25/11/2009

I looked down. My coat was draped over me. He must have done it, but I hadn't noticed at all, how did that work? Was he really fast? Had I been lying her a long time? How high was I? The chaise lounge was very comfortable, but I had the feeling the floor would feel very comfortable right now. I made myself get up and I looked at him from the doorway. He was sitting in profile with his feet in front of the fire, smoking the roach. He had a lot of brown hair, thick and swept away from his face. It was very shiny. His legs were long enough for his knees to be level with his lap even with his feet so far in front of him. "Are you okay?" he called without turning around. "I'm fine." "The fire's almost out." I pulled on my coat as I walked toward him. My boots thunked with each step I took. "Did you want some of this?" he asked, extending the roach to his right, where I came up behind him. I put my mouth up to his pinched fingers and inhaled. It was small but the ember flared, and I wondered if it would burn him. His fingernails were short. His hands were much bigger than mine. He took a long measured hit off the roach, turning it into a tiny piece of burned paper. "Are you ready?" "Ready for what?" "To get scrub brushes." "Right now?" "Why not?" I thought for a moment. "Where did you want to go?" "Where do they have scrub brushes?" "I think pretty much anywhere that would be open now. Do you want to go to Walmart?" "We could." "Do you mind if I picked up some stuff?" "No." If I got some stuff i wouldn't have to call Martha. "Okay, let's go to Walmart. Or better, let's go to Costco." "I don't think I've ever been to Costco." "Then we should go. And it'll be empty. I like shopping at night when it's deserted so much better." "Good. Anything's better than Walmart. Walmart is always so depressing." "It's less depressing when there isn't anybody there, but there's always people there." "Fuck Walmart."
Looking up at the warehouse ceilings, I felt small and harmless, like nothing I could do would make a dent in this place so I couldn't make a mistake that mattered. "I don't know where anything is here. This place is huge." "We'll figure it out." he said, pushing the cart. It was one of those wooden flats with wheels attached and a metal handle. I have no idea what they're called. "I don't know if we'll need that." "Better to have one in case we do. You could ride on it." "I thought that, too. Maybe later." I liked that he was willing to push me around on the cart. Looking up cat things gave me the chance to look up at him. He had a strong jaw. He looked less shiny under the big florescent lights. Looking around, I was starting to worry that I wouldn't be able to find anything that wasn't in a giant cube. The only thing I might want a case of was beer, maybe cereal, but where would I store a case of cereal? The same with toilet paper. I could use the toilet paper, but where would I put that much toilet paper? I didn't have the space in my tiny apartment. Just then my stomach made a noise. "You're hungry." "Not really." "When did you last eat?" "A few hours ago." "It has to be more than a few hours." I was embarrassed at my stupid human failing, but Michael didn't seem to mind so much as think it was a problem to solve. He pointed at a large orange block up ahead. "Do you like Cheetos? I don't think we're running into anything fresh for a while." Cheetos would make my fingers orange. "The crunchy kind are okay." "They aren't the crunchy kind. Chex Mix?" he said, holding up a bag of Chex Mix. "I use to like Chex Mix. I'd pick out the Chex parts." "I made Chex Mix once with just Chex cereal. It's only worchester sauce, butter, and onion and garlic powder." He shook the bag. "I'll take it." I said, taking the bag, opening it. I picked out pieces, not wanting to get it all over my hands, and crunched them singly. Pick, place and crunch. Pick, place and crunch. Crunch, crunch, crunch. "You make that look fun." "It is fun." I pointed the open bag at him. He waved it away. "This way,' I said, marching ahead. "I think I see mops." Half an hour later, we had a washtub with four wooden scrub brushes, a gallon jug of concentrated all purpose cleanser, two large packs of sponges and a stack of wash clothes. I was sitting cross legged on the cart, facing Michael as he pushed. His steps seemed purposeful, measured out evenly. "What do you need to get?" "Honestly, I don't think I can do my shopping here. Everything is too big, I have no where to put it. I need a normal jar of mayonnaise, not a gallon jar of mayonnaise. Besides, it would take too long to look for anything in here. I'm tired." "I'll push you around. Look, turkeys. Do you need any turkeys?" "I need ground turkey. There aren't any turkeys." "My mistake, that giant can of tomatoes just looked like turkey. Do you need a twenty pack of paper towels?" "Let's just get your stuff and go." "Do you want me to take you to the depressing Walmart?" "You would take me to the depressing Walmart?" "Of course. You helped me pick out all this stuff. How would I know to get this many wash cloths?" "You never cleaned