Code Junkie

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ted was gone when I finally pulled myself from bed. The work week had begun and Jerry was simply not up to the task. He called in sick and I assumed that Ted didn't want to miss any more days. Somehow, Jerry was wearing a plain undershirt and a pair of my pajama pants. Even more surprising was the fact that they had fit him. He was sitting at the kitchen table and smiled when I walked in.

"I made coffee," I could tell that he had been waiting anxiously to tell me this.

"Thanks, Jer," I nodded. "Ted's at work?"

"Yes, sir," he confirmed my hypothesis. "Didn't want to screw his vacation time."

"Noted."

I turned to the countertop and lifted the glass pot of coffee that Jerry was so very proud of. I procured a small glass bottle and upgraded to Irish. I hefted the bottle towards Jerry and he weighed the option. After tilting his head for a few seconds, he smirked and nodded. He sipped and stared out the window and into my yard. The morning stood very young and that blue-hymn of the dawn's celestial waning still painted my property and the forest beyond. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and the sun was rising somewhere in the east, far away from my line of sight and the trees. I followed his gaze and joined him in the uneventful spectacle, noting nothing of worth and embracing the normality. At some point, he broke the moment and spoke.

"So who's that guy?" he sipped and nodded towards the refrigerator

I had taken Walt's obituary from the minimalist memorial at my former place of employment the day I had learned he died. I realized that I never really talked about Walter to my friends, outside of blindly referencing him in my blitz, weeks before. Even then did I barely go into detail.

"He was one of my coworkers at the camera place," I said.

"Nice guy?" Jerry asked.

"Eh," I weighed the question. "Not really. But we got along really well. Didn't have to speak too much,"

"I gotcha," Jerry replied, his mouth struggling to form an opinion on the statement.

"Yeah," I said. "He's dead now."

"Sorry, man," Jerry tried.

"Fuck it," I said. "The old bastard probably drank himself to death. Ha, Mr. Hale."

"Who?" Sara asked, now in the doorway. God damn it. Having to explain something a thousand times...

I pointed to the newspaper clipping on the fridge and she immediately nodded once, understanding. I assumed she had read it before. She busied herself with the Jerry Coffee and picked herself up to sit on the counter. She wore a pair of my boxer shorts and an old band t-shirt. I knew that we could both sense Jerry's girl-anxiety, having Sara in little more than underwear, but we didn't take the normal route of action and tease him about it. The sun had been rising and the blue aura of my backyard had slowly begun dissolving away. Sara stared outside, just as Jerry and I had before, and then started.

"Oh, Kevin. After your appointment, want to walk one of the trails?" she pointed to the woods.

I moaned a bitching moan. That was today.

"Sure," I exaggeratedly stamped my foot in place. "But I don't want to go to the doctors."

I let the last syllable ring with a purposely annoying vibrato.

"Man up," Sara teased. "You need it."

"Fuck off,"

She eyed the diminishing bottle of whiskey and gave me a cocky look.

"Right," I answered myself.

"Do you need a ride?" Jerry asked. I looked at the clock.

"Sure. In about an hour."