's tattoo studio and could take on my own clients, that was my favorite kind of tattoo to do.
Kay and I sit in silence, drinking our drinks and finishing the cookies, while my nostalgia playlist cycles through a few more songs. I think I can hear Diego purring under the music.
"See?" Kay says after a while. "I said your house was cozy."
"Thank you. The cat helps." I brush one of Diego's ears, and he flicks the other one at me. I know he's doing it at me because he cracks open an eye and swivels it in my direction. I laugh. I'm so glad Alicia brought him over and asked me if I'd keep him. I don't think I would have ever adopted a cat on my own, but I like having one, now that I do.
"Did you have cats growing up?" Kay asks me.
"My sister did. She had a calico named Brussel Sprout who lived just long enough to see her off to college. Tristan was so distraught when she came home for Thanksgiving and the cat had died. It didn't like me at all, but I made my parents give it a decent burial anyway. My grandpa helped convince them. He was a cat person. My grandmother was mildly allergic, so of course Brussel Sprout loved her the best."
My poor Grandma Dolly, cursed to be a cat magnet for fourteen years. She would make my mother lock the cat in a bathroom if she and Grandpa Harb were going to spend any length of time at the house.
"We had neighbors with cats when I was growing up," Kay says. "I used to go next door to play with them. One of them had kittens once and I begged my mom to let me have one, but she said no, they were bad luck. They were black kittens. I think the neighbors found them all homes anyway."
"Any time you want to come over and play with Diego, you're welcome to. He doesn't seem to mind that I'm out all day, but who knows what goes on in that little fuzzy gray brain of his?" I rub the top of his head and he flicks his ears at me again. "You know you love me," I tell him cheerfully. He yawns and stretches and climbs off Kay's lap to rearrange himself on an empty spot of cushion.
"Can I stay here tonight?"
The question takes me a little by surprise. I think I know Kay well enough - and he should know me well enough - to know it's not a come-on. And it won't be the first time he's ever slept in my guest room, although the last time was because it was pouring rain out and I didn't want to drive him home, he didn't want me to call him a cab, and I didn't like the idea of him waiting for the bus or walking in that weather.
"Sure," I say. "You did tell me my house was cozy." I grin at him. He gives me a little smile. "Is something wrong?"
"No. I don't know. Everything's just... everything's weird. My friends aren't acting any different, but it's like, I don't know, it's like... you know how sometimes you know a storm is coming because you can smell it? Like the air smells heavy and wet."
"I had a friend in high school who would get terrible headaches when the weather changed like that. Hurricanes gave her migraines." She'd had it her whole life, but by high school she'd developed a sense of humor about it, and she used to joke that we could use her as the most reliable barometer in existence. She'd say she was better than the weather report, because she always knew when it was going to rain. In retrospect it might have been a little weather magic, because if the weatherman said it was going to rain, and Charlene didn't have a headache, we knew the weatherman was wrong.
"Like that, I guess. I can feel something. I can't... I can't see it, but it's like this wet smell in the back of my throat, like in my sinuses. Does that make any sense?"
"It's a feeling. People get them." Especially people who already have some magic. It's as if they're attuned to it more than other folks. It's only happened to me once, and it was a feeling of anticipation that I couldn't explain, when I was trying to get a loan to open Suzume Tattoos and banks would turn me away because of the way I looked. No one wanted to offer a loan to the girl with the pastel streaks in her fluffy bleached-white hair and the neck tattoo. But I had a feeling, a week before I finally secured a loan. I had no reason to feel that way, but I did. I told Rae about it and she suggested it might be a kind of magical sixth sense. I laughed her off, but privately I thought she was right. Now I touch Kay on the arm, hoping my little magical power of soothing kicks in. "There's nothing specific that's making you worry?"
"No. But something's coming. I don't know what, but something. Or someone. I don't know. Maybe both. But it's... I feel safe here."
"Well, I do have the vicious attack cat." As if he knows we're talking about him, Diego stretches again and jumps off the couch, this time ambling off in the direction of the kitchen. "Of course you can stay. Tomorrow night too, if you want."
"Maybe."
"The bed's made in the guest room. I'll get you some towels. My first client tomorrow isn't until one, so I won't be in any hurry in the morning. But I should probably go to bed. Can I leave you to your own devices?"
"I wish you wouldn't. I don't want to sit out here by myself."
And that's how I end up sharing a bed with a strange, quiet, nineteen-year-old straight boy. He keeps himself absolutely to himself, which is helped by Diego deciding not only that he wants to sleep on the bed too, but that he wants to make himself into a kitty loaf in between us. Kay is probably the quietest, most polite person I've ever shared a bed with. He doesn't even snore.
Diego, on the other hand, ends up on my pillow, his tail flopped over my face. I wake up to a mouthful of kitty fur and a very polite "Mrrow" in my ear.
"Ok, ok," I mutter "I'll feed you."
Kay is still fast asleep, so I slide out of bed as quietly as possible, make a pit stop in the bathroom, and go into the kitchen to feed and water the cat and make myself some coffee.
words: 1674
total words: 17,416