before?" "No, I never did a lot of cleaning." "Your house is going to take a lot of scrubbing. That's a lot of work." My chin was in my hand. My buzz had worn off and I was tired. I looked up at him. "Could we do it tomorrow? Or later in the week?" "Sure." he said, looking around, striding along. Did he mean scrubbing the house? "I mean the Walmart. But we don't have to go to Walmart. We could go to a normal grocery with less gigantically fat people and their chubby children." "Yes, yes we could." "Thank you." "Your welcome." "Because i don't have a car." "I know." "It's much harder without a car." "And having to eat." "Yes, that." I smiled at him and he smiled back, with his mouth closed. He rested both elbows on the rail as he pushed it along and leaned in. "Let's get out of here." he said producing a joint from his sleeve. I slapped his arm, looking around. It disappeared just as quickly. He straightened up, pushed harder, starting to run. I turned around to see the registers in the distance. He never got to a run, but slid with the rolling cart until we stopped in front of the lone cashier. "Up, up, we have to get out of here." In the parking lot, I remembered the ride out here, scenic and out of the way. All the supplies fit into the wash bin, which Michael carried with ease, stowing it in the trunk. It was nice out, clear but cold. 'Do you know how to cook?" I asked as we got into the car. "No. Why?" "Just asking." Michael made the joint reappear and held it just so until I took it from him. I felt for the lighter in my pocket and lit it, thinking he was just another young guy who didn't know how to clean or cook. His mother probably did it all for him, where was his mother? Was she still alive? I couldn't tell his age, he could have been twenty or thirty. Would he get lines around his mouth like smokers do? He sucked on the joint. My half eaten bag of Chex Mix crinkled in my lap. He had bought me Chex Mix. I hadn't even thought about it. He was going to take me to the grocery store tomorrow because I had to eat. Were we dating now? Is this dating for him? He hadn't tried to kiss me or anything like that, but he did hold my hand by the fire. Did I want to date him? I did have some sexual feelings but it was probably just the marijuana, it did that to me. Whatever it was, I liked it fine and I hoped it meant we were going to be good friends. I was really very happy about getting to go the grocery store tomorrow without having to ask Martha, that was very liberating. Maybe it could become a regular thing and she'd never have to deal with Martha again. I was probably jumping the gun. "Does it make you tired? The pot?" "Kind of. Not really," he exhaled. "I don't get tired. But it makes me feel something in my arms and legs, weight. It's that human feeling, knowing where my bones are, the slack in my muscles. My eyes don't get red, but my lids will sometimes get heavy." I wanted to ask if it ever made his heart beat faster, but I didn't know if he had a heartbeat. "I can shake it off if I have to, most of it anyway. It can make me a little of kilter." "I haven't noticed that." "We've just been sitting or walking. If I was moving fast, you might notice it." How fast was fast? Magically making my coat appear on me fast? "Everything smells like pot." he smiled. He always said pot, he never said weed, which I liked because sometimes weed sounded seedy. Weed. Seedy. Har de har. "I'm good." I said, waving off the joint. He put it out in the ashtray. My skin tingled and the confines of the car breathed in and out slightly. I cracked open the window for some fresh air. Smoke was probably rolling out of the car. Luckily, the parking lot was deserted. The stars were out. "What time is it?" "I don't know. I'd have to look at my phone." "Me, too. I don't wanna look at my phone. I think it's wrong. It never gets daylight savings time right. It gets it eventually but it just surprises me by being right one day. I should really fix that." "I can fix it." "I can fix it, too. I just haven't got to it yet. Look." I pointed at the window. "The stars are out. i forget to look at them sometimes. A lot of the time." "Pretty." he said, and started the car. He seems a lot like any guy, I thought, except he's nice. It was too cold to have the windows down, otherwise I would have had them wide open with the wind in my hair. That reminded me, I really need a haircut. I leaned back in the seat and enjoyed being the passenger. Nice car. Nice guy. Nice buzz. Things were good. Something horrible was bound to happen. Soon he was going to try to bite me or kill me, torture maybe. Nah, that didn't bother me. It really didn't seem like it would happen, I was completely unconvinced by me. Just you wait, I said to myself, bad things would happen. But bad things always happened, nothing stopped the bad things from happening, there was just the hope of having some good things in between. So far, I had a ride home and help getting groceries tomorrow. That was pretty good so far. I realize my goals were not high, but my barometer for suck was waiting for the fog to roll in, as it usually did.