While Boris’s house had looked pleasant enough from the outside, the inside was, for lack of a better word, barren. There was a sofa and an end table, but no kitchen table or chairs. No television in the living room, and nothing decorating the walls. There weren’t even boxes to indicate that they were still unpacking.
As they make their way into the kitchen, Will notices that the counters are covered in a thin layer of grime, almost as if they’ve never been cleaned.
“Would you like something to drink?” Boris offers. “We have beer in the fridge. Vodka in the freezer.”
“Um…” Will stalls. He’s never drank before. He’s not sure if he wants to. He’s also not sure if he wants to admit that he never has.
Boris senses his hesitance at once, and knocks his knuckles on the side of Will’s head.
“Too much going on up there. What’s the problem? Just a beer, yeah? Who cares?”
“Your dad doesn’t mind?” Will asks.
“HA!” Boris’s laugh explodes over him. “Is not even home. Probably won’t be home for days. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’ve never drank before,” he meekly admits.
Boris yanks the fridge open, well stocked with what looks like nothing but beer, and pulls out two.
“Perfect time to try then. Always best among friends.”
Will takes the cold bottle in his hand, already opened, Boris’s excited eyes waiting for him to take his very first sip. He does, and is tempted to spit it right back out. The flavor is strong and bitter beyond belief. He’s never tasted anything like it and doesn’t quite understand why people enjoy it so much.
“Good, yes?” Boris inquires, taking a swig of his own. “This is German beer. The best kind there is. I used to live in New Guinea, you know. And we had bad flood. All we had to drink was beer. Not good beer either! Local beer in New Guinea, terrible tasting.” He pulls a face. “But breakfast, lunch, dinner, only beer! Had headache for days.”
“If this is good beer, I can’t imagine drinking bad beer for that long.”
“HA!”
Will warms a little at making Boris laugh and takes another sip to avoid thinking about it.
“Come, I show you my room.”
It’s only a two-bedroom house, and Boris’s room is the last door on the left, right across from the bathroom. Will doesn’t know what he expected, perhaps something kind of grunge, or maybe a bit artsy, but Boris’s room is neither of these things. Instead, his walls are tented with fabric in various colors and materials, and the air reeks of cigarettes. There are clothes on the floor, and piles and piles of books in a variety of languages. Beer bottles line the window like a sun catcher, casting green light through them and onto the carpet.
“Wow,” Will breathes, enamored by the adornments on the walls. It’s an explosion of color, and he adores it. “You did all this?”
“Is easy,” Boris says. “I fold it up and keep it in suitcase. Takes only a few minutes to put it up. What movie do you want to watch?”
He walks into the room and throws himself down on a mattress that is just as colorful as the walls around him. It’s only then that Will notices a very small television and VCR in the corner of the room, along with a stack of VHS tapes.
“What’s your favorite?” asks Will.
“Have many, but right now, S.O.S. Iceberg. You seen it?”
