Ch. 7

“I need help.”

A gust coming from the open window slammed the door behind me. Nickel roused from the chair in our flat. When we had found it on the curb, it was a dusty lawn chair with squeaky hinges. Now it was a recliner with a compartment for keeping bevs cool. They went in as warm tap water and came out as Grouse scotch, single-malt. And he called it science. He saw I was only carrying a few bags of groceries (Walkers and Wagon Wheels and whatnot) and plopped back to his rest. His smelly feet went up with the pull of a lever. “You’ll manage.”

“Not with these. With the Ostrich. She hasn't even mentioned being an alchemist. She sooner admitted to aspirations of prostitution. How am I to convince her take my help?”

Our apartment stank of him. I don’t know why! He showered every day and when I used the toilet after him, the soap always seemed wet with a few suds still. I even plucked curly hairs from the ivory bar and I forced delusions upon myself that they were from his armpits and not the pit in his undies. But his natural musk returned within minutes and clogged the place and my nostrils. “She’s probably just waiting till you've had some pillow talk before she admits it. You Americans aren't the most tolerant bunch about it. You’re free to the apartment. I always find other beds.”

“Can’t you take over? I’m never going to get to pillow talk with her.”

“You’re not a cuddler?” The grocery bags that cost me 5p apiece rustled as he grabbed some crisps from them. He didn't care for the flavor I chose, jalapeno and cheddar barbecue, so he clapped his hands on the bag. As it popped, an aroma of sour cream wafted into the air. “You got her to like you, right?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can never tell with these things.”

“She’s cute, right?”

“I guess.”

“You two are running daily so she has at least got a body. And a butt. Right?”

“I don’t look.”

“Do you like her?”

“No!”

The crumbs and salt got lost in the mat of chest hairs. The tangles probably had a compost pile forming. He brushed his shirt clear. “It’s been three years. You’re allowed to look.”

The open window wasn't enough ventilation so I turned a fan on. The chills killed the stench particles each night but then he’d shower and new ones, stronger ones came on the attack. My biggest comforts were my morning runs and my daily six-pack of Coke. Sweets were my thing. He preferred alcohol so usually he didn't touch the cans.

“If it’s a nice butt, look. How’s it any different from porn? You look at porn, right?” he asked. “Never mind. We share a computer. People don’t use proxy sites for Facebook. And she’s the one who told you to move on. After years of tracking her by some vague blip in data on a blog, how do you know it’s not some web-crawling spambot reading your love letters? Or some guy in Korea who stumbled upon it and uses your basic English to practice his? How do we know it’s her? We don’t even know if she’s alive! But we know she doesn't want your help.”

“She just doesn't want to ask,” I said. “Sometimes people ask for help and it screws everything up.”

~

It was a week after I made the blog for her when I saw her come on Skype. I immediately said: hey

: Are you okay?
I got your email
and I read the blogg
Blog*
You seem pretty exhausted
jet lag?

Me: Yeah and good and yeah. I mean, getting back to the States I adjusted in a night because I couldn't sleep on the flight from the coffee IV I’d taken to get me through customs and boarding but two international flights in a week really did me in. Coffee’s not much of crutch when you’re giving a piggyback ride to an elephant of sleep deprivation.

: what?
two flights
?

Me: I was walking my pooch when I realized I’d left my lucky moose underwear back in Wales. Had to go back for them. Least, that’s what I told the customs officer who asked why I was returning so soon.

: Why are you
in Wales?

Again
cory…

Me: I’m not. I’m in Germany. I’m here to bust you out. I don’t have a plan or connections or any idea what I’m doing, but I’ve got a massive credit card bill headed to my parents’ house so I really hope they’re not too mad but I left them a note saying they could sell my car. I don’t need it.

: stop
You’re not serious
i don’t want jokes

I was sat at the cafe near the alley where she had said goodbye and I couldn't and I had spent the day crying till my ducts froze and a policeman asked me, in German first, to leave. The cafe had piss-poor WiFi and piss in the coffee.

Me: No jokes. Except the coffee IV. That’s not a real thing. Too bad. It’d help with that god awful taste, especially that K'hawah stuff you like. Too bitter.

: Im not in Germany anymore.

Me: Then where are you? I'll be right there. I need a shower though so hopefully there’s a hostel or guest house nearby or maybe an ocean. Are you near the ocean? I'll just bring some biodegradable soap.

: I said
we’d stay in touch
when I could
and
I promised
to check the blog
But no
I won’t do this
You getting involved
directly involved like this
it’s the worst thing that could happen
Go home

Me: I’m out of money.