Banjolele

I had three water bottles that were all pretty much full. I only took a sip from each one because I’d open one, drink from it, forget about it and do something else, think “I’m thirsty,” take another, rinse and repeat. Or, drink and repeat, I guess. 

I was still thirsty, so I looked up from the house of cards I was trying (and failing) to build and tried to pick a water bottle using the eenie-miney-mo trick. And then, when I reached over to grab one of the water bottles, I knocked over the house of cards. Which was fine, really, because I was bored anyway. 

One of my three lovely roommates walked into the room and looked at me weird, and then I remembered it was haunting hour, and that was probably why. I couldn’t remember which one it was because I was already onto the next thing. I had started building some kind of abomination halfway between a ukelele and a banjo, because I felt like if I didn’t have something to play I was going to go insane. There were already three rubber bands on it, so I decided to make due with what I had. The easiest thing I could think to try on it was “Mary had a Little Lamb” but that neither sounded nice nor was it fulfilling so I put it down and stood up in the middle of the room. 

Currently me and the other three were bunked in a cheap apartment on the bottom floor of the building, probably illegally. I have no idea what Adrian did to work out a deal since none of us legally existed. But there was working water and a stove, and we had two A-list chefs on our team so we made it work. 

I wasn’t one of those. I couldn’t cook to save my life—actually I could, but whether it was edible or not was up to debate—and anyway, Reese and Adrian didn’t like me messing with “their” stove. “Their” stove. I almost snorted out loud but I didn’t because I’d probably wake up one of them. 

Adrian was bite sized and also comatose, since he slept like a corpse. Reese looked like he’d been through two comas every time he woke up and Marisol scared the shit out of me so I never bothered her. Not that I let her know that; I barely know anything about the people I mentioned. I was just there to make money and then...Well I didn’t know what I’d do but I knew I’d figure it out. That’s what I did when I got out of prison and I could do it again.

But I guess that didn’t work out either. But I didn’t want to think about it either. I looked down at my hands, and then picked at one of my fingernails. They didn’t grow anymore.

It was weird to think that I was—like what—a gator? Giant lizard? I could’ve been a good superhero or maybe a shitty DC villain. 

None of the furniture we had was very good. In fact I think Adrian folded over a piece of duct tape in order to get the clock to stick to the wall. Our living room was also connected to our kitchen, which in turn, was lovingly bonded to the bathroom that was divided by a curtain since someone had stolen the door. So the bottom floor, from my viewpoint in the corner of the living room, made a backwards L-shape with a growth on the bottom leg that was our toilet. And it was only a toilet, by the way. the sink was in the kitchen, and that was smart planning if the contractor liked a side of pinkeye with his instant ramen. 

I wasn’t as well acquainted with the second floor because there were only three rooms. Two of those were bedrooms, and the other one was a bathroom with a shower that worked if you were good at gambling. I didn’t like it up there because it was small, so I slept downstairs on the couch that had a permanent indent on the arm where I liked to rest my head. And that brings me back to where I started, with the house of cards and the mess and the banjolele and the stove that I wasn’t allowed to use and the fact that I was still bored. 

I started pacing around the bottom floor again, corner-kitchen-couch, in that order, trying to think of something to do. I was an idiot the other day and spent my last paycheck on an adult magazine that I wasn’t ever going to use, so rather than something worthwhile like a gameplan on the coffee table (that also had indents from my shoes digging into it) there was a bunch of naked men in a book the size of a mousepad. To add insult to injury I wasn’t even horny and hadn’t been for three months. And even if I did try I knew I’d just end up feeling empty afterwards, so that was out of the plan too. And also I lived with three other people and my only options for privacy were behind the couch (a dead zone), in the bathroom (with a bed sheet as my barrier), or upstairs (where the people I was trying not to greatly offend were). 

In all honesty I felt like banging my head against the wall because I had no idea what to do. Sleeping was definitely not an option, since I drank three cans of some radioactive energy drink with enough caffeine in each of them to fuel a small car. 

Another one of my roommates came down, so I stopped pacing and decided to check out who it actually was. 

