Sonder

Chapter 38

The rest of the day snaps through like a quick cut montage.

*Scribbling in class. School day ends. Change into swimming uniform. Swimming practice. Change into Dominos uniform. Rushing into the store to clock in.*

Rushing into the store, his co-workers turn their noses up at his chlorinated smell.

"Take a shower why don't cha!"

"AH, my eyes! They're melting, meeelllttting!" (Wicked Witch of the West Style).

***

Not even two hours into his shift his General Manager Juan gives him a nod and says: "Grab your stuff, I can check ya out."

Nick tilts his head like a pekingese puppy, to which Juan responds: "Don't you have anywhere better to be on a Friday evening? Get your stuff before another rush hits and I change my mind".

***

Driving north to Clair's house, he passes an old rural lawn customer and reminisces about eating sweet corn from the field after finishing their lawn. He redirects his attention to his clothes. He's changing out of his uniform at 60 miles an hour. 

Clair's family house was easy enough to find. The recent sub-development projecting into a field of beans like a middle class landing strip. Or a middle finger.

This freshly minted ranch house with its cobblestone wainscot and emerald green lawn was a significant change from the "Skittle House" two years earlier. To Nick, the stone combined with picture frame windows made it look like the castle from Jack and the Beanstalk.  It looked like a palace. It made him uneasy. 

What the hell am I doing here?

He fidgets and thumps on his wheel, nervously parked on the curb. He's not ready to meet a whole family. He feels unworthy. A swine vying for mating privileges while attempting to maintain a veneer of innocence.

Theses games, these roles, these lies. Human theater. [The agentic state].

He breathes deeply. He needs his heart to stop pounding, for his hands to stop shaking. He looks at his reflection and encourages himself: "Let's go!". Maybe this was a mistake. 

Pressing the doorbell fills the air with rumbling hound hollers. He can see Clair and the barking dogs through the floor to ceiling window next to the cathedral sized door. 

"Hi!" she exclaims through the thinly cracked door. "Herman!  Effy! Back! Hush! Muuukoo! Down!" 

"Hi," he waves, a mousy wave. 

"Come in, Come in!" she ushers him through the door keeping it tight enough to prevent the dogs from escaping. He squares his shoulders to hide his nerves. But, the hesitance of his steps give him away, inspiring the pack of dogs to double their barking interrogation. He brushes away their claws in a way he hopes appears to be amusement. His arms abrade, whiten, swell, and glow red with nail scratches. He offers them his hands for smelling.

"Effy!" Clair yells at the honey colored dog trying to jump on Nick. 

They have squish noses and slobber cheeks. He's not a fan of slobber dogs. The two large dogs have stopped barking to inhale the scents from his jeans and boots, but some barking remains. No, yapping. Seven feed away, little nails clack on the tile floor echo-locating the tiny scruffy-backed thing yet dissatisfied by this intrusion. 

"Ha!" Nick laughs, "Who is that?!" 

"Ah... That's Antonio, but, I mostly just call him 'Muko'"

"Ah." Nick, now knowing the name of his critic, sticks his tongue out at the Chihuahua mutt. The large dogs are happily acquainted with Nick by now and they're wagging tails agitate him back and forth like laundry.