“You’re up late,” I said. I moved to stand in front of the ukejo and card rubble and whatever else I had thrown onto the ground earlier. Not that that hid anything. I was about as wide as a light pole. 

“Mrhm,” Reese said back. My right ear still hadn’t recovered from the close-call the other day, or month ago. It blended together if I tried looking too hard at it. I couldn’t hear anything from that side. I was also bad at understanding people unless I saw their mouths, which I didn’t realize until my ear got shot out and I had to rely on one ear. 

He went to one of the cupboards and starting grabbing snacks at random. I let him do that and turned back to the mess I’d made to try and clean it up. 

“Adran’ said you were down here,” he said while he was still getting his stuff in order. A weird thing to say, since I didn’t know Adrian and Reese talked to each other. I thought all of us were coworkers until we got enough money to fly the coop, and that was it. 

If I had to rank my favorites from best to worst I’d rank them Adrian, Marisol, and Reese. I did mention Marisol scaring the shit out of me earlier, but the reason she’s second and not last is because she’s upfront about what her deal is. Adrian is my favorite, but in his case that’s like literally being the tallest gnome since I think he’s five-foot-four. I’m not a fan of Reese because I can’t figure out what his deal is—he’s too well mannered. It’s like those nice characters in movies; one minute it’s your friendly neighbor and the next he’s got fifteen hands, thirteen of which aren’t his. 

I started shuffling the cards I’d managed to pick up before I decided to sit criss-cross on the ground. 

“You any good at cards?” Reese sat down on the couch with a thunk. 

One of the cards I was shuffling flung out in the direction of the couch, excuse me, my couch, where Reese was sitting. He didn’t know that’s where I slept, but it still pissed me off, because it’s not like I slept anywhere else. It didn’t take a four year education to put the pieces together. But his eyes had shadows under them and he looked like he had been dragged through a gutter, so I wasn’t going to tell him to get off. 

“Sometimes,” I said. I wanted to get the card I had accidentally flung at him back. It landed next to his foot, and the main thing blocking me from getting it was the coffee table. 

He noticed what I was staring at, and his eyebrows went up like he was surprised it was there. That was the most expression I’d ever seen him make. His monotone face was another reason I had a hard time placing him, I had no idea what he was thinking. Adrian was cartoonishly expressive and Marisol was pissed most of the time. A small part of me wanted to grab Reese by the shoulders and ask him what the fuck his deal was, but he could crush me in a heartbeat. 

He folded over to grab the card, hit his head on the table, and knocked a few more cards onto the ground. And, because there’s an unloving god out there, the only cards that fell off the table were the ones covering the magazine. 

Reese stared at it with drooping eyes, and then his eyebrows went up again, and then he pressed his lips together in a hard line. Then he realized I was right there and tried to save face. 

I felt my face heat up because there’s a minimum of twelve NCR-17 rated images within that booklet, and here’s a guy I don’t know a damn thing about trying to subtly look back and forth between me and a guy with his cheeks to the wind on the front cover. 

But, because I can’t keep my mouth shut, I said, “Is there a problem?” 

Reese held his index finger between two of his others and started picking at something I couldn’t see. “Naw. No. I’m just surprised that it’s like—” he tilted his head as if he was trying to get water out of his ear “—it’s right there. I mean, I don’ got a problem with it if that’s what you’re thinking.” The finger he was picking at started bleeding, and then it instantly healed because we’re all freak accidents, except for Marisol. Which is arguable. 

“I wasn’t thinking that.” I sat back and used my arms to prop myself up. “Sorry you had to see that, I guess. I wasn’t expecting visitors.” That magazine was another reason on the list everyone wasn’t buddy-buddy with me. 

“No. It’s fine. I mean, we all got needs,” Reese said. He moved his hand up and slowed down by his mouth, then recovered by running his hand through his hair. And I noticed that because I also used to bite my fingernails when I got nervous. I got rid of the habit through gentle suggestions from my parents and switched over to chewing my collar. 

Well, then that was something me and Reese had in common. He’s got his fucked up nail beds and I got my stretched out collars.